No, this is not good-bye forever but rather, an announcement of my new digs at www.crazybloggincanuck.com.

 

Yep, I'm jumping ship to a more user-friendly, personalized blogging format. This new site is a work-in-progress but I'm excited about its potential. Many thanks to the folks at MSN for the opportunities I've had and for featuring me on "The Best of MSN."

 

Any of you who are kind enough to bookmark or link to me, please note the new change. I promise the same irreverent, warped sense of humor at my new site.  That, and where else are you going to read about CBS's new reality series: Survivor: Colorado, a rivoting commentary of how and when Junior makes his grand entrance into this world!

 

I hope to hear from you soon....

I realized last night that much of my suffering is self-imposed.  No, I didn't actually give myself bronchitis. And I'm a little bit sure Hunky Hubby had something to do with my pregnant status due to the fact that I was barren before I ever met him.

 

What I'm talking about is the suffering within the suffering. Really, my illness and discomfort are only surface conditions to a deeper problem these days: extreme sleep deprivation. Before bronchitis and the all-nighter cough/convulsions, there was baby-on-the-bladder syndrome. But more telling was my obsession with Said Syndrome.  If I wasn't laying in bed stressing about how long it had been since my last potty break, I was dreaming within my dreams about going to the frickin' bathroom. No wonder I get up several times in the hour to go a teaspoon at a time.

 

Last night was no different with my cough. I was prescribed a powerful pregnancy-approved cough medicine by my doc (can you say VICODIN), which zonked me out for two glorious hours that afternoon. I chirpily called Jamie at work afterwards, belting out an off-key rendition of "It's a Whole New World!" and the fog was lifted. 

 

Until last night when I had my usual wake-up at 2 a.m.  I took a second dose of my medication, which should have conked me out immediately.  But I somehow got it into this obsessed little mind of mine that my water was breaking due to some minor errr...leakage. Now, most people would have just blown it off and gone back to bed to rest up but nooooo, I had to spend the rest of the night fretting that I WAS GOING INTO LABOR. NOW. WHILE I WAS SICK. AND SOOOOO SLEEP DEPRIVED. Yes, the inner workings of an irrational mind.

 

Jamie tries to help but as we all know, men can't possibly grasp estrogen-driven irrationalities. After dinner the other night when I should have been resting, I simply had to do the dishes. The thought of waking up to a dirty kitchen was no less serious than if the earth ceased to spin on its axis.

 

Jamie was passed out on the couch after a particularly rough day at work and must have felt guilty because he called out to me:

 

"Hey, Amber. Why don't you come sit down and let me do those later."

"Must. Clean. Right. Now."

"I'll tell you what: next week, let's just use all paper plates."

"Let me see: this means you're offering to be on dish duty next week."

"Gee, how'd you guess? "

 

 Kudos to the poor man for even trying.

For anyone who's pondering doing this in the future, pregnancy and bronchitis do not mix. Take it from me.  Ten days into my quarantine and sleep is nearly non-existent as I cough all night to the point of puking. And all those nice drugs that normally sedate you during such times of misery?  Nothin'. You can take nothin'.

 

I'm heading to the doc today for my weekly checkup and I'm hoping she has a miracle cure. While I had previously prayed for Junior to make an early entrance into this world, I have ceased such supplications. I cannot imagine giving birth in this condition. I think it's my fate. To not be whole when birthing, that is. With Haddie, I developed a benign tumor on my finger mere weeks before she was born. This resulted in surgery to remove it and excruciating pain during contractions. Convenient that it was at least on my middle finger so I could fully express my angst. But I didn't even get out of diaper duty in the end.  Bummer.

 

On Canada Day, I had to cancel the little baby shower/luncheon my mother-in-law had planned. And then I missed The Dinner Party of the Year that night by a friend who spends weeks preparing the most amazing gourmet cuisine.  I insisted Jamie and Haddie go without me and spent my evening comatose on the couch watching "The Notebook." 

 

Note: pregnancy + bronchitis + sappy, contrived love story do not mix. The result is ugly.  Or as in what Oprah calls The Ugly Cry. Noo, not gently weeping like those heroines of days gone by but rather, those convulsing, uncontrollable sobs. The kind that make men really uncomfortable as they mumble, "Oh crap...she's freaking out. What am I supposed to do now?"

 

 

 

Photo caption: Twins--Haddie with Grandma

 

And then there was Independence Day.  Our house is in an ideal location: on a hill overlooking a huge soccer complex, which is where they shoot off the fireworks. Our neighbors got a permit to close off our street so the plan was to have an ongoing block party all night long. It was the one day I have been looking forward to.

 

And you know what?  It rained.  And rained.  And rained. It was the second time in several months we have had a torrential downpour. You will recall the only other time was when I was supposed to have my R&R weekend while everyone went camping. And it never happened, of course.  A mere coincidence? I think not.

 

Fortunately, I'm starting to see humor in all these misfortunes. I mean really, what else could go wrong? As someone joked tonight when they saw me miserably hacking away whilst huddling up to avoid the rain: "Someone should just put her out of her misery now."

They don't call me "Amber Murphy" (as in Murphy's Law) for nothin'....

 

 Photo caption: Nothin' like partying it up with the inlaws in the neighbor's garage after getting rained out!

 

Even though Hadley was born in the U.S. and will probably spend her entire life here, I try to make her aware of her Canadian roots.  We celebrate both Canadian and American Thanksgivings. We sing the Canadian anthem. She waves the Calgary Flames flag that my parents bought Jamie (a.k.a. Mr. Avalanche) in jest. That same flag he once threatened to burn.

 

This morning, Haddie was going through her toy box and found a bear bell with a Canadian flag on it. She started ringing it.

 

Jamie: Haddie, that's Mommy's Canadian bell! Can you wish her a Happy Canada Day?

Haddie: NO!!

Jamie [to me]: I guess our little Half Breed is more 60:40 American....

This is just one of many ways how NOT to empathize with your sickly pregnant wife (did I mention just how sick I am?)--

 

When asked to pull the laundry out of the back of the dryer (you know, that same laundry she just washed for you), just do it. 

 

DO NOT: stuff a giant, purple beach ball under your stomach, comically waddle over to the dryer and bend over to remove the laundry in a vain attempt to prove that said wife is faking her inability to reach the back of the dryer. 

 

The grave consequence may just be that it is YOU who will forever be on laundry duty. That is, if your wife ever lets you out of the dryer after stuffing you and your Beluga beach ball in it. Just to prove her point, of course. 

 

On a related subject--

 

TO DOCTORS EVERYWHERE: This is how NOT to empathize with your sickly pregnant patient.  Do not take one look at her and proclaim, "Man, SUCKS to be you!" (though having a medical professional ascertain that life does indeed suck somehow adds validity to my current condition. In a pathetic sort of way.) Kind of like when the employee at the Children's Museum commented this week that The Hurricane was the messiest painter she'd ever seen. 'Twas a conflicted and warped sense of pride....

 

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I've been frequently talking to Hadley about how Junior's presence is going to change our lives.  And for the most part, she has been very receptive, even excited. But nothing we have discussed surpassed how thrilled she was with our conversation the other day about breastfeeding.

 

"...And so, Haddie, Junior is going to be drinking milk from Mommy."

 

She looked suspiciously at my mammaries.  "Drink milk dare?" she asked in disbelief as she pointed.

 

"Yes, Mommy will make milk," I encouragingly responded.

 

After pondering this for a few moments, suddenly doubt turned to appreciation. Imagine that: Mommy has magic mammaries!

 

"Mommy make bagels, too?"

It's not enough that I have swollen to record levels. It's not enough that I'm only getting a few hours of sleep at night. And it's not enough that I have started having contractions. Contractions that don't even count. Fake contractions that just serve as a reminder of the pain and suffering I have in my near future.

 

Nope, now I have to get sick on top of all this? And even worse, The Hurricane has to get sick as well? You know. That same kid who is a crummy sleeper in health. I won't even get into her sleep patterns in sickness. I'm trying to look on the bright side of things that we're getting this out of our system so we'll all be healthy and happy for Junior's arrival. Errr, right?

 

Now, onto other rants. I've complained in the past about the redundancy of the weekly newsletters I receive re: how my pregnancy is progressing.  Week 37 presented the mind-blowing information that I have become increasingly clumsy and off-balance. Gee, that takes a genius to figure out when you're wearing a bowling ball on your stomach. Good thing my butt has grown exponentially to balance things out.

 

I'm not exactly someone you'd call graceful when not pregnant but my condition has only augmented my klutz capacity. The other day, I took my shoes off in the middle of the floor and my beloved Jamie tripped over them.  I chortled and laughed as I often do at the expense of another...until I did the same thing over one of Hadley's toys only a few minutes later.  But unlike Jamie, I did not make a quick recovery and instead did a side-Beluga roll to avoid landing on Junior. Saved!

 

A couple of years ago, I was not so lucky. Y'see, I was eight-months pregnant with Hadley and we'd just finished building our home. We'd had Jamie's brother, Chris, over for dinner and decided to go out for ice cream afterwards.  Things started smoothly. I waddled out the door in a semi-straight line when, outta nowhere, I lost my balance.  I stepped off the sidewalk and onto our mucky, grass-less lawn.  My foot immediately sank and stuck.  And then in a move only executed in a game of Twister, my other foot landed at an awkward 540-degree angle.  Keeping this pose is an impossibility as an able-bodied person but as a pregnant Beluga?  Just say no to those visuals.

 

And then everything got really, really slow. There were flailing arms, there was an exasperated "Noooooo," and then splat:  I went face-first into the mud. I wasn't hurt but rather, absolutely mortified. Jamie and Chris stood there stunned, unsure of what action to take.  I reacted for them by breaking out into fits of hysterical and embarrassed laughter, which only augmented when I saw my tracks: knee and hand marks, and a big, round place for my belly. 

 

 We kept it there until we sodded. In remembrance.  Haddie's reminder is that big ol' dent in the side of her head. 

 

 

Jamie and I had a great weekend!  We figured The End (a.k.a. Junior) is drawing near so we'd better get out and enjoy some alone-time now.  Friday night, we hit a church BBQ and Saturday night, we saw the Da Vinci code. We read the book a couple of years ago and have been eager to see the big-screen version. I had only one reservation: sitting through a 2 1/2 hour movie without any potty breaks. 

 

Miraculously, I did just fine. Until the last 15 minutes. The most climactic of the movie. It was reminiscent of when we saw Lord of the Rings: Return of the King a few years ago. Jamie had downed a 32-ounce drink and by the end of it, was ready to explode. After about the fifth ending as they were weepily saying their farewells prior to sailing away, a desperate Jamie seethed  "JUST GET ON THE DAMN BOAT!!!!"  He was touched in his own way, I'm sure.

 

My experience wasn't too different.  Just add a baby bouncing on your bladder.  And a few "shock" sequences where they jump out at you, thereby testing any bladder control you may (or MAY NOT) have.  By the end of the movie, I leaned over to Jamie and simply muttered "JUST GET ON THE DAMN BOAT!"   He busted out laughing and quickly ushered me to the potty. Point taken.

 

Over dinner, we discussed plot twists and changes in the big-screen version. I had forgotten many of the key points in the book, such as who The Teacher was, an integral element that added to the suspense.  Jamie, on the other hand, remembered.

 

"Knowing everything totally took away from the movie," he complained.

"That's too bad. You need to just have a crummy memory like me." 

 "Naw, I'm just never going to open a book again."

Hurricane Hadley has been downgraded to a Tropical Storm.  Previously fearless, she has become obsessively afraid of <gasp> noise. Specifically loud noise.  Like the lawn mower.  We'll be at the playground and if one comes within two miles, we have to pack up and go home.

 

Another unfounded fear has been on her favorite new program, Dora the Explorer. No, she's not afraid of the scary troll, Swiper the Fox or even Dora's freaky sidekick monkey, Boots. But it's the map. Yes, the Hurricane is afraid of an inanimate object. For those not familiar with the show, The Map plays an integral role for Dora aka Explorer Extraordinaire.  And this isn't just any map, but a magical, interactive map that shows Dora where she needs to go on all her adventures.

 

I would be stumped over her angst but in the deep recesses of my mind, I understand. Y'see, I, too am afraid of maps.  No, I don't run and scream at the sight of them but my reaction is more along the lines of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Especially when Hunky Hubby is ripping on me for my inability to read them.  But if I had a magical one?  Bring it on! The Hurricane doesn't know how good she has it.

 

Besides her fear of The Map, Haddie adores everything about Dora.  Y'see, the kid loved Teletubbies. You know, those annoying, baby-talking good-for-nothing creatures. We had a funeral for them last week when I told her they went bye-bye forever, just like binky.  My mother-in-law almost blew it the other day when she  attempted to resurrect them without knowledge of their demise.  But I am pleased to say they still rest in peace.

 

Another part of Dora's explorations involve solving riddles along the way. The first time we watched it, I thought "Oh, how cute!" as I easily solved the first riddle, "What swings in trees, eats bananas and goes hoo hoo hoo."  "MONKEY!" I triumphantly shouted as an alarmed Jamie and Haddie looked on. But then it got ugly.

 

Y'see, Jamie and I are just a little bit competitive.  OK, a lot competitive. And those riddles get tougher and tougher, believe you me.  But then came the granddaddy of riddles: who can jump higher than the tall mountain? Dora jumped. Not even close to surmounting it. Then, Boots.  Next came all their friends.  Nothing.  We were stumped.

 

But then that brilliant, deducing Dora: "How high can the tall mountain jump?"  Errr...it can't, which therefore means they could all jump higher than the tall mountain. It was then that the truth was revealed: a toddler's show had kicked our butts.

 

Maybe it's time to go back to Teletubbies.... 

Yes, it's true.  Lest you had doubted my pregnant state it was confirmed to me last weekend.  The weekend I have been anticipating for months.  The Friday I was to spend 24 blissful hours completely by myself. Well, more like 18 hours but hey, solitude is solitude. And not like I was counting anyway, right? OK, truth be told it would've actually been only 17.5 hours.

 

The camping trip was my mother-in-law's idea during Easter dinner. That same woman who hates camping and hasn't done it in 20 years.  But she was looking for a family bonding activity and figured this would be a great one.

 

As many of you know, I am an outdoor aficionado but camping at 36 weeks pregnant is not my idea of fun. Aside from the uncomfortable sleeping conditions (which I could overlook), my bigger issue was my potty breaks. These days, I do my sleep-walking-pee trek to the bathroom every 1.5 hours. This is not an exaggeration.  It's no wonder I'm always exhausted. And doing that to the outhouse in the middle of the night is a living nightmare. 

 

But I was fully supportive of everyone else going. In fact, I became pretty dang obsessed with it.  A whole night to myself?  I haven't had that in years.  And so I plotted my little retreat: I'd rent some of the best chick flicks out there and would finally archive my stacks of Haddie pics into a photo album, something I've been dying to do prior to Junior's arrival.

 

Welp, there've been some hiccups this week as my MIL has threatened to cancel over some relatively minor issues that have arisen.  But then came The Granddaddy today.  After weeks of record-breaking 90- and 100-degree temps, it rained.  Rained. ON MY RETREAT DAY.  After many prayers, the conditions cleared but not before my MIL called the whole thing off. She claimed she called up to the campground and rain was in the forecast.

 

"That's ridiculous!" I desperately exclaimed. "It's totally cleared and it'll be beautiful tomorrow." But she already had the support of the other fair-weather family members. Those same people I used to like.  "You guys can come over for a BBQ tonight," she offered.  I must have responded as pissy as I felt when I said thanks but no thanks.  I knew I was being irrational but my disappointment was palpable. Any thoughts of a break before having the baby were over.

 

But then to have Jamie call up a couple of hours later to inform me he and Haddie were sleeping over at his parent's house.  That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed for the second time that day.  "It defeats the point of my entire retreat if I'm overcome by guilt on the matter." 

 

And so they went over for a BBQ but only Jamie returned home later. Against my wishes, he claimed he "accidentally" forgot Hadley over there. Hmph. Yes, I was being irrational. But they didn't have to be so nice about it. After all, IF I AM TO FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF, IT'LL BE ON MY OWN SELFISH TERMS.  Don't throw the guilt factor into it.

 

In the end, it turned out just fine. I finished my album, slept in until a whopping 7 a.m. and we worked on Junior's room for much of the day.  Oh, and Jamie let me go on a Super Target shopping spree.  Anything to appease the pregnant lady's meltdowns.  Hormones?  What hormones?  

 

P.S. All sympathy mail can be sent to Hunkyhubby@survivingthehormones.com

 

 

From your humble beginnings as a new dad...

 

 

 To your first Father's Day a few weeks later after a rough night....

 

 

 To birthdays....

 

 

 And holidays....

 

 

 You're simply the best.  Even during those rare moments as a dead-"beater" dad...

 

 

XOXOX
The Hurricane

 

Now, I can't  be sure but does carrying around her Princess Mirror so she can can constantly check herself out in her new church dress count as just a little bit vain?....

 

 

We were laying in bed a few weeks ago discussing Haddie's activities that day when I bragged to Jamie how prolific she's becoming with the human language.

 

Me: "You know, when we were singing the alphabet today, she strung together a few letters L-M-N-O and delightedly sounded out 'ELMO!'"

 

Jamie: "Wow, that's really impressive!  At this rate, she'll be on Oprah by the time she's 3!  Hey Hadley, what letter does 'Supercalifradjulistic' start with?"

 

Hadley [proudly]: "M!"

 

Jamie: "Well, maybe at least the Maury Pauvich Show....

One of the things I truly love about Colorado is the countless open space areas that have been converted into beautiful parkways. When not in the mountains, much of our spare time is spent exploring these little cuts of nature right in our own backyard. Not to be dismayed by our 99-degree temps, Haddie and I have been going for early-morning walks along these parkways before the temps heat up.

 

Yesterday, we went for a trek along one of our favorites.  Not only is much of it shaded but there's a great playground and duck pond along the way. Really, the only drawback is the pond hosts the most stuck-up ducks I've ever seen. What?  My stale bread isn't nearly as good as that pond scum you consume every day? 

 

So we're sitting there watching the snobby ducks when I saw a runner in the distance.  As the runner came closer, it was like one of those slow-motion Baywatch sequences.  The one where the ocean breeze (fans from the set) are blowing while the runner's breasts are bouncing away.  You know, every man's secret fantasy. 

 

Unless, that is, the person with the bouncing breasts is a man. Yep, this runner was shirtless and had veritable breasts.  And not the Mr. Olympia kind, either.  I turned my head away in disdain but Hadley remained undaunted.  I would even say she was mesmerized.  

 

At the exact moment he passed us, little Hadley chose to give her commentary of the situation with a piercing screech, "NAAAAAAAAAAKED!"

 

It stopped Mr. Baywatch in his tracks.  He threw her a disgusted "I would charge you with sexual harassment if you weren't a pipsqueak" kind of look and continued on his way.

 

He was lucky.  If he thought “Naked” was offensive, wait ‘til I teach her how to scream “INDECENT EXPOSURE!” next time around….

 

 

 

 

 

It started out well.  The weekend, that is.  We were invited over to the in-laws for dinner.  Dinner I did not have to make.  My only responsibility was to test their new recliner while The Hurricane wreaked her havoc on someone else's house. What could be better?

 

But the next day it took a turn for the worst.  The weekend, that is.  We continued Extreme Makeover: Nursery Edition.  Something that no happily-married couple should ever do.  This is why they send the nice folks away on ABC's television version and hire the professionals.  Because those poor people have enough problems in their lives.  I know because that stupid show makes me bawl every time re: their aforementioned problems.  So why make their extremities worse by pitting them against each other trying to fix up their home?

 

 

I don't claim to be handy.  Never have. Fortunately, I have a father who is.  I thought I'd found the same in Hunky Hubby.  I was wrong.  Now, don't misinterpret: he has his strengths.  He's brilliant on the computer, is a master on the grill, is a loving father, plans fabulous getaways, and has single-handedly transformed our pile of C-R-A-P into a beautiful yard.

 

 

But I found out last weekend that wallpaper borders are not his forte.  The hard way.  Y'see, I was Day 15 into 90+-degree temperatures so I wasn't at my best.  Oh, and I didn't get a nap.  These two components alone add up to a big ol' WATCH OUT sign that should be hanging from my forehead.

 

It wasn't until we'd already dipped some of the border into a pail of water that either of us decided to discuss our strategy. "I don't know how to do this, do you?" he asked. "I thought you did! Let's read the instructions.  How hard could it be?" 

 

As it turns out, a lot harder than we had anticipated.  Frustrated, Jamie threw his hands up and discarded a portion of the border. "I vote we don't do this until we figure out what we're doing."  That was all this hormonal woman needed and the pity party began. Because an inability to hang a border is about as horrible as it comes.  Right next to famine and war, of course.

 

A half hour later, we regrouped with a strategy.  And things went well, for the most part. Sure, it was like a sauna in that room and there were a few bubbles and bumps along the way.  But it was actually kind of working. Until we got to the end. We were then faced with a new problem: the possibility that we would not have enough border to complete the job.  And even worse was that we would be bereft of about the exact amount we had discarded earlier. 

 

With the possibility of having to buy another $20 roll, we said our loaves and fishes prayer: that we would somehow have enough border to make it to the corner. Miraculously, our prayers were answered! Jubilantly, Jamie instructed me to grab the scissors so he could crop the final bit off. "I'm going to leave a couple of inches extra to ensure we have enough on the corners," he announced. 

 

A great idea, I thought. If he'd actually done it.

 

 

 

 

 Oh well. At least he'll always have his beautiful lawn....

 

 

 

 

When Hunky Hubby follows his regular routine of kissing you good-bye but instead of his normal three magical words, "I LOVE YOU!" he instead says three new ones:  "Don't kill Hadley!"

Welp, we're on the homestretch...stretch of relentless 90+-degree days, that is. I don't need to expound upon how I feel about this.  But do you know what?  After feeling so dog sick with various ailments throughout my third trimester, I will gladly take my life as an overheated, swollen Beluga! At least now I'm functional and Haddie and I have been on some fun, final adventures together before Junior's arrival.

 

I have also been given a new survival mechanism to get through my final month of pregnancy and those brutal first months with a newborn: a vacation! And I have Hunky Hubby to thank for it.  Even though I poke fun and tease him a lot, he's definitely top-notch in the romance/thoughtfulness department.  One of his most recent transactions in the Bank of Looooove was booking a B&B for Mother's Day.  A couple of weeks ago, he surprised me with a week-long cruise in February.  Without children. He says it's for our anniversary. I say it's A Will to Live.

 

He found this GREAT site, www.skyauction.com, which auctions off vacations at unbelievable prices. The only problem was after he bid on and won a cruise to Mexico and Belize (destinations we already visited on a cruise last year), we found a more optimal cruise to Puerto Rico, St. Thomas, Antigua and the Bahamas.  I decided that a trip to the latter destinations would give me even more motivation to live than Mexico, so I made it my personal mission to stalk the poor folks at Skyauction. They got either a loving daily phone call or email for two weeks until they finally relented and credited our account ("JUST MAKE THE WOMAN STOP CALLING US, PLEASE!") Now all that was left was to bid on and win the trip we really wanted.

 

When it comes to online auctions, Jamie is The Man.  I don't think he's ever lost an auction on eBay and has it down to an exact science when to swoop in and yank the rug from underneath all the other bidders. The only problem was he would be in a meeting when our auction expired, leaving My Will to Live entirely up to me.

 

The night prior to the big auction, he sat me down and wrote out everything I needed, at the exact moment I needed to do it.  Anticipation swelled within me as I felt the pressure. I had stalked for two weeks and it would all come down to those final moments.  Would I crack?  Would I blow the whole thing?

 

I needed some reassurance.  At the end of his Auction Essay, I reminded Jamie, "You remember those days when you used to write me sweet love notes?"  I figured that surely a note saying how much he loved and cared for me would help subside some of the pressure.  "Of course I do," he reassuringly said, and proceeded to etch something for me on paper.

 

Touched, I looked down and read his message of loooove: 

 

"You better win!"

 

 Gee. Just what I was looking for. At least he could have been grammatically correct about the whole thing.

Jamie gets a fair amount of fabulous swag from work. The other day, he came home with some cool outdoor-wear for which he only paid a nominal fee. He even thought of me during his little shopping spree.

 

"Look Amber, I got you this new black fleece."

"No, I couldn't possibly.  I stole your other one that looks just like it."

 

"Yeah, but I got you this year's design."

 

"All the more reason I can't accept it. I'll just keep the one from last year. You take the new one."

 

"But I bought it for you!"

 

"I can't accept it."

 

"Look Woman, why would I want this piece-of-crap fleece when I've got my own top-of-the-line Polartec 300 Series water-resistant jacket?"

 

Gee.  When you put it that way....

Before I got married, I vowed when I had kids I'd never be the kind of lame person who spent my weekends working on my house and yard.  I would, instead, head to the hills whilst hiking and biking to my little married heart's content. 

 

Guess what?  Reality bites.  Work is all we've done lately as we prepare for Junior's arrival next month.  Landscaping has been eating up the majority of our time the past couple of months. I have vowed that if we ever build a house again, I will ensure we have ample provisions to pay good money for someone else to do it. After all, that's my mantra when it comes to sewing; why not yardwork as well?

 

Our biggest project last weekend was painting Junior's room. I previously had great aspirations for his abode--stellar wall hangings, borders and cooler-than-cool chalkboard paint for him to scribble above his bed.  Guess what?  Reality bites. In the end, we just slapped down a coat of paint and called it good.  Perhaps if we wax ambitious in the next few weeks we'll drag ourselves back in there.  But it's not like he really cares what his nursery looks like, right?

 

As part of our painting process, we moved all the furniture out of Junior's room, including a couple of twin beds.  We placed one in Haddie's room beside her crib while we painted.  When it came time for her nap, she was thrilled to see a "big-girl bed" in her room.  And then I got a "brilliant idea"  (mind you, brilliance is relative with paint fumes on the brain):  I would choose this month of all months to transition her to a real bed from her crib.

 

It started great! We snuggled up in the bed , kissed bye-bye and I walked out. She started to get up to explore her room but I reminded her one of the privileges of sleeping in a big-girl bed is actually staying in it.  And she did. A half hour later, I peeked in on her and she was curled up in a little ball. I was so moved by how she was growing up that I dragged Jamie with paint-stained hands into her room to see.  "Touching," Mr. Monotone warily stated. He was against my ambitions from the start

 

We continued painting but before long  we heard her cries again.  "She'll just go back down. It's way too early," I prophesied.  And it was. But the different denominator this time was she was not sequestered in her jail....errr...crib.  Mr. Monotone cast me an "I told you so glance" and suddenly my stupidity struck me: why the crap would I want to set The World's Worst Sleeper loose?  Ever since her suicide attempt a couple of months ago when she launched out of her crib in rebellion over Binky's "mysterious disappearance," the only thing we have going for us is she's resolved that life is better on the Inside than the Outside. Prison breaks only result in pain and suffering.

 

And so I stuck her back in her crib.  And she slept through the night. At least I think she did. All I know is she wasn't knocking on my door or disassembling her bedroom.  At the rate we're going, she'll probably get parole in six months.  Or would that be years?....

It's been a busy week entertaining my Aunt Sue who's visiting from Canada. We've had a great time taking her all around Denver, including a dining experience like no other at the four-star restaurant where Jamie and I got engaged.  Haddie and I also took her to our favorite spot downtown for a "Power Lunch" with Jamie yesterday.

 

We ordered some gourmet salads and to compensate for our healthy choice (that undoubtedly would've shocked our sugar-laced bodies to the core), we also gorged ourselves on a cream-cheese brownie and a miniature coconut bundt cake.  Like a typical toddler, Hadley was obsessed with devouring dessert first and desperately begged, "Cake, cake!!" when it was delivered prior to our salads. 

 

Trying to instill polite etiquette into my little Hurricane, I tore off a piece for her and coyly asked, "Now, Haddie. What do you say?"

 

She looked at me, pointed to the table in front of her and emphatically stated, "RIGHT HERE!"

 

It's always alarming when I am reminded that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

I've heard of the Terrible 2s and from some disillusioned parents, the Terrific 2s, but I've never heard of the Schizophrenic/Bi-Polar 2s.  The latter is the stage Haddie entered over Memorial Day weekend.

 

It started whilst visiting our friends, Brent and Crystal and their 9-month-old son, Andrew.  Not only does Hadley usually love babies but she generally won't leave them alone.  Not this time.  As cute as he was, Andrew had this weird method of crawling--more like a scoot--and he looked more primate than human.  And Hadley was petrified of poor Andrew.  She spent the whole time dive-bombing into Jamie's arms, as if to say "Get that freak away from me!" 

 

This alone would have made for an interesting evening.  But any time spent with Brent and Crystal is always entertaining, primarily because Brent is the goofiest and cheesiest guy you'll ever meet. "Gee whiz or golly gee whillikers" are staples in his vocabulary.  Juxtapose this against his graphic exposes of his hospital work and you've got quite the evening. 

 

When we were driving to their place, I pondered what stories we'd hear.  "I'll bet you $10 if we mention my bout with hemorrhoids a few weeks ago that he'll have an unbelievably gross story about it."  And Brent didn't disappoint.  We learned all about one of his spinal patients who has had some issues with his bowels.  We learned all about the unfortunate process of stimulating the bowels to go to the bathroom, which is called  "digging" (pronounced with a soft 'G' the next time you use this in conversation.)  And we learned about this man's worst case of hemorrhoids EVER that were literally his entire intestine hanging out all over his rear. Grossed out? Well, you got one second of it. Imagine 10 minutes.  That Brent never disappoints.

 

Whew, but back to our bi-polar 2s. The next day at church?  Same thing: The Hurricane was scared of the baby sitting behind us.  Nice timing, too, given Junior's entrance into the world in the next weeks.

 

 

 

And Memorial Day?  We went hiking up in the mountains, one of her favorite activities.  Usually.  This time, there was a drop-down, drag-out tantrum in the middle of the trail because she wanted Jamie to carry her.  Fellow hikers curiously passed us, probably pondering whether or not to report us to child services. And I'd weakly offer, "You'd never know she turned 2 this week, eh?"

 

Jamie finally threw in the towel and said he'd had enough. We had our little picnic lunch with Bi-Polar Hadley still raging about the injustices of having to eat <gasp> chicken and cheese. Until I threatened her she wouldn't get any cookies until after she ate her lunch.  And then something triggered that little bi-polar babe.  Before we knew it, she was stuffing her food in her face, barely able to chew and swallow it all.  With chicken hanging out of her mouth, she hopefully asked, "Cookie?" And I obliged.

 

After that, she was a new kid! She skipped down the trail, rock climbed craggy cliffs with Jamie and entertained everyone who passed us.  Jamie and I just shook our heads. Her chemical imbalance just didn't make sense.  Until we introduced the great neutralizers: sugar + bribery. Forget what the experts say; we've found our new strategy for surviving the Bi-Polar 2s.... 

 

 

Well, we survived The Bash of the Year.  Barely. In retrospect, maybe inviting 40 people with kids wasn't such a great idea.  We were so exhausted trying to entertain all the different cliques of friends that I don't think we saw the Birthday Girl the entire night.  Rumor has it she had a great time! 

 

Seriously though, we definitely overdid it on this one. Especially since The Hurricane i s so easily entertained these days.  I.e. I took her off juice last month because that's all she ever wanted to drink and I worried she wasn't getting enough calcium. Every morning when I asked what she wanted for breakfast, she'd sadly say in the form of a question, "Apple juice all gone?"  Yep.  Imagine her delight when, for her birthday, I wrapped a huge container of apple juice. "Apple juice NOT all gone!!!!" she squealed.  I figure enjoy it now because she'll be asking for an Ipod next year.

 

One thing we bought her was a big ol' bouncy structure that was on clearance at [where else?] Super Target last year.  She LOVES to jump and we figured it would be a great activity for the kids whenever we have an event.  Yeah, right--the kid wouldn't go near it.  All the little anti-socialite wanted to do was play with her stupid bubbles.  And watch her friend "Noey" (Nolan) streak all over the house.  It starts so young.

 

 

Really, the highlight was after I'd spent the whole night harping on all the kids to avoid tripping over the fan that blew into the bouncer. Only to then do my own illustrious Beluga Whale belly flop over it.   Fortunately, the only witnesses were under 5, otherwise I'm sure blackmail would have been in order.

 

When Jamie and I literally passed out that night in bed, I wearily rolled over and queried the man who'd been

stuck behind the scathing-hot grill all night, "Did you have a good time tonight?"   

 

He turned to the swollen, overheated woman who had been accused of having a purple face due to the heat, "No, did you?"

 

"Nope." It was then we vowed NEVER to throw a blow-out like that one again. The Morning After when we brought Haddie in, we asked what was her favorite part of her party, assuming bubbles, or presents like her butterfly chair or chocolate cake would surely win. 

 

 

Her response?  "Noey!  NAKEDDDDDDDDDDD!"

 

Nice to know at least someone had a good time. Maybe we'll hire him to jump out of the cake next year....

 

 

Dear Haddie,

 

Today, you turn 2 and Mommy simply can't believe how fast this year has gone (as opposed to the looong time it took to reach milestone #1). Overall, you are a delight and beloved by all your family and friends. In the past few months, you have grown in leaps and bounds from a baby to a little girl with a zest for life. One observant lady at church commented, "That Hadley sure has a vivacious little personality, doesn't she?"  Oh, if only she knew!

 

Daddy and I have decided one of the reasons why you cried the first year of your life is because you couldn't talk.  But ever since your first word "Hi!" (social being that you are), followed by "Ajax" (the neighbor's dog; nice to know where Mommy and Daddy stand on the food chain), you have been diligently attempting to mangle the human language.  You love to play hike-and-seek with Daddy, which is always followed by the grand announcement "Dare [there] he is!"  You have also figured out how to manipulate Mommy by prolonging nighttime with the assertion, "No, snuggles FIRST!" knowing that Mommy is, indeed a sucker for snuggles and would never turn them down.

 

  

Your good friend Barney allegedly taught you to count to 10 a few weeks ago. You are also coming along nicely with the alphabet song, which usually takes us about 15 minutes to get through because at the end when it comes time to sing "Won't you come and sing with Haddie..." you need to go through the list of everyone you know.  After all, they would be sooo remiss if they were excluded from singing your alphabet song with you.

 

You are also a child prodigy when it comes to dancing and singing at story-time on Mondays.  Your favorites include "Shake your sillies out" and "Twinkle, Twinkle little star," the latter of which you know almost all the words. The other children watch you in awe and just to be nice, you often go over and help them by forcing them to do the actions. Because they're obviously too stupid to figure it out for themselves.

 

Your very favorite song is "I'm so glad when Daddy comes home!"  While Mommy sings, you act out the actions when he walks through the door: you clap, shout for joy, climb upon his knee, put your arms around his neck, pat his cheek and kiss him.  You do it all so well, except for that one day when it came time to pat his cheek and you gave him a left hook, followed by your proclamation "Uh oh! No hit!"  You've done much better since we schooled you on how to pat. Softly.

 

  

Besides playing with balls, your favorite activity is making messes and dumping things on the ground because you know your Beluga Whale Mommy can't bend over to pick it up.  Mommy has tried to make cleaning fun by a perky little song "Clean up, clean up!"  but you're not fooled (though you usually go along with it while plotting your next path of destruction.) Despite your failings with keeping a clean house, you love to help Daddy in the yard with your little watering can and often grunt like he does when moving rocks and dirt around.

 

You're not really into dolls but adore all your stuffed animals (Hoppy, Cocoa, Piggy, Ducky and your dogs, Spike and Lily), the latter two being your best buddies. You love all the neighborhood dogs as well but your favorite of all is Uncle Chris' dog, Kita. The very same non-personality, introverted moody dog that Mommy and Daddy can't stand. You know, the one that runs away every time you come through the door. Somehow despite her obvious disdain for you, she is your favoritestestest thing in this world, surpassing even Grandma. 

 

 

 Sibling Revelry

You are very excited to be a big sister and accept it with perfect faith that somehow your baby brother is growing in Mommy's tummy.  Sometimes you like to lift up Mommy's shirt to talk to him but always make sure to quickly cover it up because it is rather unsightly!  You often talk about the fun things you'll do with your brother, including his position in the Family Snuggle Chain in Mommy and Daddy's bed.  

 

 

 Fun on the Run

One of our favorite things about you is your gregarious, adventurous personality.  While many of your best friends are more dependent and clingy, you delve into every situation with bravado, rarely exhibiting shyness or fear. You love tackling the playground and everything about our weekly visits to "[gym]nastics." Mommy has taken you hiking since you were six weeks old and these days, you're the intrepid hiker who drags Mommy up the mountain.  

 

We are so happy with the beautiful little girl you are and for the special role you play in making us a family. A few weeks ago as we snuggled before nap-time, I gazed into your hazel eyes for a very long time.  You looked so peaceful, trusting and innocent as you reached out to hug me, a moment that simply reduced me to tears. I was overwhelmed by a perfect love I never knew could exist and was so grateful for the light you are in our lives.  And then you woke up in the worst mood ever and threw tantrums for the rest of the day.

 

 

 And so Happy Birthday, my precious Hadley.  And welcome to the

Terrible 2s....

 

Love,

Mommy