Monthly Archives: February 2014

I got 99 problems, but the book fair is not one.

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I wrapped up my twelfth – TWELFTH – book fair yesterday and it was the most successful one I’ve ever had; we raised almost $4000 for the school library and home reading program. I feel like I should preen a little bit about that, but credit must be given where credit is due: Minecraft Handbooks and Annuals. Easily the most popular books in the fair, I found myself with reorder sheets and lineups of kids. My own house now has a copy of the Annual and the children have been spending much time doing whatever it is they do when they are on Minecraft. Also popular? National Geographic’s World’s Cutest Animals, and Paulette the Pinkest Puppy in the World. So, there’s a bit of a range there. The thing about volunteering for twelve consecutive book fairs is that one really develops an intimate knowledge of children’s reading habits. There are some girls that I remember choosing Pinkalicious and Barbie the Mermaid, and now they are reaching for the Whatever After series. My own children have graduated from the Hot Wheels Easy Readers to the 39 Clues and Spirit Animals. I could do a growth chart, just with Scholastic books.

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Photo is PRE-rampaging by 530 elementary-aged children.

So it’s been a busy, but gratifying, week. There’s nothing like pure adulation from a whole lot of children to boost one’s self-esteem, not that I particularly needed boosting, but here we are. While at the school I attended an Olympic wrap-up assembly, which I sat through with a lump in my throat and blurry eyes. My boys’ classes were the assembly’s “hosts” and the assembly started off with Olympic music and the teacher calling out different countries, the children all coming in behind flags from countries representing their nationalities. The one boy from Greece started everyone off, followed by at least twenty other countries. Many children wore traditional clothing from their countries of origin, and all in all it was a wonderful display of multiculturalism.

I know what you’re thinking: what about the recorders? Well, both classes played the recorder, accompanied by the bass xylophones. Thank god for the bass xylophones. The recorders were pretty terrible, as to be expected, but happily the songs were short. Mark’s class then did an Olympic Alphabet, with his contribution being the letter M and a blurb about Mark McMorris, which was kind of nice. And then, making all my dreams come true, Jake’s class did a dance melange of traditional Russian dancing mixed with disco moves, all set to an instrumental version of Rasputin. It was just as amazing as it sounds.

I was an emotional wreck through the whole thing, as I realized one of the very first assemblies I’d ever attended was the 2010 Olympic kick-off assembly, when Mark was in kindergarten performing – oddly enough – I’m a Little Teapot. Kindergarten! And when the next Winter Olympics comes around, both of my children will be in junior high. Time makes you bolder, even children get older. I’m getting older too. I’d sing it mournfully, but unfortunately for my mental health, I have had Nights on Broadway stuck in my head for three days. I feel like Ralph Fiennes from The English Patient, but in a disco way. I have been singing this. For THREE DAYS.

I don’t even know all the words. I just keep singing the same lines over and over. Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway. Singing them sweet sounds. To that crazy crazy town. Remember that Seinfeld episode where George was convinced he was losing his mind since he went to see Les Mis and couldn’t get Master of the House out of his head? It’s like that. I’m pretty sure I’m headed to a mental institution. Not only that, but I’m disco dancing to the song in my head. Literally. I find myself in the kitchen, behaving as if I’m the lead-off dancer on Soul Train. I am not marching to my own drummer, I’m doing the hustle to the Bee Gees in my mind.

I think hell just did freeze over.

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I woke up this morning and it was minus thirty with windchill, and all I could think while I watched the weather report was at least I’m not in Regina. Or Flin Flon. Because minus 49 – which is the temperature in those places – is really really cold. We all have to look on the bright side, and speaking of which, it is the last week of February. How did that happen? This afternoon I’m setting up the book fair, and then running it for the next few days, and then doing all the paperwork and counting all the money and generally revelling in my unpaid but much lauded career as the Book Fair Lady.

Way, way back in the eighties, I was a candy-striper at a nursing home. During my time of bringing cheer to the elderly, I would play old-timey music on the piano for the Sing-Along hour. To this day I have a vast knowledge of songs that were popular between WWI and WWII, proven when I started singing “If You Were The Only Girl In The World” while watching Downton Abbey with my husband. “How do you KNOW that song?” he asked, slightly aghast. I am an onion full of layers, my dear. The old people used to go nuts over that song, as well as “It Had To Be You” and “A Shanty in Shantytown”.

Speaking of interesting musical performances, my kids’ recorder performance is tomorrow, as well as – apparently – Russian dancing and some other musical numbers. I’m not quite sure what exactly is going on, except that Jake has informed me he is in a dance number set to “Rasputin” and Mark told me he’s hoping to play the bass xylophone. Suffice it to say I’m PRETTY excited to attend tomorrow’s performance. Somewhat relatedly, the children have informed me that they need to wear their Olympics shirts and/ or an outfit that represents their country of origin and so I’m assuming there will be some kind of international celebration, culminating in a recorder performance of Hot Cross Buns. Mark told me that he is very nervous for the performance, because his class is, he says, “terrible” at the recorder. How terrible can Hot Cross Buns be? I shall report back.

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My husband was watching the CBC (sign of age: when you refer to it as “the” CBC) and there was a special segment about the men’s curling team. I made him stop and rewind because THE LADY WILL HAVE TWO TICKETS TO THE GUN SHOW, PLEASE. Is it me, or have curlers changed their image significantly? In my day, curlers did NOT look like that. The ladies are quite lovely too; they used to sport “mom” haircuts and now they are all young and dazzling. I guess I should say “old-lady” haircuts since we are the moms now. This is our hair. “Mom” is not a synonym for “lame”, not anymore!

Speaking of which, I read that Kate Middleton is being criticized about her hair; apparently it’s “too long” and “looking bedraggled”. Um, what? Other than her dreadful Official Portrait, I don’t think there has ever been a bad picture of the duchess. Her hair especially is lovely. Apparently the criticism is largely coming from Camilla Parker-Bowles who is a) apparently taking her role of mother-in-law to a cliched unfriendly level, and b) a Very Bad Person and a Homewrecker, according to my late grandmother, who thought she was the devil incarnate. What I’m saying is, DON’T LISTEN TO HER, KATE. You look gorgeous. Also, I wish I had your wardrobe. Not that it would be very practical to wear Manolos to the book fair, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

Rising up, back on the street.

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This morning I finally could breathe through my nose, and so I went to yoga for the first time since Sunday. When I was driving home, Eye of the Tiger was playing on the radio. It felt appropriate. I feel like I should play it on a continuous loop over the next few days as I prepare for Book Fair and all that entails. Rising up to the challenge of our rival and all that.

Not only am I running the Book Fair next week, but my children’s classes are hosting an assembly, in which they are going to play recorders. I cannot imagine just how badly this is going to go. The kazoo performance was one thing, but both boys have mentioned that they – and their classmates – are not very good at the recorder, which seems like an understatement of the largest order. I’m starting to be concerned for the music teacher’s mental health. The very few times that the boys have actually practiced the recorder at home have ended with the dog whimpering in his crate and me reaching for the wine bottle. Of course, the other day I was singing a spirited rendition of The Greatest Love of All and the dog ran and hid in his crate, which I am going to assume was just a coincidence. I went the distance, and I’m not going to stop.

The recorder, though. I know of only one person who has actually enjoyed her child playing the recorder, and I’m fairly certain that child has much, much more musical talent than the vast majority of children. In general it is truly a wretched instrument, which is not to say that I do not understand why the recorder is so widely used by elementary music teachers everywhere. It’s light, inexpensive, and appropriate for small hands and YET. One year I was running the Book Fair in the room beside the music room, and I heard recorder music for the entire day, to the detriment of my sanity. I hope that doesn’t happen next week. I’m just a girl with a will to survive.

The other day I came across an article that declared high waisted jeans are the biggest trend for this spring and I died a little on the inside. There has to be a happy medium between showing the world that you really do need a bikini wax and waistbands that end just below your ribcage. Why, world, why? We ladies of a certain age remember donning our high waisted jeans with our bodysuits underneath to head out to the bar to go what is now called “clubbing”, shaking our amply-denim-covered booties to I Saw The Sign and I Like To Move It Move It. We don’t need to relive those days, at least not with such unflattering clothes. Don’t lose your grip on your dreams from the past, but there’s no need to fight just to keep them alive.

Speaking of unflattering fashions, the other day I was in the mall and I saw this:

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I wonder if it’s a hot seller. It might be nice for wearing while jogging and singing Eye of the Tiger, which is something I should keep in mind in the unlikely event that I take up jogging. Although maybe it’s meant for evening loungewear? I don’t really know. Stalking prey in the night.

Everyday is Family Day in the Boyhouse

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Depending where you are, today is a Tuesday that feels like a Monday. Yesterday was Family Day in Alberta – thanks Ralph! – and I spent it nursing a cold. This is karma, because not two weeks ago I said – OUT LOUD – that we have been super lucky this winter, no one has had a cold since early October. Ten years into this parenting gig, you would think I would know better. The very next day Jake came home from school with the sniffles. Thankfully this seems to be a quick moving virus; one day of feeling like mediocre hell, then on the mend the next day. Today I’m feeling much better, although that may be the medication talking.

Other than becoming BFF’s with my neti pot, we had a very lovely and relaxed long weekend. It was a five-day weekend due to Teacher’s Conventions, and the boys spent a high percentage of that weekend in their pajamas. It’s nice to just be lazy once in a while, no? We did ditch the jammies for regular clothes on Saturday to see The Lego Movie. If you haven’t seen it, you should, even if you don’t have children. It’s so clever and original, and very, very funny.

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The kids playing Lego last summer.

 

Did you hear about the woman who wrote how she hates when her kids do chores, because they don’t do them correctly, or they do them slowly, or they have to be TAUGHT them? I feel like I should be outraged about this, but I’m actually a bit empathetic. My kids do lots of chores; they keep their rooms neat, they tidy up their thousands of Pokemon cards when they scatter them all over the downstairs rec room in some semblance of a “game”, they clear the table and help set the table and feed the dog. They help with yard work and snow shovelling when necessary, and they earn an allowance for these things. They get docked allowance for not doing chores OR for bad behaviour, although to be honest, we’ve never had to follow through on this. The threat of docking their allowance is enough for them to pull up their socks, the mercenary little darlings. It’s so important that kids learn chores, and cooking, and how to do laundry because let’s face it: we don’t really want our children living at home when they are thirty, or bringing their laundry to us, or being generally useless when they fly the nest, do we? I know I don’t, and so I give impromptu cooking lessons and show them how to turn on the washer and wipe down sinks.

And yet, I really understand where the author is coming from. My kids make their beds first thing every morning, and every morning I have to will myself not to remake them. Every morning I look at the lumpy beds that have stuffed animals in them or blankets askew, and I have to tell myself not to fix it. Is there anything more de-motivating than knowing that your work is always going to get redone by someone who does it better? NO, there is not. And so I think to myself, they are the ones that will have to sleep in the lumpy bed with the twisted blankets, they’ll figure it out. Om shanti. The fact that this bothers me is indicative of my own craziness.

Speaking of craziness, sometimes I wonder why I’m even allowed to leave the house. I wanted to go visit my new little niece, and I popped into the car equipped with only the vehicle GPS. MISTAKE NUMBER ONE. I should know that my sense of direction is so terrible I should have a map and written directions both to and from destinations, in addition to GPS. But no. I relied on technology and this is what happened: I ended up on a dirt road outside the city. In my (minor) defense the new infrastructure in that part of the city is not available on GPS so the chirpy little voice kept telling me to turn right when there was no road, and turn left off of an overpass. The GPS is trying to kill me! I ended up phoning my husband, sobbing hysterically. My husband is one of those people who could be dropped from a helicopter in the middle of nowhere and could navigate himself home using only the direction of the sun and his own inner directional instincts. I have no such instincts. My instinct, when lost, is to panic completely, pull over, and cry, and that is exactly what I did. I never did get to see my niece; ninety minutes of driving later I cautiously headed on a northbound road and, with my husband talking on my hands-free phone, made it home. My very sweet sister-in-law suggested that perhaps, next time we could just meet at the mall near my house.

One Size Fits All

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For those of you who follow such things, the federal budget contained an intention to legislate an end to the price gap between goods sold in the US and Canada. It’s about time! In this day and age I find it ridiculous to find an online price that’s 30% higher on Canadian websites compared with the same item, from the same corporation, in the US. If this goes through, however, it will be the end of an era.

When I was growing up, the thing to do was cross border shop. I clearly recall driving down to Montana, or sometimes even Washington, to buy back to school clothes. Things were significantly cheaper in the US at that time, and the dollar was about par, and so even with travel costs it was a better deal to shop “across the line”. Not only that but the US was home to many stores and brands that were just not available in Canada. My husband recalls trips down to Washington in the 1970s when he would happily partake in A&W Root Beer, which was not sold in Canada, even though there were A&W restaurants. For me, the item that was shrouded in mystery was the Twinkie.

Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes were not sold in Canada when I was a kid, but I knew all about them from Saturday morning cartoons and advertisements in Archie comics. They looked amazing and delicious and I clearly recall the first time my mother bought them, on a shopping trip to the States. The anticipation! The excitement! The…anticlimatic feeling when I bit into it and it was just a weird spongy thing with weird cream on the inside. How disappointing. The cupcakes, I thought, were better on account that they had a nice chocolate coating on them, but the Day of the Twinkie Reckoning was the day I realized that not everything lives up to your dreams. When the world never seems to be living up to your dreams, it’s time you started finding out what everything is all about.

A pivotal moment in my life.

The Great Twinkie Incident Of My Childhood did not, however, cure me of coveting exotic items not for sale in Canada, specifically those found in a little chain you might have heard of: Victoria’s Secret. Four years ago, when I finally decided I was ready to travel with the children, we flew to Palm Desert to visit my snowbird parents.

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This photo has nothing to do with the story. It’s just my favourite from that trip. The boys had just gotten off the plane and were amazed to see flowers! and grass! in February! WHAT KIND OF MAGICAL PLACE IS THIS? And look at their little shoes.

 

That trip, my mother and I ditched the kids with my dad and husband, and went shopping. We went to Victoria’s Secret which was everything I had dreamed of, and more. The selection of bras! The gigantic comfortable change rooms complete with disposable panties and t-shirts to test out the bras! The businesslike salesgirls walking around in their black clothing with tape measures around their necks! Prior to this I had always done my bra fitting at the Bay, with older Eastern European women sharply admonishing the fit of my current bras. You are vearing ze vrong bra! Look at zis! Zis is terrible. Terrible fit. You need different. But these girls were gentle and sweet and very earnest in their suggestions. Maybe the Dream Angel? I don’t THINK you’d like the Bombshell.

The best part about that shopping trip, other than all the underwear I brought home, was that it was actually Valentine’s Day when my mom and I were shopping. Have you ever been to Victoria’s Secret on Valentine’s Day? It’s pretty entertaining. There were literally dozens of men, some of them wandering around wide eyed, some standing motionless and overwhelmed in the middle of the store, but most of them lined up to purchase gift cards. Those men were no fools. There are too many (literal) booby traps in buying lingerie as a gift. There are just too many ways that can go badly; gift cards are probably the safest way to go.

So I was happy to cross-border shop for sexy and good-fitting bras and panties, until the magical happened – a store opened up in my city! It opened to huge fanfare but I still didn’t visit it very often, because it was in location very inconvenient to me. But then! To much less fanfare and women walking around with angel wings, a store opened up NOT FIVE MINUTES AWAY FROM ME. Hurray! I received a coupon in the mail for $10 off a bra and off I went.

It was the same great shopping experience, with the same earnest salesgirls. When I got to the counter with my Dream Angel, the cashier asked if I would like the free Valentine’s Day thong panty. I’m not made of stone, OF COURSE I wanted the free Valentine’s Day thong panty. I chose hot pink, as being something exotic and unusual for me, and the girl started to wrap it in tissue. Wait, I said, What size is that? The girl smiled at me kindly and said the thongs were one size fits all. The bees are doing what now? A one size fits all THONG PANTY?

Since then I’ve found out that Hanky Panky – home to, apparently, the world’s most comfortable thong – also sells their thongs as a one size fits all, and I have to say, I cannot wrap my head around this phenomenon. How is it possible? What kind of miracle fabric is this? I can understand how a caftan at Sears can be one size fits all – “fitting” not being synonymous with “looking the same” – but a thong panty? I just cannot understand. I need the physics explained to me.

And yet I got home and tried on the one size fits all thong, and it was the most comfortable pair of underwear I have ever worn. My mind is blown. There are a lot of things I do understand: advanced calculus, visual basic coding, economics, but this is the most mind-bending concept of them all. One size fits all thong underwear. It feels like NASA had a part in it.

All Baking and No Eating Makes Nicole Go Something Something

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Happy Monday, I say from my perch on the office chair with a big coffee next to me. It’s Day…I don’t know how many days it’s been painfully cold but suffice it to say it was an indoorsy kind of weekend. Jake came down with a cold – probably because I’d JUST finished saying how lucky we’ve been and how we haven’t even had a cold in the house since late September – and so the boys did not even go to karate class on Saturday. Quiet weekend indeed. I baked some cookies in honour of Valentine’s Day.

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SOME cookies. Eighty four, to be exact. Sadly, they are almost exclusively made of butter so I cannot eat them.

I also shot a couple of videos for Yummy Mummy Club:

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The video on how to make quinoa as a breakfast cereal is right here. I’m wearing the apron my mom bought me for Christmas, from a lingerie store. The last video I shot I wore my old cupcake apron and my mom’s feelings were VERY HURT that I wasn’t featuring my lingerie apron. See Mom? I’m wearing it! I just like to switch things up a little.

Speaking of lingerie, I had a post all planned about thongs, but it will have to wait a day or two because my dear friend Kimberly from Make Mommy Go Something Something tagged me in a meme! And it’s Meme Monday so really, what could be better? NOTHING, that’s what!

1) If Jane had 3 apples and John had 78 nails, how many layers of clothing are you wearing (how is the weather in your neck of the woods?)?

Well, Kimberly, I am currently wearing jeans, a turtleneck, a huge sweater, and I’m sitting in front of a space heater because it’s OMG MY FACE HURTS cold outside. It’s the kind of cold that I always think “That’ll wake you up in the morning!” when I drop the kids off at school. Seriously. Every time. Oh, and I’m wearing my favourite thigh high thick grey socks OVER my jeans and fuzzy slippers.

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I’m bringing sexy back…to the store for a refund.

2. What is keeping you sane during these long winter months?

Honestly, I’m at the point where I can’t remember what grass looks like. I’ve probably already lost my sanity. Oh! But I’ve been on a Margaret Atwood binge lately. Last night I picked up Cat’s Eye and remembered how hard it is to put down. *yawn* Which means I stayed up until 9:30 last night reading. 9:30! Clearly I HAVE lost my sanity!

3. If you were on a boat with a box of chocolate and your Mother In Law, who would you throw overboard?

What kind of chocolate? I kid, I kid. My mother-in-law has been knitting up a storm for me this winter and honestly, it’s made a huge difference in my quality of life. So far I’ve amassed six scarves and four pairs of legwarmers – plus she is currently working on an infinity scarf for me. To add to the sweetness, she sends them to me all wrapped up in ribbons with a note that says “Custom Made For Nicole”. Cute! So I’ll toss the chocolate and keep my mother in law and her knitting needles.

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4. What’s in your underwear drawer besides underwear?

I have so many of those bra inserts that come in yoga tops. I don’t like wearing the inserts, but yet I feel like I MIGHT want to some day. I like to keep my options open. So I have about forty of those inserts taking up valuable panty space…I should go throw them out RIGHT NOW. I won’t, but I should. WHAT IF I NEED THEM?

5. Do you trust yourself with sharp objects near your face? (as in, do you pluck your own eyebrows? Do you have any eyebrow horror stories?)

I do pluck my own eyebrows because if I had to wait 4-6 weeks to get waxed, it would be a nightmare. I’d look like Martin Scorcese crossed with Frida Kahlo. It would not be a good look for me. And here’s a secret…I also pluck my upper lip. I KNOW. The feminine mystique takes quite a beating as we age, doesn’t it? Now, my husband has seen me give birth – twice – and yet I will not allow him in the room if I’m plucking my upper lip because I want to keep the romance alive, people. Feeling like your wife might look like a 70s rocker or possibly Magnum PI without the help of a tweezer is probably not conducive to romantic thoughts.

6. I am terrified of dead bodies, spiders, and the dentist. What are you scared of?

Moths. Good lord I just typed “moths” and I think I had heart palpitations. Either that or I’ve had too much coffee. THIS is what happens when I stay up until 9:30 on a Sunday night!

7. Does your husband cut up the back of your legs with his long toenails when you sleep?

Um, no. No he doesn’t.

All right, it’s my turn to think of seven questions and tag seven people but you know, I like Kimberly’s questions, except for the toenail one. I’ll keep those and add the last question: are you wearing nail polish? And if so, what colour? (I have red on my toenails and pale pink on my fingernails, FYI). I tag the following wonderful bloggers:

Hannah from Hodgepodge and Strawberries

Allison from Bibliomama

Sarah from No Whey, Mama

Swistle from Swistle

Lynn from Turtlehead

Alex from I Don’t Blog

Peady from Tempered With Kindness

You don’t have to be a blogger to answer these questions – feel free to comment on any of the above. Have fun! Happy Meme Monday! xo

This Post Is Steeped

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Today I received an email from an insurance broker about a mix-up, and she very earnestly apologized for the “incontinence”, which has been making me smile all day. I’m sure her coworkers would be more in need of an apology than me, given the puddles and all.

I’ve been re-reading Alias Grace, and in the language of the 1850s, she describes sweeping under a bed and finding a ton of slut’s wool, which is apparently what they used to call dust bunnies, sluts back then being lazy housekeepers and not the whores we think of today. In my own bid to be a fabulous housewife, I moved the couch for the first time in many weeks to sweep behind it and I myself found enough slut’s wool to create my own dusty sheep, so I feel a kinship with all those nineteenth-century sluts.

When Jake started Grade One full time, I had several people ask me what will I do with all my TIME, intimating that I should consider going “back to work”. Did you know I used to have a career? One where I wore pantyhose and high heels and worked on a trade floor for twelve hours a day on average, and I used to cry in the bathroom sometimes, and once a guy flipped out so much that he banged his phone on his desk until it broke and he had to take an anger management course? Good times. Anyway, I never really considered going back to work in that capacity after I left, and it’s good that I didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be available for my current career of “school volunteer”, not to mention my role of slutty housewife.

Yesterday I was a judge at the school science fair, and let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a volunteer capacity. I highly recommend it. I was easily the most excited judge around, walking with my clipboard and asking VERY SERIOUS scientific questions. I loved all the students with their science-y joy and ideas. Changing the world, one science project at a time. One kid was so into his topic of waves and resonance, and so engaged and excited, that I mentioned he might want to consider taking more science once he was in junior high and high school, which subsequently made him even more engaged and excited, that I thought he might spin off the planet right then and there.

Sadly, there was not one baking soda volcano among the bunch. Not one! However, someone had built a Lego robot, and the boys assured me that it was one of the most popular tables, when their classes visited, along with a research project about venom and its uses. Venom! There’s nothing like a potentially deadly substance to get a bunch of third-and-fourth grade boys interested in scientific applications.

And hey, one week until Valentine’s Day! Apparently I will be making approximately one million heart-shaped cookies for the boys’ classes next week, in lieu of cards which they say are “lame” and “stupid”. Well, cookies are the opposite of lame and stupid! Remember that old Tim Hortons’ commercial in which the teenage son bought his mom a tea and said it was steeped, after which she thought “steeped” was the new word to say for something that was cool and used it in all sorts of situations? That’s totally me. I am that mother. Also, cookies in lieu of cards for Valentine’s Day is steeped. STEEPED I SAY.

Someone was asking the other day what men like to receive for Valentine’s Day and I blinked a couple of times. Blink. Blink. I can really only think of two things, and they are pretty obvious: sex and blowjobs. It’s perfect, you don’t need to wrap anything, you don’t need to buy anything, you don’t even need to leave the comfort of your own home. Alternately, you could make a batch of my aphrodisiac blondies. Blondes have more fun, my sweet young blonde yoga friend is always telling me, and I…don’t know if that’s true or not. But these blondies are very fun. Personally I’m hoping for a teddy bear wearing a bee costume emblazoned with “Bee Mine” but I’m not sure if I’ll get that or not. I might have to be satisfied with smooches and general romantic feelings. And maybe a bottle of wine.