To my dearest, beloved children,

You know how much Mommy loves you. After all, you hear me remind myself of that over and over again during those rough times. And you know I have been sick the past few days. So sick that if I was a dog, they would have shot me to put me out of my misery. That Old Yeller didn’t know how good he had it.

Hadley–I know you’re two but this does not mean you are allowed to have an opinion on things and throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. This includes if I am sitting in a position that offends you. Or when you hide your Croc, the only existing shoe that fits since you mysteriously grew two sizes in a month. The good news is your Croc is stashed somewhere in the house. Unfortunately, that is also the bad news.

Oh, and throwing your full-length princess mirror down the stairs is not a way to handle your angst towards the world. Unless, of course, you’re having a bad hair day, which you were not. I should know. I have to hogtie you down every morning in an attempt to do your hair.

Bode–I had such hope for you. I still do. Overall, you’re a sweet little guy and your smile lights up the room. I am admittedly a bit nervous over the sheer delight and cooing you only do when I change your diaper and you’re able to show your wares to the world. Maybe it’s a guy thing.

And I fully acknowledge how wonderful it is that you’re sleeping a five-hour block from 10 p.m.-3 a.m. Your sister didn’t do that until just last week. Oh wait. She’s been waking up all night long lately. But Bode, I really wish you’d go back down at 3 a.m. We don’t need two Hurricanes in the family. Forget love; All We Need is Sleep in this family.

No, children. Don’t worry about me. I am not having a nervous breakdown. Yet. Though if I did, would I get at least a few days of solace at the mental hospital?

XOXO

Mommy Dearest

P.S. Is there a reason that was a horror flick?
P.P.S. Hunky Hubby’s blog today confirms it all….

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

Hurricane Hadley has an abundance of toys, most of which have been given to her or I have bought at garage sales. This abundance (or over-abundance as Hunky Hubby likes to call it) has inspired him to issue a decree that I am no longer allowed to buy her any toys. For the most part, I have abided by this. Well, except for the little golf clubs I recently bought. Oh yeah, and the Play-doh. The kid needed Play-doh, y’know.

Anyway, we were over at his parent’s place for dinner and I asked his mom, Linda, if she was still going to garage sales these days.

Linda: Not so much lately. Why, do you need anything?

Me: Well, Hadley needs some little figurines for her doll house.

Hunky Hubby interjects: NO! NO! NO! Amber, how many times do I need to tell you not to buy Hadley any more toys?

Me: I couldn’t agree with you more. And that’s why I asked your mom to do it for me.

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

So, I survived The Big Breakfast. Barely. Between blowing out the circuits umpteen times and cooking 400 sausages, I didn’t have a spare moment to take a picture of those tasty crockpot eggs. Yum. Rumor has it they were a hit. Of course, my only sources were the two ladies who insisted upon bringing them.

I invited my in-laws over for the breakfast to eat and help with the kids. Yeah, right. Those poor folks got roped into sausage duty and didn’t see beyond the kitchen; I sure know how to show them a good time! Kinda like when I moved from Salt Lake City to Colorado and threw myself the biggest and baddest “Going-Away Party” around. Oh, and maybe just maybe there were a few boxes that needed to be taken out to the U-Haul that was parked outside of my house. Beats me how it got there.

In other news, I had my six-week postpartum checkup today. Jamie, like most new fathers, has been counting down the days until this appointment. The blessed day when his best friend (my OB) tells him that after weeks of banishment from anything the child came out of or eats from, He Is In. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s ready.

Evidence #1
I was schooling Hadley on the alphabet the other day when we came to the letter “O.”

“Open starts with the letter ‘O.’ Jamie, can you think of another word that starts with the letter ‘O?'”

“Orgasm,” he replied. Because every two year old needs to have that in her vocabulary. I can’t wait for her to bring that one up around his parents.

Evidence #2
When doing aerobics the other day, I had my hand over my chest to prevent from bouncing all around and complained to Jamie that I needed a good sports bra. He quietly observed me in action before boldly proclaiming, “Let my people go.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Moses had in mind.

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

The egg: “Nature’s Miracle Food” as the recent ad campaign touts. Whatever. More like “My Nightmare Food.” Now, don’t get me wrong. Even though I’m not a huge fan of them, I don’t secretly plot the demise of eggs in my spare time. I just never realized how controversial they are.

Let me explain. Everyone at church has some sort of “calling,” whether it be teaching Sunday School, working with the youth, children, etc. My calling is “Party Princess Extraordinaire.” OK, maybe that’s not exactly my real title but it definitely sounds better than “Ward Activities Chairperson.” Essentially, I’m in charge of throwing parties. Big ones for the entire congregation.

You would think this is right up my alley because as a publicist, I made a career out of it for years. I relished in the stresses of managing huge city-wide celebrations and handled any glitches like a pro. Because, after all, Murphy’s Law is also My Law.

That said, why the CRAP can I not manage an 80-year-old woman and an equally difficult woman who push me around? Y’see, I’m planning a Labor Day breakfast at church, complete with pancakes, sausage, fruit and juice. My budget is limited so I had to resort to sign-ups. My committee is unfortunately even more limited.

And so I’ve planned and implemented it all on my own and presented it to Said Committee.

“I don’t hear eggs on that menu,” complained Said 80-Year-Old Woman. “We have to have eggs.”

“No can do,” I said. “We can’t cook in the church because of food violations and they would be a logistical nightmare on a griddle outside. We’re not doing eggs.”

Welp, word gets around. Because a free breakfast without eggs would be equal unto The Unpardonable Sin, I guess. I was confronted at church an hour later by another woman.

“I hear you’re not having eggs at the breakfast.”
“You heard correctly.”
“You have to have eggs.”
“No, I don’t and no, I won’t.”
“Well, I’ll just have to bring my own and then everyone will wonder where I got mine and they’ll be mad they don’t get any.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”

I thought that was the end of it. Until Said 80-Year-Old Woman called later in the week to report her reminder follow-up calls for the food.

“Oh, and The Other Woman and I are bringing a crockpot of scrambled eggs. I’ve also asked the Smiths to bring some as well.”

An egg conspiracy? In my committee? I could have ranted, I could have raved, I could have retorted that THERE WILL BE NO EGGS AT MY BREAKFAST.

But I have a better plan. There will be eggs at my breakfast. “Nature’s Miracle Food” will just somehow find its way onto the exterior of certain people’s cars.

Because what would be a Labor Day breakfast without it?….

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

I simply must add an addendum/correction to Hunky Hubby’s latest post. I did not direct my comment to overweight people but rather, just to the unbelievably lazy people who were clogging up the elevator.

Oh, and my “gentle” rebuke was more along the lines of, “TAKE THE DAMN ESCALATOR, PEOPLE!”

Yes, that is a direct quote. I only reserve expletives for special occasions such as that.

XOXO,
CBC

P.S. When checking the referring URLs to see how folks got to my site today, I was thrilled to see that I am the #1 link when you type “Moldy Boobs” into Google. It doesn’t get any better than that….

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

My little mountain man just prior to his first big hike in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains.

He said the views were out of this world. Especially those mountains and valleys.

Do you think it’s a coincidence this was also the first day he ever officially smiled?….

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

My good friend Eva from church generously offered to watch Haddie for a few hours yesterday. And even though I’m the one who should have been helping her (she has five kids under the age of eight, and another on the way in October), I eagerly took her up on her offer. I mean, with all those children, she can totally mother in her sleep, right? At least that’s my justification for taking her up on it.

During my window of opportunity, I took Bode on his first hike with my hiking group. Over the course of when I joined, there has been a lot of turnover. The group of gals I started hiking with now do the toddler hikes with Haddie and there was a whole different clan of women with new babies yesterday.

The hike leader, Sonja, was super sweet and warmly welcomed me as though I had returned from the grave. All the new moms looked at me in wonderment and awe. To have two kids…and actually be seen in public? Little did they know I had survived The Hurricane in order to be there.

A friendly gal started a conversation with me and a few of us soon gabbed along the trail. It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn to new babies, motherhood and weight gain. An exceedingly petite gal commented, “Yeah, I topped out at 130 pounds when I was pregnant.”

I bit my tongue that the last time I weighed that was in second grade.

But then came the follow-up comment from another gal. “Well, check this out: I was huuuuge and weighed XXX by the time I gave birth.”

She quoted my pre-pregnancy weight. Not my weight when I got pregnant with Bode (when I hadn’t yet lost my last 10 pounds) but my Hadley pre-pregnancy weight.

I thought it best to not contribute to that particular conversation for fear of the outcome. I.e. If I terminated all those skinny broads on the trail by accidentally sitting on them or something.

And so, a note to all those people out there who don’t give birth and walk out in their pre-pregnancy jeans or to anyone who’s ever struggled with their weight. This thought was taken from my friend and former roommate Kristy, a gorgeous, Real-Women-Have-Curves kinda gal:

“‘Nothing tastes as good as being sexy feels.’ This was said to me once by a friend with a perfectly fit dancer’s body in the course of a discussion on eating and exercising.

I don’t think she will ever know how sexy those chocolate frosted Hostess Doughnuts were this morning.”

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

After the week I had with Tantruming Hadley and Sleepless Bode, I was in dire need of a Girl’s Night Out. Fortunately, my friend Julie delivered. She’s part of my mom’s hiking group that has kept me from entering a mental institution since The Early Hadley Days. You know. Those ones where I only got three hours of sleep for months on end. Ahh, good times.

We planned to meet at a trendy downtown restaurant for tapas. I had never heard of this place because, as I was reminded, I am anything but trendy these days. I arrived late due to Bode’s feeding schedule. Simply translated for all those who’ve never nursed out there: scheduling around explosive mammaries due to prolonged absences from Junior is one of the many highlights of breastfeeding.

The area was a zoo. Unbeknownst to Julie, there was a huge outdoor fashion show across the street. Oodles of single yuppies roamed the area. You know the type: the ones pulled from a Sex in the City episode who wear the latest black fashions and starve themselves for weeks in order to fit into them.

And then there was me. Still in my maternity clothes because I refuse to go buy fat-girl ones until I lose my baby weight (is anyone else relating here?) Oh, and my leaking mammaries. I felt like shaking things up by proudly announcing to my friends that I had actually showered that day, which inspired a 10-minute confessional of their lack of hygiene those early weeks with Baby.

That is one of the many reasons why I love ’em. They’re all down-to-earth former career gals who’d rather haul their babies up the mountains than hit the mall. And there’s nothing like a Girl’s Night Out, away from babies and husbands to talk about what else? Babies and husbands. Occasionally, someone will slip by mentioning something they read on my blog but as my closet blog readers, they will immediately clam up. Because how humiliating would that be to actually admit they have nothing better to do. Yes, you “no-comment people” know who you are.

My explosive mammaries and I left early at 9:45 p.m. Sure, we could’ve stayed longer but then I had a flash of girl-gone wild-kinda insanity: I could go grocery shopping. By myself. Without screaming kids.

Who says I don’t know how to party?

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

Denver has become John Karr obsessed. If you’re unfamiliar with who he is then maybe you’ve heard of a certain little girl named JonBenet Ramsey who he has professed to have killed. Living a stone’s throw away from Boulder, we are in the midst of a media circus. Insanity. I’ve never really lived in a newsworthy environment but suddenly, it’s all anyone talks about.

“Holy crap–did you hear he ate king crab on his flight back from Thailand?”

“Did you know that Karr’s movie rights are for sale?”

“How about those estrogen pills they found at his apartment?”

So, I’m curious about the coverage this has received on the national level and if you’re being overly-saturated as well. I feel like I’m living in a tabloid. Only it’s not the ridiculous celebrity gossip, such as whether or not a drunken Lindsey Lohan corrupted Disneyland or if K-Fed and Britney’s white-trash marriage really is on the rocks. Oh, and Oprah? I’m sure she dumped Steadman for good so she could be with her lesbo lover, Gail. In case you hadn’t heard.

Even though I don’t read them, I can talk tabloid with the best of ’em, a fact that I’m sure would make my grandma proud if she was still alive today. In addition to trying to convince me to dye my eyebrows jet-black, she religiously tried to convert me to the Enquirer for years. You know, back in its really salacious days. It is still a mystery how the magazine somehow always ended up in our Christmas stockings every year. Because I’m sure Santa wanted us to know that an alien gave birth to twins and that the Virgin Mary appeared to thousands.

But I digress. Back to the big question about Karr: did he or didn’t he?

After all, Enquiring minds want to know….

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

I’m really not at all paranoid about needles, even The Motherlode of all Needles they stick up your spine during an epidural.

HOWEVER: call me crazy but wouldn’t you get just a bit nervous if you discovered a crib sheet (a.k.a. Epidurals for Dummies) attached to the machine?….

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