OK. So I was a bit out of the bloggin’ loop last week. Call it my pregnancy’s “nesting instinct” but my jaunt to Super Target started me on a shopping spree in hopes of getting the house ready for Baby. Jamie says “WHATEVER.” And that women don’t “nest” until mere days before their due date; months prior does NOT count.

Regardless, during my $120 static guard shopping spree, I picked up some cute plastic pastel plates that were on Easter clearance. In my mind, I knew Jamie would fuss because we’re in the midst of landscaping our backyard and don’t even have a real patio upon which to use them. But I call it women’s premonition for what happened next (or just her desire to acquire really cute dishes). I mean, I could be like my mother and have a dish set for every occasion with four working china cabinets throughout the house. She made the avowal that she would not buy another set of dishes again. Unless they’re really cute, that is. Atta girl.

But back to my inspirational purchase. The next day at a garage sale in an upscale neighborhood, I found the perfect little patio set to go with my plates (kinda like purchasing the perfect belt and then buying an entire outfit to match). I called Hunky Hubby and suspiciously, coyly started our conversation:

“Hi Handsome, have I told you how much I LOOOOOOVE you today?”
“What is it? What have you done? What do you want to buy? How much is this going to cost me?”

He knows me so well. Somehow, I convinced him we could not live without it. I even talked the woman down to $40, a steal for a wrought-iron set.

My mother-in-law was with me during the purchase and fell in love with a designer oriental end table but reluctantly opted not to buy it because of the price. That night in bed, I devised a plan to go back and surprise her with it for Mother’s Day. Saturday morning, I loaded The Hurricane up and headed over. Now, in my long life of gift-giving expertise, here are a few tips to pulling off the ultimate surprise.

1) Make sure you do not pull up behind the surprisee at the site of purchase.
Yep, imagine my dismay when we pulled in and Haddie started squealing, “Grandma, Grandma!” Sure enough, she had arrived at the exact same moment.

2) Look coy, like you have no idea what they’re doing.
“Oh HI, Linda! Why are you here?”

3) Finally, do not let them know your master plan and jump in before they do.
I failed miserably on this one. Linda’s way too quick and by the time I unbuckled the Hurricane, tempered the tempest and made my way over there, the item was bought. And not by me. SUCH timing.

And this, my friends, is how NOT to surprise your mother-in-law on Mother’s Day. Oh well. At least I have super cute dishes and a new patio set. And to appease my husband, I hereby vow to not buy anything else to match. Unless it’s really cute, that is….

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

Don’t go into shock but I waxed domestic today. Well, kind of. Our kitchen chairs have been in dire need of a makeover so my gracious mother-in-law offered to “help” (which, in Amber-domestic-speak means “do”). She even dragged me into a fabric store last week and I didn’t kick and scream even once. Progress, my friends.

Really, the part that sucked the most was ripping out all the staples. Then, as soon as Linda reached for the staple gun to apply our new fabric, Hadley started freaking out. She’s not scared of too many things but that blessed little girl wailed every time the gun resounded. Linda suggested I remove her from the situation and go buy some Scotch Guard while she finished up the job. I eagerly agreed but not before I slipped Haddie $5 for her timely performance.

We then condescended to The Land of Temptation. Y’see, the Devil planted himself three blocks away from my house by way of a brand spankin’ new Super Target. I do not consider myself a shopper but it is physically impossible for me to enter that store without buying the place out. I’m still trying to figure out how to explain to Jamie that the can of Scotch Guard cost me $120.

One purchase I made is something I have been dreading. Something that no swollen pregnant lady should ever have to make: a house-sized tent. I think some people call them maternity bathing suits. I, of course, have no intention of being seen in public in this so-called tent but that did not lesson the painful experience. I don’t care who you are and if you have one of those disgustingly compact little bumps on your tummy while the rest of you remains skinny. The fact remains that NO PREGNANT WOMAN should ever wear a two-piece.

I opted for a simple black suit that only immediate family will ever witness in our backyard. Y’see, our recent 70-degree “heatwave” sent me straight to the store yesterday to buy a blow-up swimming pool wherein I can sit my bloated pregnant butt and wait out the summer. Hadley took one look at the busty, svelte model on the packaging and delightfully announced “Mommy!”

SOLD!

And I then slipped her another $5. At this rate, the kid will be a millionaire by her 3rd birthday.

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

People think I am exaggerating over my aversion to heat. Well, I’m not. My body has some serious objections to it and it commonly breaks into a heat rash at the first hint of summer. Factor in my pregnancy and my swollen body is like an inferno.

After a 75-degree day recently, I lamented to Jamie how swollen my feet were.

“Honeeeeeeeeeey, look at my poor feet. They look like hobbit’s feet.” Sniff. Sniff.
“No, don’t be silly!”
“Jamie, be honest.”
“OK, they look more like troll’s feet.”

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

Easter morning dawned bright and beautiful so we went for a walk to a nearby pond to feed the ducks. Upon our return, we were discussing Haddie’s and my Easter dresses for church. Jamie, not wanting to feel left out from the conversation announced his choice of outfit.

J: I think I’ll wear my nice brown suit.
A: Great idea! [in actuality thinking that's the only one he ever wears]

Then, trying to make him feel good, I started grasping at straws to make his choice of outfit fit into the Easter spirit. Oh, and also because he refuses to be caught dead wearing pastels.

A: Well, you know Jesus’ hair was brown. And and and the Easter Bunny is brown, too!
J: The Easter Bunny is white, Amber.
A: [With light bulb switching on] GASP! You’re right! We have a Caucasian Easter Bunny. That is sooo prejudice. Do you think they have brown Easter Bunnies in, say, Africa?

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

There are very few topics that are off-limits at our house since we had Hadley. One of her favorite subjects is the potty. Or more specifically, everyone else’s bathroom habits.

H: “Grandma–poopy?”
Me: “Yes, Hadley.”
H: “Uncle Chris–poopy?”
Me: “Yes, Hadley.” And I then explain how they go in the big-boy and big-girl potty.

She is particularly fascinated by Jamie’s bathroom habits, primarily because he doesn’t allow her in the bathroom while he does his business; he says he doesn’t want to “confuse her.” Personally, I don’t think it’s fair that I am expected to share audience with her while he is able to blissfully lock himself up and pee in peace. There is something very unsettling about having a toddler observe and imitate your every move during your most ….errr..vulnerable moments.

On a related subject (and believe me, this does relate), one of my favorite stories in scripture is when Jesus lovingly washed the feet of his apostles during The Last Supper. This passage has so resonated with me over the years that when I did a study abroad in Jerusalem and spotted a beautiful olive-wood carving of this scene, I promptly bought it. I keep this little statue in our den and have treasured it over the years.

Recently, Hadley and I were playing in the den when she looked up the carving and delightfully exclaimed, “Jesus!” I was pleasantly surprised she recognized him from the rendering because I have never before pointed it out to her. Just as I was about ready to expound upon the doctrines of the passage befitting to a 2-year-old, Haddie said it all:

“Jesus–POOPING!”

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to view that statue in the same light again.

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

With the advent of a potentially colicky and sleepless baby (he will, after all, be derived from my gene pool), I have a new project: searching for a preschool for Hadley. Since she’ll only be 2 in the fall, I cringe at the thought of a full-time daycare program. What I am instead seeking out is a little school where I can drop her off for a couple of hours each week so I can have some alone-time with the baby and Haddie can have some much-beloved social interaction. In theory, it will be so Junior and I can hit the trails with my hiking club but in reality, we’ll probably spend many of those mornings sleeping. Sweet, sweet, sleep.

You’d think finding such a preschool would not be a difficult task but it is. Most preschools don’t even take younger kids. For those who do, they require either three days a week or full-time enrollment, neither of which are a desirable option to me.

My neighbor recommended a school to check out so Haddie and I did a tour last week. We both fell in love. The moment we entered the classroom, she delved right into their activity without a second thought (shyness is obviously not one of her attributes. Again, my gene pool). The staff was perfect, the location perfect and it would only be for two hours a week. Did I say it was perfect?
I was about ready to sign away on the dotted line until the end of the tour when we passed The Mom’s Room.

Nice Tour Lady: “And this is where the moms meet while their kids are in class.”
Me: “Where the moms meet? What do you mean?”
Nice Tour Lady: “All parents of the 2-year-olds are required to stay on-site during class.”
Me: [hedging] Why is that?
Nice Tour Lady: The district requires it of all public preschool programs.
Me: Oh. [Quickly envisioning my break from the Hurricane slowly slipping through my fingertips].
Nice Tour Lady: Is that a problem?
Me: Errr…no. [What I was on the verge of saying: I'D HAVE TO BE CRAZY TO SIGN WITH YOU. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED PLACE WHERE WEARY PARENTS CAN JUST DUMP THEIR KIDS OFF?]

Call it the pregnancy hormones? I expect to receive my Parent of the Year nomination any day now.

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

I always thought we had the best babysitter in the world (Grandma) until last week. While Grandma still ranks up there (in a large part because she’s free. Oh, and because Hadley worships the ground she walks on) Grandma now has some serious competition.

Enter: Alexis, the daughter of our lovable Type A neighbor. Alexis is so eager to join the babysitting ranks that she spends her free time googling “babysitting” and planning activities and handouts for the kids. Fer heaven’s sakes, she handed me a babysitting business card. What 12 year old has a business card? When Haddie returned home with her last week, she also gave us a typed piece of paper with the following information on it:

What Did I do Today?
When Alexis was babysitting me we had lots of fun! Tonight we:

Made butterfly puppets
Played with the kitty
Made and played with play dough
Watched TV
Danced to fun Veggie Tales music
Played with stuffed animal bunnies
Played Ring Around the Rosie
Played with Marshall

It almost brings me back to my good ol’ over-achieving days as a babysitter. If I had indeed done up a spreadsheet of our nightly activities, they would have read as follows:

Pretended to play with kids while watching Miami Vice
Put kids to bed as soon as humanly possible to free up the rest of the night
Raided kitchen cupboards for food
Talk to friends on the phone
Fell asleep on the couch. With the lights on, of course, so as to look alert and attentive when the parents finally walked through the door.

Can anyone else relate out there?….

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

With less than one week until Easter, Haddie is still not ready. For The Easter Egg Hunt, that is. Twice she has hunted this week. Twice she has failed. Really, how difficult could it be? I hold the basket while she shovels in free food. She sure didn’t have any difficulties figuring out the Halloween begging ritual. So what’s the deal with little plastic eggs?

Plenty. Unfortunately for us, they resemble balls. In addition to pretties and makeup, Hadley is obsessed with balls. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do. We can spend a fortune on an activity and if there is a ball present, all she does is rave about it. In the car, she likes to practice her sports savy by reciting the different techniques: “Soccer–KICK! Basketball–THROW!!” It’s like she’s feverishly cramming for a final exam and if she flunks she won’t get into ESPN heaven.

Fast-forward to her friend Ella’s Easter Party on Thursday. I figured she would be the cream of the crop because most of the kids in our playgroup are barely walking (and the other ones she can knock over with a swift elbow to their untoned Ethiopian belly.) I set her loose like a little race horse at the track. She started swiftly, strongly by grabbing everything in her wake. But then came the unanticipated obstacle: she launched the eggs and squealed “THROW! HIGH!” And down came the rain of candy as they splattered all over the place. She grabbed a few morsels and would race off to her next “ball” before I could contain her. At least she was fast.

Saturday’s community egg hunt wasn’t much better but I had hope because competition-obsessed Jamie was there to help. He carried her to the start of the hunt, all the while massaging her “Hammies” to ensure her legs were in superior working order. He then instructed her on the fine art of grabbing and [if necessary] stealing. Gotta prepare her for the harsh realities of life, he reasoned.

The hunt was strategically located in a playground…the perfect locale for any kid who lacked focus and drive. Haddie was one of those kids. “Slide! Swing! Swim!” she kept longingly pointing out. “FOCUS!” we kept drilling into her but you’d think she was almost 2 or something–all she wanted to do was play. She was up on the slide when the hunt commenced, typical of someone lacking in commitment. Jamie grabbed her and threw her into the competition. She didn’t even start strong on this one. She had tried to grab a few eggs before the start but when it came time, she just froze like a bunny in headlights. When she finally got her nerve up, she bent over and rocketed an egg across the field of play as the other kids flocked around.

Desperately, I started shoveling eggs towards her. “Pick them up!” I screamed. We were losing. But she didn’t care. Within minutes, all the “pretty balls” were gone. And all we had to show for the hunt were a few eggs filled with crappy Tootsie Rolls and Smarties; the least they could have done was award our efforts with chocolate. And eggs that looked a lot less like balls.

Not that Hadley complained. In fact, she even requested they have basketball hoops next year to increase the level of difficulty.

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

Jamie has a lot of perks at his job, which usually manifest themselves by way of concert or sporting event tickets. The other day, his boss gave him tickets for the Rockies game. I am not usually a baseball fan but make the exception when I can sit in the cushy company suite and gorge myself on baseball fare. Only this time, we weren’t given suite tickets but rather the CEO’s $135 seats behind home-plate.

The only thing we were bummed about was the lack of free food at our disposal. So, we arrived early and downed a crappy Rockies dog (Jamie) and a chipotle chicken sandwich (me). Twenty bucks later, we made our way down to our seats. Down, down, down. We just kept going and going until we reached a little gated-off area and were shocked as we continued to the floor. Our seats were on row 2, directly behind the team owner.

As we got ready to settle in, an usher told us we needed to grab some wristbands and dinner was waiting for us in the clubhouse. Huh? We did as we were told, winding through the tunnel until we came upon an oasis of fine-dining right there below the stadium. Mounds of food in a complimentary gourmet buffet were presented to us–seared salmon, succulent steak, epicurean salads, delicious veggies, and a sensuous dessert bar that never ended. Jamie and I took one look at each other in disgust at having just forked over $20 for a sub-par mezzanine meal and proceeded to devour everything in sight.

When we eventually finished, the game had already started. Once in our seats,a waiter approached and gave us yet another menu–this time detailing free food items from the all-you-can eat grill and snack bar: burgers, pizza,brats, nachos, ice cream. The list went on. ‘Twas quite the eye-opening experience re: how the upper tier lives. While you’re mortaging yourself for a hotdog, they’re livin’ the high life.

We barely made it out of the game. Oh yeah, the game. I think we lost. But I was too busy staring at the rock on the owner’s trophy wife’s hand and ordering “a double” Ben & Jerry’s Sundae Cup. After this experience, forget my Canuckian roots as a hockey devotee; Take Me Out to (or would that be roll me out of) the Ball Game….

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

My week started out pretty typical. Haddie and I always kick start our day by doing two aerobics programs on TV: Denise Austin and Body Electric. Saying I do two programs makes me sound like a buff pregnant lady but be ye not deceived because:

1) I evily fast-forward through the commercials as Denise annoyingly chirps, “Now don’t you stop, I’ll be right back!!” and I always skip the cool-downs as well. It’s my own private rebellion.
2) I figure that my half-hour workout plus whatever cardio I get during the day probably burns about 300 of the 8,000 daily calories I’m consuming.

So, my friend Tina and I went for a long walk on Tuesday for the cardio-portion of my day. We stopped to let the kids play in the park afterwards, during which time I took a potty break. As usual. Only problem is, there was some blood, which many as you know is NOT good when pregnant. There wasn’t a lot of it but just enough for me to call the doc who insisted on seeing me that afternoon.

I honestly wasn’t too worried about a miscarriage because I could still feel the baby squirming around and I didn’t have any cramping or other such symptoms. And I was right. She did an ultrasound to make sure everything is in working order, during which time we got a CLEAR view that I am, indeed having a boy (but this didn’t stop me from calling Jamie and nearly gave him a heart attack when I told him the opposite–payback).

As it turns out, I have a bacterial infection and they prescribed some antibiotics. The other problems is that my placenta is the the wrong place against my cervix, which is causing the bleeding and could cause pre-term labor. For this reason, she scheduled me for another ultrasound with the tech on Friday. Just to be safe, she told me to limit my activities until after my ultrasound.

“So, you mean I can’t go on that hike in Boulder I was planning tomorrow?” I joked.

“Certainly not!!!” she snapped with a steely glare. She then added, “Oh, and no intercourse, either.”

“Bummer. Hey, can I get that in writing?”

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