First, thank you for all your great insights in what became an unexpectedly heated debate yesterday. If you missed all the “fun,” make sure to check it out.

Second, I am pleading for your help. My 4-year-old daughter Hurricane Hadley has fallen off the wagon.

No, she’s not drinking again but this is in direct correlation to the beverages she consumes because she is peeing again. And not in the potty.

For those who have descended into the very depths of potty training hell with me know, it took a long time for her to be potty trained. Three years and nine months to be exact. And ‘ner was there an accident after she finally started doing it.

Until this summer.

It started when we were in Canada at the beginning of July and continued throughout all our travels. I tried not to make a big deal about it because of our lack of schedule but now that we have been home for a few weeks, she is still doing it. Every. Stinkin’. Day.

This time is different. Before, it was a power trip not to go on the potty. Now, she sneaks around and changes her clothes not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her only excuse is she forgot because she’s so busy.

Perhaps I should get her a Palm Pilot so she can schedule it in.

When we were on a trip to Yellowstone a few weeks ago, Jamie threatened to put her back in diapers. This worked temporarily but any subsequent threats have almost brought the house down with great kicking, wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Now, let me establish that she is otherwise completely delightful these days. She still goes on the potty most of the time and after an eruption of poop (that resulted in my own eruption ) at the Calgary Stampede that forced us to go home early, she has never had one of those accidents again.

And so my dear friends, I am putting this out to you: have you ever had this happen? How would you handle it?

Oh, and as for those folks who have been asking how Bode is coming along, any mention of the potty draws one emphatic response: “NO.”

They say boys are tougher than girls. Please shoot me now.

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

For those not in the know, I am married to a man who is obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. When not traveling, our summer has been consumed by this orange monstrosity that currently weighs almost 400 lbs and gains 20-30 pounds a day.

Jamie documents its growth on his goofy pumpkin blog,which sort of gets my juices flowing in a weird sort of way.

Especially when he talks about Chlorothalonil fungicide.

But make no mistake, this obsession comes at a price and the cost is a husband who obsessively charts its growth. Who is always online looking for fertilizers. And a man who lives at his parent’s house every evening to provide Dillboy (yes, he named it) with TLC.

Just why is he growing Dillboy at his parent’s house? Because we do not have room to house the orange monstrosity’s vines that measure about 24 X 30 feet.

Instead, he is schooling Hadley on the Fine Art of Pumpkin Growing and her “little” 100+ pounder is taking over a corner of our yard.

Four weeks ago, I staged an intervention. I was sitting on his parent’s deck when he came home from work, breezed past me without a glance and proceeded to tend to his pumpkin for the next 20 minutes. After he finally acknowledged my existence, I blubbered, “You didn’t even say ‘hi’ to me first!”

Note to self: do not stage an intervention when you are PMSing and hormonal. The pumpkin will come out looking better than you.

Jamie has opted not to enter it in our town’s harvest festival, leaving all the glory to Hadley who he hopes will win the children’s division. Rather, he will be at Colorado’s largest competition against The Big Boys–those men whose wives have been suffering from the obsession for years.

I knew it had truly gotten out of hand a month ago. When I was in Canada with the children, I left pictures of us with little notes about how much we loved and missed him all around the house.

A week later, I went to San Francisco for BlogHer. And what was on our headboard upon my return?

‘Nuff said.

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

Despite the fact that I am Madame Mommy Blogger I must admit that I am resistant to new technologies. I have never sent a text message in my life and the only reason I bought a cheap cell phone last year was so Hadley’s preschool could reach me in case of an emergency. I use it only a few times a month.

But not to text (see above).

My reluctance to get a cell phone was two-fold:

1) I despise talking on the phone. Always have, always will. I am remiss to say I have let friendships go to the wayside because these people wanted to [gasp] talk and not email.

2) I don’t want to be disturbed when I’m out with my kids. I constantly feel distracted when I am at home so when I am out with Haddie and Bode, I give them my undivided attention. I just don’t want to be that person ignoring them on the playground because I’m checking my email. I do that plenty enough at home.

Enter: the iPhone 3G. Jamie bought one and offered to do the same for me. I indignantly refused. Until I fell in love with his on our trip. I am still holding strong with my piece-of-crap Nokia and keep reminding myself if I got the 3G, I would have to actually use it.

Twitterpated

Though I am still holding strong against the cell phones and Crackberries of the world, I finally caved on twittering last weekend.

For those as clueless as me, Twitter is a free social networking micro-blogging service that allows its users to send and read other users’ updates (otherwise known as tweets), which are text-based posts of up to 140 characters in length.

Twitting was The Thing To Do at BlogHer. I resisted because it seemed like a royal waste of time. It probably still is but now that I have jumped on the bandwagon, I’m kind of enjoying it because:

1) I can keep apprised of people’s day-to-day happenings in short little bursts. It is much more convenient than blogging in this respect and takes less time. In fact, I encourage all my friends to come on-board (whether or not you have a blog.)

2) I finally found a venue for all those small profundities of my day. The cow that chased off the bear in Colorado? Twittered it. And when I dreamt hunky hubby was a murderer? Definitely tweet worthy.

So, come check it out. I can be found at http://twitter.com/themilehighmama or on my blog’s right-hand sidebar. I’m a newbie at this so let me know if you’re on Twitter, too! And for those veterans, please send me any tips of the trade. And make sure to tune in for my tirades.

In 140 characters or less, of course….

So, what’s your pleasure? Twitter? Blog? Cell phone? Texting? This is a technological conFESSional so let’s fess up!

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

Thanks to the thoughtful severance package Jamie received when his former employers kicked his booty out the door, we finally have enough money to finish our basement. Or at least we thought we did until a little thing called a new car put a minor dent in it.

And if it was possible for Jamie to think about something more than pumpkins, this may be it.

We only have a half-basement so are trying to make good use of the space. This space will be a Man’s Mecca and include a home entertainment center with a projector HDTV and we will finally have a home for Jamie’s old-fashioned soda fountain that has been sitting in our garage for TWO STINKIN’ YEARS.

We hired a big, hunky contractor from the local LDS Single’s Ward, which made Jamie a bit nervous.

“I don’t know how I feel about you being home alone all day with such a good looking guy.”

What I wanted to say:

“Oh, you mean that Greek God whose chest is as broad as Bode is tall?”

What I did say:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Honey. He is a mere child.”

The Greek God mere child will be dry walling this week so we have been in the throes of paint and carpet swatches, along with furniture shopping. Overall, Jamie has great taste so I am pretty much letting him do what he wants. I figure it will be nice for him to finally find a home for all those framed baseball cards and Norman Rockwell posters I banned from the rest of the house.

Generous of me, non?

During a recent phone conversation, he mentioned he had bought a popcorn painting for the home theatre room.

“Is that OK, Amber?”

“Whatever you want, Jamie.”

“No, I want you to be a part of it all!”

“Is that why you just bought the picture without consulting me?”

“BUT I WANTED IT!!!!!….”

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

Depression hurts.

At least that is what those ad campaigns for Cymbalta attest. In my experience, depression downright sucks.

I am fortunate I have never suffered from it. But people dear to me do and I am riding this roller-coaster to the greatest of lows with them. I feel helpless, I feel frustrated they cannot see their worth and I feel angry that so many people do not empathize with the desperation they feel.

And I want nothing more than to lift the fog that envelopes them to bring light back into their lives.

Why are so many moms in particular on anti-depressants? Is our job so overwhelming? Do we not have the resources to cope? Are we ashamed to admit we fall short? Do we give so much to our families that we do not have anything left for ourselves?

I don’t have the answers but my heart aches every time I talk to my dear friends who are struggling to find them.

At BlogHer, I met a pretty incredible woman whose spunk put me to shame. She has an incredible story to share of how, in the depths of depression, she tried to end her own life when she was seven months pregnant. She gave me permission to repost her story on Mile High Mamas today–a story that has haunted me since I read it.

Please go read. Comment. Share. And even if you are one of the fortunate souls who still has light in your life, please be empathetic and reach a hand out to those who are in darkness.

Read on

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

“Amber, I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Oh no. What?”

“The good news is that annoying mouse is gone from our backyard.”

“Good? That’s GREAT? What’s the bad news?”

“A snake ate it.”

================================================

[Setting: A certain someone calls Hunky Hubby at work singing "Do you love me?" from Fiddler on the Roof.]

“What did you do, Amber?”

“I am offended you would assume the worst.”

“I know you too well.”

“If you must know, I have some good and bad news.”

“WHAT?”

“I was mowing the lawn for you and accidentally destroyed the sprinkler head. You know, the one on the small plot near the mailbox.”

“AMBER, THAT IS THE NEIGHBOR’S SPRINKLER HEAD!”

“Oh? Well, that must be the good news, then!”

==============================================

Just $1

Want to help bring someone some great news? My cute roommate Jill from BlogHer is fundraising for her marathon in November. She has committed to raising $3,500 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and is asking for folks to donate just $1 (anonymously even). It’s kind of an experiment to see how quickly the kindness of strangers in the digital world can help raise the money. For more information, go here: http://jillwillrun.com/just-1/

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

Dearest Bode,

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

Me: “Well, the kids and I are really looking forward to our trip next week!”

Mother Canuck: “Oh yeah? Where are you going this time?”

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

Do you have a favorite teacher? I did. And he passed away last Friday.

Mr. Monro was my friend, mentor and all-around cool guy. He played hard with us, laughed with us and was the reason Grade 6 was my favorite year of school. Ever.

He was not only my favorite teacher but also my first school-girl crush true love. Now, lest you judge me, this was long before ped*philia was on the rampage. And so pure was my obsession for Mr. Monro that I dreamed of cruising around in his yellow corvette and drinking Slurpees by sunset on the playground with him.

We even had a song–”Hello,” by Lionel Ritchie. It was all so perfect.

Well, except that that my affections were not reciprocated.

Under his tutelage I excelled that year like never before, winning the all-around athletic and academic award for my elementary school.

Mr. Monro coined the nickname that my childhood friends still call me today: The Animal (see the similarities?) If recollection serves me well, my christening occurred after I accidentally busted his nose by kicking the soccer ball in his face.

Sometimes love hurts.

When Walkmans first came on the market, he even let us have reading time while listening to them. I remember leaning over to Jamie Cranston and asked him about his radio station.

“I AM LISTENING TO XL-RADIO!” he shouted.

The guy hadn’t yet figured out that he did not have to speak over the volume. I think he became an attorney with all that brain power (for reals).

Speaking of good ol’ Jamie, in junior high he decided to go by James because it sounded more grownup. And this is the reason why I taunted him by calling him Jamie every chance I got.

WaitAMinute.

Someone else named Jamie?

Submitting him to a lifetime of torment?

Anyone else seeing the coincidences here?…..

I would love to hear about your favorite teacher. What made him/her so special? And most importantly: did you end up marrying a man who has the same name as someone you once traumatized?

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

I am on Week 2 of my battle with the plague. I started to feel better so stopped taking my antibiotics.

Because evidently I thought having a relapse and revisiting my nightmare was better than taking a tiny pill two times a day.

I still feel terribly guilty that I missed the backpacking trip, especially due to all the hard work I put into it. Leading up to the trek was a whirlwind of meetings, packing, a practice hike, shopping, food prep and more meetings. Our fellow adult leaders–Joe and Jeanette–are pillars of the community and were saviors for my sanity as we finalized the last-minute details. As the parents of 10 amazing children, they know organization…and kids.

They just evidently don’t know what causes them.

Jamie was absolutely swamped at work so I did most of the preparations. We had planned to drive up to Frisco for a popular BBQ competition the weekend prior to the trek but determined we just wouldn’t have time to do it.

Or so I thought until Jamie approached me.

“Amber, I was thinking about heading up to Frisco for the competition.”

“Errrr, Jamie? We are doing a practice run for setting up the tents, distributing the food and helping them pack their backpacks on Saturday.”

“So?”

“SO, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!”

“What? Why not?”

“We have so much to do! And have you noticed that Joe has been Jeanette’s right-hand man throughout this entire process and has continuously stepped in to help her while you have done NOTHING?”

“There, there, Amber. That’s because Jeanette is only half the woman you are.”

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