Utah Mom Blog & Mommy Blogger | Life Elevated Mom

May Days (not to be confused with MAYDAY)

May 5, 2009 by Amber

I think Spring fever had hit many of us, judging from the lower number of visitors I’ve had and that many of you are updating your own blogs more infrequently. I have a very full plate this next month and here are a few things keeping me hoppin’:

My Bladder

It still gets me up at least twice a night.

Mile High Mamas Redesign

With the demise of our competitor The Rocky Mountain News, The Denver Post is soaring high. We are currently undergoing a redesign for Mile High Mamas that we hope will be relaunched by the end of the month. The Denver Newspaper Agency (which is responsible for the newspaper’s ads) is FINALLY getting on-board and is developing a marketing plan along with sponsorships and partners. I’m so thrilled everything is finally taking off and I’m been busy with fundraisers, meetings, events and even got asked to lead a round-table discussion for the Boulder Chamber of Commerce later in the month.

Yeah. I’m still laughing about that, too.

Haddie’s Birthday on May 25th

The kid is obsessed with The Incredibles so that will be our theme. She informed me last week my hair bears an alarming resemblance to Syndrome’s. Forget boring ol’ Elastagirl. I’ll be traumatizing all the kiddos with Syndrome’s villainous laugh. And killer hair.

Pixo Inc.

A few months ago, Jamie launched his own web development business, Pixo Web Design and Strategy. Things are going great and he has made some intelligent business partnerships that bring in even more work. Let me know if you can think of anyone who needs a needs a Web site; I’m always happy to pimp him out. I love having him work from home and don’t miss his big paycheck at all.

At least for now. 🙂

Staycations

Between the Swine Flu and the economy, a lot of people will be staying closer to home this summer. We’re no exception so I decided to make myself a professional “staycationer” and we are going to do a whirlwind tour of Colorado. Some trips I have in the works: The Broadmoor, The Crested Butte Musical Festival, Steamboat Springs, YMCA of the Rockies and Chatataqua in Boulder.

As always, I will be documenting our many mishaps along the way. Because let’s face it: when have any of my vacations ever gone smoothly?

The Truth Revealed

Bad luck runs in the family. That is the only possible way to explain it. A few examples:

The Infection
My brother Pat and his wife Jane have spent the last couple of months getting SCUBA-certified so they could go on a diving trip to Honduras for their 20-year anniversary. This is the first time they’ve traveled abroad. Ever. They have been living and breathing this trip for ages. Then Pat got an ear infection so was unable to dive. You know: the entire reason they went to Honduras in the first place.

The Illness
We have been encouraging my parents to travel while they still can so they booked a trip to Mexico a couple of weeks ago. The week prior to departure, my mom took a turn for the worst and only my dad was able to go while my sister-in-laws and nieces stayed behind with my poor mom.

The Swine
The only place Jamie’s parents ever travel is Utah. His grandpa recently surprised all his children and spouses with a Mexican cruise. This is the first time Jamie’s folks have ever left the country and have been busily shopping for their beach vacation and getting passports. Enter: swine flu. Their Mexican cruise was canceled and they will instead be going to Seattle.

Nothing against Seattle but it’s not exactly [virgin] pina coladas on the beach.

OK, maybe “mayday” may be in order after all….

Filed Under: Colorado, Family travel, Humor, Jamie

The Unsung Mom: A True Hero

May 4, 2009 by Amber

It has been five years since I saw her.

I was recently at the post office and she was standing near me in line. Our eyes connected and she blankly smiled. She did not recognize me. She really had no reason to. But five years ago, she left an indelible impression on me.

In the world’s eyes, she is an overlooked middle-aged mom, with unkempt hair and clothes. I had initially dismissed her as well. But during our interactions, I came to know a beautiful person. Possibly one of the most beautiful I have ever known.

When we first met, I was on the cusp of a new life: a newlywed, pregnant and with a whole new world of hope and possibilities in front of me. In my eyes, she was weary and beleaguered.

I came to know why: she gave and gave, often leaving nothing for herself. She was a foster mom and had adopted many into her home. Not just any children, but those with physical and mental handicaps. The forgotten children, most of whom had been severely abused and then abandoned because no one wanted them. But she did.

“I sometimes wish my kids were as little as yours,” she wistfully said in the post office, pointing to my little boy. “Just last night, I was at the police station with one of my teenagers.”

There was no bitterness in her voice. Only love. She knew if she was not there to catch them when they fell, that no one would. And she was willing to give them everything she had to give them a shot at life.

Many moms deal with these same struggles and special needs. The difference between the rest of us and this woman is that most of us do not choose this path but we are chosen. And we do the best that we can with what has been handed to us.

Just as I had five years ago, I marveled at her. And mourned the society we live in where people who can throw a ball or who make millions at the box office are those we place on a pedestal.

Heroes surround us. Most do not receive any recognition and quietly go about their business. But on that day in the post office as I gazed at this woman’s glistening blue eyes, I was sure she was as close to a hero as I have ever come.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Wasatch Adventure Race 2002 Masochists on the Mountain

May 3, 2009 by Amber

Originally published in Sports Guide magazine, 2002.

I fancy myself adventurous. I jump off the 2-foot diving board at the swimming pool. I can ride my bike sans hands for 10 seconds. And I have been known to stroll across a busy intersection without the permission of a walk signal.

So my interest was piqued when I heard about the 2002 Wasatch Adventure Race (WAR). As the name suggests, the Wasatch Mountains are the place and adventurous is the race. Participants navigate nearly 80 miles in less than 36 hours while running, biking, hiking, climbing, rappelling and paddling, with the odd mystery event thrown in for kicks and giggles.

Sound like fun? Twenty-eight teams from all over the United States thought so. Their idea of fun, however, was to submit themselves to masochistic measures on the mountain, such as trudging sleepless all day and night in the middle of nowhere with only a soggy map as guide. There was mud and snow, freezing temperatures, and then frozen mud.

Fun, eh? WAR is hell, it has been said. Indeed.

Mr. Eco-Masochist
I wanted to ease into adventure racing before diving in full throttle, so I opted to volunteer this time around. That proved to be a wise decision. I soon learned to think twice before participating in a race designed and directed by a guy who worked for Eco-Challenge for three years.

I first met Todd Olsen at an R.E.I. adventure-racing clinic. He and his wife Holly run High Mountain Productions, a company that organizes outdoor races and clinics. May’s event was the second annual Wasatch Adventure Race.

The first annual race in March of 2001 had a few hiccups. When I pressed Todd for details, he had a pained expression, similar to Mom’s when she talks about enduring my early years. He told me they had to contend with a snowstorm, which caused perilous avalanche conditions. To ensure safety, he had to modify the route several times.

Todd chose to hold the second annual race over sunny Memorial Day Weekend. He was meticulous, even neurotic, about plotting the course. He trekked, biked and rappelled it several times as the race date approached. Conditions were perfect and dry.

Until a freak snowstorm sacked the Wasatch Front mere days before the race.

Despite these conditions, Todd remained in great spirits, chiming this was, after all, an adventure race. This confirmed to me that we were at the mercy of a deranged Eco-Masochist.

Cheerleader of the Year
I met my fellow volunteers at 7 a.m. at the Provo Marriott. We spent much of the morning registering the athletes and performing mandatory team equipment checks, discipline assessments, communication safety and race briefings. I had been assigned to the difficult task of taking team photos and checking out toned legs. (OK, that last task was self-assigned–but nonetheless imperative.)

Most of the teams were from Colorado and Utah, with a smattering from Oregon, Idaho and California. Team Fugawi (as in “Where the…”) came all the way from Connecticut, and we also had two Kiwis and Aussies in the mix. There were three different divisions: 3 members mixed, 2 members open, and 1 member open. Most of the teams brought support crews who provided them with food and equipment at designated transition areas. For $50, High Mountain provided support for teams without a crew.

Before setting out to the starting point at Utah Lake, Todd gave the volunteers a thorough play-by-play of our responsibilities. Admittedly, my only volunteer race experience was at a triathlon in high school. I had been stationed in the boonies for the final leg of the race. It was a rare day in Calgary—temps soared in the 90s and the Arctic-lovin’ racers were sweltering. I enthusiastically cheered my Canucks and they were grateful for the encouragement.

I was just about to receive the accolade of Cheerleader of the Year until the organizers drove out to my station. I innocently informed them the last racer had passed me about 20 minutes ago.

And then I learned the terrible truth: I was supposed to be the designated
turnaround point.

In my defense, they had somehow forgotten to disclose this somewhat important information. I won’t divulge the nasty events that unfolded, but I learned that day that there really must be some truth to the connection between cheerleaders and airheads.

The Adventure Begins
WAR officially started at 3 p.m. Racers were filled with both alacrity and trepidation at the start line. The 28 teams were a range between seasoned veterans with Eco-Challenge experience and those with less-intense race résumés who only participated in outdoor activities recreationally.

Todd opened the race. The teams eagerly burst off the line, sprinted down to the beach, jumped in their canoes, and began the 6-mile paddle to Lindon Beach. Once there, they exchanged their canoes for in-line skates and bladed to checkpoint two at Battle Creek Park in Pleasant Grove.

A one-man show, Coloradoan Andrew Hamilton of Team Achilles, blew away the competition by arriving a couple of hours ahead of the estimated time of arrival. Another volunteer, Christie, and I recorded his time, signed his passport and sent him to retrieve his mountain bike from his support vehicle for the next leg up Battle Creek Canyon. His nearest competitors did not arrive until 5 p.m., half an hour after his departure.

The Race Dynamics
Mere hours after the start, race dynamics were glitching. There were crashes. There was malfunctioning equipment. There were arguments. And those were just with Salt Lake City-based Team Entropy’s support crew.

The racers were exhausted by the time they reached checkpoint four in American Fork Canyon. Their 16-mile war-torn ride up Battle Creek along the shoulder of Mount Timpanogas had been ravaged by snow, mud and cold as they navigated their way along a network of criss-crossing hiking trails, game trails, and old Jeep roads.

In Greek mythology, Achilles was the Trojan War’s greatest warrior. WAR’s lead combatant proved true to legend as he conquered Battle Creek with a huge lead on the others. Many teams did not arrive until after dark and were shivering after hiking their bikes through deep snow in frosty temperatures. Some did not turn up until the middle of the night and ATV crews combed the area to ensure their safety. A few teams had either dropped out or were either disqualified because they missed the time cutoff.

For those who remained, night’s embrace was more like a tight squeeze. They had only a waxing full moon and their headlamps to penetrate the darkness as they sloshed through the muck- and snow-heaped Mud Springs, Tibble Fork and Beaver Bog areas. Mr. Eco-Masochist had, of course, thrown some wrenches into the race to trip people up.

Those wrenches, however, were more like hammers that pounded the competitors. Todd had charted a tricky bushwhack for teams from checkpoint seven to eight. Unfortunately, several teams took the wrong turn and missed checkpoint seven at Beaver Bog. After scouring the area for hours, many opted to continue onto checkpoint eight. A few stayed behind until they found seven. Those who bypassed seven were given hefty time penalties.

The Home Stretch
While many of our fellow volunteers spent the night huddled at checkpoints in remote mountain locations, Christie and I were in the most far-flung of all: the Timpooneke Parking Lot. With an onslaught of holiday revelers, the race ambulance and medical personnel. And a diesel truck that choked us with fumes all night long. Nothing like getting back to nature.

Achilles knocked on my tent at 5 a.m. I’d like to say we were awake and awaiting his arrival, but truth is we were apathetic and asleep. The next competitors arrived several hours later, many fatigued and irascible after a cold and confusing night looking for checkpoint seven.

Their reward was what Achilles called “cruel and unusual punishment”: to retrace the recalcitrant route through Battle Creek. But their payoff was an exhilarating 275-foot rappel from atop Battle Creek Canyon, followed by mountain biking to their transition area at Dry Canyon. And then the homestretch: a trek up Little Baldy before dropping onto Glen Canyon Park in Provo Canyon. They then skated back to the lake and did a short paddle from Oxbow Park before finishing where they started.

Seventeen teams finished. Eleven teams dropped out. By the end, most hated Todd. Hated the course. Hated the conditions. But they call it adventure racing for a reason.

Most of those racers are masochists. Most are nuts. And most will be back for round three of the Wasatch Adventure Race in 2003. And I may just be masochistic enough to join them.

Filed Under: Humor, outdoors, Utah

Pest Smart

April 28, 2009 by Amber

Spring is in full swing here at the pumpkin patch, which is not without its stresses. Jamie planted a few of his seeds indoors last week and much to his chagrin, they did not sprout when anticipated. His best seed never germinated at all. As a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin, this causes an immeasurable amount of stress. He will replace the dud and move forward with the others, which will hopefully flourish.

Look at me. Being all supportive of the Lord of the Gourds.

I’ve been thinking about pests lately. Not of the little brother or sister variety that we all endured growing up, but creatures. Most of us have ’em and we’re always battling them at our house. We have a vole that completely wiped out our rose bushes and we are replanting some new ones.

Rabbits are also our household pests. It pains me to say that because I had pet bunnies growing up and absolutely adored them. But alas, Whiskers and Snowflake never dug out a hole under and through our front porch nor completely obliterated our garden, snacking on my favorite crop of all: strawberries.

Game on, Bunnies.

Of course, our pests don’t have anything on my in-laws. Their pest de choix? Skunks. They took up residency under my inlaws’ front porch last year, creating a very real dilemma whenever entering or leaving the house. Animal control wouldn’t do anything about them unless they were rabied which, I don’t know about you, I really wouldn’t want to be the one to test that out.

My in-laws tried to stink them out with mothballs. They were unsure of exactly how many skunks they had and had only spotted a couple at a time. But imagine their delight to come home from church, only to find NINE skunks sunning themselves on their lawn. Call me crazy but having pet skunks in plain view is exponentially worse than having them burrowed under my house.

Though it could stave off those people who insist on coming over unannounced when my house is a mess.

Eventually, the skunks migrated back under their porch because well, they’re kinda used to living with stench. My inlaws’ last alternative was to hire a professional skunk trapper. Now, I’m sure he catches other animals but he was most proud of his ability to round up the Pepe le Pews of the world. He actually knocked on their door holding two captured skunks. Evidently, if you hold them by their tails, they will not spray you.

Just in case you wanted to try it next time around.

Unfortunately, he got distracted and dropped one of them, leaving a path of fresh-smelling roses behind.

How would you like to be that guy’s poor wife?

And so now I turn to you as gardening season kicks off: do you have a garden, what do you grow and what pests do you battle?

Filed Under: Uncategorized

How to Prevent “Puke” and “Play Date” from Ever Going Together

April 26, 2009 by Amber

I love play dates for my daughter. Not because I particularly enjoy entertaining another rugrat but because Haddie and her friends are finally at the age they can entertain themselves. And if they do interrupt me, I just announce, “Go play. Don’t bother me.”

OK maybe that is not exactly correct. Some days I say, “Don’t bother me. Go play.”

You know, just to mix things up.
I always take them to do something prior to setting them loose on their own. Some days we have a picnic in the park. Other times we go hiking. Last week, it was Central Park playground. If you’re a Denverite and have never been, repent now. This ultra-cool modern playground in Stapleton is a children’s Mecca and features all kinds of nifty rock-like climbing areas, swings, spray fountains, hills, playing fields and a padded ground cover.

The children’s favorite structures were the Dizzy Dummies (bonus points if you know to which show I am referring). They could not get enough of the big blue wheel that spun them around and around. It was a delightful day of spinning and dizziness.

Or so I thought until the drive home.

Hadley and Bode were chattering away while Hadley’s friend Alex remained uncharacteristically quiet. When we were about a mile from our house, she finally croaked, “WATER, I NEED WATER.”

I turned around and I kid you not–the child was green.

“ARE YOU GOING TO THROW UP?”

“WATER,” she desperately convulsed.

I threw her my CamelBak and she drank like she had been wandering lost in the desert for weeks.

“Do you feel better?”

She still looked queasy but had downgraded from green to a light sage. But still, sage is technically green and I couldn’t get her out of the car fast enough. Vomit is bad enough when it is your own kid but it is utterly reprehensible when it is someone else’s.

We fortunately made it back to my house before she regurgitated her lunch on our front lawn.

It was then that I regretted ever giving her those Doritos.

This little experience has caused me to modify my play-date strategy. No more picnics. No trips to the park.

Better off just to ignore them from the get-go.

Filed Under: Hadley, Humor

The most important responsibility of all

April 23, 2009 by Amber

Many religious denominations have some kind of voluntary “tithe” they ask their members to pay. We are no different and liberally give 10% of our wages to the LDS Church. Every month, we fill out a little tithing slip, write a check and then give it to a member of the Bishopric.

Even though I have gleefully assigned Jamie to handle our finances, for some reason he has put me in charge of paying our tithing every month. I have no problem with filling out the form and writing the check but tracking down the Bishopric is always a pain. My current “calling” (job) is teaching the 8-11 -year-old girls so I rarely see anyone other than my delightful tweens whose endless barrage of chatter makes me look mute.

I never thought it possible, either.

Last month, I once again objected about having to perform tithing search and rescue when Jamie is the one who attends the same meetings as the Bishopric.

“Jamie, why don’t you just do it? I’m busy teaching the girls the whole time!”

“Because you need to take some financial responsibility.”

“I do have financial responsibility. I am in charge of spending the money.”

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Disneyland Dubailand or Bust?

April 22, 2009 by Amber

It’s no secret that I love to travel. There have certainly been many hiccups in this process when traveling with The Children. But the older they get, the easier it gets.

Or maybe I have just grown increasingly numb.

We usually go on a big trip every summer but this year we will likely discover all that Colorado has to offer. It could be worse. We could be living in Saskatchewan and my explorations would be limited to frozen tundra and wheat fields.

Note: No offense to any of my Saskwatch readers. It’s just your province kind of sucks. I know. I’ve driven through trying to get to my dad’s hometown in Manitoba, which is almost as bad. Dad–not that I’m trying to rip on where you grew up, just to thank you moving to Alberta, The Land of Milk, Honey and Rockies, before I was born.

In The Denver Post, there was a feature on Dubai. If you’re not familiar with it, it is located along the southern coast of the Persian Gulf on the Arabian Peninsula. Last year Jamie and I watched a special about the over-the-top development going on in this city, the most populous of the United Arab Emirates.

It boasted about their indoor ski resort and the soon-to-be completed tallest building on the world. Oh, and don’t forget Dubai Hydropolis, the world’s first luxury underwater hotel, with 220 suites. They featured all this development that is moving forward at break-neck speed and then juxtaposed this against the squalor people were living in at the work camps.

A high price to pay.

But it was The Denver Post’s article that struck me as over-the-top as they attempt to topple Las Vegas as the entertainment epicenter of the world. Of course, I should explain that I loath Vegas and my idea of fun is carrying 30 pounds on my back as I journey into the back-country without toilets and with wild animals and bugs.

Though I could do without the latter.

Also, Dubai is hot. And if you have ever been around me when it is hotter than 85 degrees, you will know I automatically combust.

That said, let me introduce you to Dubailand:

Dubailand, twice as big as Walt Disney World, with the final stage to be completed in 2020, featuring theme parks, planetariums, more than 50 hotels, golf courses (including the one by Tiger Woods) and retail outlets. Among highlights: The Great Dubai Wheel, bigger than the London Eye, a Ferris-wheel-type tourist attraction on the south bank of the River Thames, which carries passengers in enclosed observation capsules; a see-through Snowdome, with a rotating ski deck, mountain run, training area, snow play area, toboggan run, ice skating rink and a theater with a virtual flight over Antarctica; a DreamWorks animation park; a Six Flags theme park; Restless Planet, a Jurassic theme park with more than 100 animatronic dinosaurs; Motor City, with an “autodrome” for motor sports races and a Formula One theme park; Sports City, with four stadiums for soccer, cricket, rugby and hockey; and Mall of Arabia, at 10 million square feet the world’s biggest mall.

Just a wee bit excessive or totally appealing to you? What’s your opinion on the matter and would you ever go? Also, do you have any travel plans this summer?

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Dream follow-up: what’re you dreaming about?

April 19, 2009 by Amber

One of the “worse” aspects of the “better or worse” marriage covenant for Jamie is having to hear about my dreams. Not the visions of someday living in a house with a white-picket fence but rather, the ones about how I dreamed I rode to a desert island in a shark’s mouth.

Those kind of dreams.

I have very vivid dreams every night. A few times they have translated into gripping nightmares or deeply spiritual experiences. Last year, I wrote how I dreamed about my friend’s ailing mother whom I had never met. The dream was so lucid that I woke up in the middle of the night to drop him an email, letting him know I was thinking about them. I found out the next morning his mom had passed away around the same time as my dream.

Before you think I am some kind of soothsayer, let me assure you that most of the time my dreams follow the same pattern: psychosis.

Case in point: I recently dreamed I was racing my leprechaun teammates from Lucky Charms and I was freaking out because I was the only Big Person.

Could happen.

Jamie has endured such absurdities many times before, only this time he chose to indulge me and came home with a box of this:

One morning I returned home from working out to find my daughter Hadley on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Daddy won’t give me apple juice for breakfast!”

“Jamie, why didn’t you give her apple juice for breakfast? You know it is the only time of day she is allowed to have it.”

“Amber, I know that. But I am sick of her only drinking her apple juice and never eating her cereal.”

I looked down at her bowl of the cereal he was trying to push to better her health.

“You gave her LUCKY CHARMS.”

“And she’d better eat every last bite.”

Filed Under: Humor, Jamie

The Genesis of Amber “Murphy”

April 15, 2009 by Amber

Last weekend, we had the pleasure of hosting one of my dearest friends from France. I taught her during my LDS mission and we formed a bond like I have never had before. She was 16 and I was 22. We have seen each other a few times since those memorable days in Europe but not as Married Women With Children.

The Canuck Clan fell in love with Isa and her sociable and charming husband, Christopher. At one point after church, he was gabbing away with his cute French accent to an adoring throng of people when Isabelle had an epiphany: “Oh my gosh, Amber. I MARRIED YOU.”

Except those people at church? They do not adore nor throng around me.

Isabelle brought us a year supply of European chocolate (because Mormons are all about having our year supply) and Christopher teased me incessantly about their wedding. Miss that one? Yeah. So did I.

It is The Ultimate in Amber Murphy Travel Screw-ups. I was single and working as a publicist in Salt Lake City when Isa announced she had met The One and they would be married in the Swiss Temple September of 1999. There was absolutely no question in my mind that I would attend and I planned to do a trip around Eastern Europe following the wedding. My family freaked out about my solo travel plans so my Aunt Sue volunteered to come with me. I love Aunt Sue but she is a lot like me and her life’s mantra is, “Things are never 100%, Amber. Never 100.”

And things were not 100.

In France, church ordinances are not recognized so all marriages are first performed civilly, followed by the church ceremony. Since they had to travel to Switzerland for the religious ceremony, Isabelle planned the civil ceremony and party the night before and they would leave for their honeymoon immediately after going to the Swiss temple the next day.

The French know how to do weddings. The party was a blast and the multiple-course meal and dancing lasted late into the night. I ate, danced and flirted with cute French men. One of these French men–Renaud–stayed at Isa’s house that night, which is coincidentally where we were as well.

Adoring and romantic Renaud would later parade me all over Paris like a French poodle and follow me back to the United States in a rather intense fling.

But that is a story for another day. And really, do I want my children to read all about it here?

All that needs to be said is I stayed up all night talking to Renaud. When the wedding party left that morning at 7 a.m., I waved them off, saying I would get just a wee bit of sleep and Sue and I would then just drive ourselves to the temple.

But here’s the deal: I didn’t know how to get there. Even with our directions, we got horribly lost. After blindly wandering around for hours, we were mere minutes away from the ceremony. I FREAKED OUT and rear-ended someone.

In the end, we never found the temple and missed the wedding. You know. The ENTIRE REASON I WENT TO EUROPE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Christopher would later tell me that every man imagines the sweet nothings his fiancee would whisper into his ear mere moments before the wedding. Isa’s sweet nothings? “WHERE’S AMBER?”

Or maybe they were more like “Sweet Wailings.”

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor, travel Tagged With: embarrassing

“P” is for Painful, Pumpkin and Patch

April 13, 2009 by Amber

It is officially pumpkin season.

Of course, “pumpkin season” is year-round when you are married to a man who is obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. From the moment Jamie cut his 755-pound pumpkin from the vine last year, his thoughts turned to his new patch. He stalked Craigslist and reacted faster than Pavlov’s dog whenever anyone offered free compost. He raised worms in our garage (after my adamant protest against our basement). He built a pumpkin genetics Web site and updated his pumpkin blog, took various soil tests, and swapped seeds with growers around the world.

Like I said: a year-round obsession.

As I already documented, I went into the children’s playroom in the basement a few weeks ago and noticed a strange glow coming from the closet. In a Poltergeist-esque manner, I threw open the door, only to discover a makeshift greenhouse he called “The Grow Room.”

Law enforcement officers: I can assure you that he is only growing test pumpkins.

At least that is his claim.

Our winter has not been without its share of drama such as when when he realized some compost he received had sodium levels high enough to render the patch toxic. Or when he lost our 2-year-old son at the pumpkin patch (or in his words: momentary misplaced.)

He is mere weeks away from planting his seeds. The culmination of all his efforts will be at the Rocky Mountain Giant Vegetable Growers weigh-off at the end of September where he hopes his pumpkin will tip the scale at over 1,000 pounds. The Colorado record is held by Wheat Ridge dentist Joe Sherber at 1,135 pounds.

Last year, we also attended our local harvest festival. We did not enter because 1) have you ever tried to repeatedly move a 755-pound pumpkin? 2) His pumpkin outweighed the winner by 400 pounds and would have broken their small scale.

Minor details.

Jamie did, however, capitalize on the situation. I was amused to see him distributing his pumpkin business cards (because evidently every giant pumpkin grower should have them). I may have some made up for myself this season as well:

Amber Johnson
Pumpkin Widow

Because misery is looking for company.

Filed Under: Humor, Jamie, pumpkins