It’s confession time: a few weeks ago there was another man in my life named Craig. And he has lists. Lots of them. Hence his name: Craig’s List. Craig and I became so intimately acquainted that my dear sweet hubby finally had to intervene.

Let me explain. I had the same affair with Craig last year when I was searching for a used swingset for Hadley. I finally found one after weeks of F5ing (for those unaware, this sordid term is in reference to refreshing my computer over and over again). You see, Craig has other lovers. Highly competitive lovers who pounce on any listing within moments. And upon finally winning his affections, I was perfectly happy with our offspring.

Until recently. You see, the Hurricane has what I call a climbing problem. She scales everything in her wake, no matter how precipitous or dangerous. Whenever we hike, she is the kid shimmying up the rock faces. And our old metal swingset has become a veritable climbing gym wherein she kills herself almost daily. She needs an outlet. Like a climbing wall.

Knowing the price of those sleek wooden playsets, there I was again: prostituting myself to Craig. It started out innocently as it always does. Logging on here and there. But then it grew to where I could not even pass my laptop without F5ing multiple times a day, skank that I am. In my defense, it’s not called obsession.

It’s called mental illness.

That is when Hunky Hubby staged an intervention. I could hear him furiously working on the computer upstairs before I received The Summons. Wearily, I dragged myself in there only to be shocked/thrilled/astounded with what he presented me: a reconfigured budget wherein we would buy the kids a spankin’ new swingset if I promised to end it with Craig forever.

And of course, there was another catch: I will have to make a good number of sacrifices to compensate for this rather daunting expense. And make my own monetary contributions to the cause.

So just look for this sassy mama coming to a street corner near you…

Addendum: I thought my playset stresses would end after Craig. I was wrong. Turns out EVERY SINGLE QUALITY PLAYSET is back-ordered for months in Denver. I’ll spare you the gory details but after hours on the phone harassing corporate executives and not taking “no” for an answer, we’re the proud owners of our very own playset.


Aren’t those boxes the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen? Sniff. And yep, they are sitting on the crate of our old-fashioned soda fountain that, after a year and a half, is still waiting to be assembled. Hopefully Haddie will have her playset by her fifth birthday….

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