I have survived my first two weeks of boot camp. No, this maple-leaf-pledging Canuck did not join the American troops but I have ventured out on a new kind of workout and weight-loss program. The kind I hope will not only kick butt but will reduce my protruding one.

Do you know those women whose pounds just seem to magically melt away after giving birth? I am not among them. Following my first pregnancy, I lost most of the weight but after baby No. 2, it is still clinging to me like a blood-sucking leech. Too bad they don’t do fat.

I have participated in a number of great mommy and me exercise classes, most of which I highly recommend. But this time, I needed something different; I needed to focus only on myself to get back on track.

Enter: Front Range Adventure Boot Camp for Women. The program originated out of Orange County, CA and is a part of the largest fitness boot camp in the world. Well, daunting Canadian marine corps notwithstanding.

I was thrilled to begin my four-week outdoor fitness program, nutritional counseling and motivational training. As I was leaving for my first day of class, my husband called out,

“Have fun!”
“This is boot camp, Jamie. I am not supposed to have fun.”
“Well, don’t cry, then.”
“That’s better.”
Read on …

Congratulations to Amy F. of Greely, winner of our Little Hands Learning Activity kits!

I have a confession to make: I am addicted to lotion. I almost called it a fetish but such a descriptor conjures up images of perverts who collect women’s underwear.

Though admittedly many of my creams do hail from Victoria’s Secret. Hmmmm….

I recently talked about my need to use lotion umpteen times a day on our mama-to-mama forum. I was soon contacted by Jill Brenehy of Lemongrass Spa Products who introduced me to her female-owned Colorado company that specializes in spa treats. She offered to send me a sample to review. The chance to feed the addiction? Sign me up.

I am extremely picky about what goes onto my skin. I don’t like it too sticky, harsh, clammy or dry. I have tried countless lotions and Lemongrass Spa is now among my favorites. Their products are unique because Read on …

Do you know a kid who is kind to animals? I don’t, which is precisely why my young children do not yet have any pets.

But for those who do, the American Humane Association is celebrating its 94th annual Be Kind to Animals Week, May 4-10. To highlight the event, American Humane is seeking nominations for kids, ages 6-17, who are working hard in their communities to improve the lives and welfare of animals.

To enter, fill out the nomination form at www.americanhumane.org/bkaw. Nominations must be submitted online or postmarked by April 15. Nominees must be between the ages of six and 17 during the time of nomination. The grand-prize winner and two runners-up will be selected from each of the two age groups and featured on American Humane’s Web site. Grand-prize winners will receive $2,000 in cash, which can be applied toward their causes.

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April is Autism Awareness Month. Read on …

Have you ever called Poison Control?

When I was pregnant with our first baby, we called. Did I ingest Lysol? Was I overcome with ammonia fumes? Did I take too many prenatal vitamins? No. I ate an apple.

In the process of apple-eating, I accidently bit into several little black seeds which were clustered together. They were bitter and I tried to spit out the acrid taste. The word ARSENIC suddenly sprang to mind. Don’t apple seeds harbor arsenic, the same stuff Cary Grant’s ancient lace-wearing aunts used to put lonely men out of their misery? My unborn baby was inside. I could see the arsenic absorbing into my bloodstream. I envisioned it coursing through my body and into the umbilical cord of my baby. I told hubby what I had done—ingested apple seeds! He seemed unimpressed until I reminded him how apple seeds are little miniature bombs, loaded with nature’s own chemical warfare. I started sobbing.

He still wasn’t properly concerned, until I hysterically demanded he call Poison Control to see what the next step should be. He dialed. I curled into a ball on the couch, convinced I had done something horrible.

I have no idea what the person on the other end of the line looked like. I am pretty sure he or she was digging fingernails into his or her thigh to stop themselves from erupting into convulsive laughter at my expense. The Poison Controller assured hubby that all was well and I hadn’t just poisoned my baby or myself with apple seeds. I don’t think I quite believed it, but eventually I calmed down enough to give birth to her several months later, no harm done. Read on …

Hubby and I had lunch at The Yard House recently. (OK, more like *every* day, but who’s counting?) The Yard House, with 50 zillion beers on tap, none of which we can have over lunch, also blasts classic rock incessantly over their loud speakers. And while I have nothing intrinsically against classic rock, and there certainly are many AWESOME classic rock songs out there - let’s face it… there are also some REALLY cruddy classic rock songs that somehow co-exist in the same universe with Led Zeppelin and The Who.

That day was no exception. One crappy song after the other played throughout our burger-and-salad meal, till finally we hit the motherload.

Amie by Pure Prairie League.

I nearly fainted. “Argh! I hate this song. The only ‘Amy’ song in the whole entire world and I am forced to listen to THIS garbage over and over my whole entire life.”

Bryan totally agreed. “This song belongs on The Soundtrack of My Own Personal Hell.” Read on …

The brouhaha of this past week regarding a blogger junket planned by Johnson & Johnson got me thinking about where it’s appropriate to bring a baby, and where it’s not.

Last summer, when I was still pregnant, many of my fellow bloggers brought their babies to the BlogHer conference in Chicago. Some of them used the child care services provided by the conference organizers, but others carried their babies in slings throughout the days (and nights). I wasn’t disturbed by their presence at all, and even held one little guy on my lap while listening to Elizabeth Edwards’ keynote address.

Since Oliver’s birth, I’ve taken him out several times without incident. (Unless you count his bowel movement at Panera that literally echoed off the walls and ceiling.) We even dined with him at Jax Fish House in LoDo on my birthday. He nursed under a cover for most of the meal, then settled into his carseat next to my husband Kyle as I settled into a glass of port. Not a single peep out of him all evening.

And until J&J clarified that their plans for Camp Baby did not in fact include babies, I was planning for his first plane trip, hotel stay, and taxi ride at just over two months old.

But should I have been making those plans? Is it okay to take a relatively portable newborn places that I wouldn’t take a toddler? Or is it my responsibility to my fellow diners, travelers, and conference attendees to find care or else stay at home? Read on …

I am not religious. And I’m not really interested in celebrating the Hallmark holidays, either. Add to this an aversion to candy and an inherent laziness when it comes to decorating/cooking/shopping/costume-making, and you end up with a person who doesn’t appear to do very much in the way of “celebrating.”

This would be a non-issue, except that I have four small children. These four small children attend schools and daycares. And these schools and daycares are CONSTANTLY reminding said children that they need to wear green, or buy Valentine’s Day cards, or bring their Easter baskets with the plastic grass to school on Friday. But it’s okay! Holidays are OKAY. They just tend to make me look like an abhorrent parent when… I’m actually pretty good.

So celebrating traditional, universal holidays isn’t where I SHINE as a mother. I’m generally not the mom that offers to make cupcakes for the Christmas party. I’m not the mom that volunteers to paint eggs. I have a really hard time coming up with cute ideas for a Halloween costume. And… (prepare to cringe) I might very well forget to call my mom on Mother’s Day if it weren’t for the fact that school teachers remind my kids to shower me with homemade cards and slobbery kisses on said day.

BUT. Read on …