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….

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

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!

Chatterboxing
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.

Sing, Sing a Song
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 time 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.

Toy Story
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….

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

In general, Jamie is a great help around the house except for one area: the kitchen. He has always been opposed to doing dishes. His mother has tales of him hiding them under his bed for weeks in an effort to avoid the unpleasantness of taking two seconds to load them in the dishwasher.

I just happen to be an obsessive clean freak about my kitchen and practically have a panic attack when anything is left in the sink more than 3.5 seconds. For this reason, I take extra efforts to ensure the dishwasher is always unloaded so in the off chance he miraculously decides to progress one step beyond putting his dishes in the sink that they’ll find a happy new home in the dishwasher.

Last night, we were sitting around the kitchen table devouring a chocolate chipper sundae delight I whipped up. Haddie, as usual, was making a mess with the melted chocolate. And I, as usual, was hovering nearby, ready to spring at the first attempt she made to smear it everywhere. I had grabbed one of our kitchen rags and frequently wiped her fingers off.

“You know that’s really gross, Amber.”
“What’s gross? I’m cleaning up after Hadley.”
“Just look at that cloth you’re using. It’s utterly old and disgusting.”
“FYI, I wash all my rags every couple of days. It’s clean.”
“It looks like it’s 100 years old. Throw it out now! I refuse to touch that thing with a 10-foot pole.”
“Oh really? That’s because you refuse to clean the kitchen.”
“That’s beside the point, Honey.”

**From the immortal words of a magnet on my mother-in-law’s fridge:**
“No woman ever shot a man while he was doing the dishes.”

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

So, I’ve been a bit of a bloggin’ slacker lately. Call it poor health, call it exhaustion, call it my physical inability to sit in a chair for extended periods of time. Everyone keeps assuring me I’m on the home stretch. That the only thing between a crying, sleepless newborn and me is less than two measly months. Note: these folks need to take some tips on how to give a real pep talk.

Knowing I’ve been at my wit’s end lately, my [greatest-in-the-world] mother-in-law offered to take Hadley while we enjoyed a getaway weekend for Mother’s Day. Since I can’t participate in our regular activities such as hiking or biking or walking or sitting, we were faced with the dilemma of where to go and what to do. We finally decided upon a trip to Manitou Springs, a charming little hamlet at the base of Pike’s Peak, a commanding 14,000-foot vista.

We chose a quaint and beautiful bed and breakfast. Just as I was relishing the size of the doorways and knobs (lowered to perfectly fit my height), Jamie (in a very timely and tactful manner) complained this place had to be built for midgets (gee, thanks). In addition to some quality R&R in midgetland, we strolled around town, gorged ourselves at THE BEST FINE-DINING RESTAURANT EVER and watched a video/documentary, New York Doll, that was a hit at last year’s reputable Sundance Film Festival (a DVD I would HIGHLY recommend).

We hooked up with Jamie’s best friend and his wife one afternoon. While Jamie and Stan discussed potential real estate ventures, Joan and I discussed children. There are two types of mothers: those who have angel children and brag about them all the time. And then there’s the rest of us.

One thing I like about Joan is she would seem like she has her act together: she’s gorgeous, sweet and talented…just the kind of gal I would normally envy. But her one redeeming quality is she gave birth to The Mother of all Natural Disasters, Gracie. Though she is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen, this 4-year-old makes Hurricane Hadley look like a mere drop in the bucket. She and Hadley lived parallel existences the first year of their lives (colicky, never slept, moody, refused to nurse, etc.) but fortunately they parted ways down the terror highway as soon as Hadley became mobile.

Our subject de jour was regarding potty training. Gracie is being denied entrance into preschool because she obstinately refuses to potty train (she somehow views crapping and peeing in her pants as the ultimate victory over parental control). This has made me increasingly fearful about potty training. Even though Hadley isn’t yet ready, we have been prepping her for months. Last week, Jamie stripped her down and spent some quality time with her on the potty. He got a few pushes, a resounding fart and a big, satisfied smile out of the experience. And Haddie didn’t do too badly, either.

When they emerged from the bathroom, Jamie announced how well she did and that he was sure she would have gone if she truly needed to. Not even a minute later, she triumphantly peed on our carpet. Now, this causes me to beg the question: if crapping and peeing in your pants is the ultimate victory, just how does triumphant carpet urination measure up?

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

Welp, I was finally starting to feel better (for two whopping days) when I got slammed this weekend with a return to the First Trimester. I’ll spare you the sordid details. Let’s just say I pulled two all-nighters in a row as I prayed to the porcelain gods. I’m trying to keep my spirits up but hope this phase will soon pass!

With seven weeks to go, it is evident Junior is that much closer to making his entrance into the world. And as much as I try to call upon the Powers That Be to deliver this child via a blessed, mythical creature called the stork (that some woman in labor inevitably conjured up), I know the reality.

But I also know the options: to have pain or not to have pain. Though I’m all for anyone who wants to attempt the former, I have a great testimony of the latter.

Jamie is fully supportive of epidurals, primarily because he knows my level of pain is intricately connected to the out-lashings he receives during labor. He has always understood that. During our prenatal classes we watched a video of two babies being born: one naturally, the other with painkillers.

Following the presentation, our pro-natural doula asked the class: “Now, can you tell me the difference between the two deliveries?” She was obviously searching for anti-drug answers such as how the woman having the epidural was hooked up to lots of wires.

My blessed, blessed honey raised his hand and brazenly announced, “”Uhhh, yeah. The woman with the epidural was smiling.” We were obviously blacklisted by the doula after that one.
A recent playdate with my friend Dawn and her little boy caused further reflection as she extolled the virtues of natural childbirth. “I had an epidural with my first but I couldn’t feel a thing and it delayed labor,” she explained. “But with my second baby, I didn’t take anything and he was born much quicker.”

She then recommended a book, The Bradley Way, which allegedly gives wonderful insights into the entire process. Now, I had a friend loan that book to me when I was pregnant the first time around. I deemed it was not a good sign when I almost fainted at the graphic birthing pictures. Once I recovered, I admittedly didn’t get too far into the book when I discovered the Table of Contents was bereft of certain key words such as “epidural” and “painkillers.”

Don’t get me wrong…I’m not some kind of wimp. Anyone with a passion for athletics enjoys a certain level of pain. But call me crazy–climbing a 14,000-foot peak with my legs and lungs burning is a good kind of pain. Having mind-numbing contractions course through your body as your very innards feel as though they are being ripped from you; this is my definition of not good pain.

When Dawn asked me what I would do differently with this labor, I gave her my honest answer: “I plan to have more drugs. Sooner.”

I’m not out to prove anything this time around to see how long I can cope before reaching the breaking point. I’m going in already broken.

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

It’s been quite the crazy week but I’m pleased to say I’m [barely] surviving. I have much to report but alas, no energy or time to do it today. We have a photo-shoot with The Hurricane this morning for her 2 year birthday (which is next week). I took her yesterday to a photo studio and it was a decidedly hellacious experience. It was like my adorable toddler transformed into her Terrible 2s in one instant. Actually, it was an instant that lasted an eternity and not one of those photos turned out. A photographer friend bravely offered to try today but this time, I’ll have the ultimate weapon with me: Grandma.

Oh, and did I mention it’ll be record-breaking 90 degrees in Denver today? I am, of course, absolutely thrilled about that. Bring on the Beluga bathing suit and kiddie pool.

Continuing on the subject of immigration from my last blog, I got a kick out of my friend Angie’s email she sent last week. Ahhh, out of the mouths of babes:

“The elementary school I work for in Arizona is about 95% Hispanic, many of them illegal, and all of them affected by the current immigration issues . (ie: last week on the Stay-Home-From-School-Work-Shopping-Day over half of our students were absent) Anyway, a kindergarten teacher I work with shared a funny exchange between she and a student recently.

Jesus (Student): Oh Mrs. Lavoie! I’m moving to Mexico.
Carole (Teacher): Jesus, I’ll miss you. When are you moving?
Jesus: Whenever the police catch us!

LOL! I mean, don’t we all want to live the American Dream? Oh wait. I’d be happy to live the Canadian Dream these days. You know, the one with sub-zero temperatures and blessed wind-chill factors….

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

During President Bush’s national address on Monday, Jamie and I got into a discussion about immigration issues.

“Doesn’t your Permanent Resident Card expire in a couple of years? Maybe you should renew it now. There’s no telling if there’s another 9/11 what will happen to foreigners if things get a bit crazy again.”

“I don’t think it expires until 2009 so I’m safe for a while. Plus, I have an American husband and daughter. Why? Are you trying to force me out?”

“Au contraire, Amber. I’m trying to keep you in! I mean, who else is going to do my dishes when you’re gone?”

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

Hunky Hubby and I were chatting in bed the other night about babies. Particularly, about some of Haddie’s friends who weren’t very cute babies but who have evolved into super darling toddlers. Call me crazy but the cutest ones are the round ones; scrawny babies just don’t have the same appeal until they get a bit older.
Jamie mentioned how the cuteness evolution happens in reverse in later years. “All those crushes I had in elementary school never would have held up if I’d known what those girls would end up looking like when they turned 13.”

“Oh really?” I replied. “If you will recall, you are talking about me! Lest you forget, I went through a painfully ugly stage around that time with my frizz-bomb hair, coke-bottle glasses and 80s styles.”

Silence. He knew I was right.

“And how do you explain your own personal evolution?” I asked. “You have looked the same since birth. People who knew you in your childhood still recognize you everywhere you go.”

Jamie, [modestly] “Some of us just blossom early, I guess.

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

Hurricane Hadley has a new best friend of whom I don’t approve. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some snobby mom who doesn’t let her kid play with a certain sort of people. But this friend? Welp, he’s purple. And he’s a dinosaur, fer heaven’s sake. And he’s annoying as hell.

Yep, Hadley is obsessed with Barney–that very show I vowed I’d never expose her to. And I didn’t. He’s on after Sesame Street and I have made valiant efforts to drop whatever I’m doing and promptly terminate the TV when Elmo says his final good-byes.

The blame goes to Grandma who innocently introduced her, obviously not knowing the ramifications. Who could’ve known he would be the ONLY one in the whole world who could calm her down when she wakes up moody from her naps? Or that his love song to her at the end of the show “I love you, you love me,” could make her combust into a fountain of tears because she knows their time together is drawing to a close. Or that she would lay awake at night wondering what her offspring would look like if she and Barney ever had babies together.

After watching Barney the other day, we went to run some errands. For months now, I have been incessantly reciting 123s and ABCs wherever we go. She finally relented and said the number “1″ a few weeks ago (a major victory because she has stubbornly refused to say it). In addition to 1, she’d occasionally list off the occasional number just to shut me up. But really, her attentions have been focused on learning the alphabet. So when I was in the car with her, I turned my focus back to numbers as I attempted to teach her how to say she is “2 years old,” in honor of her birthday at the end of the month.

She gave me her typical teen-aged “Why are you bothering me, Mother,” look and then casually blurted out, “1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10.” I stopped, shocked. “Did you just count to 10, Hadley?” She repeated herself, this time throwing in the number 11 for good measure. Showoff.

I was practically jumping for joy! Finally, all those countless hours of teaching her, of slaving over her growth had finally paid off! I had a glimmer of hope that I was making at least some difference in her life! Bursting with pride, I wanted acknowledgment and gratitude for my efforts. “Hadley, who taught you to count to 10?”

“Barney!!!!!!!!”

Happy Mother’s Day, indeed.

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

I braved the zoo yesterday with Hadley and Friends. Admittedly, I’m not a huge fan of the zoo. I mean, I don’t mind it but there’s something about enduring the crowds to go look at an animal who’s sleeping behind a rock that just doesn’t excite me. But I do it for Hadley. Of course, she gets enthralled with the swinging doors on their garbage cans. Add a slumbering animal in there? She’s in Haddie Heaven.

One area Hadley LOVED today was the primates. We spent a good portion of time watching the monkeys swing from tree-to-tree, pick their butts and eat it. Frightening how truly huMAN they are.

When we arrived home, we called Jamie to give him an account of our outing. “Monkeys! BADDD!!” Hadley blurted out. “Really, Haddie? What did they do?” She then proceeded to share their rebellious tale.

“Jumping.”

“Bed.”

“FALL!”

“Bonk.”

Jamie suddenly clued in. “Hadley, did Mommy call the doctor? What did he say?”

“No!! Monkeys!! Jump!! Bed!!!!”

Stay tuned next week for her rendering about that B-A-A-A-A-d rule-breaking lamb of Mary’s she saw on the way to school one day….

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