There are three words whose perfection and beauty are unsurpassed in the English language:

NO ASSEMBLY REQUIRED.

(What? Did you think I was going to be a sentimental fool and profess something sappy like “I love you?”)

I have been mechanically-challenged my entire life. I will admit it is part laziness, part impatience, part knowing there is a man somewhere to help me and part incompetence. The most part.

I destroyed our refrigerator’s ice machine last winter. If you missed that doozy of a confession, just know it involved black nail polish and a grinder. And an inordinate amount of dark, goopy ugliness.

I am an ice addict and a day without cubes is like a day without a hit for a junkie. So, I immediately tackled the ice machine with soap, water and even nail polish remover. But most of the unit was unsalvageable. My husband Jamie reluctantly ordered a $50 hunk of plastic to replace it and I waited with great anticipation for the part to arrive. Frustrated, he banned me from buying ice cube trays or bags of ice–assuredly a new form of spousal abuse.

I was thrilled when I finally received the part until I noticed the two most dreaded words in the English language: Assembly Required.

I knew I couldn’t do it so I admittedly barely even tried, which resulted in my normally accommodating husband’s refusal to fix it. And so it sat and sat and sat.

To hold me over, I would call my dealer Lisa.

“Lisa, I’m running low.”
“I’ll empty mine out and be right over.”

She once even bought me a 20-pound bag of ice. I think some would call her an enabler.

With the prospect of summer’s soaring temperatures, this ice junkie finally cracked. I knew I couldn’t survive the next few months without it and so when mechanically-gifted Lisa took pity on me by offering to fix the ice machine, I took her up on it.

She spent hours obsessing and piecing it all together. Hours where she could have been working on taxes, cleaning her house or ensuring her five children did not kill each other on summer break.

That night as I lay in bed, I heard it: the rumblings of the ice machine finally working. I rushed downstairs, threw myself in the freezer and praised my friendship with Lisa in song. My selection?

(More) Ice, Ice, Baby. Of course. 🙂

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

During my two-week break from Front Range Adventure Boot Camp, some have asked if I hit a plateau because I did not lose weight for the first time since I began.

Well, if a plateau involves cookies, BBQs and treats at my daughter’s birthday party then the answer is a resounding “Yes!”

It is not like I intended to fall off the wagon. But like a relapsing alcoholic, sometimes you just don’t want to resist the taste of that sweet, sweet nectar. Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time, my intentions were noteworthy. I convinced my daughter we should opt out of the traditional birthday cake and have a sand cake that is served out of a bucket for her beach party. She loved it!

And unfortunately, so did I. I tried to be good, really I did. The only ingredients were vanilla pudding, cream cheese and Nilla cookies so I went fat-free/reduced fat on them all. Commendable, right?

Sure, except it tasted like crap so I dumped a ton of powdered sugar in to make it edible.

Guess what: when you add a year’s allotment of powdered sugar it is no longer low-fat.

And then there was the taste test. Next month, I will be reviewing and offering a giveaway for Zebra Mix, fun step-by-step baking kits for children. On Monday, we received kits to make organic chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes and brownies and my daughter was ecstatic to try them out. And evidently so was I because cookie dough is my vice in life.

To repent from my indulgence, I decided to skip dinner. My husband Jamie asked me,

“Aren’t you eating dinner?”

“Naw, I had some stuff earlier and am not hungry.”

“You ate some of Hadley’s cookies, didn’t you?”

“Curse you for knowing me so well.”

And so this [food] junkie is back on the wagon. What tips do you have for getting motivated once you have strayed?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Excuse me while my ulcer digs a little bit deeper. I am a couple of weeks away from leading 12 teen-age girls on a three-day backpacking trip. Jamie and I are in charge of these back-country novices, along with another wonderful couple. A couple who is currently in Brazil so everything is falling on me.

We have two youth leaders who have been appointed to run the show and the adults are allegedly only there for support. These are beautiful, wonderful and spiritual girls. But they are 17 years old. One picked up and moved away last week without telling us and won’t be back until camp. The other busted her foot and somehow thinks she can still do the trek in a cast.

Plus, they are teen-age girls who are busy with their own stuff. You know: like boys, cell phones, blue eye shadow and curling their hair.

Do not say I am not in touch with today’s youth.

***************************************************

On another note, after my Sordid Secrets and the Husbands Who Keep Them confessional about Jamie’s addiction to growing the Great Pumpkin, I had several inquiries if my own addiction to Eating Everything Pumpkin is related.

In a word, no.

Jamie has only been through one growing season with his pumpkin. My Eating Everything Pumpkin’s gluttial growing season has been occurring for four years now.

How it all began: I was pregnant with Hadley when I called my family during their Thanksgiving dinner. For those not in the know, Canadians celebrate in October. I don’t know the reason. We just like to do everything first, which is why we celebrate Canada Day three days before your lil’ party.

I think some call it Independence Day.

Anyway, my mom mentioned they were eating pumpkin pie and it was at that moment something was triggered in that hormonal, craving-crazed brain of mine and I HAD to Eat Everything Pumpkin.

Problem is four years later, it has never stopped. I have made pumpkin pie, cake, cookies, bars, bread, enchiladas, gnocchi, shakes, yogurt, fritters and soup.

To name a few.

On another note, Hunky Hubby and I had another one of our tantalizing conversations yesterday about [what else?] pumpkins.

“Jamie, you really need to spice up your pumpkin blog. It is B-O-R-I-N-G.”

“What’re you talking about? Just the other day, I talked about adding FERTILIZER!!!”

Help. I need help.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

just heard some news about my college roommate. Horrible news. Last week, she and her family were involved in a car accident while en route from Colorado to Utah. Her oldest daughter was killed.

How does a person ever recover from the death of a child?

When my son Bode was nine months old, I dreamt he died.

As if the end result was not painful enough, within my dream, I had a dream about how it would all unfold. How he would get sick. How I would have to watch him slowly deteriorate. And I foresaw how and when that exact moment of his passing would occur.

And I painfully waited, heart broken, relishing every last moment with him.

I awoke at 3 a.m. in a flood of tears. My husband Jamie consoled me by suggesting we sneak into Bode’s room. I was touched at his thoughtfulness as we crept in there to hear the comforting cadence of his breathing.

“He’s OK” I whispered, relieved, and reached down to remove his bottle that he had drunkenly thrown to the wayside.

And then he woke up. Forcefully. And very loudly objected as if to say, “What da freak? Just let me sleep, woman!”

And never before have a baby’s cries provided such peace.

How does a person ever recover from the death of a child?

Before I became a mother, I just didn’t get it. I figured it would be horribly difficult to get over but you would just move on. Particularly when I heard of a baby dying, I thought, “Well, at least they were still little so the parent didn’t have time to bond very much with them.”

My thoughts were the same on miscarriage. I mean, the kid hadn’t even been born yet. What is the big deal? You can just try to conceive again.

Never once did I consider the feeling of holding that newborn life in your arms, of knowing you had played an integral part in forming this little person. I never considered the sheer joy of seeing him grow, love and learn. And I certainly never understand that for so many of us, the hope of these things is engrained from the moment of conception.

I finally get it.

But pray I will never have to.

Deepest sympathies to the Weber family who will commemorate the life of their beloved Sidney today.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

The Hurricane threw a beach party for her 4th birthday. She had originally requested a princess theme but after attending three consecutive princess parties in a row, the only pink I wanted to ingest was Pepto Bismal.

And model mother that I am, I gently led her to believe that a beach party was really what she wanted instead.

Unfortunately her father is not as easily manipulated coaxed.

Over the past four years, I have grown wiser. The first two years of her life, I invited every friend we have ever had. Hosting such a crowd was a veritable nightmare. Last year, we had an intimate family dinner at Casa Bonita (though I don’t know if having a dinner at a gaudy tower the size of a stadium could be considered intimate).

This year? She invited seven friends (the perfect size) and all the festivities went splendidly. When I asked her what the highlight of her party was, I was admittedly hoping for a pat on the back for my superior party-planning skills.

Was it receiving a lifetime supply of princess presents?

Nope.

We’re getting closer.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Eight weeks into Front Range Adventure Boot Camp, I have become bored with my food choices. A person can only eat so much chicken before they have an adverse reaction.

Cluck, cluck.

The only thing that has not caused ennui is incorporating one of my favorite foods – pumpkin – into my daily menu. In the past, I had always associated pumpkin with pies, cookies and rolls. Well, let’s face it – I still do. But now my indulgences of this low-calorie, potassium-rich food have evolved into Kashi’s Pumpkin Spice Flax Bars and pumpkin protein shakes.

I was recently at [where else?] Super Target and the woman in front of me noticed the conveyor belt full of pumpkin products.

“Do you like pumpkins?”
“What gave me away?”
“Ha ha. Have you heard of Hungry Girl?”
“What did you call me? Is it that obvious?” (In case you are wondering, I was a comedian in a former life.)
“No, not you. There is a Web site – Hungry Girl – that has a lot of healthy pumpkin-based recipes.”

It was then I knew it was love.

But before this Hungry Girl divulges too much, my weekly weight loss is 2 pounds with a 2% drop in body fat. My eight-week total is 20 pounds.

Most people would be happy with these totals but coupled with my struggle to switch things up, I had a glass-half-empty kind of week and felt defeated about how far I still have to go.

So I went out and bought The Hungry Girl cookbook. The author – Lisa Lillien – has been everywhere in the media lately. She proclaims that she is not a nutritionist, just hungry, and has struggled with weight issues for most of her life. Now, she is at the forefront of the latest trends in food and dieting, living the Hungry Girl lifestyle and loving what she eats.

I tried a couple of her recipes – the vegetable egg rolls and healthy strawberry scones – and loved what she eats as well.

However, my big challenges this week are not about mixing it up but having waaaaaay too many choices. My daughter’s birthday parties are on Saturday and Sunday, followed by a Memorial Day breakfast and BBQ. I am not too concerned about losing weight this week but certainly don’t want to gain any back. What tips do you have?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

I recently waged a battle with the various remote controls for the new HDTV in our bedroom. Jamie and I had watched a movie the night prior and for the life of me, I could not switch the input back to TV. My life depended on it (or at least a shower while Bode watched Elmo). But much to my frustration, I could not get it to work.

It reminded of my first meltdown the day after I moved to Colorado. I had given up everything: friends, a career and city I loved, a cool house across from Sugar House park and my independence. All for a guy I had met on the Internet.

Internet Guy had gone to work and I was left alone in the condo we would share together after our wedding. I half-heartedly unpacked some boxes but feeling overwhelmed, I grabbed the remote to watch some television. I had never even heard of Dish Network, let alone taken the requisite Ph.D. course to navigate it.

For an hour, I battled that remote and lost. And so I did what any sane person would do who had just left her entire life behind:

I freaked out.

I called Jamie, sobbing about how I could not get the remote to work. Of course, the remote was just the straw for this camel. He wisely came right home, consoled his train-wreck-of-a-fiancee, set me up on the television with reruns of The Newlywed Game, and still chose to marry me. Even after full disclosure.

It has been five and a half years since that day. With a new home, two kids and great life together, we have come a long way.

Well, except that I still cannot work the stupid remote.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog