Because they have been taken down! Today, taking advantage of the reprieve from minus twenty degree daytime highs, my husband and I took the outdoor lights down. Well, actually, he took the lights down. I held the ladder and shuddered as little frozen bits of leaves fell from the eaves and got stuck in my hair.
I know, it’s not even January. Around here, though, one must strike when the iron is hot, or when stepping outside doesn’t make one feel like one has been transported to the planet Hoth. The fact that I just referenced the planet Hoth indicates just how much Star Wars talk has been going on around here. Who am I? What have I become?
My husband goes back to work on Monday, and I have a feeling he may be relieved to do so, since his vacation has mostly been comprised of building or helping to build various Lego sets. To mix things up, we have also been playing Just Dance on the Wii with the children, and I will say this: I may be consistently twelfth out of twelve while playing Mario Kart, I may die instantly or drive off cliffs in racing games like I’ve never actually driven a car before, and I may be the source of much frustration and/or amusement to my children for every other video game, but I rock at Just Dance. I don’t mean to brag, but you should see my routine for I’ve Had The Time of My Life. No one puts Baby in the corner, is what I’m saying here. I also consistently amaze the children at my ability to get four stars – almost five! – while dancing to California Gurrls. That’s right, kids. Watch and learn.
One of the many benefits to having a blog is the ability to go back through old posts and reminice about things that would otherwise be completely forgotten. I am working on a 2012 year in review, and I have discovered that my New Year’s Resolution last year was to drink less coffee. What the fuck was I thinking? I don’t even remember consciously making this resolution, so obviously I did not keep it.
Are you making resolutions this year? A friend was telling me about the trend – which has apparently been going on for years, but which I have been hitherto ignorant of – about choosing a word and incorporating it into everyday life. This strikes me as beautiful and brilliant, and so the word I will choose for 2013 is patience. Patience not just for my children, but for dealing with other people as well.
It’s a sweet idea, I think. Although, I was just severely tested. While I was writing this, one of my sons, who shall remain nameless, just talked AT me for twenty minutes about some godforsaken Pokemon video game, including every detail about the characters and levels that one could possibly imagine. I am constantly encouraging my children to have normal conversational skills, and god bless them, they try. They talk and talk and talk, stopping occasionally to ask ME questions about such topics as Pokemon or Star Wars or Mario Kart. “Do you think you would like the Boulder Bash or the Togo’s Swing-a-long better?” Um, I don’t know? Whatever you think? I think I really need more patience incorporated in my life, given that this conversation was the oral equivalent to sticking a pin in my eye. Patience. Patience.
Monthly Archives: December 2012
You’re going down, bitch.
Well hello, my friends. I hope you have been making merry in the past few days. It has been so frigidly cold here, but I’m kind of glad – it gives me an excuse to be extremely lazy and slothful. Kids in their jammies into the afternoon? Well, why not? We’re not going anywhere in this weather, certainly. I myself have been oscillating between frantic bursts of activity and the inability to rouse myself off the couch, watching episode after episode of, un-festively enough, Breaking Bad.
Yesterday my husband left the house very early to purchase suits, ties, and dress shirts at Boxing Day prices. He came home two and a half hours later to a house completely devoid of Christmas decorations. It’s called Boxing Day for a reason, around here anyway. On December 24th I idly thought that I would keep the decorations up until the weekend at least; by 8:30 a.m. on the 26th I was sprinting up and down the stairs with boxes, cleaning all flat surfaces obsessively, fueled by a pot of non-boozy coffee. A therapist would have a field day with me and my clutter obsession. I couldn’t control the thousands of Lego pieces in various stages of building. I couldn’t control the piles and piles of chocolate and candy boxes festively and happily adorning my countertops. But dammit, I could take down the tree and all the decorations. Tree, you’re going down, bitch.
After all, four solid weeks of 24-hour-a-day festive spirit is probably good enough. Now that the house is clean, I am happily sinking into holiday sloth, reading my new pile of books and having heart palpitations during Netflix episodes of Breaking Bad while the children build Lego and play Wii and laugh hysterically about the board game that my brother gave them, “Mr. Bacon’s Big Adventure”, wherein the worst thing that happens is that the bacon slice-shaped game pieces get sent to “Vegan Alley”.
The dog, though. The dog. Just when he had resigned himself to having a tree in the living room, he seemed to have a doggy nervous breakdown as I packed the ornaments back in their boxes. He followed me around sadly, worrisomely. The despair he felt when the living room was being put back to rights was nothing compared to Christmas morning despair, though. Even the doggy beef jerky I bought him did not make up for the Christmas morning paper chaos. The poor, long suffering dog. He couldn’t bring himself to step on the discarded piles of wrapping paper, yet he couldn’t stop moving either.
WHAT’S HAPPENING? IS IT THE APOCALYPSE?
Meanwhile, I am enjoying the winter break with the kids, contemplating the annual chocolate dilemma – which is better: gorging with abandon, or making them last by eating them at a conservative rate? – playing Just Dance on the Wii and immodestly announcing to the world that I am awesome at the California Gurrls routine, and cycling through all my new pajamas:
SNOOPY! Not pictured: the Miss Piggy motif pajamas, and the pink ones with hearts.
How has your holiday season been so far? Is your tree still up or should we split the therapist fees? Did you receive some nice gifts? Tell me all. xoxo
Nicole’s Favourite Things: Holiday Edition, part 2
Part 2 is finally here! As is winter break; the kids are off school, it’s minus a billion outside, and I have nowhere to be and nothing particular that needs to get done, so I’m drinking Bailey’s and coffee and listening to Christmas carols. Festive! Without further ado, I present the random things I love about the holidays.
Nicole’s Favourite Things – Holiday Loving Edition
Booze
So, as I mentioned only a couple of sentences ago, I am drinking Bailey’s and coffee. When else is having an alcoholic beverage at eight in the morning socially acceptable? IT’S THE HOLIDAYS. Bailey’s and coffee is my second-favourite holiday drink, the first being red wine. It’s red, therefore festive. Back in the day, my old roommate and I used to drink hot chocolate and Bailey’s, which is also nice, but significantly higher in calories and lower in caffeine zing. Coffee it is! I like having this with my mother, who drinks her coffee black and the Bailey’s ON THE SIDE. She is the only person in the world that I know of who does this. I’m old-school, glugging it right into my coffee. Hence the somewhat randomness of this post.
Family Togetherness
Oh, hahaha! I just thought of Christmas Vacation “Hallelujah, holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?” But honestly, now that my kids are older and are at school all day, I miss them. It’s fun having them home even if they talk my ear off about their pretend restaurant and what would I order if I was there, and if I ate meat, what kind of meat would it be? Also, would I like a side order of cilantro? And did I know that (something something something I’ve tuned this out) King Boo (something something) Yoshi in (somewhere something) Mario Kart?
The other day I went to buy some dog food in the strip mall near my house, the parking lot of which is terrifying. I always feel like I take my life in my hands whenever I venture into that parking lot: so many seniors blindly and without reflexes driving their gigantic boats of cars, mixed with super-impatient university students blazing past them. It’s QUITE unnerving. Anyway, I stopped in at the nearby drugstore after buying dog food, and there I witnessed perhaps the most entertaining elderly mother/ adult daughter argument ever. The elderly mother was very loud and belligerent, and the daughter was trying in vain to shush her. At one point, she shouted “Goddamn it, Susan, stop pushing a tree on me. I don’t want a goddamn tree!” “Ssssh, Mom.” “I mean it, I don’t want a goddamn tree!”
Oh, family togetherness for the holidays. This brings me to the next point:
The Tree and Ornaments
We have a fake tree, because of various allergies in our house, and so the tree goes up December 1st or earlier. It looks like Christmas threw up on it, and I love it:
The boys have their favourite ornaments. Mark likes the Joy one, with the snowmen. Sweetly enough, this is the ornament I purchased the year he was a baby, on his first Christmas! Jake loves the purple sparkly reindeer, among many, many others (notice the Ben 10 one below it). He likes to have all his favourites close together on the tree.
That little tiny creche is one of my favourites. I also bought that cute little gingerbread lady this year. The tiny snowman in a Santa suit is left over from a set I bought with my roommate – of hot chocolate and Bailey’s fame. When we left the apartment we shared, I got custody of the little snowmen.
This little set of penguins is cute. They fit together like matryoshka dolls. The boys set them up, and Mark put the baby in the middle because, as he said, “Babies like to be with their moms.” Aw. My heart exploded.
Years ago, my mother-in-law gave me this old glass bowl with feet. It sits on my end table year round, with ocean-smooth rocks, seashells, and drifwood in it. At Christmas, I put in some old ornaments from my husband’s childhood, also given me by my mother-in-law.
When I graduated from university, I took a trip to Mexico with a couple of girlfriends. While shopping one day, I found these little nativity clay figures. The little barn came later, from somewhere that I don’t recall. But setting up the creche is a fun tradition in our house, especially since the kids have named the sheep and cows and like to play with them. One of the sheep is named Mo, I don’t know what the others are called. Oh wait, let me ask the boys. Okay, the others are Eely and Blimblimblim. What? Aren’t all livestock named Blimblimblim? It’s as common as Spot the Dog or Bessie the Cow.
Since our tree has a finite number of branches, but my ability to buy new ornaments each year is infinite, some end up in otherwise merely decorative vases. Note the pine cones, those were collected years ago from my in-laws’ place.
Look at these cute little snowmen! Even though the girl one is missing buttons, it brings me back to the days when we were starry-eyed newlyweds, instead of the staid old married couple we are now. Kidding! We still grope each other in public.
The bathroom – destination for broken ornaments everywhere. More of those little snowmen!
I put a bow on our medicine cabinet, and my husband was not a fan. Why? No one knows.
Christmas Music
It’s no secret I’m a huge fan of such slutty festive favourites such as Santa Baby and Baby, It’s Cold Outside. But did you know I pretty much love all Christmas music? The exception being Simply Having A Wonderful Christmastime. Even thinking of this song makes me stabby. Last year I acquired Michael Buble’s Christmas album, and it is seriously fabulous. I could listen to it all day long, and lately I have been. It has the cutest male version of Santa Baby. “Slip a Rolex under the tree.”
I also love playing holiday music on the piano. I’ve had that Rudolph song book – which is completely falling apart – since I was maybe 12. I still love it.
Food
Food! I love festive munchies. My mom makes something that used to be called butterhorns, but my husband started calling them honey buns, and Jake started calling them funny buns. Semantics, people. A rose by any other name, etc. This is my favourite treat and I only eat them at Christmas. I also love my mom’s chocolate Yule log, for which I am going to eschew my non-dairy thing. I must have Yule log! Sadly, I am facing my first Christmas without cheese. I’m not sure what I will do to compensate for this: maybe lots of mixed nuts and bits and bites? I don’t know, and at this point I’ve had enough Bailey’s and coffee that I really don’t care. Food, what? MOAR BAILEY’S PLZ.
So tell me, dear reader, what are your holiday favourites? What do you love best about this time of year? Tell Nicole everything. xoxo
Pajama Jeans, Moose Mugs, and Strange Viruses
Probably because I had So Much To Do and Remember with regards to Christmas, various school spirit days, the casino fundraiser, and other random things happening this week, I got terribly sick on Sunday. That will teach me! I had a strange virus that presented as severe abdominal pain and a fever, and also narcolepsy. I was awake for perhaps four hours total on Sunday, and those “awake” hours had me lying on the couch, dozing, or crying. My sole accomplishment was showering and putting on fresh pajamas. Yesterday, with my husband going to work and me becoming, as usual, the Sole Responsible Adult in the house, I woke up with the hopes of just being able to do the bare minimum, i.e., making sure the kids got to school and back, and making sure they had food.
It turns out when you set the bar really, really low, you will be amazed at even the minutest accomplishments. I was so impressed with myself for showering and putting on what Lululemon euphemistically calls “Dance Pants”, but what are actually sweatpants, rather than pajamas that I felt like maybe I could conquor the world. Sweatpants, or dance pants, are a step up from pajamas, even if they don’t feel any different. I combined the sweatpants with fuzzy slippers, a long sleeved thermal t-shirt, and an enormous sweater my mother-in-law knitted for me twelve years ago. What I lacked in style and attractiveness I gained in coziness. Fueled by my immense accomplishment of showering and dressing, I further roused myself to do a load of laundry, and on investigation of the freezer and its lack of frozen meals, I even made my super-simple pasta sauce. I’M KING OF THE WORLD! Then I lay down on the couch to rest, and here’s a question: have you ever tried to watch television during the day? It’s terrible. I hoped for at least an episode of The Price Is Right, but no such luck. No Plinko for me. Thanks to my husband, who is a sports fan and so Needs Access To Many Different Stations, we have a couple hundred channels, all of which are completely useless to me. I ended up watching an episode of MASH and falling asleep. That BJ Honeycutt sure is dreamy.
Today I feel almost totally normal. I even donned jeans today, albeit my oldest, softest, most broken in pair of boot cuts. A huge step up from “dance pants”. On days like today, I kind of wished I had Pajama Jeans, though. Have you seen the advertisements for Pajama Jeans? About a month ago, my husband was out of town and I was on the couch, alone with my wine. I saw this commercial for Pajama Jeans and I became somewhat fascinated with the concept. Jeans…that feel like pajamas! Actually, I think they already have those: they are called maternity jeans. I had a pair of maternity jeans that saw me through massive weight fluctuations, and that I continued to wear for a few months post partum. They were below-the-belly style, with a giant elastic waistband, and I loved them dearly. Here I am wearing them, and let’s just keep in mind that this is a full three months before I was actually due with Mark:
Three months! I actually wore those jeans to the hospital three months later:
Not only did they last me through that pregnancy, but I wore them while pregnant and postpartum with Jake as well:
Those were some amazing jeans. It makes me think that the Pajama Jean concept is just a rip-off of maternity jeans because hoo boy, those babies were comfortable.
Anyway. I’m feeling much better, at this rate maybe I’ll even step up to skinny jeans tomorrow. On the bright side, it’s not the worst thing in the world to lose a few pounds before Christmas, right? One week to go before I gorge on my mom’s chocolate Yule log. Heh. Yule log. That reminds me of Christmas Vacation: “I don’t have a log.” Which brings me to this brilliant website, featuring MOOSE MUGS:
I would buy an entire set of these for my sister-in-law if they weren’t so expensive. $151 for a set of eight, plus shipping? Robbery! The thought is there, though, and that’s what counts, right?
Preserve Your Memories
Yesterday, I was going to write a post. It was going to be lighthearted, and would describe the rabbit hole I fell down while looking at old photos of the boys, ending up watching old home videos and crying in the manner of Clark Griswold locked in the attic. “Mama go yo-yoga!” impossibly chubby, not quite two year old Jake exclaimed into the camera. “Ha ha. Jake a silly billy.” Mark, climbing up a slide ladder at the playground, said “Mama, you meet me at other side, okay?” and my own voice answered him that yes, I would. Later that evening I described the videos to my husband, tearfully saying “I should have enjoyed it more!” He assured me that I DID enjoy it, to which I answered, irrationally, “But I should have enjoyed EVERY SECOND.”
Yesterday I was out all day until it was time to pick the boys up from school, early dismissal Friday. I picked them up and took them to get their haircuts: their hair was brushing the tops of their ears, like total hippies. While they sat in the chairs, getting the number three, finger length on top, I thought about the post I would write. I would describe my heart aching with nostalgia from watching those videos, while appreciating that I could stand to the side at Beaners’, watching them calmly and like normal people getting their hair cut, happy that they never want to play in the germ-and-urine infested ball pit anymore. The boys collected their lollipops and I paid for the haircuts. We went home. I sat down at the computer to write my post.
But first, I decided to take a look at the news.
I shut down my computer, putting it away without writing a word. I called the boys upstairs and we watched Christmas Vacation together, the first time for them. I smiled at them laughing hysterically at Clark falling off the roof and punching the plastic light-up Santa in the face. I made them their favourite dinner – chicken fingers and oven fries – and I made myself my favourite dinner – Greek salad and pitas. I allowed the boys to play Wii after dinner and we read a chapter of On The Banks of Plum Creek. I drank three glasses of wine and went to bed.
It was a pleasant, and very ordinary, Friday. But my heart ached for the people who would give anything for such an ordinary day. My heart ached for the people who would fall down the rabbit hole looking at old photos and home videos, knowing that those old photos and home videos was all that was left them.
I’m singing! And I’m in the post office. And I’m SINGING!
Hey, what has two thumbs and just made it in and out of the post office in less than five minutes? THIS GIRL. I had to mail a package to my in-laws – because I’m such a fabulous daughter-in-law – and I was psyching myself up for total mayhem and trauma. I was even ready to start singing Christmas carols loudly, in the manner of Buddy the Elf, in order to make the post office much less of a “go postal” kind of place. But – and share this with your friends! – it appears that 1:00 pm is the greatest time to mail things. I guess the elderly are all having their lunches and/or naps at that time. There was only me and one other person, a younger fellow who I witnessed almost being run over by a car in the parking lot as the driver backed out of his spot with considerable, and inappropriate, speed. The whole thing vaguely reminded me of a story my mother-in-law once told me about her beauty parlor; an elderly woman drove at full speed right into the beauty parlor, her Lincoln and the accompanying driven-through wall debris surrounded by screaming old ladies sitting with their curlers in those old-fashioned hair dryers. When questioned about the accident, the elderly woman said that she thought she had put the car in reverse, which didn’t quite explain why she had the pedal to the metal, but in any case no one was seriously injured, by some kind of beauty parlor miracle.
But! Parcels are mailed, no one actually got run over in the parking lot (cue music: Grandma got run over by a reindeer), a miss is as good as a mile, and here it is, only two weeks until Christmas Eve. Squee! The kids had a three day weekend since parent/teacher interviews were on Friday, and so we spent a great deal of time with gingerbread and icing.
I decorated the vast majority of gingerbread people myself, because it took the kids forever just to decorate one single cookie. What they lacked in speed and efficiency they made up for in creativity and detail. Here are Jake’s cookies:
The rest were promptly eaten.
Hey, it takes a lot of strength to put icing on half an inch thick, am I right? Here are Mark’s:
Once the gingerbread people were made, it was high time to get them a home, and so began our annual fugly gingerbread house creation.
He’s so excited. He just can’t hide it. He’s about to lose control and I think he likes it. As always, our gingerbread house is just the right mix of whimsy and what-the-fuck-happened-here?
A melted Frosty the Snowman! A gargantuan purple window! Random candies mixed with “Merry Christmas” messages!
So, it was a lovely weekend, marred only a little by the vast number of people calling me to cancel or change their shifts at our giant casino fundraiser next week (please pass the sedatives) and the fact that Jake’s seatmate had the stomach flu yesterday and is IN SCHOOL TODAY (pass the booze to wash those sedatives down with, and also some sanitizer). Hoo boy, I had to take some deep breaths just from writing that. Focus on the gingerbread, Nicole. Focus on the gingerbread.
Come and trim the Christmas tree with some decorations (not) bought at Tiffany’s
I am feeling SO FESTIVE right now, and not just because this was the lovely wintry scene when I walked the dog the other day:
Look at his adorable snowy face! As I mentioned before, December is one of my favourite months even though when I hugged Jake today he complained of my icy cold corpse hands. We always have a number of Advent calendars in the house: one in the shape of a strange-looking Santa that hangs on the broom closet door,
one of the Star Wars Lego variety stacked in front of two of the Lindor variety,
two of those kind-of-cheap chocolate ones where the chocolates always fall out of their spots, only to be found at a later date, much to the frustration of the young people in this house, who had been looking forward to their tiny crappy chocolate oh why oh why is it not there???
We also have a wooden refillable one that I have been filling with little notes about a festive activity that will occur on that particular day.
I did this last year, after being inspired by my friend Lynn, who has way better ideas than I do. The kids told me how much they were looking forward to it when we unpacked this calendar, and so although I thought they wouldn’t be interested, I am now writing little notes to be opened on that particular day. And again I reiterate: I have very few festive ideas. My ideas are generally things that we would do anyway, like sledding after school, or totally self-serving things, like getting the kids to watch Charlie Brown Christmas with me. In fact, that is today’s activity and there was some considerable disappointment when it was opened. “I like that show? But I really wanted to go sledding.” Jake said. Dear reader, I would like to point out that we went sledding after school yesterday and the day before, and we sled pretty much any day that there is snow on the ground and it’s not absolutely frigid outside. This is why I have a minivan: to keep the sleds in on a permanent basis in the wintertime. I reminded Jake that we could still go sledding, but we could also watch the Christmas special, and although there was some existential doubt – if it’s not in the Advent calendar, will it really happen – he seemed fairly satisfied.
The activity that was under door number 1 – December 1st! – was included only after the day’s activity had been actually accomplished: decorating the house and trimming the tree. Come and trim my Christmas tree…with some decorations bought at Tiffany’s…
Okay, so not really Tiffany’s, but we had so much fun decorating the tree this year. Often, these kind of activities with small children seem like they should be more fun but aren’t, what with the saving the ornaments from being destroyed and the wait until the lights are up before putting them on the tree and OMG dealing with totally impatient children who keep dropping all the little hooks on the floor only to be lodged in the sole of one’s foot. The kids are now old enough to be trusted to set up the non-tree decorations in a semi-orderly and non-destructive fashion while my husband puts the tree together painstakingly, and with much perfectionism, winding the strings of lights on it, with me as his unenthusiastic and bored helper. The little lights are not twinkling. In any case, the process this year was a great deal of fun for everyone
except for the dog.
Poor Barkley! It’s tough to be living in a world where you don’t speak the language, and just when you think you understand the customs of said world, things change. Barkley deals with change not well. THERE IS A TREE IN THE HOUSE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN. WHY IS IT SPARKLY. As well as being not well adapted for changing situations, Barkley also has zero sense of personal space, and so as we decorated the house he stood millimetres from my feet, a total tripping hazard, often with his nose pressed softly but yet so obtrusively on my leg. Occasionally he would flop down on the floor, looking at us sadly, as if the tree and decorations were a horrible pox brought on the house. I tried to get a nice picture with him
but he would not have it. He would not have that shit. He refused to do anything but look at the tree with sadness and the feeling that only he understood what this means, a tree in the house, plus fake snowmen, indicate that the world is ending. Just like the Mayans said.