New Year's Resolutions 2006

As I sit here pondering upon 2006, my thoughts turn to our family's New Year Resolutions.

Hurricane Hadley
Overcome her addiction to her cocaine-laced pacifier (or whatever they put in those things)
Lots and LOTS and LOTS of sleepovers at Grandma's
SLEEP MORE, CRY LESS
Summit Everest. Without oxygen.

Hunky Hubby
Daily back-rubs for beloved, pregnant wife.
Daily foot-rubs for beloved, pregnant wife.
Daily love notes for beloved, pregnant wife.
Daily meals for beloved, pregnant wife.
Daily cleanup duty for beloved, pregnant wife.
Oh, and finish landscaping the backyard ONCE AND FOR ALL. For beloved, pregnant wife, of course.

Me
I hereby covenant to uphold the ONLY New Year's Resolution I have ever kept: to no longer make New Year's Resolutions for myself. Besides, it's much more fun to have such resolve for others. Perhaps they can change the name next year to New Year's Honey-Do Lists?

Gee, 2006 is already looking up. Happy New Year!!

Little Miss Stay Puffed Marshmallow

One of the things I love about living in Colorado is I am a rock star on ice. Well, at least according to the locals. Don't get me wrong--I'm not an expert skater or anything. But a few years of lessons makes all the wobbling locals (including my Hunky but Weak-in-the-Ankles Hubby) watch in awe as I can race around the ice without falling. Even once. Unfortunately, pregnancy has downgraded my quadruple axle to only a double. Sacrifices.

Hadley had her first ice skating lesson today on a lake in a beautiful mountain hamlet. Well, more like her first ice sitting lesson. After bundling her to the point that she bore a strong resemblance to Randy in "A Christmas Story," we plopped her in a sled and whipped her around the lake. You would think this would be thrilling for any toddler. Not the Hurricane. She preferred stripping down to her skibbies and hitting on boys in the lodge whilst sipping cocoa. Eerie foreshadowing of a future ski bunny in the making?

Ice Vandals in Colorado

All right, all right. Enough of the bodily-function blogs. I had no idea how controversial floaters vs. sinkers would be (thanks, Mocha Momma) or that fat floats (thanks, Erik). Then again, I should have known the latter item because I once saw Hadley back in her chubby days act as a buoy in the water....

I don't know if I'm kinda morbid but I have a great time reading the Police Beat. It started when I was a student at BYU because they were usually the lamest listings (for those not aware, BYU had a serious "Flashing" problem. And I'm not talking about lights). Several years later, I'm hooked again because the local paper really puts out some good descriptors. Here's the Cliff Notes version of a great one from today's edition, with my favorites quotes being italicized:

"A snowball hit a school bus window at 9:32 a.m. Dec. 13, according to police reports. The alleged snowball heaving took place near a middle school....The administrator gave an officer the boys' statements and called in the alleged ice vandal....He was issued a summons for throwing missiles by the officer present and let go."

Throwing missiles? Ice vandal? Whatever happened to good old fashioned snowball fights? My brothers would be doing serious time right now for all the "alleged ice heavings" I endured for many years.

Equally as impressive in today's edition was how "Two high school students were found in a compromising position at 10:45 a.m. in the dugout of a school on Allendale...."

I asked myself what a "compromising position" would be. By definition, "compromising" means "A settlement of differences in which each side makes concessions; something that combines qualities or elements of different things."

From these definitions, I can only assume that these two individuals were:
a) settling a dispute or argument while standing on one leg
b) lost and trying to find their whereabouts with a GPS (Global Positioning System)
c) arguing their baseball field position in the dugout
d) All of the above

Any thoughts?

Floaters vs. Sinkers

It's been a busy vacation week with Hubby & Haddie (just got back from a fantabulous hike and we're going ice-skating in the mountains tomorrow), so I'll be back to my regular blogging practices next week.

In the meantime, I have been rather alarmed at the controversy re: my mention of asparagus. Yes, we had asparagus. For Christmas dinner. Along with Honey-baked Ham, funeral potatoes, homemade rolls and more salads than I can count. Get over it. It makes your urine smell. Your comments were very errr...enlightening to say the least. But Mocha Momma's comment won the big prize:

"This reminds me of something I read a long time ago and have found difficult fitting into everyday conversation. Thank God for you, Amber! Marilu Henner wrote a fitness/diet book several years ago and one of her chapters is all about poop. She says that what we eat is reflected in it (I'm sure she didn't say it quite like that, yet it seems really gross now that I've written it) and we should check it to see if we are getting enough fiber. She called them 'floaters' and 'sinkers' and let me just tell you that anyone who read that probably checked the toilet after every poop to see which one they currently had. Not ME, mind you. But everyone else. Kelly p.s. floaters are the good ones, by the way. Plenty of fiber in floaters."

Christmas and Asparagus' Many Marvels

Welp, I survived Christmas in Colorado. Hadley has been absolutely in her element with all the attention, food and gifts. We had a grand time following Santa's route on NORAD's Santa Tracker, though I feel a bit ripped off we never had such perks when I was a kid.
In addition, Christmas brought many new insights this year:

*Santa must get really hungry traveling all the way from the North Pole. At least that's what Jamie said when I queried why my stocking had a half-eaten bag of Hershey's Dulce De leche kisses.

*Jamie must love me way more than I love him. Or he may just have more time at his disposal.

*While all his Christmas presents to me were beautifully wrapped and had a thoughtful note i.e. "To my loving and beautiful wife. Thank you for a wonderful year. Your devoted Husband." Juxtapose that against my presents to him that were thrown in a gift bag (WHAT would we do without them?) and my chicken-scrawled "To J, Heart A" (if that) as Hurricane Hadley tore up everything around her.

*Santa does exist. That is the only way I can possibly explain the beautiful new diaper bag that mysteriously showed up under the tree. Jamie professes foul play.

*One-year-olds don't care what they get for Christmas. We spent hours setting up a fun play area for Haddie in the basement with a playhouse, basketball hoop, table, kitchen, play fort, countless toys and an Elmo rug. When we unveiled it to her, she ran in the other direction towards a ratty old ball.

*Consuming asparagus augments the smell of your urine. Or at least that's what my food-connoisseur sister-in-law, Tammy, professed during our Christmas feast. I forfeited the experiment by puking up my meal afterwards so the results have yet to be confirmed. So do me a favor: make sure to take a big whiff in that toilet bowl the next time you eat asparagus; Tammy promises you won't be disappointed.

Christmas in the Holy Land

Christmas is almost upon us! I wanted to steal a moment to write now because with the hubby off work and family in town, I won't be around much next week.

I would be remiss after doing my Motherland's Top 10 if I didn't mention my best Christmas ever. It actually wasn't even at Christmastime. Huh? As I've mentioned before, when I was at BYU I did a Study Abroad in the Holy Land, with Israel, Egypt and Jordan as my home. It was my privilege to study under some of the most renowned Jewish, Muslim and Christian leaders in all of Jerusalem.

One particular outing still resonates in my mind. We'd gone to Bethlehem and had toured the Church of the Nativity and other related sites. From there, it was onto Shepherd's Field where I witnessed for the first time what the true meaning of Christmas was all about....

"I am sitting here at Shepherd's Field, enjoying the view of Jerusalem today. Call me crazy, but whenever I've thought of 'fields,' I've always thought of green grass and rolling hills! The area we're in forms kind of a valley, with rocks at every footstep. There is a scattering of small trees that appear to be scratching their fingernails on an ebony sky. This is the only form of life in this desolate, harsh terrain.

Shepherd's Field. How many hours did the shepherds spend with their flocks here, just enjoying its quiet beauty? What a simple yet fulfilling life they must have lived. Yet they must have been such righteous men, so in control of their own world. What an honor to be witnesses of both angels on high, and then, the Messiah. What an incredible place this must have been to come back to! A place of divine manifestation, a choice place where the Son of God would begin his mortal existence. There is so much that has happened in this Holy Land. The ministering of angels, the footprints of the prophets, the touch of the Christ.

It's 7:40 p.m. and the Muslim's Call to Prayer echoes throughout the valley. It's as if it is coming from two separate sides of Jerusalem and I am the central focal point where they both shall meet. In the moonlight, it appears as if everything around me is moving in slow motion. A subtle, heady perfume is in the night air. The darkened sky is pure, cluttered only by an eternity of stars.

I rarely recognize significant moments when they occur. Momentous things seem to happen without the clash of cymbals or the beating of drums. Usually they occur in the most innocuous and mundane moments, and we understand the impact only when we view it from the summit of the future. But tonight, I recognize. And appreciate. And will never forget...."

-Jerusalem Study Abroad
July 31, 1997
Merry Christmas to all!

Christmas in the Motherland Top 10

A song on the radio about skating on a river by 2-year-old Haddie's favorite artist, Barry Manilow, brought back great memories of Christmas in the Motherland. Truth be told, I'm always homesick when I can't go home to Calgary because it truly is a winter wonderland with the Christmas Nazis, a.k.a. my family. Never have I seen more presents or hoopla.

Case in point: The first year I even dared to suggest that we draw names instead of buying for everyone (due to our newlywed budget) I was nearly burned at the stake, with brother Jeek screaming, "I got a stinkin' part-time job JUST so I can pay for Christmas." Now you can see what I'm up against.

Anyhew, my Canuckian Christmas Top 10 List

10. The Left-Right Game on Christmas Eve. A time when it is confirmed we would never win any I.Q. contests as we struggle to tell the difference between our left and right hand.

9. Tobogganing and giving ourselves icy enemas as we shoot down the steep gully near our house. Followed by hot chocolate in front of a REAL wood-burning fireplace.

8. The year my brother Patrick and I snuck out to open our Grease 8-track and played it 100X before anyone even got out of bed. Oh, and the nifty shag carpet and lime-green wallpaper in all our pictures.

7. Cross-country skiing in sub-zero temperatures on the golf course across the street. Nothing like snorting frozen nose hairs for the holidays.

6. Playing the bells on Christmas Eve. A confirmation that not only are we not musically inclined but we somehow seem to get worse every year.

5. Conservative and shy Dad performing the Polish 12 Days of Christmas. Hilarious even if you're not numbered among the chosen Pollocks of this world.

4. Ice skating for miles along the "Bow Liver" (as mispronounced by Dad's good Chinese friend).

3. Spending THE ONLY two Christmases with your honey in Canada praying to the porcelain gods as you vehemently puke up Mom's cooking that you had craved all year. Thanks, Norwalk Virus.

2. Playing the piano for Dad as we sing carols and belt out all 18 verses of Good King Wenceslas. It's as if tone-deaf meets off-key for the first time, and what a delightful duet it is. I still can't figure out why no one else wants to join in.

1. Christmas Eve's gift exchange game. A brutal competition as we all fight over the coolest farting book of the year. If you think that's bad, I won't even get to the lowest of lows when "Bum Darts" somehow made it into the schedule of events one year....

The Sound of Mus....THE BRONCOS?

The Sound of Music is my all-time favorite movie and I simply must watch it whenever it comes on television. Last night was no exception. And even though I've watched it a hundred times and used to make poor Stacey Benson listen to my Sound of Music record while I belted out my off-key rendition of "My Favorite Things," the story and the music never grow old for me. And YES, I did do The Sound of Music tour whilst in Salzburg a few years back.

And so as I sat there in my pregnant, hormonal state with my Kleenex box in hand throughout the entire movie (you know you've got it bad when you're weeping during the children's "So Long, Farewell") I pondered how offended I would have been if, during my wedding, they had sung "How do you solve a problem like Am-ber."

But my absolute favorite scene is after Maria comes back and Captain Von Trapp goes to her and professes his love as they sing "I Must Have Done Something Good." That beautiful setting is water-work city for me, pregnant or not. And so with great anticipation, I waited, with my Sweetie by my side. Touched that he chose me over some stupid football game. Ready and eager to sing along with my song of redeeming love to him.

Until he stood up. Right as it began. Shocked, I looked at him and blurted out, "Where are you going?"

"I'll come back when they start killing the Nazis."

Immaculate Labor and a Herodian Dictator

Jamie was a star over the weekend. Well, actually a luminescent shepherd at a local nativity pageant. On Saturday and Sunday, he braved the near sub-zero temperatures amidst snow and blizzards to seek out the baby Jesus, who was found wrapped in swaddling down and frozen in a manger (this is the Colorado version of the story).

The head organizer (or should I say "Herod" organizer) was rather tyrannical and would not let the "actors" wear gloves or hats. Allegedly, frozen fingers were also a part of the original Christmas story. But despite these trying times, my beloved James survived and claims he received the most stage time of anyone, even Mary, Joseph and Jesus. What a swell shepherd, albeit a cocky one.

Haddie and I had vowed to support him during all his performances...until it got cold. And then Jamie's fair-weather fans only made it to one. The pageant had all the regular makings: Mary still had immaculate labor, birthing Jesus in mere seconds. And those blasted wise men still took eons to arrive. Sure, they came from the east. But I thought Easterners were waaaay faster than that.

But really the highlight of the evening was the performance from the audience. As soon as Haddie spotted Jamie, it was allllll over. For in the cold, silent night, a resounding "Daaaaa Daaaaa" peppered the entire performance. She waved, she called out, she blew kisses. She just couldn't figure out why Daddy, with his candy-cane stick and silly hat, did not respond. It was then that Shepherd Jamie proved his acting abilities by stifling his laughter. And proved that before we take Hurricane Hadley to another performance ever again, she is Gettin' a Muzzle for Christmas.

Haddie Hefner's Christmas Playground

It was rather shocking for all the babies and moms at Haddie's Christmas Playgroup Bash when the highlight of the party was NOT:

The gingerbread house destruction...errr...construction
The Secret Santa's non-secret gifts
The tasty cookie exchange wherein everyone consumed a week's worth of calories in one sitting
The chocolate sucker tree that sucked (at least when we had to give them away, according to Haddie)
The bell-playing baby symphony wherein the 1 years olds surpassed my own family's musical efforts of the past 20 years

But that the true showstopper was when Nolan (the sole boy in attendance), whilst surrounded by his harem of girls, broke out his Playboy Bunny Ears and offered to play "Santa"....

My $1,000 Almond Rocha

Christmas Baking Week is upon me. I approach it each year with great alacrity, as Christmas Baking Week = Christmas Eating Week. OK fine. Jamie spoiled my fun when he read this entry: "Why use 'alacrity' (eagerness) when no one knows what it means?" My response: "Because I speak in one-word commands to a 1-year-old ALL DAY LONG! GIVE ME SOMETHING TO BE ALACRITIC ABOUT. Or however you'd say it.

Anyhew, on Le Menu this year are egg nog snickerdoodles, cream cheese cutout cookies, homemade chocolate suckers, caramel toffee squares, sugar 'n spice cookies, vanilla fudge and of course, my $1,000 Almond Rocha. Not familiar with the latter item? Let me take you back, back, back five years to a journal entry describing when it all began.

December 2001--
"Since Labor Day, I have pumped more than $1,000 into a certain tooth of mine (editor's note: this would be the same tooth that is still causing me problems five years later). First, the root canal. Then the crown. Then the painful abscess. Then the retreatment surgery. Then the filling to repair the retreatment. I had my final appointment just last month. Or so I thought. And then I started my Christmas baking and made Almond Rocha last night. My first mistake.

My second mistake was thinking I could actually eat it. Innocently, I chomped down. The candy was harder, crunchier than I remembered. Now, I usually don't make a habit of spitting out my food but something was REALLY wrong and so I regurgitated the particularly crunchy portion of my treat. And there was my tooth. Not my crown, but the actual, veritable tooth. I reacted as would be expected--I let out a blood-curdling scream. My roommates came running and offered their horror and sympathy. And then they stayed and ate my $1,000 Almond Rocha, with all their teeth in tact. I'm not bitter, really.

And so this holiday season, just skip out on your baking all together. That song, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" brings painful and poignant meaning. For my sake, make sure to boycott Christmas carols as well...."

Happy Birthday, Hunky Hubby!

Ahhh, where do I start with my exploitations of my dear, sweet James? Probably my favorite hunky hubby story was early in our courtship. We met ONLINE (a rather crazy story for another time) and were married within six months after we met. My family was subsequently wary of him and my brother Patrick even referred to Jamie as "The Axe Murderer." For this reason, it was very important for him to make a good impression when I bought him home to meet The Family for Christmas. It didn't happen.

After his first full day in Calgary, he retired to his assigned room in the basement. My brother Jeek and his busting-at-the-seams pregnant wife, Shannon, were in the room next to him. Something you should know about Jamie is that when he does dream, it is very vivid. As in he thinks it's actually happening.

So Jamie was in dreamland when he was awoken by a mouse (or so he thought) crawling up his leg. He shot outta bed, flew out of his room, only to find Jeek and Shannon having a late-night discussion on the couch. Panting heavily, Jamie announced to them, "Don't worry: I'm Jamie!" (for fear they had forgotten who he was?) And he then proceeded to babble about how he had allegedly been attacked by this mouse. During his commentary, he went over to pet Lucky (the dog we couldn't stand) and even gave Shannon a back-rub (not exactly whom you'd call the "cuddly type," especially at nine-months pregnant).

Jamie then started to slowly wake up and made his way upstairs to get a glass of water. The full ramifications of what he had done started to set in. Embarrassed, he curled his 6'1 frame up onto a little couch upstairs and tried to go back to sleep, vowing to not go downstairs and face those people again.
Sympathetic and amused Jeek eventually followed him up, "Hey Dude, are you all right?" He really wasn't.
When I went down the next morning to wake Jamie up, I could tell something was wrong. It was all confirmed in just one statement: "I think I gave Shannon a back-rub last night." How's THAT for a lasting first impression?...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY!!!

It's CHRISTMASTIME in the City!

OK, allow me to stand on my soapbox for a bit. Wow, I think that elevates me to at least 5'6; so THIS is how the other half lives!!

It's not very often that I take a public stand on something controversial but I think it is absolutely ridiculous the lengths people are going to bash the Christmas thing. It's like everyone is becoming so obsessed about not offending others that we're also not allowing people to freely express themselves. Though I'm not a fan of him, Bill O'Reilly said it best during a guest spot on the Today Show, "This is insane. It's CHRISTMAS. It's a FEDERAL HOLIDAY. U.S. Grant signed it into Law. We can say 'Christmas.'"

One of the great things about this country is having the right to choose. Should Christmas be forced upon everyone? Of course not! I have good friends who are of every religious affiliation. Would I be offended if my Jewish friend sent me a "Happy Hanukkah" card even though I'm Christian? Certainly not! And that is why I chose to put "Merry Christmas" on my mailings this year. This is how I choose to celebrate the season.

What we need is tolerance. Let's face it. Barely anyone even recognizes it as a religious holiday anymore. Santa has taken over any Christian symbol out there.

Humorous case in point: the children at church were practicing last week for a little nativity pageant they're performing for our Christmas party on Friday. They were learning a new song, "When Joseph Went to Bethlehem" and the chorister was reviewing the words with them. They were filling in the blanks about how Joseph put his tools away in his shop in preparation for his journey and then how he urged the donkey forward with Mary on his back.

When it came time to fill in the words that Joseph carried bread and goat cheese in a little ______ sack, the adults erupted into laughter. Instead of saying "linen," the kids innocently sang "In a little Santa sack."

How about we all just have a sense of humor and foster a community and love and peace this holiday season, no matter what our religious and/or non-religious affiliation?!!!

Happy Birthday to Papa Canuck!

In keeping with the tradition I started with Jeek to exploit my family on their birthdays, let us turn our attentions to dear 'ol dad. The problem with him is, welp, he's the only normal one in the bunch. Meaning: it's tough to get any dirt on him.

Him: Quiet. Us: Deafening.
Him: Dependable. Us: Unstable.
Him: Patient. Us: Not.

What can I say? He's the man who was there for every community, club and school sport I ever played, quietly cheering me on. He's the man who would ditch me on the slopes and inspire me to catch up. He's the man who would take me on daddy-daughter ski days, hikes, roller-blading excursions and bike rides all over the city.

He's the man who secretly fixes anything that is broken whenever he comes to visit. He's the man who went skating around Lake Bonavista with me in -30 degree weather and relished about how amazing it was that we had the whole place to ourselves (go figure). He's the man who taught me that frozen nose hair is cool and something to be proud of.

He's the man who taught me about life, about nature, about beauty and about the importance of being at one with yourself and your surroundings. He's the man who set my standard high to marry a man who would always love me unconditionally.

Happy Birthday to a wonderful dad who is a rock and foundation to us all! OK, well maybe just to Jeek, Patrick and me but believe me, that's more than enough....

Why Martha Stewart need not be threatened by our domestic prowess

Reasons why our gingerbread house sucked:

a) Picture #1: Everyone did it with their eyes closed.

b) Picture #2: Under-aged workers were used in the construction thereof (and claimed their payment in icing)

c) Picture #3: Because the gingerbread men have Donald Trump comb-overs.

d) All of the above

THIS is why I married him

Jamie's profundity of the day whilst watching Sesame Street with Hadley:

"Hey, is it just me or do Grover and Miss Piggy have the same voice?"

When dinner parties reveal disturbing details about your neighbors

How do you know if you're cheap and anal (in the kindest way possible):

Just ask our good friends and neighbors whom we'll call the "Aymonds." The family rules for turning on the fireplace must meet at least one of the following criteria:

1. It is snowing outside
2. Someone throws up
3. Someone is thrown up upon

"Friendship Bread?" Yeah, right!

OK, I have a beef to make. Actually, more of a bread. An Amish Cinnamon "Friendship" Bread to be exact. If you're not familiar with friendship bread, it is kind of like one of those annoying chain letters that curses you 1000 years if you break the chain. Now, just insert a fermenting bread base that you fondle for two weeks before if finally makes anything and there you have it.

I am currently on Day 4 of my Friendship Bread, which was given to me by someone I formerly considered my friend. My responsibility today was to "Squeeze bag." This was the same as yesterday. And the day before. And it will be the same tomorrow. On Day 6, I'll have the exciting task of adding sugar, flour and milk and then I'll get to (you guessed it) "Squeeze bag" for the next several days. It isn't until DAY 10 that I'll finally get to bake the stuff. By then, do you even think I'll care about the STUPID bread!? Just give it to me ALREADY BAKED!!!

My only comfort is I'll then be able to distribute the bread base to four more of my "friends" and the chain will continue. Only for me, I wouldn't put my worst enemy through this process. So if you are one of the recipients of "Amber's Adversary Bread," be worried. Very worried.

ABBA LIVES!

In the infamous words of ABBA:

"Mama Mia, Here We Go Again."

Yep, I am with child a second time around and am due in July. The hottest month of the year. When 98 Degrees is not just a has-been boy band. My hubby Jamie is already saving money for the air-conditioning bills. And earplugs. To think I thought I was overheated when giving birth to Hurricane Hadley in May last time around....

Hadley's Stork Report

Thanks to the many well-wishers out there regarding our Baby #2 announcement! We're thrilled and full of trepidation at the same time. Thrilled because it's such an honor and a privilege. Full of trepidation because we have barely survived our 18-month-long Hurricane. Case in point: Check out my "Stork Report" from Hurricane Hadley; a bit lengthy but definitely worth the WILD ride (and I'm not just talkin' about them thar stir-ups....)

Monday, May 24th, 2004--More than one week before Hadley's due date.
Busy making final preps on the new house until late. Jamie is incredibly stressed with projects at work and yearns to skip out. His final words to Hadley before bedtime: "If you come tomorrow, I'll buy you a car when you're 16." Daddy's final lesson before becoming a parent: be careful what you wish for. It may actually come true.

Tuesday, May 25th-
1, 3, 5 and 6 a.m.--As usual, Amber waddles her way to the potty.7 a.m.--Waddles to the bathroom. Discovers something unusually wet--her water possibly broke! Calls the doc who tells them to come in. Jamie rejoices about starting his two-week "vacation." The reality of his car pledge later hits him with great force.
9 a.m.--Meet with the doc. Performs various tests. Bag of waters is ruptured with a leak but is not broken. Evil woman sends Amber and Jamie home.
10 a.m.--Amber and Jamie go on long walk (a.k.a. waddle), hoping to kick things into motion. Steady leak continues but no real progress.
11:45 a.m.--Decide to grab a sandwich at Einstein Bagels. After eating, Amber blows her nose. Suddenly, the flood gates open. In very public booth #3 at Einstein's. At lunchtime. Amber hisses at Jamie to discreetly grab her some napkins to cleanup. Jamie obliges and brings back two napkins, not understanding that bag of waters is in actuality, plural. Meaning many.
12:30 p.m.--After operation "Cleanup in Booth 3,"Amber casually strolls (a.k.a. waddles with soaked pants) to the Jeep. They rush to the hospital. Jamie drops her off with a grocery bag of personal items. He proceeds to park the car and bring in the luggage.
12:45 p.m.--As Amber stealthily walks up to the nurse's station, she notes her appearance: soaked black sweats, unruly hair and a Wal-Mart bag for luggage: White Trash Incarnate. Jamie arrives with the rest of the luggage, announcing to the nurses: "Has anyone seen a strawberry-blonde with wet pants?" They chortle delightfully, later avowing his statement will go down as the funniest entrance in Birthing Center History. What a crackup.
1 p.m.-5 p.m.--Amber put on Pitocin (also known as "Pit") to induce labor. Later discovers it is actually the "pits". Light contractions begin but she can barely feel them and spends the afternoon watching Dr. Phil and Oprah with Jamie. Wonders what all those wimpy women have been whining about for centuries re: the "pains of childbirth."
5:30 p.m.--Discovers what those "wimpy women" were talking about. The hard way. Now wonders why women would knowingly choose to do this multiple times.
6 p.m.--Excruciating Pain Con't. Jamie compares Amber to Jekyl and Hyde. Cracking jokes and delightful…until the contractions hit. Jamie does a fabulous job as coach. Is instrumental in helping Amber Hyde maintain her composure.
7 p.m.--Amber's best friend Mimi the Epidural Lady arrives. About 7 excruciating contractions later than requested. Amber practices the Miracle of Forgiveness. But not until after the drug kicks in.
7:30 p.m.--Amber is a new woman and plays the waiting game until full dilation. Jamie and Amber have a delightful time talking travel with the doc and nurse. Amber ponders the mysteries of life i.e. why anyone would chose not to get an epidural. Equates it to the lunacy of climbing Everest without oxygen.
10:15 p.m.--Starts pushing. Ouch.
11:05 p.m.--Everest attained. With oxygen. But the views are nonetheless spectacular! Beautiful Hadley arrives pretty and pink. Mom Amber now understanding why women do this multiple times. Dad Jamie still worried about that new car he owes his obedient daughter...

And thus began our tale of living "Happily Ever After!" (or would that be sleepless?...)