FYI for teenaged girls, don’t date the Hall boys.

I’m really glad my ladies’ holidays aren’t coming up anytime soon, because my goodness I am an emotional girl this week; it would be pretty bad if I threw some hormones into the mix. Part of it, maybe, is the fact that my kids are now in the “big kid” section of the school, far away from the office so it’s really hard to just casually saunter past their classrooms and sneak a peek at them, which, looking at it objectively, is probably a good thing because they do not enjoy me sneaking a peek at them. I shouldn’t group them together, really, because Mark doesn’t actually mind. Jake, however, does. “Why did you WAVE at me? I’m supposed to be WORKING, not getting distracted.” Even in lineup in the mornings, I fist bump him and then back the hell off, because that kid does not want any extra attention from his mother, JAY-SUS. If I do attempt a wave while he’s lined up, he raises his chin slightly in what I take to be the world’s smallest head nod in acknowledgement. What is he going to be like as a teenager? A total dick, I’m guessing. I said this to my friend this morning who answered cheerfully, “Well, you always predicted that!” True.

I was grocery shopping yesterday and found myself teary-eyed and verklempt at the sight of young mamas with their babies and toddlers in the produce section. I heard the mamas talking to their little ones in the same way I did, in a previous era, when I had to put lipstick marks into the palms of small hands instead of fist bumping while walking through the compound. This is a lemon. It’s yellow! Look at this pretty red apple. It’s so red and round! Let’s put five in the bag. 1…2…3…4…5…I stared at the banana display for a while, swallowing hard. Thank god no one picked up a cucumber and pretended to tickle their toddler with it because if that had happened I would STILL be curled up on the floor singing Landslide* to myself. And if you see my reflection in a snow covered hill…Fortunately later in the day I found myself buying printer paper in Walmart and witnessing a complete toddler meltdown in the school supply aisle, complete with flopping boneless body and ear-piercing shrieks. I smiled sympathetically at the frazzled young mother and tried not to click my heels in joy as I went to pick up my big kids at the big kid doors at school.

Well, they’re not that big, I guess, since I haven’t yet started writing blog posts about teenage girls and the behavioural standards required to date my sons. Eeee. Can you imagine what kind of mother-in-law that woman will be? Here’s an FYI for teenage girls: do NOT date one of the Hall boys. RUN THE OTHER DIRECTION if one of them asks for your phone number. Do boys still ask for your phone number these days? Or do they just look you up on Facebook? But I digress. Truly, just think how overbearing poor beleaguered Mrs. Hall must be, and I can only guess that this is not something that will improve with time. Girls, if you become a “young Mrs. Hall”, you will be doomed for a life of in-law misery. You will never be able to vacuum often enough, is what I’m saying.

Things are tough for teenage girls these days, what with the striving to be the hottest bitch in this place and the expectation that one must stay up ALL DAMN NIGHT to get lucky. In my day, we just expressed ourselves or Vogued. Speaking of which, last night I was cleaning up the kitchen and Papa Don’t Preach came on. I cranked the volume and sang along; the boys reacted with complete and utter silence. Perhaps they were struck mute with awe? Moments later they went outside where they climbed our big Mayday tree and jumped down repeatedly. I didn’t think my singing was that bad.

*see, Sarah, I think we’re even on the Landslide references


  1. This may be my favourite post of yours ever. I have thought the same thing so many times – ALL night?

  2. Ha, I love the title! I can just see her, praying for the mother I will be and then feeling like God answered by saying “No.” Also, it seems like she should also pray for the young men her sons might want to marry, just in case.

  3. First of all, tickling your baby with a cucumber is NOT AT ALL weird and creepy. Second of all, I just burst into tears when a commercial for a new Barbie Mariposa movie came on AND I FUCKING HATE BARBIE MOVIES. Third of all, my sweet little boy who used to be afraid of sock fluff got photographed for the newspaper AGAIN last night and is almost a full head TALLER than me, for fuck’s sake. Nicole, we’re getting really drunk at Blissom Canada, right? Because just the regular happy everyday mothering is kicking my emotional ass right now. Plus my hair is bugging me.

  4. Ah man, sadly my ladies holidays (or as my rude friend refers to it: Charlie’s in the bush and I need reinforcements) are here and so I had a near panic attack last night about the fact that Oldest will be starting middle school and Youngest starting kindergarten . . . NEXT YEAR! Jesus self, get it together. I am not suitable for interacting with others at this time.

  5. My 11yo believes that song is about someone staying up all night to get lucky because they are at a casino and they stupidly don’t realize “the house always wins.” My son is equal parts naive and worldly.

    I love this post. Especially the title.

    Speaking of in-laws, my husband told me that his mother had a very good rule. Her sons were to acknowledge her when they saw here in public. They didn’t have to be effusive but they were to extend to her the courtesy of being polite. Failure to do so was going to be met with the following punishment: she would stand outside school at the end of the day in a garish cowgirl costume that she owned and intentionally humilate them. I think it’s brilliant.

    • That. Is. Awesome. I plan to initiate a similar plan although since I don’t possess a cowgirl costume, I will instead outfit myself in the ensemble I put together when I went to an 80s dance party this Winter and purchase a gigantic permed wig.

    • He is correct, the house always wins! Smart boy. Also, heh.

      My sons seem to be taking acknowlegement of me to the very bare minimum. Today I got a FULL head nod! Whee.

  6. We were at a restaurant last night with the boys, and I asked for a high chair for G only to be met with quizzical looks from both my husband and the waitress… they gently suggested that at nearly two years old he’s probably fine with a booster seat. And he was. FUCK OFF.

    Anyway, “Get Lucky” was playing at one point, and we were all gently head-bobbing around the table because we are THAT family, so I asked 8yo what he thought the song meant.

    “I think it means staying up ALL NIGHT, and drinking ALCOHOL. You know, like the neighbours’ kids do on weekends” which made me tremble for the teenaged years.

    I love this post and I can’t wait for Blissdom, even though I may have to invest in a series of funky hats because the humidity has destroyed my hair.

  7. I’ve been getting weepy over the babies in the grocery store, too, completely ignoring the whining three-year old in my own cart. Looking forward to sharing a room with you at the nursing home and singing together.

  8. Cucumbers evoke the power of Smashing Pumpkin lyrics. I like the way your head thinks.
    I was feeling all sorts of nostalgic when my brother had a oopps…I mean child. But then I remember colic and I was done with that.
    My kid will probably always give me the time of day, mostly because he acts like a vagina when I drop him off.

  9. I managed to avoid that article by Mrs. Hall almost all week because I knew it would just make me angry. Just reading peoples’ tweets about the article made me angry! My ladies’ holiday symptoms include anger rather than sadness. Not sure which is worse.

    Still not in the weeping-about-babies stage, but my youngest is rather attached to me still, and only kindergarten age. A couple more years ought to do it.

    Heard Papa Don’t Preach yesterday on the All 80s internet radio station and refrained from singing but did think of you.

  10. Amanda Rodriguez says

    The list of qualifications to date my sons is quite developed. The oldest is in middle school, it was time. Last night I twerked in my kitchen. My children were horrified. My kitchen, my rules fool. I told them that if they wanted to stop the madness they’d help out. They all went to their rooms and I was left to my own enjoyment. Fine. By. Me.

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