I’ve had several inquiries regarding The Children so I deemed this a good time to give some updates. More specifically, the questions were regarding my coping abilities with Said Children. I am happy to report that things are much better with them. Most specifically Hadley’s issues have been abated regarding her tantrums over everything we did, said or even thought. Yep, the kid is even a mind reader. That’s tough competition.

These days, we’ve been busy hiking, going for walks and throwing tea parties for Grandma and Grandpa (though I’m still ticked that stupid duck got all the good cookies). Oh, and pouring cash into marketing money pits for kids (otherwise known as Thomas the Train). Fortunately, we are not the suckers on the latter point but it was Grandma who paid $16 a ticket to ride around in Thomas for a whopping 15 minutes on Saturday. This is why grandparents have been put on the earth.

Of course, things had to hit rock bottom first before they got better and everything bottomed out a couple of weekends ago. After the obstinate little thing spent pretty much the entire day in timeout, Jamie and I decided we needed an intervention. Obviously, discipline wasn’t working so we tried an approach you’ll find only in Amber’s Guide to Toddler Tantrums: we stuffed her with sugar and transfats. Simply translated: we set her loose at McDonald’s.

And do you know what? It worked and she’s been much more manageable ever since. The prospect of ordering anything she wanted was the highlight.

“Shake shake?” she queried.

“Yep!”

“French fries and hamburger?” (toddler translation: “Not those sorry excuses for fast food: apple dippers and grilled chicken, right?”)

“Anything you want!”

Fortunately, she stopped there and didn’t press her luck, like the time when she special-requested “Naked Boys.” Last I checked, they weren’t on the menu, though it did give a disturbing glimpse into the dark recesses of those Playland tunnels….

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

I didn’t want it to come to this: the war of the keys. But Hunky Hubby’s latest post just begs a confrontation. He couldn’t just let my Murphy’s Law negligence over forgetting the cabin key drop. I stand by my story. I only knew of one key. I had noticed the other tie-die key on the counter but assumed it was a new one to his office. Because they are just that hip to have tie-die keys for their employees.

Jamie has a sordid history with keys and it began on our honeymoon in Costa Rica. We were at Tabacon, a gorgeous area with active volcanoes. We stayed in a charming hamlet with our own private patio and yard where we could watch the volcano erupt. That first night, I was experiencing eruptions of a different sort–the kind that Montezuma’s revenge brings. The perfect addition to any honeymoon.

Jamie was on the back porch when I dragged my sorry body from the bed to join this once-in-a-lifetime view. The air outside was dripping with humidity while the air conditioning inside was cranked to icebox temperatures. For this reason, I closed the door behind me. We enjoyed the view for a few minutes until I decided I’d had enough. I went to let myself in…and realized the door had automatically locked behind me.

Because I was sick and in my PJs, my gallant new husband volunteered to crawl over the bushes, traverse the sharp volcanic rock pathway in bare feet and get a spare key from the lobby. His journey took him more than a half hour. When he finally made it back, I heard him run the keycard and walk through the door. He then proceeded to put the keycard down on the television, walk over to the deck, and ask what he missed, just as he closed the door behind him. From there, everything was in slow motion as I leapt for the door, with a resounding “Don’t shut the doooooor” and then “SLAM!”

We sat there, shocked. Then laughter erupted louder than the volcano. Jamie waited for a while before making his journey back again. The guy at the front desk gave him a strange look but said nothing. Come to think of it, I got the same look last weekend….

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

Everybody got naaaaaaaaked!!!!

He loved snuggling with strange women.

But he was a bit alarmed at seeing the impact of being the only boy in a playgroup of girls had on the token “stud,” Nolan. We all were….

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

In keeping with this week’s inappropriate theme for the eyes of family and young friends (all of whom are closet readers), allow me to share one last story. When Jamie and I were on our honeymoon in Costa Rica, we stayed at this gorgeous inn right on the beach. For the first few days, we had the place to ourselves. And believe me, after three decades of good Mormon livin’ (a.k.a. abstinence), we wanted to be by ourselves.

Enter: The Child. The owner’s daughter. The one who babbled incessantly and would not leave us alone. By the end of our sojourn, we had not-so affectionately nicknamed her “Little Birth Control.”

Little did I know I gave birth to her, reincarnated. As you know, The Hurricane has been more tempestuous than ever lately. Jamie and I were recently discussing our form of birth control and he tossed it over to me.

This alerted Hadley that I had something. That she didn’t have.

She raced over to me and at the top of her lungs, hollered, “I need it!”

“You’d better not need it!”

“Mommy! I need it NOW!”

“No! Do you know what this is called? B-i-r-t-h c-o-n-t-r-o-l. (Note: If Jamie can discuss the ‘O’ word, I figured I could throw out this new addition to her vocabulary)

“GIVE HADDIE NOW!” And she then proceeded to throw the biggest drag-down tantrum imaginable.

Without missing a beat, I calmly pointed to her and replied, “And that is exactly why I need it.”

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

My mention of Jamie’s baited anticipation for my six-week postpartum checkup brought about some colorful and entertaining comments last week. This inspired him to include a rebuttal on his blog.

The whole debate reinforces the many differences between men and women, particularly after children. On Hunky Hubby’s blog, I left a comment from a comedian on “Last Comic Standing” whereupon he joked that marriage doesn’t ruin your sex life, children do.

Welp, if my six-week post inspired women with leaking body parts to come up in arms, this one bonded The Other Half together. One of my most faithful and funniest commenters is a man who goes by the moniker, Serf ‘Rett. He included a warning to Jamie…and to husbands everywhere. I just wanted to pass it along to let you know They Are Fighting Back:

“Jamie warning: Do not fall for the ‘kids ruin sex life’ line. Let the serf show you the results of accepting this line of thinking. When the kids are young, you will hear ‘I’m too tired from taking care of the kids’; at preteen age it will be ‘I’m too tired due to keeping up with all the kid’s activities’; teens will cause ‘How can you be thinking about that? Aren’t you concerned for your kids?’ or ‘We can’t, the kids are still awake.’ By the time you ship the last one off to college, the first has graduated and moved back home or you’re now too old to be interested.

“I assure you the intimate relationships are still possible when kids arrive in the home. All you need is romance, creativity and most of all a pile of money. When kids arrive, intimate relationships are no longer ‘free’. You will need to pay babysitters, bribe parents, court your spouse with special meals and new clothes, pay for motel rooms and three day vacations (without kids). Three days is the minimum vacation length, when the kids are young, since it takes two days for your spouse to detoxify from being a mom and the last day she will act like a wife. This is also about the maximum time your parents will agree to keeping your kids. The vacation time must be increased to five to seven days when the kids are teens. As you can see, kids do not ruin your sex life, they make you have to pay for it.”

To Serf ‘Rett, Jamie and husbands everywhere: “They make you have to pay for it?” There is a word for that: prostitution.

P.S. I don’t come cheap….

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

To my dearest, beloved children,

You know how much Mommy loves you. After all, you hear me remind myself of that over and over again during those rough times. And you know I have been sick the past few days. So sick that if I was a dog, they would have shot me to put me out of my misery. That Old Yeller didn’t know how good he had it.

Hadley–I know you’re two but this does not mean you are allowed to have an opinion on things and throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. This includes if I am sitting in a position that offends you. Or when you hide your Croc, the only existing shoe that fits since you mysteriously grew two sizes in a month. The good news is your Croc is stashed somewhere in the house. Unfortunately, that is also the bad news.

Oh, and throwing your full-length princess mirror down the stairs is not a way to handle your angst towards the world. Unless, of course, you’re having a bad hair day, which you were not. I should know. I have to hogtie you down every morning in an attempt to do your hair.

Bode–I had such hope for you. I still do. Overall, you’re a sweet little guy and your smile lights up the room. I am admittedly a bit nervous over the sheer delight and cooing you only do when I change your diaper and you’re able to show your wares to the world. Maybe it’s a guy thing.

And I fully acknowledge how wonderful it is that you’re sleeping a five-hour block from 10 p.m.-3 a.m. Your sister didn’t do that until just last week. Oh wait. She’s been waking up all night long lately. But Bode, I really wish you’d go back down at 3 a.m. We don’t need two Hurricanes in the family. Forget love; All We Need is Sleep in this family.

No, children. Don’t worry about me. I am not having a nervous breakdown. Yet. Though if I did, would I get at least a few days of solace at the mental hospital?

XOXO

Mommy Dearest

P.S. Is there a reason that was a horror flick?
P.P.S. Hunky Hubby’s blog today confirms it all….

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

Hurricane Hadley has an abundance of toys, most of which have been given to her or I have bought at garage sales. This abundance (or over-abundance as Hunky Hubby likes to call it) has inspired him to issue a decree that I am no longer allowed to buy her any toys. For the most part, I have abided by this. Well, except for the little golf clubs I recently bought. Oh yeah, and the Play-doh. The kid needed Play-doh, y’know.

Anyway, we were over at his parent’s place for dinner and I asked his mom, Linda, if she was still going to garage sales these days.

Linda: Not so much lately. Why, do you need anything?

Me: Well, Hadley needs some little figurines for her doll house.

Hunky Hubby interjects: NO! NO! NO! Amber, how many times do I need to tell you not to buy Hadley any more toys?

Me: I couldn’t agree with you more. And that’s why I asked your mom to do it for me.

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

So, I survived The Big Breakfast. Barely. Between blowing out the circuits umpteen times and cooking 400 sausages, I didn’t have a spare moment to take a picture of those tasty crockpot eggs. Yum. Rumor has it they were a hit. Of course, my only sources were the two ladies who insisted upon bringing them.

I invited my in-laws over for the breakfast to eat and help with the kids. Yeah, right. Those poor folks got roped into sausage duty and didn’t see beyond the kitchen; I sure know how to show them a good time! Kinda like when I moved from Salt Lake City to Colorado and threw myself the biggest and baddest “Going-Away Party” around. Oh, and maybe just maybe there were a few boxes that needed to be taken out to the U-Haul that was parked outside of my house. Beats me how it got there.

In other news, I had my six-week postpartum checkup today. Jamie, like most new fathers, has been counting down the days until this appointment. The blessed day when his best friend (my OB) tells him that after weeks of banishment from anything the child came out of or eats from, He Is In. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s ready.

Evidence #1
I was schooling Hadley on the alphabet the other day when we came to the letter “O.”

“Open starts with the letter ‘O.’ Jamie, can you think of another word that starts with the letter ‘O?’”

“Orgasm,” he replied. Because every two year old needs to have that in her vocabulary. I can’t wait for her to bring that one up around his parents.

Evidence #2
When doing aerobics the other day, I had my hand over my chest to prevent from bouncing all around and complained to Jamie that I needed a good sports bra. He quietly observed me in action before boldly proclaiming, “Let my people go.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Moses had in mind.

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

The egg: “Nature’s Miracle Food” as the recent ad campaign touts. Whatever. More like “My Nightmare Food.” Now, don’t get me wrong. Even though I’m not a huge fan of them, I don’t secretly plot the demise of eggs in my spare time. I just never realized how controversial they are.

Let me explain. Everyone at church has some sort of “calling,” whether it be teaching Sunday School, working with the youth, children, etc. My calling is “Party Princess Extraordinaire.” OK, maybe that’s not exactly my real title but it definitely sounds better than “Ward Activities Chairperson.” Essentially, I’m in charge of throwing parties. Big ones for the entire congregation.

You would think this is right up my alley because as a publicist, I made a career out of it for years. I relished in the stresses of managing huge city-wide celebrations and handled any glitches like a pro. Because, after all, Murphy’s Law is also My Law.

That said, why the CRAP can I not manage an 80-year-old woman and an equally difficult woman who push me around? Y’see, I’m planning a Labor Day breakfast at church, complete with pancakes, sausage, fruit and juice. My budget is limited so I had to resort to sign-ups. My committee is unfortunately even more limited.

And so I’ve planned and implemented it all on my own and presented it to Said Committee.

“I don’t hear eggs on that menu,” complained Said 80-Year-Old Woman. “We have to have eggs.”

“No can do,” I said. “We can’t cook in the church because of food violations and they would be a logistical nightmare on a griddle outside. We’re not doing eggs.”

Welp, word gets around. Because a free breakfast without eggs would be equal unto The Unpardonable Sin, I guess. I was confronted at church an hour later by another woman.

“I hear you’re not having eggs at the breakfast.”
“You heard correctly.”
“You have to have eggs.”
“No, I don’t and no, I won’t.”
“Well, I’ll just have to bring my own and then everyone will wonder where I got mine and they’ll be mad they don’t get any.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”

I thought that was the end of it. Until Said 80-Year-Old Woman called later in the week to report her reminder follow-up calls for the food.

“Oh, and The Other Woman and I are bringing a crockpot of scrambled eggs. I’ve also asked the Smiths to bring some as well.”

An egg conspiracy? In my committee? I could have ranted, I could have raved, I could have retorted that THERE WILL BE NO EGGS AT MY BREAKFAST.

But I have a better plan. There will be eggs at my breakfast. “Nature’s Miracle Food” will just somehow find its way onto the exterior of certain people’s cars.

Because what would be a Labor Day breakfast without it?….

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

I simply must add an addendum/correction to Hunky Hubby’s latest post. I did not direct my comment to overweight people but rather, just to the unbelievably lazy people who were clogging up the elevator.

Oh, and my “gentle” rebuke was more along the lines of, “TAKE THE DAMN ESCALATOR, PEOPLE!”

Yes, that is a direct quote. I only reserve expletives for special occasions such as that.

XOXO,
CBC

P.S. When checking the referring URLs to see how folks got to my site today, I was thrilled to see that I am the #1 link when you type “Moldy Boobs” into Google. It doesn’t get any better than that….

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