Monthly Archives: February 2013

Back to life, back to reality.

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The house is SO QUIET.  I had gotten used to a certain level of excited chatter all day long and now the kids are back at school and my husband is back at work, and it’s just me, with not even the dog for company as he is at the groomer’s.  Back to reality, I guess.  As the very flamboyant man who sold me a pair of sunglasses in Maui said, “Being in paradise doesn’t pay the bills!”  Truth.  I had also gotten used to being warm.  What is this thing called a sweater?  Jake stood at the top of the stairs for two solid minutes this morning, unmoving, until I reminded him that he needed to put on his coat and boots before we left the house.  Coat and…boots?

I’m kind of tired this morning because I actually watched the Oscars last night.  I stayed up past 10:00, which is like 2:00 in the morning for normal people.  I recorded the show so I could watch it in the same manner my husband watches the Superbowl – starting late and then fast forwarding the parts I don’t like, such as the speeches, the commercials, and the honorary awards.  Basically I just watch it to see the presenters and what people are wearing and to get glimpses of Hugh Jackman being his usual awesome self.  Doesn’t he just seem like a great guy?  Who else would run over to help someone who had tripped up the stairs?  Who else would excitedly applaud when the other guy won?  Who else looks like this?

 
 
RAWR.  Or this:

The lady will have two tickets to the gun show, please.

Speaking of attractive men, if it wasn’t bad enough that the Oscars ran overtime and foiled my plans for an early bedtime, I ended up having a minor after hours debate with my husband.  The topic? Resolved: Bradley Cooper is attractive.

Me: I just don’t think he’s very good-looking.

Husband: If you polled one hundred women, ninety-eight would agree with me. 

Me: I don’t see it.

Husband: You’re wrong.

Me: It’s not like he’s George Clooney.  THAT is an attractive man.  He even looks good in a beard!

Husband:  It’s GEORGE CLOONEY.  One hundred percent of women think he’s attractive.  You can’t compare them.

Me:  Bradley Cooper’s hair is weird.

Intellectual late-night conversations are where it’s at in my house.  And by late-night, I mean 10:05.  It’s probably good that my husband is back to work and I will only see him for a couple of hours a day at best, given where our conversations go when we’ve actually spent time together.  What’s next, a disagreement about Halle Berry’s shoulder pads?

My neighbour picked up my mail for me while I was gone, and so I was very excited to see the eclectic collection of magazines and catalogues that had amassed.  Canadian Living and Golf Digest, together at last in traditionally-defined gender roles, magazine style.  The anthropologie catalogue together with the Sears Fun in the Sun edition.  Hoo boy.  So many floral dresses and horse sweaters, but at massively different price points.  Spoiler alert: post forthcoming. 

In any event, it’s shaping up to be a busy week what with me running the school book fair – yes, again – karate makeup classes – I sure do hope that woman is there again, can’t wait to hear what she posted to Facebook this week – and the usual day-to-day activities.  What have you been up to, dear readers?  Anyone watch the Oscars?

A Darker Shade of Pale

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Aloha!  It feels like I haven’t written forever, but that’s because I was on vacation in Maui!  We flew in on the red eye last night, and so I’m feeling a little red-eyed.  Pardon the incoherence.  Despite sleeping only about five hours last night, the boys are shockingly energetic and pleasant, which indicates that a ball must be about to drop.  I am also about to drop but wanted to give an update on my lovely, lovely vacation.  As my friend Marilyn mentioned recently, it’s easy to get verklempt about the passage of time and formerly chubby cheeks and adorable mispronunciations, but when it comes to travel, older kids are the bomb.  There was a family – and I mean, parents, plus grandparents, plus two uncles – with one small child at the condominium pool, and all the adults were chasing and doting on and pacifying said small child.  Someone was always following closely, making sure she didn’t tumble into the pool, or slip on the cement, or drown in the hot tub, or eat a plant.  It reminded me of how busy that age was and how un-relaxing a vacation could be.  It also reminded me that I don’t remember anything that happened from 2005-2007, since that little girl was 17 months, and Jake was born when Mark was 17 1/2 months.  I was chatting with the mother and mentioned this, and she said emphatically “Well, she sure has put our plans to have other children on hold indefinitely!”, which seemed somewhat extreme.  In any case, between that family and another mother with three small children – who said to me “I’m still cooking dinner, doing dishes, and folding laundry.  How is this a vacation?” – I was feeling pretty excellent about my children who could be in the pool with only marginal supervision and who weren’t about to eat sand. 

Look at them hanging out at the hot tub like little old men.

It was a fabulous vacation, complete with marginally supervising the children:


Where are the children?  I don’t actually know.  A lot of time was spent at the beach


where I got to ogle all the sexy men:

Is it horrible to post a picture of this guy?  Because he reminded me of Saturday Night Fever.  You can’t tell in this picture but he had a ginormous gold chain on, plus hair like a silver John Travolta, plus – PLUS – his swimsuit was fluorescent animal patterned on the front only.  But you know what?  I give him points for confidence.  Rock it!

We watched the sunset, and also were entertained by the kite flying and pick up volleyball games:

It wasn’t all warmth and sunshine though.  My husband wanted to drive to the top of Halekala volcano, where it was over 10,000 feet of elevation, 36 degrees Fahrenheit, wet, and windy:

I also re-discovered a universal truth: one cannot eat and or drink whatever one wants whenever one wants without consequences.  Related: drinking three beers while barbequing every night, plus wine, plus umbrella drinks, may be excessive.

That photo was for my girlfriend – she knows who she is – who wasn’t there to help me drink those giant bottles.  I had to do it myself.

Finally, we had fun exploring new places and spending massive amounts of time together with a minimum of discord.


Shorts without pockets?  Is this an inside joke?  Or does it just mean no shorts without pockets?  I DON’T GET IT.  Also, since this refers to guys only, does that mean the ladies can party in bikinis after 9 pm?  I’m guessing yes. 

"And then I posted that as my status, and three people liked it."

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Remember that old Simpsons’ episode where Apu went without sleep for several days and then thought he was a hummingbird?  I feel like that, except for the no-sleep thing.  I mean, I haven’t been sleeping that well but I have been sleeping; during the daylight hours I have been flitting around exactly like a hummingbird, going from task to task in a frantic kind of way.  I have lists everywhere and every time I cross something off I do not get my usual feeling of accomplishment; instead I feel like I need to add five items.   

The boys are sick with colds; Jake has a massive headcold and is currently lying on the couch watching Looney Tunes.  Mark has a cough and any time he has a cough I get something like post-traumatic stress disorder from that time he had pneumonia.  He coughs and my heart starts pounding, my entire body gets tense.  Last night I heard him cough, ran into his room – nearly passing out in the process, due to the excellent combination of my super-low blood pressure and jumping out of bed – and asked if he needed his emergency inhaler.  He was sound asleep.  I stood there in the doorway, my heart pounding, feeling like a ridiculous hypochondriac of a mother.

In an interview prior to the Super Bowl, Ray Lewis said “I’m too blessed to be stressed” and I decided to adopt that as a motto for my life.  I thought I should work that thought, in a zen-like way, into my everyday life.  Which means I was practically screaming “I’M TOO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED!  SERENITY NOW!  NAMASTE MOTHERFUCKER!” today, for reasons too ridiculous to go into. 

Oh well, they are sick, they’ll get better.  The other day the boys were at a make-up karate class, on a different day than usual.  On their usual day, all the kids get dropped off and picked up later, but for me, it’s too far to drive home and back, so I normally sit in the waiting area by myself.  At the make-up class, the kids were younger and so there were a number of moms also waiting.

Here I must interject.  I am the chatty, small-talky mom you might meet in a waiting area.  Chances are if we just met I will find out your kids’ names, ages, activities, and favourite movies.  But on this day, in this waiting room, there were three moms that obviously knew each other and settled in for what I assumed was their weekly chat, and I smiled at them and then, not wanting to interrupt them, continued writing in my notebook.  

It turns out that I couldn’t have interrupted if I had wanted to.  One of the moms started talking at 4:15 and didn’t stop for the next forty five minutes.  It was something to behold.  I looked up at one point, and noticed one of the moms she was talking at was busily crocheting, and the other was simply nodding and murmuring “Um hmmm.  Hmmm.” at intervals.  I guessed this was business as usual for this group.  The woman talked nonstop about the following topics: her son’s hockey practice and the schedule they keep, her hairdresser, the frequency with which she speaks to her mother-in-law, the frequency with which her mother-in-law visits or with which she visits her mother-in-law, her Italian lessons and the expense incurred, the Kiwanis music festival at which she was accompanied by someone not musically talented, her son’s field trip to the Calgary Opera and how she was the single greatest chaperone on the trip, her own vast musical talent, fondue, and the weekend hockey tournament that took place at a wonderful venue in Edmonton and the cost of their hotel room.  She told the other women what she posted as her statuses on Facebook for the past week, and how her family liked to spend their time in a relaxed manner at Disneyland.  One of the other moms, at this point, began to talk about her own recent trip to Disneyland, and was instantly cut off when she said she liked to get to the gates early and then stay until close.  “That must be because you’re Asian!” the woman said.  I looked up, startled and horrified.  The crocheting woman was still crocheting madly.  The Asian woman, with what I thought was extreme self-control, nodded politely. 

With the boys being too sick to go to their karate lesson today, I am not particularly looking forward to taking them to the make up class and being subjected to this kind of asinine one-sided conversation again.  Although I’m kind of curious: will this obnoxiousness be a Groundhog Day-like occurrence?  Does this verbal spewage happen every Tuesday from 4:15 to 5:00?  If I flit around the waiting room like Apu the hummingbird, will it be noticed, or will everyone be too busy listening to “And then I posted on Facebook that happiness is a family marshmallow fight.”? 

The Third Dimension (of Top Gun)

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It was pointed out to me that Top Gun – TOP GUN – is being re-released in 3D!  This month, in an IMAX theatre near you!  As thrilling as that may seem, I do find myself wondering if watching that (much beloved by me) movie in 3D on a huge screen would actually enhance the experience.  I’m sure the action sequences would be intensified, but would the volleyball scene be better or worse in 3D?  I’m not convinced either way.  Slider’s oiled up posturing might border on the frightening.  Or, it might be awesome.  Either way I’m not going to find out.

Oh, my.  I went looking for this picture and fell down a rabbit hole.

 
Sorry, I cannot help myself.
 
 
 
Okay, one more.
 
 
PLAYING WITH THE BOYS.
 
Whew.  Where was I?  I think I blacked out for a minute there.  I need an antidote to all this glossiness.
 
 
And…there it is.  Now I can focus.
 
No matter how awesome a 3D showing of (talk to me, Goose) Top Gun would be, I won’t be seeing it.  The reason is that a) I very, very seldom see movies in the theatre, and b) if I do see a movie in the theatre, I want it to be Les Mis, which I still haven’t seen and, if history is any indication, I probably won’t see until it’s on video-on-demand.  Watching movies in the comfort of my own home does have its benefits: unlimited access to the wine bottle, the ability to pause the movie when said wine consumption is high and a visit to the ladies’ room (or, in my house, the room that I am forced to share with the boys) is necessary, and the fun of munching on snacks that did not cost $10 per portion.  The downside, of course, is not seeing the movie as it was intended to be seen, i.e., on the big screen.
 
The last movie I saw in the theatre was The Lorax.  It was in 3D, which was my first 3D movie ever.  It was all right, but the only reason we went to see it in the first place was because our family was visiting our in-laws, and it was raining and cold and an outing was most definitely in order.  Prior to The Lorax, I saw Cars 2 in the theatre (don’t get me started) and prior to that?  Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2.  I don’t even have any idea when I was in a theatre prior to that, which means in the past eight years I’ve been to the theatre three times.
 
Oh wait!  I forgot – there was a fourth time, when my girlfriend and I went to a screening of Mirror Mirror, courtesy of my lovely friend Marilyn.  So, four times in (at least) eight years.  My record is not great, so I’m guessing I’m not seeing Les Mis anytime soon.
 
My memory of Pirates of the Caribbean is fuzzy; Jake was about ten months old at the time and I was exhausted.  He woke several times a night until he was four and a half years old, for the love of god, but I was also tired from the following: pregnancy (years 2003-2004) and interrupted sleep, having a newborn (2004), having a nine month old baby and being pregnant (2005), and having Jake, who was colicky and, as I said before, was a terrible sleeper (2005-2010).  Anyway, my parents were watching the boys for a matinee (since even they weren’t crazy enough to babysit in the evening at that time) and I almost immediately fell asleep.  I slept through the entire movie, waking once in a while to scenes of creatures with squid heads. 
 
All of which is to say, no matter how much I love (Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash) Top Gun, I won’t be seeing it in 3D.  If you see it, let me know how it goes, okay?

February and Friday Happiness

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It’s the first day of February!  January is over, for those of you who had a case of the January blues.  And here in Calgary, the weather today is unseasonably warm, the snow is melting, cars are filthy.  This warmth is in sharp contrast to earlier in the week, when it was minus 37 with windchill.  I went to pick the boys up at lunch – the boys who went to school wearing snowpants, parkas, neck warmers, hats, mitts, and boots – and was sadly disappointed with the sight of them sprinting across the icy playground to meet me, hatless and frozen.  Mark, in particular, cheerfully popped out of his school door wearing only his coat, and unzipped at that.  By the time he made it to the car he was blue, and I asked him what he was thinking.  “Well, the sun was shining,” he said, “So I thought it was warm out.”

The blue skies of Calgary in the winter can be deceiving.  There is a very special breed of Calgarian who ignores the information on the temperature gauge and instead dresses based on what the sky looks like.  You can see these purple legged people everywhere, running along the pathway system, wearing shorts despite the minus 20 temperatures.  It appears that I have birthed one of these people.

But hey, it’s Friday, it’s February, AND it’s a PD day, which I love.  I am still in my sweaty yoga clothes, the kids are in their jammies playing Poke Park on the Wii, and I’m trying to figure out what to do with the giant batch of vegan sour “cream” I made yesterday.  I was reminded after I made it why I avoid soy.  Possibly this can be used as an ingredient in some other recipe; it certainly cannot be used on its own because NASTY.  Oh well, either I salvage it or I forfeit $1.49 worth of soft tofu.  The consequences are not that dire.

I went shopping at Costco yesterday, which isn’t generally my favourite thing to do, but thanks to short lineups and the fact that only one person disparaged my choice of almond milk, it wasn’t too bad.  At least I wasn’t buying this:

 
Cocoa Pebbles!  I had no idea those were still in production.  I have never actually eaten these in my life: my mother, wise woman, did not believe in sugar cereals for children.  Once in a while we had Honey Nut Cheerios, but that was the extent of it.  Still, someone must be eating them.  At first the words “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” popped into my head, but then I realized that is advertising for a totally different cocoa-flavoured-cartoon-branded-cereal.
 
I’m not criticizing, mind you.  Critiquing people’s grocery choices is so not me.  Hell, for all I know this is a base for a Rice-Krispie-esque Square.  Perhaps a Valentine’s Day treat for that special someone.  Speaking of Valentine’s Day, I came across this on Facebook, and I wish I knew the creator:
 
 

These really leave those “Bee Mine” or “I Choo-Choo-Choose You” cards in the dust.  The dust, I say!  Quit Stalin, I shall say to my husband.  And he will shake his head at me, brow furrowed, probably wondering why his wife is such a nutcase.

For example, this morning I was scrolling through news headlines and saw “Ed Koch Died In The Closet.”  The first – the very first – thought that went through my head was how did he die in a closet?  Did he fall into the closet, and did no one find him?  Poor guy.  Then I read the article.  OH.  Light bulb.  I took that for a sign I needed more coffee. 

Then, to top off my nuttiness, I realized that there is a whole folder of messages in my Facebook account that I didn’t know was there!  A sweet note from a woman at the Yoga Shala, from OCTOBER that I had obviously never replied to since I didn’t know it was there.  Rude!  Also in that folder, this classy note from an unknown stranger:

Hello, I am Oscar. I am 45 year old and i am italian live California. I came across your profile and it would be my pleasure if we can be close friends…

Is this how people meet people these days?  It creeped me out – possibly unfairly.  I mean, maybe Oscar just needs a friend.  A CLOSE friend.  Anyone want to be Oscar’s friend?  Anyone?