Monthly Archives: October 2011

So THIS is why people love the fall.

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Happy Thanksgiving, my Canadian friends!  I hope you had a lovely long weekend.  I spent the long weekend at my in-laws’.

Pause.

I’m all about positivity, and so I will leave it at that and simply post this picture of me eating grapes.

I seem to have my mouth full in that picture, either that or I’m not willing to show my purple stained teeth that possibly have Concord skins stuck in them.

An airport is the single greatest place to people watch, I think.  We flew, rather than drove, this weekend and I amused myself by watching the world go by.  I also like to examine local fashions when I’m in a different place; I like to feel like I’m some kind of fashion anthropologist.  While I was admiring other people’s tall boots and sweaters, I noticed a woman wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen.  When she turned around I saw that it was evidently homemade from a light cotton imprinted with kittens.  Then I saw a woman who looked extremely stylish from behind, with a lovely fall jacket and long scarf.  When she turned around, her lovely jacket was unbuttoned to show a gigantic, overstuffed fanny pack.  I speak on behalf of purses everywhere when I beseech us all to ban the fanny pack. 

I woke up so exhausted this morning that I actually went back to bed rather than heading for the yoga studio; that’s something that almost never happens and so I’ve been feeling off kilter all day.  I can’t figure out my exhaustion; I’ve certainly had a lot of sleep in the past couple of days.  Either I’m fighting some sort of virus or I’m just completely burnt out from attempting to keep a pleasant demeanor in the face of passive aggressive criticisms.  I tried to regain my normal energy by taking on a number of tasks today – sorting and labelling photos, baking banana bread, cleaning the house, making salsa and kale chips.  While I had the kale happily dehydrating in the oven, I decided to rally the boys and rake the leaves.  With raking comes jumping in the leaves:

Why yes, Mark is wearing his swimming goggles in order to “swim” through the leaves, why do you ask?

We also did some ladybug rescuing:

 It’s on his hand, can you see it?

How about now?

While I’m at it, here’s some pictures of our scarecrows with our STILL BLOOMING flowers.  This has been the mildest fall I can remember.  This must be what people mean when they say they love fall.  Normally I think of fall as one week of howling winds tearing all the leaves off the trees before winter sets in, but this year has been so beautiful. 

My scarecrow is the girl.  Her name is Rosie.  My husband’s scarecrow is named Dummy Jimmy Too Tall.  I think Mark named him.

The boys’ scarecrows are named Idiot and TV.

Usually the leaves on the Mayday tree turn brown from frost and then fall off rapidly, but this year has been so mild that they are actually changing colour. 

And that, I think, is enough to be thankful for. 

Dental Scaling or Pelvic Exam? Survey says…

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Last week I was at the dentist for a checkup and for scaling.  The word “scaling” gives me the chills.  I conducted a brief and informal survey among girlfriends, regarding which they would rather have: dental scaling or a pelvic exam.  The results were approximately 75/25 in favour of pelvic exams.  Of course, this isn’t a scientifically accurate survey.  The sample size was small and not representative of the total population, but I strongly agreed with the majority here.  I would much, much rather endure the awkwardness of the bright lights and scootching my bottom down a little, and even the weird retractor thing, than have my teeth scaled. 

People have a tendency to quote statistics, with absolute certainty, in order to prove a point.  I could say, forcefully, that 75% of women prefer pelvic exams to dental scaling, but I would be incorrect.  A survey of less than twenty of my girlfriends does not constitute an unbiased, random sampling, and the sample size is much less than what is considered statistically significant.  This is one of my all-time pet peeves: the quoting of inaccurate statistics.  Wow, I’m really a nerd.  It’s like I’m one step away from pulling out my mechanical pencil and pocket calculator in order to do my own calculations.  Show me the data behind your statistics.

Where was I?  Oh yes, the dentist.  I dread it every time.  My mouth resembles a crime scene afterwards, and while I realize that flossing more regularly would help matters, I still believe strongly that putting a sharp metal object forcefully against soft tissue is going to result in bleeding no matter what.  My real issue is that I’m a people pleaser when it comes to my hygienist, and I end up being less than truthful when it comes to my flossing habits.  There is a scene that I relate to in my friend Michal’s short film Arithmetic, where Annie is reclined in the dentist chair, blood spattered all over her paper bib, and the caption is something along the lines of “There are two people Annie lies to: the dentist and her mother.”  I’m like that.  Not that I lie to my mother.  (Hi Mom, if you’re reading this!).  Hey, did I mention I was an extra in that film?  I did?  Oh.

By the way, I KNOW I have to floss more, but knowing is not the same thing as doing, as anyone can tell you who has found themselves with a mysteriously empty bag of potato chips, a bloated stomach, and crumbs all over their shirt.

I also had to take the dog to the vet for a checkup and vaccinations.  Canine vaccinations are the only type of vaccinations I will ever mention on this blog.  Have you ever noticed that there is very little debate over getting your dog vaccinated?  Or maybe there is debate and I just haven’t noticed.  (Note: I don’t want to know.)  Anyway, I took the dog to the vet and – some of you may remember his weight struggles (he’s fat) – he lost weight!  He lost five pounds which is almost ten percent of his body weight!  I was so happy, and I expected great praise and accolades, which did not materialize.  Yes, the vet said, it’s good that he’s lost weight but he should really loose a couple more pounds.  I was completely crestfallen.  Where are my accolades?  The vet, furthermore, informed me that Barkley needs to have MORE dental chews (apparently he and I have plaque in common) but that I should deduct the number of calories from his dental chews from his total daily caloric intake.

I agreed with the vet, but internally I thought no fucking way.  There is no way I am going to start doing a calorie count for my fucking dog.  “It’s easy!” the vet said, giving Barkley a small treat, “These are ten calories each.  Just deduct that from his food.”  I spend enough time calculating my own calories, I do not need to worry about my dog’s intake.  The thought of dividing my dog’s food into little ten calorie portions in order to deduct that amount from his food total makes my head spin and, quite frankly, makes me fear for society.  Is this where we are going, people?  Are we going to expand our obsession with weight loss to include our furry friends?  Because I do not want to go there.  

New Haircut (Regrets, I’ve had a few)

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Friday night I had some girlfriends over to watch The Breakfast Club and eat that dinner beloved by women everywhere: the dinner made up of appetizers.  In related news, I think I may have overdosed on cheese products.  The Breakfast Club is one of my all-time favourite movies, but when we watched it this time, we all started to wonder about our own children and their upcoming teenage years.  That was a little unnerving.  Will my children be a part of the physics club and hide flare guns in their lockers due to anxiety about an F in shop class?  Do they even offer shop class anymore?  I’m pretty sure they won’t be on the wrestling team and taping other kids’ butt cheeks together, but I suppose you never know.

The next day I had a hair appointment and, despite all common sense, advice from friends, and knowledge about myself and my well-authenticated fear of change, I ended up with 2 1/2 inches less hair.  It started innocently enough; I wanted to refresh my colour as it had faded to a rather unattractive orange, and I had a discussion with my hair therapist (that IS her job title) about my fears of turning into Mullet Lady.  Well, she said, why don’t we give it a little cut then?  Nothing drastic.  Remember Starsky and Hutch?  DO IT. 

It’s HARD to take pictures of yourself.  Or, it’s hard for me. 
Regrets, I’ve had a few.  So as I was practicing non-attachment – it’s only hair, it grows, in a month it won’t be falling out of my teeny tiny bun – I attended a family dinner at my parents’ house.  Now, here is a bit of background information for those of you who don’t already know this.  Back in January I decided to give up my nightly glass of wine.  I now only partake in wine consumption on evenings that I do not have to get up early for yoga the next day; in other words, Friday and Saturday evenings only.  (I do practice on Sunday mornings, but not until 9:00, and there is only so much one can expect from oneself.)  Yesterday, my mother asked if I wouldn’t like a glass of wine, and when I declined, she looked at me incredulously and asked if I was pregnant.  Pregnant!  My sister-in-law suggested that since I wasn’t huddled in a corner in the fetal position and sobbing, I probably WASN’T pregnant.  She knows me well.
It did remind me of the pregnancy scare I had a few years back.  My kids were one and two years old.  I hadn’t had my period in months.  I had taken a number of pregnancy tests; they were all negative.  Still, it’s hard to ignore a symptom like not having your period for months.  So one day I was grocery shopping with the two little guys in the giant Superstore cart, and I picked up yet another home pregnancy test.  The most accurate home pregnancy test! the box claimed.  I wrangled my kids into their five-point car seats, I started to drive home, and it hit me: what if I took the test and it was positive?  What then?  I would have to use the back row of the minivan.  The kids would have to share a room.  I would lose all remaining vestiges of my sanity.  I already had a full double stroller, what would I do with a third child?  I could barely get out of the house with two children, how would I manage with three?  I had a complete panic attack and pulled the car over, put my head down on the steering wheel, and sobbed. 
I got my period the next day.  I also had validation that two was the perfect number for me.