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

And I’m not talking about the hour The Hurricane now wakes up thanks to that #$&#* time change. You know, that one I used to look forward to because I’d get an extra hour of sleep. Now, it only means The Hurricane wakes up at 5 instead of 6 a.m. Whoever dreamed up the whole thing obviously didn’t have young children.

No, my Halloween Twilight Zone is regarding my favorite pair of pants and shirt I found yesterday. Y’see, they’ve been MIA for months now and they mysteriously showed up on the floor of my closet yesterday. Even after I thoroughly searched the entire thing months ago.

My only solutions? We really are living in the Twilight Zone

OR

Hunky Hubby has taken to cross-dressing.

You decide.

Photo caption: Hadley gives the top three reasons why she LOVES Halloween. Have a good one!

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

My 3 1/2-month-old Slug has become an Insomniac Slug. I didn’t even know they made that particular species but he assures me he’s highly evolved. At least that’s why he claims he no longer needs sleep. He says it’s much more fun for mollusks to wake up every one to two hours. All. Night. Long. Funny, I didn’t know they woke up much at all (hence the name “slug…”)

After life with The Hurricane, I knew I had it good when Bode was born. He has always slept a five-hour block until the last few weeks. Nothing has changed with his daytime schedule besides he’s spitting up a bit more lately but not enough for me to be alarmed. So, I’m stumped and am looking for suggestions. All I know is that I’m tired. Oh so very tired.

We’ve had some fun plans the last few days. Friday was Haddie’s big Halloween bash and that night was YMCA’s party. Saturday, we planned to spend the morning playing at a beautiful park and then hit our church’s trunk-or-treat that evening.

Friday was one of my worst all-nighters with the Insomniac Slug. So, imagine how thrilled I was when I finally dragged myself up that morning to have my normally-sensitive husband announce that our park plans had changed because he had booked a massage. For himself. And to think he’s still trying to figure out why I was P-I-S-S-Y all day long.

In other news: Haddie’s party was the social event of the season. We had tons of cute kids with darling costumes and fun games. Well, I at least thought they were fun, though oftentimes I could’ve sworn those toddlers were teens because they looked at me skeptically as if to say “You want me to do what?” Foreshadowing, my friends.

And yes, Bode does have orange and blue hair. If you can’t find a helmet that fits, use spray paint (isn’t that what the good book says?) I figure his subsequent therapy will rival the cost I spend on the psych ward in order to get three consecutive hours of sleep.

And then there’s The Hurricane. Not only have I taught her to cheer “Like, GO TEAM,” but she has also mastered the accompanying head bob. I’m afraid I have created a monster. Or worse: a cheerleader.

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

Maybe it’s just me but have customer service and common courtesy gone to pot lately? I’m usually tight-lipped about such frustrations and rarely say anything the majority of the time. Until lately.

Case Study #1

McDonald’s. Not my favorite place in the world but it’s definitely one of Hadley’s. During a snowstorm and one of Jamie’s late nights, I had to get out of the house and was simply shocked Haddie suggested it since she only does that ten times a day.

I don’t like their food so decided to try their new Asian Salad (bleh…hate pre-packaged) and ordered Haddie a Happy Meal with chicken nuggets. A nice kid was helping me but it was a second man who rudely shoved it in my direction, which provoked the following discussion.

“Is there sauce in there?”
“No, you didn’t ask for it.”
“Well, you didn’t ask me if I wanted any. And you didn’t even give me the chance.”
“Well, it’s a little late for that. What are you saying–you want sauce now?”
“Yes.”

And I then proceeded to bawl him out for being so unbelievably lazy and rude. Do you wanna know the best of it? He was the manager.

Case Study #2

JoAnn’s. As many of you know, fabric stores are my worst nemesis but they were having a sale on sucker-making kits and I made an exception for the sake of making them for Haddie’s party. When I arrived at the checkout, there were two cashiers and only two people in front of me. So tell me why it took 20 minutes to get through?

Because of incompetence, folks. Because one of the cashiers was having a customer issue and a manager came to help. Problem was the other available cashier stopped for about 10 minutes to eavesdrop. Oh, and did I mention my kids were screaming?

The other cashier ( you know, the one who wasn’t doing anything) called for backup and do you know who she decided to help first? An employee who was standing at the back of the line. Fuming, I took the high road of all us crazy Christians by asking What Would Jesus Do and said nothing.

Case Study #3

I said something. A lot of something (evil am I). I had to make a quick stop into one final store to buy little Bode a winter jacket and when I arrived at the checkout, once again there were two cashiers and about 10 people waiting in a single line and then dispatching to whatever cashier became available.

Again, I waited. Again, the children screamed. And though frustrated, I was doing just fine until people started forming a second line and cutting in front after I’d already been waiting for some time. Call me crazy but I thought we all learned anti-line-cutting etiquette back in kindergarten.

This time, I loudly queried what the order of the procession was and man, did I stir up the cutter-inners (their official title, I’m sure). In the end, nothing was rectified because they stubbornly remained in place as my children screamed for 15 minutes longer than was requisite.

And the next time this happens? Believe me, I’ll ask myself that same question: What Would Jesus Do. Only my future response will be more along the lines of smiting them and calling them to repentance. After all, isn’t that what all those WWJD stickers are all about?…

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

Last weekend was one of releasing pent-up aggressions as Jamie fought chiseled black men. Where we strengthened this country’s homeland security by killing off The Enemy. And where we crashed and burned umpteen times on the race track. And lived to tell about it.

Y’see, Jamie knew the moment he limped in the door at 9 p.m. on Friday–after two consecutive weeks of late nights–that I was in need of a break. And not of the nervous breakdown variety for once. Within moments he was on the phone with his sister, arranging her babysitting services for Saturday night.

The next morning, we woke up to a blanket of snow. Strange as it may sound, running after it has snowed is my favorite running condition in the world. Jamie graciously watched the kids while I set out to explore a nearby trail.

Funny thing was that when I left, Jamie was arguing with Hadley about putting her pants back on. And when I returned, after running through a winter postcard of snow-laden trees that festooned my path, she was still pant-less. Even after three marathon time-outs. And knowing I wasn’t there for it was almost as good as my run. 🙂

We eventually made our way outside to play in the snow and terrorize the neighbors with snowballs. Because we’re just those kind of people. It could be worse: we could burn swastikas on their lawn. Oh, wait. My brother was the one who did that….

That night, we hit Dave and Buster’s. Without children. I’m not much of an arcade person but always enjoy the occasional excursion, especially when I get front-row seats of Jamie competing.
I knew he’d had a bad week when the first thing he said was “I need to find something to shoot,” which was followed by a stint in a virtual boxing ring where he went head-to-head with some heavy weights.

I would have cheered for him but 1) I couldn’t stop laughing and 2) this flash of testosterone reminded me of our first Christmas together when my mom bought him a homeboy-esque Nike hat and he made me call him “G” for the rest of the holiday. Don’t ask me where “G” came from. When I tried to convince him he should be “J,” he grunted there was no reasoning with The Hood. My mistake.

Through his little boxing stint, he did prove that he’d hold his own in The Hood. Then again, jabbing and crossing in mid-air doesn’t exactly constitute a gang war. Especially when good ol’ “G” somehow woke up sore from it the next morning….

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

It’s been our family tradition to all snuggle up in our king-sized bed, play, say prayers and read before bedtime. Lately, Jamie and I started integrating stories about Jesus into our conversation and Haddie absolutely loves learning about him.

Jamie recently shared the story of the woman with the blood condition who touched Jesus’ cloak through the crowd and was healed. Hadley was fascinated and had him repeat it over and over again.

Then it was my turn. I tried to share a story that was closer to home and her age. I told her of when Jesus went up to Passover as a young boy. You know: the one where they found him after three days teaching the great minds of Jerusalem in the temple.

To the adult, this is a powerful story of Jesus’ teaching power and of the vision he already had for his ministry.

To the child, welp, it’s just a bit different. For a few days after I told that story, Haddie acted weird if she lost sight of me even for a moment whenever we’d go out in public. She’s not the clingy type (to say the least) so I finally got to the bottom of it when she queried me in a worried little voice:

“Mommy no forget Haddie like Jesus. Yes?”

Nice to know my Jesus stories really hit home for the kid.

For next week’s traumatize-the-kid-with-Jesus-stories-family theatre: If you choose to follow Jesus like the disciples of old, you too can be homeless.

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