After a failed jump-start with potty training last fall, The Hurricane has demonstrated she is perfectly content to sit in her polluted diaper for extended periods of time. While we’ve been careful not to pressure her, there are assuredly animals who are more interested in improving their bathroom habits. I know. I watch cartoons.

Jamie decided we needed to up the motivation ante so he pulled in the big guns: a visit with Mr. Chuck E. Cheese himself if she went on the potty. If you will recall, Hadley loooooves him more than a mere mortal, which is kind of funny because he isn’t even human. Err..or is he? (see below)

Out of the blue last Tuesday, Hadley decided she was going to use the potty three times in a row. To reward her, we took her to see The Big Mouse that very night. But imagine our disappointment when we arrived and he was hiding in his mouse hole (this is according to Hadley; a very big Chuck E.-sized mouse hole at that).

I queried a high-school-age employee. She confirmed that Chuck E does not make regular mid-week appearances unless it’s for a big bash.

“You don’t understand. This is a party. A Potty Party. And Chuck E. is the only one in this world who can motivate my daughter to continue to potty train.”

“Maybe we can arrange something.”

“Fantastic. Hey, can he talk?”

“No, he’s a mouse.”

“I know he’s a mouse. But there’s a real person inside those overstuffed ears. A real person who can comment on her bathroom habits, which would encourage her along the path.” After all: is Chuck E., if nothing else, a master motivator?

“He doesn’t talk.”

“Fine. Just bring out your mute mouse, OK?”

I then pondered the possibility of slipping Chuck E. $10 but scrapped the idea. If he really is a mouse as she professed, what use would my money be to him?

Eventually, Chuck E. did make his triumphal entry, which according to Hadley, was no less thrilling than when Jesus arrived in Jerusalem on a donkey. She squealed, danced, hugged and reveled in her own rendition of Chuck E. Idol.

I was thrilled with the outcome of the evening until when I tucked her into bed that night.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Haddie?”

“I was so excited to see Chuck E. tonight that I peed my pants.”

And she hasn’t touched the potty since.

Irony, anyone?….

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

Kailani over at An Island Life is holding a photo contest on What Inspires You, which inspired me to ponder what has transpired lately. That I have desired.

Inspirational rhyming aside (please forgive; I am, after all, wired and tired) the following is what I came up with:

Note: Tune in next time for yet another riveting commentary. I can’t divulge the contents but it does make reference to rain in Spain (an original work, of course….)

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

Me: The fridge has been smelling badly lately. I think I’ll get one of those Arm & Hammer boxes next time I’m at the store.

Hubby: Y’know, you could try cleaning it.

[Pregnant pause of consideration]

Me: Naw. I think I’ll just stick to the baking soda, thanks.

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

I’m jumping on the party bandwagon: The Ultimate Blog Party bandwagon, that is. So, I may be a day late and a [millions of] dollar[s] short but I’m all about making an entrance. And any party that I am not in charge of and am thereby exempt of public humiliation? I am there.

By way of introduction, I am in the prime of my life. If I were a slab of meat, that is. And since I’m not, I’m an over-tired mama of two energetic kids, Hurricane Hadley and baby Bode. I am an outdoor aficionado and have strapped them onboard since they were six weeks old. Into a backpack, that is. I would hate for you to think I’m talking about that luggage rack we mounted on top of the car.

I am married to the absolute love of my life who keeps me chortling every day. I call Jamie The King of the One-Liners because he always has a comeback, though I am sometimes incredulous over his audaciousness.

Latest case in point: Jamie is getting a new boss. He proactively obtained her email address (a good thing) and dropped her the following introductory note (bad, bad, bad):

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

Reason #243,435 why I love ma honey: he surprised me with the following background on my desktop, otherwise known as Amber P*O*R*N. Yummmmmmy….

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

I very pointedly avoided divulging anything about the luau I threw for our ward (congregation) and with good reason: I’m still recovering from the whole thing. It wasn’t plagued with the drama of the Christmas party but still boasted its share of trauma. Of the humiliating variety.

In the end, I survived but it was a bad sign when Hunky Hubby, my greatest advocate, added to his long What-Not-to Say List:

“Jamie, I’m nervous about tonight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everything will be great as it always is.”
“Yeah, but I’ve had tons of people telling me about a luau this ward had a few years back where they roasted a pig and went the whole 9 yards.”
“Honey, your luau is going to suck.”

With a cheering section like that…

For my”sub-par” luau, we had Hawaiian haystacks, a sundry of authentic Polynesian games, real palm trees flown in (as you can see) and I hired some Polynesian dancers. It actually had all the makings for a fun night and things went pretty smoothly.

Until the performance. I had specified that in addition to their dances, I wanted them to pull some audience members, teach them how to do the hula and embarrass the crap out of them. Because I am just the kind of person you don’t want to have in your life.

Everything was going according plan. They dragged our bishop, stake president and a few other folks I requested. Until the M.C. (who I am sure made a deal with the devil) announced, “And I have a request for Amber and Jamie to join us on stage.”

Now, there are times when unfortunate events occur and my immediate reaction is “Oh well. At least this will make for some good blog fodder.”

This was not one of those times.

Eventually, I was dragged kicking and screaming amidst hooping and hollering folks who were assuredly thinking “PAYBACK!”

As I’ve already disclosed, I hate dancing. I’ve been to two dances in my entire life so such public humiliation was beyond traumatic. In the other corner, black man Jamie was in his element, throwing in a few rock star moves along the way.

“Now, when I call out coconut, you throw your hip out to the right,” evil MC announced. “When I say pineapple, it’s to the right. And fruit salad is back and forth.” Or all over the place in my situation.

“In the islands, we don’t speak with our mouths, we speak with our hips,” she cooed. I think mine would’ve caused a few fatalities.

But it got worse. After we practiced in a line, she then announced each of us were going to step forward and perform to a vignette of music. By ourselves.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to go first so I could analyze everyone’s performance. No doubt we all sucked except for Jamie who, if the Internet goes bust, could have a career on The Big Island.

I decided my only option was to just ham it up because I knew I already looked stupid. When it was my turn, I poignantly performed the coconut, the pineapple and then threw in some bananas, mangos, papaya, and every other tropical fruit I could think of. The result was a montage worth choking over.

My face was cherry-red the rest of the night. I made the resolve that next time around the only Roast will be of a pig….

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

On Saturday night, I was in charge of a luau at the church. A luau with 100+ attendees and a gazillion errands to run. We also had a Grand Cherokee to get ready to sell and car seats to install in the new vehicle. So basically, we were swamped.

First thing in the morning, we drove to the fire station for the installation. Even though I’d talked to a snippy firefighter earlier (one I had likely woken up; what, not everyone is up at dawn?), they were out on a call when we arrived (because they need to fight fires or something?)

Eventually they showed up and Jamie left me to get the Grand Cherokee detailed. From then on, everything was going smoothly. Well, except for when lewd Haddie asked to see the fireman’s hose.

Until we drove home, only to discover that we were locked out. On the day I had a gazillion things to do. Y’see, Jamie had the garage-door remote in the Jeep and I had yet to switch my keys over. Oh, and he forgot his cell phone.

And so I did what all good wives do in a crisis such as this: went to Super Target and bought things I didn’t need. That took an hour. On the third hour of waiting, I decided he just wasn’t coming home and called she-who-has-the-only-spare key: my mother-in-law. Mall rat that she is, she was otherwise engaged on the far side of town but graciously made her way back.

In the meantime, Haddie, Bode and I played sporadically on the porch and when it got too nippy, we’d head back to the car (thereby destroying any evidence that it was new and clean merely 48 hours prior). Haddie would also periodically announce,

“Hey, I’ve got an idea!”
“What?”
“Let’s go inside.”

Because we were playing House Lockout for hours just for fun.

And then she’d laugh raucously at her little joke as a reminder I have birthed Mini-Me with the same insipid sense of humor.

Eventually, my mother-in-law finally showed up, saving me from myself. And of course, so did Jamie the moment we walked in and we were happily reunited. Well, with a few rants and raves as welcome.

The End.

There is an addendum to this story. Several hours later, I noticed the backdoor was unlocked. That same backdoor that has been locked the entire winter. I haltingly queried Jamie,

“Err, please tell me you’ve been outside in the last few hours.”
“Naw, not since I let Haddie outside to play early this morning.”

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

To all those wretched souls out there who didn’t receive cars on your birthday: it sucks to be you. Hehhehehehe!

Ahhh, such elitism is liberating once and a while. Kind of like the one and only time I got bumped up to first class. As I was settled into my seat complete with beverage, ice cream and ample legroom, they herded in the rest of the lowlifes from Economy. You know: those same people with whom I usually commiserate.

Lest you are blown away that Jamie bought me a car for my birthday, let me clarify something: we’ve been in the market for a while. We were thrilled when he got his promotion because we could finally afford an extra car payment. My understanding was we’d hold off until after our tax return and company bonus came through. Or so I thought. Sneaky, sneaky honey.

My birthday turned out to be my second-best one ever, my No. 1 being when I celebrated it on my honeymoon in Costa Rica. Kinda tough to top drinking from the well that had been dry for 30 LONG ABSTINENT YEARS, y’know. I think we even made it outside once and a while.

For my latest birthday, we went to a new snazzy restaurant. Our cruisin’ friend Ivan gave us a $50 gift certificate he and his fellow attorneys received for their grand opening. That should have been tip-off #1 that we’d have to mortgage our house to pay for the balance.

Tip #2 was when there weren’t any menus…or prices listed anywhere.

Tip #3 wasn’t until we received our bill and learned they charged us $20 for Haddie’s meal. You know: the food she picked off our plates that consisted of one green bean, three bites of meat and a roll.

I won’t divulge how much we ended up forking over for our fantastic dinner, even after the discount. Just know in the last month we’ve blown our entertainment budget. For the entire year.

And then for the pick-me-up conversation with my mother I had that day:

“Yeah, I’m 35. Can you believe it? Doesn’t that make you feel kinda old, Mom?”

“It should make you feel old, Amber!”

Good to know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…

Bode also had a birthday gift for me: he slept through the night and didn’t wake up until 5 a.m. Or so I thought. Until I realized that my poor rheumatism-ridden honey woke up with him.

Jamie: “You mean you didn’t hear him screaming bloody murder?”

What I said:
“I didn’t hear a peep! I’m so sorry you had to endure that!”

What I wanted to say:
“Thank you, NyQuil.”

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