Dear DoubleTree Neighbors,

This is a letter to apologize for the sleepless night you endured at the DoubleTree Hotel on Saturday. If it is any consolation to you, we received even less sleep (as my husband noted on his blog.)

We knew we were in trouble when we attempted to nap earlier in the day. As my sweetie and I laid there on the cushy bed with fluffy pillows, we couldn’t help but marvel about our perfect little getaway weekend. I mean, what could be better than a trip to the North Pole (details forthcoming), surrounded by the splendor of the Rocky Mountains?

Then we were jolted out of our reverie by the two children who screamed and wailed around us. The funny thing was when one would finally fall asleep, they’d get woken up by the other. Hilarious, right? It made me marvel at all those poor people in the world who live in a one-bedroom home. Either they never get any sleep or they are the deepest sleepers in the world.

The evening didn’t start too badly, dear neighbors. As you will recall, The Children went down with only minor fussing. Until 11:30 p.m. when the Hurricane was aroused and delirium ensued for an hour as she wailed that every part on her body hurt. Imagine that! Enduring such a horrific condition when only two years old.

And then The Slug awoke an hour later, thus beginning our memorable all-nighter. Aren’t you glad you forked over $136/night to be reminded why you 1) don’t have children 2) have children who sleep or 3) were smart enough to leave them at home.

Again my dear neighbors, please accept our deepest apologies. In the end, we had to tag team as my dear husband calmed the Hurricane in his corner and I battled the slug in mine. Rest assured (or more like an extreme lack thereof), we will think twice before taking the children with us again. Be comforted in knowing that absolutely no hanky panky occurred with the children present. Because the last thing on our minds was a desire to make anymore.

Sincerely,

She-Who-Wishes-To-Remain-Anonymous-For-Fear-Of-Retribution

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

After Jamie got Bode ready for bed the other night, I noticed that the tag to his PJs was on the front.

“Jamie, you put his PJs on backwards.”

“They’re not backwards. I just think out-of-the-box while you think in.”

*********

Haddie has an obsession with fruit leather and loves toting it around the house as she gnaws away. One day, Jamie came up to me and commented, “Look what I just found stuck to my butt,” and he showed me the fruit leather.

“Ohhh, that is sooo gross!”

He nodded in affirmation. And then proceeded to peel it off and shove it into his mouth.

I’m still curious to know what flavor it was….

******

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

We recently had some folks over for dinner with their little boy, Larry. He’s only a month and a half older than Bode yet is double his weight. At five months, the cute little porker already weighs over 25 POUNDS and costs his parents more than $100 in formula a week (he’s goes through a can and a half a day). I haven’t seen such over-indulgence since my stint on the Sumo wrestling circuit.

Photo caption: the day Bode almost died when Larry rolled over on him after we snapped the picture.

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

Living on Wisteria Lane ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, it looks purdy on the surface but dig a little deeper and all our sordid secrets are revealed: underage driving, abuse, child neglect, etc.

Thus describes hanging out with our Latina neighbors on Monday. With our version of red-hot Gabrielle (minus the slutty part) at the helm and her two bilingual toddler boys, anything is possible. Hadley has a love-hate relationship with these kids. Namely, she sometimes hates playing with them because she gets beat up but loves their toys. No kid should ever have to be so conflicted.

At 3, Gabe is already a gifted athlete and excels at every sport. He is also the most intense and aggressive little guy I’ve ever seen who rarely smiles. He can’t. We might find weakness. His 18-month-old brother Luke, on the other hand, is smiley, affectionate and sweet. And is often the unfortunate recipient of The Hurricane’s wrath as retribution for his brother’s sins.

So, we’re hanging out yesterday in Monica’s garage discussing Wisteria-esque subjects such as vasectomies and circumcisions (because we’re just that red-hot.) All the while, the kids are fighting over driving their motorized Jeep and every toy in sight. When little Luke decides to go in the house…and lock the door behind him. Funny thing was, all the other doors were locked as well. And Monica didn’t have a spare key.

Thus began the saga of trying to get the little fella out. If it would have been Gabe, he would have simply knocked the door down from his sheer animal strength. But remember poor Luke is the sensitive type and when he realized he was away from his mama, the flood gates were unleashed. Monica’s husband worked a half hour away and immediately headed home.

In the interim, we tried to coax Luke to unlock the door but to no avail. All he could do was stand in the corner, stare at the door knob, and cry. We eventually persuaded him to the back screen door and did a very convincing game of charades as we showed him how he needed to lift the bar to open the door.

By now, he’d stopped crying and it didn’t take long before we saw the humor in the whole thing. Two desperate moms trying to describe to a 1-year-old how to open a complicated sliding door. Yeah, right.

“You really need to get a picture of him looking out at you,” I said.
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. It may only seem a little bit funny now but it’ll seem really funny later.”

And so she snapped away. I’m an evil influence like that. Monica continued to cajole Luke. A few minutes later, I announced:

“Monica, I know what the problem is!”
Excited, she looked at me expectedly. Finally, I had solution?!
“What is it?”
“You’re describing how to open this door in Spanish. How the crap is the poor kid supposed to understand?”

Because what would any crisis situation be without a smart ass around?

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

I have never been one to discuss my bathroom habits with anyone, nor do I get particularly enthusiastic about the subject.

Until I had The Hurricane and suddenly the motivation to get her out of diapers has turned me into a non-stop potty mouth. Initially, it was disconcerting to have my own audience for every grimace, wipe and flush I made but now I perform like a pro.

“Ohhhh, I just LOOOOVE going on the big-girl potty! Look how FUN this is!”

The flushing part is truly the climax of my performance and fills me with such joy each and every time. I mean, to see it swirl around and around in circles? What could be more rewarding?!

Perhaps I’m overdoing it but believe me, if you had to change one of The Hurricane’s diapers, you’d understand. She takes after Jamie’s side of the family and has what I call explosive loose-bowel syndrome: where every crappy diaper brings tears to my eyes from the mere stench, texture and volume. A friend recently watched Haddie and had the misfortune of changing one of these diapers. She later announced that I owed her an extra half hour of babysitting her daughter in exchange for the traumatic experience.

Until last week, Hadley has shown very little interest in using the potty. A couple of her friends have recently been trained, including her friend Adde who has an affinity towards pooping in the woods when we hike (a concept that fascinated Haddie and she has talked about it for weeks: “See Adde? Poop in woods? COOOOOOL!”)

But out of the blue last week, Hadley announced she wanted to use the potty. Of course, she’s done this before but nothing has happened besides some impressive grunts and the occasional fart. When she came out this time, she demanded a sucker (her reward) but after surveying her efforts, I told her she needed to actually go and not just try.

Determined, she went back in. A few minutes later, she announced she was done. Sure enough, there was a little strain of urine in the potty. Welp, given the party we threw, you’d think it was the freakin’ Mardi Gras (complete with the debauchery of one half-naked kid). She got her sucker, got her accolades and we called Jamie and Linda (his mom) with the good news.

Haddie then demanded to wear her “big-girl Dora panties.” I figured Jamie wouldn’t be home until late so this would be a good opportunity to do some training. I put her in them, loaded her up with beverages and told her she’d better not pee on Dora. She adamantly concurred that Dora would be “sad” if she peed on her face and I felt confident we had an understanding. And I couldn’t help but think “Holy crap, this is gonna be EASY.”

Until I went to give her a bath soon thereafter. Not only had she desecrated poor Dora but she then proceeded to crap in the tub, something she has only ever done one other time. One step forward, two steps waaaay back, right?

And so, I’m stumped if she’s really ready and kinda dreading the whole experience. Jamie’s mom told me a while ago about a woman she saw on “Good Morning America” who touted her book on potty training in a day. This has actually gave me my new strategy.

Me: “They seriously said it can be done in a day?”
Linda: “Yes, and it’s not that difficult to do if you think Haddie is ready.”
Me: “Well, I’ll tell you what. Since it’s not that tough and you’re watching her next Monday, why don’t you just take care of it?”

Brilliant, yes? “Potty Training By Grandma.” It’ll be my new best-selling book. Lemme know if you’d be interested in pre-ordering a copy today….

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

So, we survived our month-long Halloween celebration. Truth be told, I LOVE Halloween and it always takes me back to my own childhood when we’d go out for hours in those sub-zero Canadian temperatures. Those days were for the purists, when we wouldn’t be caught dead carrying one of those woosy trick-or-treat bags you see today. Yep, I’m talking about the plain ‘ol pillow cases we used to haul a year’s worth of candy.

And this ringing the doorbell thing? It was for woosies. If you weren’t loud enough to scream out “Trick-or-treat,” you weren’t worthy of the candy. Fortunately, being heard has never been a problem for me.

For my Halloween-obsessed-kids-in-training, we did it all this season. We threw and attended parties, hit the pumpkin patch, a trunk-or-treat, did a Halloween hike (with goodies along the trail), gorged ourselves at a pumpkin pancakefest, and had a neighborhood parade (complete with a firetruck leading the procession), followed by trick-or-treating.

The next morning, I learned that waking up at 5 a.m. with The Hurricane does have its advantages. I.e. before the rest of you had even dragged your sorry butts outta bed, I had taken down all our decorations and was the first to hit the apres-Halloween sales yesterday. And did I ever score! Because every household has to have a fog machine. And what would our front yard be without Marcus the Carcus next year? But call me crazy, I thought the point of a sale is to actually save money and not spend it.

The only real tragedy was Jamie’s when his pride and joy was butchered. I mean, the only blogs the man has posted lately are surrounding how proud he was of that pumpkin. And this is how he found his baby yesterday….
I won’t give you the sordid details of the discovery. Just know it ain’t pretty to see a grown man cry. And finally, a picture collage of some of the highlights and lowlights of October. Let the countdown begin for how many days we have until the next Halloween…

… See my Tabblo>

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

This is your child on sugar (when over-consumption deludes the young child to think she can leap off the arm of the couch and land on her face without consequence.)

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