I didn’t go on the backpacking trip I was supposed to lead for girl’s camp this week. You know, the one I have been planning for months.

The night prior to our departure, I was (and continue to be) struck by the plague. I don’t have the energy to get into it all right now but after two nights with no sleep, I spent this morning at the doctor. There were a lot of tests and talk of infections. Or poisoning. Or salmonella.

If you don’t hear from me for a while, blame the pumpkin. I don’t know why. It just seems appropriate. As my last request, I plead with you not to let Jamie put one on my tombstone.

Because he’s just kind of obsessed like that….

P.S. If you are going to have your mother-in-law take your children to their swim lessons while you are supposed to be away on a trip that never happens, make sure you do not fly off the handle at the pool personnel when they claim your children are not registered, only to later find out you enrolled them at a different pool.

P.P.S. Run-on sentences are only permitted in a drug-induced state.

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

I have been so busy prepping for my backpacking trip this week that I did not even realize elections were going down. No, I’m not talking about good ol’ Barak or John, though if either of them wins I am moving back to Canada.

But don’t call me on that.

I am talking about the 2008 Bloggy Hoss Elections. Many of you were gracious enough to vote me as the winner of Most Athletic last year. Unbeknownst to me, I was recently nominated for Most Popular, which almost makes up for all those years of being an outcast in The Trauma We Call High School.

Anyway, I ran a poor campaign because the polls are now closed and I didn’t even know I was in the running. But I want to thank those disillusioned enlightened souls who submitted my name.

I am only remiss that I was not able to vote for some of my favorite mom blogs that include Temporary? Insanity, The Smiling Infidel, Mejojac’s Memos, My Ice Cream Diary, Mommy’s Martini, Scribbit and Loralee’s Looney Tunes (the latter two who will be my roommates at BlogHer next month). It would appear I am in very good company so thank you!

Another shocker is being named as one of startup powerhouse Sampa’s Top 10 Mommy Bloggers You Should Read. Even more shocking is being referred to as “refreshing.”

Well, at least they didn’t say I was “fresh.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXO

Remember a few weeks ago when I was stressed about how to top Jamie’s over-the-top Mother’s Day gift?

Well, I topped it, my friends.

And the fruits of this gift will keep on giving for years to come.

Well, giving me a pain in the neck, that is.

So come on over to Mile High Mamas and find out about the gift to top all gifts and tell me all about your Father’s Day!

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My husband Jamie and I are generally not extravagant gift givers. Well, with the exception of the time he bought me a Honda Pilot for my birthday (though I think it should not have counted because we were already in the market for a car). Have you ever topped a gift like that? Yeah, me neither.

This year, I was at a loss regarding what to buy Jamie for Father’s Day. The man pulled all the stops for Mother’s Day: he took me to Jill’s restaurant in Boulder and surprised me at dinner by slipping me a room key for the gorgeous St. Julien Hotel and Spa. Oh, and did I mention our little getaway was without kids?

Because isn’t that what Mother’s Day is all about: getting a break from those who made you a mother?

And so my quest began to give Jamie a comparable celebration. I queried my friends who gave me some great suggestions but nothing resonated with me. As I pondered his latest passions and interests, it came down to only one thing: pumpkins. The man is obsessed with growing big pumpkins (if you missed that big reveal, make sure to checkout Sordid Secrets and the Husbands Who Keep Them).

And then an idea came to mind–a big idea. But could we afford it? I casually mentioned to Jamie that I wanted to surprise him with a bit of an extravagance for Father’s Day and needed to know how much I could spend. Within moments–moments, people–he was crunching numbers at the computer. An hour later, he came forth with an extravagant number.

I’m just trying to figure out why that money didn’t surface for the spa weekend I wanted to take.

And his big surprise? I am taking my beloved husband to Boston to attend the Topsfield Fair in October. If you do not live in Pumpkin-Obsessed Mania, Topsfield is the Mecca of pumpkin geeks growers and just last year a new world record was set.

To say the man was excited is a bit of an understatement. The downside is I will have to feign excitement about big pumpkins and this will only worsen Jamie’s obsession.

The upside? We are staying at a B&B in Salem.

Without kids.

Sensing a pattern here?

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

Due to the condition I have called UnableToSleepInItis, I have been taking full advantage of my Saturdays by going hiking or biking long before my family starts stirring.

Yesterday, I drove to a new trailhead to tackle a network of bike paths. Several miles into my ride, I turned back, only to encounter an intersecting trail that leads back near my house. Without hesitation, I took it. And the ride was all too perfect.

Well, except for the fact that my car was still at the original trailhead and I had to do a huuuuuge loop to retrieve it–a minor detail. I finally arrived back home a couple hours later exultant yet exhausted over my new discoveries.

Last summer was the first time I realized that maybe this is not normal. I was at BlogHer and decided to skip Day 2, rent a bike and explore the city by myself. One of my new friends Shannon admiringly said she would never do anything of the sort and her reaction baffled me.

As I rode yesterday, I was taken back to when I was about 13 years old. My Dad led me on my bike to a hillside about 10 minutes from our house in Calgary and there, shrouded by weeds and trees, was a secret break in the fence that lead to an endless network of bike paths.

I spent the next several years clocking thousands of miles on those trails that are touted as some of the most extensive in North America. Sometimes I was with Dad, mostly I was alone. And during those countless hours of pushing myself to my limit amidst sparkling rivers and gleaming hills, I found myself.

And my dad gave me the key.

So here is to a wonderful man who instilled a love of adventure and exploration that I am passing down to my own little family. To a man who, in his quiet and meek way, always supported me and gave me the self-confidence to believe I could accomplish anything I wanted in my life.

And to a man who always kept me grounded and yet gave me wings to soar.

Happy Father’s Day!

What is one of your favorite memories of your dad?

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

“So, what do you want for breakfast in bed on Father’s Day?”

[Suggestively] “Which one of my two requests are you talking about?”

[Sighs] “The other one. Involving food.”

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

Thanks to Front Range Adventure Boot Camp, I am physically stronger than I have been in years. But one of last week’s workouts nearly did me in.

It was not the day we ran Red Rocks amphitheatre. Though having a partner hold you back with resistance bands while trying to race crawl up the stairs sure was a lot of fun.

It was not when my husband Jamie and I took a two-hour hike up Eldorado Canyon’s Rattlesnake Gulch as I hauled our 30-pound toddler. (When asked by fellow hikers why I was carrying him instead of Jamie, I cheerfully submitted Bode helped me pack on the weight and he can help me take it off).

What nearly sent me to my deathbed was Monday’s Indian run at Boot Camp. Our instructor Robyn divided us into two groups: non-runners (smart people) and runners (masochists). I was assigned to the latter group. The concept of the Indian run is simple: a group of people jog in single file around a playing field and pass a baton backwards. When it reaches the last person, he/she sprints forward to the front of the line and so it continues.

Sound reasonable? Sure, unless your group decides to sprint the entire drill, causing you to finally say, “Ladies, if it is amenable to you, perhaps we should slow this down to a jog so the sprinter does not kill herself trying to take the lead.”

Well, it kind of came out like that. Just add some swearing and an avowal to get even when they least expect it.

Without further ado, my weekly weight loss is: 5 pounds, making my total 23 pounds.

No one is more shocked than I. Sure, my body nearly collapsed from overexertion this week but I overcompensated for it by consuming the equivalent of a child’s birthday cake at a neighborhood party that weekend. I dreaded getting on that scale and I am still scratching my head over my biggest week of weight loss.

Maybe the cake was made with Splenda?

Or it was more likely that I burned about 1,000,000 calories, which compensated for the 500,000 calories I consumed.

Whatever it was, I’ll take it.

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

There are three words whose perfection and beauty are unsurpassed in the English language:

NO ASSEMBLY REQUIRED.

(What? Did you think I was going to be a sentimental fool and profess something sappy like “I love you?”)

I have been mechanically-challenged my entire life. I will admit it is part laziness, part impatience, part knowing there is a man somewhere to help me and part incompetence. The most part.

I destroyed our refrigerator’s ice machine last winter. If you missed that doozy of a confession, just know it involved black nail polish and a grinder. And an inordinate amount of dark, goopy ugliness.

I am an ice addict and a day without cubes is like a day without a hit for a junkie. So, I immediately tackled the ice machine with soap, water and even nail polish remover. But most of the unit was unsalvageable. My husband Jamie reluctantly ordered a $50 hunk of plastic to replace it and I waited with great anticipation for the part to arrive. Frustrated, he banned me from buying ice cube trays or bags of ice–assuredly a new form of spousal abuse.

I was thrilled when I finally received the part until I noticed the two most dreaded words in the English language: Assembly Required.

I knew I couldn’t do it so I admittedly barely even tried, which resulted in my normally accommodating husband’s refusal to fix it. And so it sat and sat and sat.

To hold me over, I would call my dealer Lisa.

“Lisa, I’m running low.”
“I’ll empty mine out and be right over.”

She once even bought me a 20-pound bag of ice. I think some would call her an enabler.

With the prospect of summer’s soaring temperatures, this ice junkie finally cracked. I knew I couldn’t survive the next few months without it and so when mechanically-gifted Lisa took pity on me by offering to fix the ice machine, I took her up on it.

She spent hours obsessing and piecing it all together. Hours where she could have been working on taxes, cleaning her house or ensuring her five children did not kill each other on summer break.

That night as I lay in bed, I heard it: the rumblings of the ice machine finally working. I rushed downstairs, threw myself in the freezer and praised my friendship with Lisa in song. My selection?

(More) Ice, Ice, Baby. Of course.

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

During my two-week break from Front Range Adventure Boot Camp, some have asked if I hit a plateau because I did not lose weight for the first time since I began.

Well, if a plateau involves cookies, BBQs and treats at my daughter’s birthday party then the answer is a resounding “Yes!”

It is not like I intended to fall off the wagon. But like a relapsing alcoholic, sometimes you just don’t want to resist the taste of that sweet, sweet nectar. Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time, my intentions were noteworthy. I convinced my daughter we should opt out of the traditional birthday cake and have a sand cake that is served out of a bucket for her beach party. She loved it!

And unfortunately, so did I. I tried to be good, really I did. The only ingredients were vanilla pudding, cream cheese and Nilla cookies so I went fat-free/reduced fat on them all. Commendable, right?

Sure, except it tasted like crap so I dumped a ton of powdered sugar in to make it edible.

Guess what: when you add a year’s allotment of powdered sugar it is no longer low-fat.

And then there was the taste test. Next month, I will be reviewing and offering a giveaway for Zebra Mix, fun step-by-step baking kits for children. On Monday, we received kits to make organic chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes and brownies and my daughter was ecstatic to try them out. And evidently so was I because cookie dough is my vice in life.

To repent from my indulgence, I decided to skip dinner. My husband Jamie asked me,

“Aren’t you eating dinner?”

“Naw, I had some stuff earlier and am not hungry.”

“You ate some of Hadley’s cookies, didn’t you?”

“Curse you for knowing me so well.”

And so this [food] junkie is back on the wagon. What tips do you have for getting motivated once you have strayed?

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

Excuse me while my ulcer digs a little bit deeper. I am a couple of weeks away from leading 12 teen-age girls on a three-day backpacking trip. Jamie and I are in charge of these back-country novices, along with another wonderful couple. A couple who is currently in Brazil so everything is falling on me.

We have two youth leaders who have been appointed to run the show and the adults are allegedly only there for support. These are beautiful, wonderful and spiritual girls. But they are 17 years old. One picked up and moved away last week without telling us and won’t be back until camp. The other busted her foot and somehow thinks she can still do the trek in a cast.

Plus, they are teen-age girls who are busy with their own stuff. You know: like boys, cell phones, blue eye shadow and curling their hair.

Do not say I am not in touch with today’s youth.

***************************************************

On another note, after my Sordid Secrets and the Husbands Who Keep Them confessional about Jamie’s addiction to growing the Great Pumpkin, I had several inquiries if my own addiction to Eating Everything Pumpkin is related.

In a word, no.

Jamie has only been through one growing season with his pumpkin. My Eating Everything Pumpkin’s gluttial growing season has been occurring for four years now.

How it all began: I was pregnant with Hadley when I called my family during their Thanksgiving dinner. For those not in the know, Canadians celebrate in October. I don’t know the reason. We just like to do everything first, which is why we celebrate Canada Day three days before your lil’ party.

I think some call it Independence Day.

Anyway, my mom mentioned they were eating pumpkin pie and it was at that moment something was triggered in that hormonal, craving-crazed brain of mine and I HAD to Eat Everything Pumpkin.

Problem is four years later, it has never stopped. I have made pumpkin pie, cake, cookies, bars, bread, enchiladas, gnocchi, shakes, yogurt, fritters and soup.

To name a few.

On another note, Hunky Hubby and I had another one of our tantalizing conversations yesterday about [what else?] pumpkins.

“Jamie, you really need to spice up your pumpkin blog. It is B-O-R-I-N-G.”

“What’re you talking about? Just the other day, I talked about adding FERTILIZER!!!”

Help. I need help.

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

just heard some news about my college roommate. Horrible news. Last week, she and her family were involved in a car accident while en route from Colorado to Utah. Her oldest daughter was killed.

How does a person ever recover from the death of a child?

When my son Bode was nine months old, I dreamt he died.

As if the end result was not painful enough, within my dream, I had a dream about how it would all unfold. How he would get sick. How I would have to watch him slowly deteriorate. And I foresaw how and when that exact moment of his passing would occur.

And I painfully waited, heart broken, relishing every last moment with him.

I awoke at 3 a.m. in a flood of tears. My husband Jamie consoled me by suggesting we sneak into Bode’s room. I was touched at his thoughtfulness as we crept in there to hear the comforting cadence of his breathing.

“He’s OK” I whispered, relieved, and reached down to remove his bottle that he had drunkenly thrown to the wayside.

And then he woke up. Forcefully. And very loudly objected as if to say, “What da freak? Just let me sleep, woman!”

And never before have a baby’s cries provided such peace.

How does a person ever recover from the death of a child?

Before I became a mother, I just didn’t get it. I figured it would be horribly difficult to get over but you would just move on. Particularly when I heard of a baby dying, I thought, “Well, at least they were still little so the parent didn’t have time to bond very much with them.”

My thoughts were the same on miscarriage. I mean, the kid hadn’t even been born yet. What is the big deal? You can just try to conceive again.

Never once did I consider the feeling of holding that newborn life in your arms, of knowing you had played an integral part in forming this little person. I never considered the sheer joy of seeing him grow, love and learn. And I certainly never understand that for so many of us, the hope of these things is engrained from the moment of conception.

I finally get it.

But pray I will never have to.

Deepest sympathies to the Weber family who will commemorate the life of their beloved Sidney today.

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

The Hurricane threw a beach party for her 4th birthday. She had originally requested a princess theme but after attending three consecutive princess parties in a row, the only pink I wanted to ingest was Pepto Bismal.

And model mother that I am, I gently led her to believe that a beach party was really what she wanted instead.

Unfortunately her father is not as easily manipulated coaxed.

Over the past four years, I have grown wiser. The first two years of her life, I invited every friend we have ever had. Hosting such a crowd was a veritable nightmare. Last year, we had an intimate family dinner at Casa Bonita (though I don’t know if having a dinner at a gaudy tower the size of a stadium could be considered intimate).

This year? She invited seven friends (the perfect size) and all the festivities went splendidly. When I asked her what the highlight of her party was, I was admittedly hoping for a pat on the back for my superior party-planning skills.

Was it receiving a lifetime supply of princess presents?

Nope.

We’re getting closer.

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