I admittedly haven’t been too thrilled about my birthday and it isn’t because I have any particular angst about turning 35 (it is, after all, better than the alternative). In fact, I just spent the entire year thinking I was already 35, which made my transition that much easier. Next year, I think I’ll turn 25 and take advantage of this whole Alzheimer’s thing.

The real reason I wasn’t too thrilled for my birthday is because I already knew what I was getting. Because aren’t birthdays allll about gluttony? But ma honey pulled off a show-stopping performance with some amazing surprises during my own personal session with Monty Hall Himself. OK, well in paper:

Behind Door #1 was the gift I have coveted for months: The Ergo Baby Carrier. And the same one I requested for my birthday, then later recanted because I was going to just go buy it myself with money my folks sent me. Only to have Jamie rant and rave that he already bought it for me and how could I blow his cover blah, blah.

This, coming from the man who, after seeing a purchase from R.E.I. on our bank account went on R.E.I.’s website and figured out the exact item (and even calculated in the tax). Some Christmas surprise those snowshoes were.

Anyway, the carrier is below. Mullet baby not included.

Behind Door #2 was a reminder of the fantastic pre-birthday present he surprised me with when his flight was delayed coming up to Canada: a newly-painted bedroom.

But the real kicker was behind Door #3.

Too bad I’d already chosen Mullet Baby…..:-)

YIPPPPPPPEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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

[Instructions: retrieve record, put on turntable, place needle, listen to incessant repetition: "We're still sick, we're still sick, we're still sick."]

Not to sound like a broken record but…

Well, you figured it out. However, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and we’re merely at the cough-all-night-’til-you-drop stage. Bode and I had started to turn the corner when we did an illegal U-turn last week. I could barely get out of bed on Valentine’s Day and had to cancel the dinner party I had hopefully foolishly planned. Because why would I dare to think I’d be well enough to do it after eight weeks on the sickness track.

The next day was our anniversary (and special thanks for all the well wishes!) The good news: I felt a bit better after hitting rock bottom. The bad news: Hunky Hubby was not and stayed home with rheumatism pains. Our anniversary was a fast-forward 30 years into the future with both of us limping around and whining about one infirmity or another. We spent much of the day in bed. And not the good kind of time in bed. Judging from this picture, it must have been worse than I remembered:

Late that afternoon, Haddie dragged us both down to the dungeon of despair (I think organized people call it their basement), a place we avoid at all costs. It’s unfinished and has become the dumping ground for every random item in our house. We have a goal to organize it this year but something was ignited within me when I saw it. Something that must have been due to my own delirium because before I knew it, I was waist-deep in boxes. Because what better way to spend our anniversary than by wading through memories of our life together?

Yeah right…who am I kidding? My trip down memory lane was more along the lines of “Why does he want to keep this crap?” And then I’d toss it in the Jamie-crap-to-goodwill pile. Because someone’s stuff had to go and it certainly couldn’t be mine.

I also discovered a few mystery articles that I’m still trying to figure out what they are?…

The Return of the Broken Record

Lala suggested we check our house for mold since we’ve been sick for so long. Mold? In my nearly brand new, impeccably sanitized home? OK, well at least it’s new. I blew off her theory and turned my attentions to cleaning out the humidifiers that have been running non-stop since we got sick.

But then I accidentally dumped about two gallons of water from the humidifier all over our carpet in our bedroom.

And within the hour, I knocked 32 ounces of water over on our couch.

And so yes Lala, thanks to you, we probably have mold.

And at this rate, you probably won’t see us again until spring….

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

One of the many reasons why I love my hubby: his honesty.

Yesterday when he woke up after a particularly bad night with a rheumatism attack, I asked him if he was still going to work. He warily viewed the kids and me moping around and hacking away.

“Yeah, I’d better go to work. It’s better than the alternative these days.”

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

So, I didn’t win the Share the Love blog awards. Funny thing was I didn’t even know I was in the running. A special thanks to all those who nominated me though I’m ashamed of the shabby campaign I ran with no speeches, no buttons, no promises of sexual favors for the voters. Oh wait. That was my strategy for kindergarten class president.

In my defence, I was out sunning myself on the beach during campaign week. Isn’t that just like a politician?

Even though my ticket has since expired, I will do my belated plug for the categories in which I was nominated.

Best Humor. Obviously. You can see my next stand-up routine on Comedy Central next week, right next to Larry the Cable Guy. Though don’t tell him I prefer satellite.

Person You’d Most Like to Meet: I don’t know what to say about this one. Only that those who know me say the whole thing is highly overrated. I don’t’ think it’s a coincidence the only people who leave comments on my blog are strangers, while my alleged friends and family only lurk.

Blog You’ll Never Stop Reading: I’ve got news for you: this is the one I should have won. Because I plan to live forever.

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

Den of Sickquity update: week seven and still going strong. Friday night, Hadley coughed so much she puked all over herself and her bed. That was the highlight of the weekend.

On another note, part of Hadley’s obsession with Dora the Explorer revolves around the antagonist, Swiper the Fox. For those not blessed enough to live, breathe and sleep this program, Swiper is a “sneaky fox” who tries to swipe things that Dora needs to complete her quests. When Swiper has swiped something he then hides it and it’s up to Dora, Boots (her freaky monkey sidekick) and Hadley P.I. to find where it is hidden.

It was recently revealed where Swiper lives: a foxhole. Since that time, Hadley has insisted we build “Hadley Holes” all over the house. We all cram into her imaginary dwelling, watch as Swiper sneaks down the stairs and shout out the requisite, “Swiper, NO SWIPING,” which makes him slunk back into his world of transgression.

As we were playing our game the other day, I thought I’d add some excitement to it. I tossed one of our pillows on the stairs and exclaimed, “Haddie look: Swiper tried to swipe our pillow!” My desired reaction was for her to once again boldly proclaim, “Swiper no Swiping.”

But it had the opposite effect. The poor kid tore into my arms SCREAMING in terror. So much for bravado. She reminded me of my childhood dog, Lacey who always boldly barked at the doorbell. Until one day when she thought no one was home and the doorbell rang. Instead of attacking, the woosy mutt retreated under the bed until they went away. Some watch dog.

And so now we are living in a foxhole of fear and Hadley cannot turn her back because Swiper is surely going to swipe everything she owns. She claims this is monumentally worse than the formerly dreaded ‘S’ word (sharing.)

It kind of serves her right. When we were at the store several months ago, an innocent shopper grabbed some clothing off the rack, only to be confronted by an indignant Hadley who, waving her finger accusingly, shouted, “Swiper no Swiping….”

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

The remainder of our ports were spent at THE BEACH! In St. John’s, Antigua, we jet skied and splashed around at Jolly Beach.

In St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, we hit Magen’s Bay, ranked as one of National Geographic’s Top 10 Beaches in the World. The drive up the precipitous mountain in our open-aired taxi was my favorite part. Maybe it was the view of the inlet or more likely it was the exhilaration from knowing that if we hit so much as a pothole while I was leaning out the window to take the following picture, I would be ejected like a rock in a slingshot. That’s why they call me the Craaaaaazy Canuck.

My Descent into the Ant Kingdom

St. Thomas touts itself as “The Shopping Capital of the Caribbean.” As a non-shopper, I renamed it “The Tacky Jewelry Capital of the Caribbean.” Forget the overabundance of diamonds. Do you think we could find even one cheap T-shirt for the sole purpose of boasting to our friends that we leave the house at least once a decade?

We finally found a flea market with tawdriness galore. For a little background, my attempts at bartering are weak at best. In Antigua, most of the shirts were $12. When I distractedly approached a local and asked the price, I generously counter-offered her $10. She then informed me that was the price she just gave. Note to self: do not offer the same price they did.

I was out to redeem myself in St. Thomas. Some booths had T-shirts that ran 3 for $10 and I casually asked a woman why some were also marked up to $12 each. I hadn’t even given her my show-stopping offer before she went ballistic on me, starting to swear and calling me nasty names, such as a “Little Ant.” Truly, that final affront was the biggest blow of all.

My gallant husband intervened and defended my non-ant honor. The psycho lady then unleashed on him for several minutes and looked like she was going to snap and wallop him at any moment. It was so completely unfounded that we were both stupefied over the drama.

We avoided her corner of the market as we proceeded with Operation: Cheap T-shirt but later encountered her at another booth. Immediately, she started screeching at us and I countered with a sweet, “Ohhhh look! It’s my new friend!” I’m sure I graduated to “Big Ant” status after that. I have since been banned from any attempts at bartering due to the international bounty on my head.

Our Own Private Idaho

Our final port was a private island in the Bahamas. “Private island” conjures up imagery of having an enigmatic paradise all to yourself. Now, add about 2,200 people from your ship on a 400-foot stretch of beach. The whole congested thing was a bit overrated but we did find a little hammock in a cove of palm trees as refuge and also had a great day snorkeling. On an artificial reef. OK, so it was really overrated. But a really overrated day on the beach is better than an underrated day of sub-zero temperatures at home.

Le Cirque Bijou

By far, our favorite show at sea was a spectacular Cirque du Soleil-style aerial thriller. Karla and I were eager to see the acrobatics. Jamie and Ivan were ecstatic about the prospect of girls soaring above in their underwear. We ensured our seats were front and center six rows behind the stage. And we all marveled at the spectacle of superb high-flying athleticism that unfolded.

Just when we thought the show couldn’t get any better, it did when I felt a WHOOSH above me. When what to my wondering eyes did appear but a male bungee jumper, coming so near. With a beautiful, rippled body plunging from above, I knew in a moment it must be hunka hunka burning love.

Sadly, I don’t have any pictures because the theatre rules stated there could be no flashing during photography. And I just didn’t think I could abide by that.

On the Road Again

Suffice it to say, there were some serious withdrawals upon debarkation. What: no one to make my bed for me? To turn down the sheets, make funky animal shapes and leave chocolate? No more 10-course meals that I do not have to cook?

When we finally arrived back in Denver at 1 a.m., we commiserated with our Turkish shuttle driver about all the snow and the dire winter we’ve experienced. Juxtapose this against Ivan and Karla’s cabbie in Miami. Or should I say crack-dealing cabbie who took them to all the corners of the city where he went about his dealings during his fine tour of the city.

Maybe being home ain’t so bad after all…

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

It wasn’t enough that we were born on the exact same day and year. Or that we’re left handed. Or that we both have gargantuan size-10 feet. Or that we’re tall, skinny dancers (errr…yeah). Karla just had to take it one step further and buy matching Crocs.

The following is my favorite shot of the trip and was taken later, all cuddled up on the hammock. With Jamie. Not twinner Karla. Matching Croc affection only goes so far.

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

My welcome-home gift was kids who are sick again. Or should I say still. Unbelievably, we are all still suffering from the same blasted virus; they are at week six and I’m at whopping week seven. The plane ride home was hellacious as I thought my ears were going to explode. I’ve been left with an inner-ear condition that leaves me [brace yourselves] even more dizzy and lightheaded than usual.

Poor Grandma’s only outings last week were taking the kids to the doctor. When I retrieved them on Monday morning, she looked like the lone survivor of a hurricane. The Hurricane. I don’t think she’ll fully recover enough to watch them again until 2009. My only consolation is this at least added validity to my sufferings the entire month prior.

InSecurities

The cruise was amazing, possibly my best vacation ever. It didn’t start out that way when I had an atrocious encounter with a cold-blooded security chick that not only dismantled my carry-on but proceeded to confiscate most items in it. Because I was planning to blow up the plane with my exceedingly threatening mascara and lipstick. I could handle the loss of these items but when she impounded The Only Gel on the Earth That Can Tame This Mane, I lost it. A week with inexorable bad hair days was more than I could handle.

Bejeweled

Fortunately it got better (the trip, not the hair). We sailed via the Norwegian Jewel, a beast of a ship with oodles of luxuries that we enjoyed to the fullest: the amazing shows, outstanding ports, workout/sports facilities, kicking the boys’ butts in shuffleboard, a murder mystery where ma honey turned out to be Mersad, Mr. KGB, and freestyle dining at the restaurants. All those glorious, glorious restaurants where we averaged about 10,000 calories. And that was just before noon.

It took less than 24 hours for me to catch the cruise bug—impressive for even me. Of course, it hit right before the meal I have craved for two years since my last cruise: the Beef Wellington and Lobster at the Captain’s Dinner. Because there’s nothing like experiencing it all the second time around in the bathroom afterwards.

I Left My Poop…in Puerto Rico

My little condition was still lingering when we hit our first port: Puerto Rico. We signed up for the ship’s shore excursion through the national rainforest, El Yunque. Our 5-mile hike to La Mina Falls had all the makings for an eco-tourist paradise and Ivan and Jamie delved into the crystal-clear waters.

But while others enjoyed the falls and the exotic flora and fauna, I spent much of the time analyzing which plant had “crouch-behind-ability” potential.

It gives a whole new perspective to getting back to nature. And the true origin of the yukka plant…

In Cruisin’ for a Brusin’ Part II, stay tuned for details of the gay Chippendale dancer who made a play for us and the day we were almost assaulted by a local after my attempts at bartering.

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

Well, sort of. My sea legs are finally planted on firm ground. Unfortunately, that ground is the filthy carpet at the airport as we await our fight out of Florida. That same flight which will only get us as far as Chicago and we won’t arrive home until well after midnight. After almost 13 hours of travel. Frequent flyer miles are good for a lot of things but not direct flights.

And so I thought I’d post now due to the inevitable craziness of our return into the Real World: Denver. Where the snow is deep and the kids and I are still sick. Where those days of blissfully sunning myself in the tropics will only be a distant memory. Oh wait. They never existed. OK, the good ol’ days of sunburns and heat rashes will be a thing of the past. This is me we’re talking about.

Our cruise was fantastic and I will expound upon it later when I can carve out some time to download accompanying photos. I am pleased to report the only dancing that occurred (of the Conga) was completely voluntary and done under the influence of ice water that had likely been spiked.

Our plan today upon debarkation was to rent a car with Ivan and Karla and hit the beach before our flight. Sound foolproof and fun? We thought so. Until we discovered Miami is hosting a little event some of you may have heard of called THE SUPERBOWL. And that we had to mortgage our house in order to rent a crappy Taurus that barely fit all our crap. At least Ivan was a good sport about being strapped to the roof.

We headed up to Fort Lauderdale with the intention of hanging out on the boardwalk, grabbing some food and soaking in the rays. Yeah, right. One would think the beach and the boardwalk would not be difficult to find but they (not we, of course) got lost. Oh, and did I mention it was down pouring and cool the entire time? When we finally did stumble upon the boardwalk, we only had time to stuff our faces (after getting an are-you-insane look when we tried to order hot chocolate) before darting off the airport where we’ve been waiting ever since.

I knew the only thing that would get me through the next several hours would be a good book, something I’m not often able to indulge in. As I poured over the selection at the airport, Hunky Hubby stood disinterestedly nearby. Even though he was bored, I knew I couldn’t tempt him. The reason being his prolific response earlier in the trip when I asked him if he wanted to buy some reading materials.

“It’s not that I don’t like books, Amber. It’s just that I don’t like reading them.”

It should be a long trip home.

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

So, we’re heading out tomorrow. Jamie’s sister Tammy is flying in from Utah on Tuesday to prevent Jamie’s mom from having a nervous breakdown. After all, she had four children who slept; I fear her body may go into insomnialeptic shock by week’s end.

I have great hopes/expectations for Tammy’s visit. Mainly, I hope she gives my kids a dose of class that they obviously don’t get at home during our belching contests. Also, she’s a great photographer and I asked her to attempt to take a few shots of the kids (because there’s nothing like giving her a nervous breakdown during her “vacation.”) But mostly I hope she shares her gift-wrapping expertise with Hadley because I could use some help in that area.

For our final full day of non-packing/cleaning/stressed-out chaos, I indulged the kids and set them loose at The Children’s Museum. Oh, and in case you can’t read “Riding-with-the-Engineer” Hadley’s favorite shirt, it says “My Mommy is the Prettiest.” OK, so maybe it’s my favorite….

It was balmy 50 degrees (a veritable heatwave) and so we then went for a run in The Limo of all Double Strollers. With its interchangeable bike/ski/jogger/stroller functions, I adore this stroller. However, it does not adore me back and I struggle to disassemble the front tire every blasted time. This is a source of conflict between Jamie and I because it is also requisite that I call to complain about it every time. And he then not-so kindly informs me he can do it in two minutes juxtaposed again my two hours.

It was Bode’s first time riding in it since he’s now sitting up and he loved it. Well, he fell asleep moments into the run so anything that conks him out gets my two thumbs up!

That night, Jamie scored us the suite at The Pepsi Center to see Denver’s professional lacrosse team, the Mammoth. I love going to the games. They are a cross between hockey and WWF with entertainment (what could be better than making fun of random spectators on The Bad Hair Day Jumbotron?), raucously delightful crowds and mind-numbing music. The makings for a perfect evening, of course.

There was also father-daughter bonding as Jamie taught Hadley her first lesson on sportsmanship: “See the white team? They’re good. The black team is bad. Booooo for the black team.” I couldn’t have been more proud.

Poor little Bode was pretty freaked out by it all. Maybe it was the flames or the motorcycles or the DJ from the local hard-rock station (but definitely not those slutty dancers “wit da big bosoms”). Regardless, his facial expression stayed frozen all night. Hopefully it will conform back to normal by tomorrow:

Anyhew, I probably won’t be posting much on the cruise due to the fact you need to mortgage your house in order to afford one minute online. Oh, and because I’ll be having fun. So much fun that I will forget that Monday, January 29th is allegedly the most depressing day of the year. For saps who are not on cruises, that is.

Seriously, though I’m in mourning over an aspect of our trip. We were supposed to go with two other couples but one of them dropped out at the last minute. Jamie is saddened because he will miss the company of his best friend. I am devastated because that best friend was the only other person in the group besides myself with two left feet.

The only people who remain are Karla (a dance teacher), Ivan (her former-dance-partner-turned-attorney husband) and Jamie (who was black in a former existence). I can count on one finger how many dances I’ve been to in my life. Though I will not divulge upon which finger I am doing the numerating.

And so in addition to avoiding the dance floor, there will be plenty of the ‘S’ word. Sleep, that is. Lots and lots of sleep….

Bon Voyage!

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