In honor of Canadian Thanksgiving today, I feel compelled to divulge that I am on the precipice of a life-altering decision: to be or not to be. American, that is.

I was born Canadian and always resolved to die Canadian. Until I married an American and gave birth to two half-breeds. My permanent residency expires early next year and some major decisions need to be made. Namely: do I forsake The Motherland and all that is holy?

Or at least that which is really, really cold.

I love this country and will likely live here the rest of my life. As a wee Calgarian lassie, we learned about The Evil Empire the United States in elementary school. One lesson was on Denver. A fellow classmate asked the teacher about our great city and she explained “Denver is kind of like the Calgary of the United States.”

I resolved then and there I would live in Denver someday. Prophetic little Canuck, wasn’t I?

So, the question remains:

do I renew? Or do I convert?

Admittedly, after the mudslinging-that-has-been-this-election-season, the novelty of becoming politically active has worn off. And somehow, I don’t think participating on CBS’s The Amazing Race (where an American passport is required) is a very worthy reason.

Though make no mistake: I would have kicked some serious butt. Or at least been very entertaining as I landed on mine.

What it really comes down to I just can’t forsake my roots even though this ol’ trunk is planted firmly on American soil. Nor do I want to face the humiliation of flunking the citizenship exam. (You are, after all, talking to the woman who argued in college that Abraham Lincoln was indeed a founding father.)

During a recent trip to Boston, my loving, supportive and utterly devoted husband and I talked about my options, during which time he offered this:

“Amber, if you are deported… [choose the correct answer]

1) I’ll cry myself to sleep every night.
2) I will make out with The Great Pumpkin while you are gone.
3) I will not be able to survive one moment without you.
4) You WILL take the children with you back to Canada.”

You don’t want to know the real answer.

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

Am I still alive?

Inquiring minds want to know why I have been MIA the past couple of weeks. It is not due to a lack of love (I really have missed you!) but the fact that we returned last night from a road trip that consisted of 35+ hours in the car with The Offspring where we covered five states.

Details will be forthcoming but for now, I am buried under the laundry pile, have an empty refrigerator and rumor has it preschool starts tomorrow. Translation: I have a few things on my plate. Well, except for food and that is why grocery shopping is at the top of my list today.

That, and getting caught up on the Olympics. Speaking of which….

In my long, illustrious life, I have been privileged to live in two Olympic cities: Calgary and Salt Lake City. I was only 16 when the Olympics came to my hometown but old enough to attend many of the events. In the evenings, my friends and I would head down to the Olympic Plaza for the medals ceremony and hang with folks from all over the world. I still remember how cool we thought it was to get hit on by drunken Europeans (we obviously didn’t get out much back in those days.)

In 2002, I was living in Salt Lake City when the Olympics arrived. For my birthday, my friend Dave suggested we try to scalp some hockey tickets for the Canada vs. Finland quarterfinals. For those Americans out there who have blocked this out: Canada swept the hockey golds that year, so this was a big game. Well at least it was for me.

It was the ultimate Olympic experience and worth every expensive penny we paid. I was shocked at our seats. We were right behind the goal-line and mere rows away from The First Family. Noooo, not those Bushes but the First Family of Hockey–the Gretzky’s! I was in maple-leaf HEAVEN!

Now, one would think this night could not get better but I assure you that it did. But at a huge cost.

We quickly made friends with the couple sitting next to us. I got a kick out of the man’s outfit: he had a Canadian maple-leaf shaped hat, a Canadian jersey and was wearing a Canadian flag. I felt an immediate bond to him and asked where in the Motherland he was from and chuckled at his reply: Oregon. I guess if you can’t beat us, join us….

All was going smoothly and I was behaving rather well. However, I cannot vouch for the other rowdy Canucks around us. Dave commented that Canadians and beer don’t mix. I didn’t have the heart to tell him how out of hand they USUALLY get when drinking beer that actually exceeds Utah’s 0.000001% alcohol content.

So anyway, back to how I was behaving so well. It all came crumbling down in an instant. We were cheering with the crowd when, looming high above us, I caught a glimpse at the JumboTron. And a very familiar and goofy-looking guy with a maple-leaf hat. And without thinking, without hesitation, without guile, I, welp, dive-bombed into my neighbor’s lap and was broadcast for all to see.

And I was a hit! I’d say I would have been awarded at least a 5.8 for my dive and the audience’s cheers and cat calls would’ve won me the gold for sure.

And then Canada went on to win the game–the perfect end to a near-perfect evening. Really, the only downer was the butt-whooping I received from Mr. Maple Leaf’s jealous wife after jumping in his lap. “Canadian hussy,” she called me. The nerve. Some people just don’t understand the price of fame.

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