Monthly Archives: June 2015

Summer Love

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Here we are, on day three of summer vacation, and it kind of feels like we’ve been on vacation for a month already, in the best way possible. It’s been unseasonably warm and beautiful, and we haven’t yet had a moment of missing-school-or-friends angst that typically happens in the first few days of unstructuredness. The boys finished school on Friday:

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All has been, as they say, rosy:

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We’ve been as busy as bees, having fun:

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We spent the weekend at the lake with my parents, and much of the time was spent like this:

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And some of this:

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Today we went to the local amusement park, and although the forecast was quite warm, it was very overcast. Apparently this run of great weather has ruined my Calgary weather-savviness, because I failed to bring a jacket and so was completely unprepared for the drizzle that turned into rain. The bright side is that I had a lot of work to do this afternoon, and was able to complete it without feeling resentful that I was missing out on great weather. Also, the rain didn’t really start until we were pretty much ready to go home anyway, and the boys got to do everything they wanted in the time we were there. Plus, this year they are both tall enough for the big bumper cars, and it was hilarious to watch them jam themselves into the centre and get pummelled from all sides.

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I spent a lot of time reading this weekend. I’ve been reading a biography of the Queen Mum that my mother had lent me, and let’s just say it’s eye opening. Remember the scandal when Fergie had her toes sucked by someone, and Charles said he wished he was Camilla’s tampon? First, ew. Tampon, really? But these are completely tame and boring compared with the totally scandalous behaviour and also kind of incestuous relationships by the European royals of the early 20th century. HOO BOY.

It’s also bizarrely hilarious. For example, King Constantine I was deposed, and his son took over as king of Greece. Unfortunately, says the book, he was bitten by a monkey and died of blood poisoning in 1920. Two paragraphs later, we find out that Princess Marie Bonapart, in pursuit of a better orgasm, had her clitoris surgically repositioned three times. Three times! It seems amazing that it would work after that. These are the kind of anecdotes that keep me reading, because the book itself is very dense and heavy reading. It’s not unlike reading a textbook, albeit one with very strange stories in it.

I hope you’re having a wonderful summer so far! xoxo

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Just June

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After today, there is only one and a half days left of school, and excitement is mounting! Is it me, or did June fly by? Maybe it’s my life that is flying by and I should just lie down and sing “Cat’s in the Cradle,” “Landslide,” and “Sunrise Sunset” over and over for a while.

The last few weeks of school are pretty hilarious, aren’t they? Everybody’s just mailing it in at this point. Mark’s at a field trip to the zoo today, which is remarkable because it’s sunny and warm. I think this is the first field trip ever that it hasn’t been pouring rain or unseasonably cold or something. Jake’s class has an “in-class” field trip involving Light and Shadows, and I asked if he wanted me to volunteer in the class. He politely suggested that there were more than enough volunteers, and when I said no, the teacher was still looking for some, he said that he’d really rather I not. Well, I’d rather not as well, so I GUESS that worked out.

Jake’s class hasn’t exactly been easy street for the past few weeks though; Jake’s teacher is notorious for keeping the learning going until the bitter end. Mark had her for a teacher a few years ago and it was the same. For example, Mark’s class has watched four movies over the past four days, and has another movie scheduled for tomorrow. Jake had four spelling tests in the past two days. Monday night he came home with six pieces of paper on which he was supposed to write down THIRTY interesting sentences about the research topic they’ve been working on for the past month, and then glue the pieces of paper into a cube, all due the following morning. At first I wondered if he had slacked off in class, but no. It turns out everyone was given this assignment at the end of the day, so the last Monday night of the school year was spent doing this without notes because no one was allowed to bring their notebooks home. I felt a bit indignant; the busy work could have been kept for school time, in my opinion, but Jake was determined to finish strong.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I like the teacher; she’s a no-nonsense kind of lady. But I felt like that project could have been used to fill class time, especially since Jake came home with the cube the very next day. WHAT IS THE POINT.

Hilariously, Jake’s research project was on beavers. My children and their obsession with beavers. Be careful what you google.

Speaking of which, the last couple of weeks have been a learning time in one area: Sex Ed, or, as they call it now, H.S., and there has been some discussion about the horrifying nature of reproduction and the human body. I’ve learned too much.

So we’re all gearing up for summer, and I’m pretty excited about it. I need to remember that the lack of schedule takes a few days for the kids to get used to – Mom, should we do some worksheets? Can we make our own Freezie business? – and that there’s always a lot of emotions on the last day of school. This week has coincided with Ladies’ Holidays, which has made for an interesting couple of days. For example, yesterday I decided to make jam for the first time in my life. Long story short, I way overcooked the raspberries and ended up with raspberry-flavoured cement. I had to remind myself about what I remind the kids, in the yoga way – practice, practice, all is coming – and started over. The second batch turned out perfectly, and Jake had non-cement-like raspberry jam on his peanut-butter toast for breakfast.

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Perfection! Happy start-of-summer, everyone! xo

Not THE most boring post ever, but close.

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All week, I’ve wanted to write more about my Las Vegas trip. I wanted to write about the rowdy plane ride down there and the near-silent plane ride home. I wanted to write about the guy next to me on the plane who took off his shoes and passed out, leaving me to stare at his purple socks with pink toes, heels, and colourful polka-dots, that I thought my five year old niece would appreciate. I wanted to write about going to see O, and how amazing and beautiful it was, and how one of the acrobats missed their mark and dived gracefully into the water below, crawling out quietly. I wanted to write about the pianist who paused, looked at me, and smiled because I was so appreciative of his rendition of Let It Be. I wanted to write about the weather, how I finally, for the first time in my life, got to say “It was 100 degrees today!” It was actually 108, but who’s counting? I wanted to write about the topless pool that I was so curious about, and that I kept seeing a pretty lady in a white bikini handing people cards with the pool’s name on it, Bare. Were these people especially selected for their topless-ability? It turned out that the pool was more of a nightclub, but in the day, and pretty much anyone was allowed to go, although the crowd tended to be self-selecting. In case you’re curious, I did not, but it kept my imagination busy for a while. I wanted to write about meeting new friends and how I always think Americans are the friendliest, most hospitable people in the world.

But then, I got sick. Remember the little non-debilitating sniffles? It morphed into a full body exhaustion and sinus ache, which I’m sure was due entirely to my attitude of “mind over matter” and “just push through.” This only works for so long.

Wednesday was a bad day; I had to drag myself out of bed at 6:30, after a full TEN hours of sleep. After dropping the kids at school, I took the dog for a walk, feeling like I was actually running a marathon. Then I went to Costco. People, Costco is not the place you want to be when you’re under the weather. At one point, I stopped in the frozen fruit aisle, listening to the whooshing noise in my head and wondering what would happen if I passed out. I was pretty sure that would be an awkward scenario. I managed to finish my shopping and even put away all the groceries, though going up and down the stairs made my heart feel like it was going to explode. I picked the kids up for lunch, and Mark said in a concerned way, “Maybe you should lie down, Mom. Maybe a nap would help you.”

A nap! Brilliant! Except…in what can only be described as a very bad decision, that morning in a “everything’s normal and I’m fine” fit, I stripped all the beds and laundered the sheets. My couch is very uncomfortable for napping, and so I needed to put the sheets back ON the beds prior to napping. It felt like a K2 expedition at that point but somehow I did it, and slept the afternoon away.

Things are better today, or they were, until I started to feel terrible about an hour ago. Oh no! Relapse! Until I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. FEED A COLD, NICOLE. I thought guacamole would be medicinal, so I chopped up some tomatoes, and then grabbed my lone avocado. It wasn’t until I sliced it open and then couldn’t get the pit out, and tried to cut around it and mash the rock solid flesh, that I realized that it wasn’t ripe. Sadness.

I then – dear reader, you must realize my desperation by now – made some sort of makeshift “nachos” using Mary’s Gluten Free Seed Crackers, non-dairy cheddar slices, and the chopped up tomatoes. It was seasoned by my tears. Just kidding. It wasn’t terrible with salsa. I mean, there are probably a thousand things much better than eating a plate of gluten-free crackers topped with a product whose first two ingredients are water and tapioca starch, but it wasn’t actively awful.

Well, it can only go up from here, right? It’s Friday, and there is only one week left of school, so that’s something. Happy weekend everyone. xo

A non-gambler goes to Las Vegas, covets a Popeye statue.

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This morning I went grocery shopping at my usual old-people Co-Op, and they were having one of those big “Warehouse Sales.” There were quite a few of my usual purchases on for great prices, so I stocked up a bit. When I went through the checkout, the girl handed me my receipt, saying in the robotic, automated voices of those who have worked in customer service for a while, “Today you saved $71.13. Have a nice day.”

$71.13! I repeated this, loudly, looking around me. I half expected confetti and balloons to drop from the ceiling, along with music and a loudspeaker announcement. I felt like I just won the Housewife Olympics or something. I repeated it again, $71.13, wow! The elderly man with the carton of ice cream, loaf of bread, and single cucumber standing behind me didn’t seem to care about my Amazing Savings. I wheeled my cart out of the store, immediately texting my husband AND calling my mother, just to have some sort of outside validation. They were both suitably impressed.

I just got back from an extended weekend away in Las Vegas. The last time my husband and I went away together was in 2010. We had such a blast – and the kids had so much fun at Camp Grandma – that I’m optimistic that we will go away again before Mark’s sixteenth birthday. Las Vegas is such a weird and wonderful place, although I frequently wondered why Greenpeace or similar hasn’t targeted it for its extreme environmental footprint. Maybe because it’s Vegas, baby! Anything goes. Open liquor while wandering around on the street? Check. People smoking INSIDE BUILDINGS? Check. People shoving cards for Hot Ass Escorts in your hand as you walk by? Check, check, triple check.

I’m not at all a gambler, and didn’t even put a dollar in a slot machine, although my husband enjoyed a bit of it. Gotta make some money for your little honey, as the sweaty cab driver said to my husband on the way to the hotel from the airport. Buddy! For all he knew I could have been the primary breadwinner in the family. I would have been outraged but I was too busy looking out the window, trying to spot Elvis.

As it turned out, the only Elvis (or, Elvii) I saw were two glittery-jumpsuited men outside of Caesar’s Palace, looking for tourists with whom to get their photos taken. I did not partake, because there is “fun and campy” and then there is “sad and depressing” and those two were definitely in the latter group. And yet, there is so much to do, besides gambling and looking for Elvis (or Elvii).

We met up with three other couples to celebrate a friend’s fiftieth birthday, and by far the most fun we had was going to a duelling piano bar. Duelling pianos is probably the most fun concept ever imagined, besides karaoke, and our duelling pianists were twin sisters from Syracuse, New York. This is also one of the best parts of Las Vegas: the name tags that detail where an employee is from. I had a great time imagining what brought Deena from St. Paul, or Hector from El Paso, to Las Vegas. Before you think that their stories must be depressing and gloomy, the cocktail waitress who brought my husband drinks while he gambled told him – upon his questioning – that the casinos were great to work for and provided health and dental benefits, as well as paid vacation. So, I’m going to keep imagining happy stories that don’t involve addiction or the downfall of society.

People watching in Las Vegas is very entertaining; there seem to be always tons of bachelor parties and stagettes, with girls wearing t-shirts and hats that say “Team Bride” surrounding a girl wearing a veil and a balloon hat, there are little old couples and actual newly-married couples wearing wedding clothes while at the blackjack table, there are families with small children and there are incongruous-looking couples, men with bright white running shoes and pale blue pleated jeans entwined with diamond-studded girls thirty years their junior. I was enjoying myself, imagining everyone’s day-to-day life in fun detail, all the while hoping that no one was doing the same with me.

This is because I, who have enjoyed robust and hearty good health with nary an issue for eight months, came down with a cold the day before we were slated to leave. It wasn’t a debilitating, trip-ruining plague or anything, but it was a sniffly nuisance nonetheless. I hoped that my intermittent nose-blowing wouldn’t lead anyone to think I was a cocaine addict or anything. My husband and I were idly poking around in the chi-chi stores in the Wynn, and exactly when he was conversing with the saleslady in a very expensive watch store, my nose started to bleed torrentially. I ran to the nearest marbled bathroom with my bleeding nose, while people around me averted their gaze. I have a cold! I swear I’m not a coke head!

Much more to come, I’m sure, but for now I’ll leave you with this giant statue of Popeye, that could be yours! It’s for sale – price available upon request so I’m guessing that price is a boatload of money. Does anyone have room for one of these? It’s full of whimsy.

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Animal Kingdom, or maybe Pet Semetary

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I think there’s a robin’s nest in my neighbour’s spruce tree which grows beside our shared fence. All during the spring, I would see robins busily gathering dry grass and little bits of garden debris, and flying importantly towards the tree. Whenever I would walk to the garage – which is quite often, during the day – there would be any number of robins standing guard; some in my garden by the fence, some on the fence, and some in my nearby spirea shrub. They would chirp at me but I wouldn’t look at them or the tree; I’ve heard that if you see a robin’s nest, and the mother robin sees you seeing the nest, then they will abandon the nest and the little babies in it. I didn’t want to be responsible for the death of any baby birds.

I have enough on my plate; for example, I feel like my next-to-next door neighbour’s cat is going to meet his demise in my yard. Beeps the cat has long been part of my life. He is primarily a house cat who somehow is constantly escaping from his house and heading for my Barkley-filled yard. I think the cat has a death wish. There have been a few near misses, when I’ve let Barkley out only to notice that he’s taken off like a rocket after the hapless Beeps. Since Barkley has been known to catch and kill squirrels in the back yard, I’m fairly uneasy with our feline visitor.

On the weekend I was working in the garden and was alerted to Beeps-related danger by Barkley’s barking and growls, and my next-door neighbour – who is in the middle of our house and Beeps’ house – calling the cat in an alarmed voice. Sure enough, the cat was headed right for our fence, with Barkley snarling on the other side. Luckily my neighbour grabbed him and handed him off to Beeps’ owner, who didn’t realize the cat was gone. She came to talk to me and I knew what the conversation would be, because we’d had it before. Beeps’ owner is convinced – absolutely convinced – that Beeps and Barkley are the best of friends, and this is based on one incident several years ago when they sniffed each other through the fence. This, then, was the conversation, that Beeps and Barkley are friends, that she’s not at all worried that Barkley will do anything to Beeps, and she JUST doesn’t want Beeps to get lost in the neighbourhood, is all. No amount of me claiming that Barkley is a) territorial, b) a dog, or c) 55 pounds will convince her that this relationship is not one of inter-species friendship and love.

At this point, I think the only thing that I can do is take my mother-in-law’s advice that she gave me when I told her of this recurring issue: learn to use a spade and keep quiet about it.

I mean, I hope it doesn’t come to that. There’s enough weirdness going on in my neighbourhood lately. Last week I was working downstairs most of the day; shortly before school pick-up I was folding laundry and happened to look out the window at my neighbour’s place across the street.

There was a small grave dug in the front yard, complete with a giant wooden cross.

Alarmed is probably too mild a term for my reaction. I know with 100% certainty that their dearly-beloved dog died years ago, and yet I cannot imagine what else could be buried there. Since that time, the cross has been taken down and put up again several times, leading me to hope that perhaps it’s one big hilarious joke, the front-yard grave. Although, as my friend and neighbour said to me, why would you want an ornamental lawn grave? This is a good point. I keep waiting for flowers to be planted in the dirt rectangle, hoping that it’s just a strange looking flower bed, but so far, nothing. Oddly-placed rectangular flower bed is currently the best case scenario. If the mannequin shows up again after all this, I’m going to be tempted to call a real-estate agent.

How to dress for the Calgary Stampede without looking like an idiot.

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…or a “Woo Girl”.

Last Friday the school hosted it’s annual Stampede Breakfast; it’s a year-end tradition that is greatly anticipated by all the staff and students, and of course my kids were no exception.

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Cute cowboys!

As I dressed that morning, I thought of all the years I’ve spent disparaging Stampede or Western wear. Typically, I think of the week of Stampede as the week that Calgary loses all fashion sense, while people walk around embracing their inner cowpoke by wearing tight high-rise Wranglers, giant belt buckles, and shirts with sunset and/ or howling wolf motifs. I always want to get into that festive Western spirit, and yet I a) don’t want to spend any money to do it, and b) I don’t want to look like an idiot and/or what my friend Jen (HI JEN) euphemistically calls a “woo girl.”

Be the change you want to see in the world, I say, and so here are three outfits that you can pull together inexpensively and with things you probably already have in your closet that will get you in the Stampede spirit. That is, if you’re in Calgary. If you’re not, though, maybe you have a Western-themed costume party you need to attend this summer. I don’t know if such a party exists outside of Alberta, but hey, if it does, I’ve got you covered.

First Step: Ditch the denim cut-offs. Cut-off denim shorts are universally unflattering. Well, I would extend that to shorts in general but then I usually get stridently humourless messages about the wonders of shorts, so I will leave it at denim cut-offs. This is especially true if the denim shorts are of a length where the pockets extend below the “hemline,” and I use that term loosely. Remember this maxim: just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Second Step: Spend a small amount of money on accessories. I have lived in Calgary my whole life and I still don’t own cowboy boots. I think they’re cute, I think you can work them into other outfits, but every year I find I cannot bring myself to spend any money purchasing them. I have some kind of mental block about it; I’d happily pay for yoga tops, yoga pants, and black sweaters even though I have dozens of each, but I cannot bring myself to buy a pair of cowboy boots. Maybe you want to, though. Several years ago I bought a straw cowboy hat for under thirty dollars and it remains my best Stampede accessory. It’s versatile too; cowboy hats look very cute with bikinis on the beach. Ladies, don’t forget your hats on the beach! You don’t want to end up like apple dolls, or raisins.

Outfit #1: This is what I wore to the breakfast on Friday. It’s a good outfit for cool-ish weather because of the layering potential.

Start with a tank top and skinny jeans (or any jeans).

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Oops. That’s a bit too cleavage-y of a shot. Here’s a better one.

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Bonus fuzzy slippers! Next, layer on a button-up shirt. I have this ugly Western-themed one, but really, any button-up shirt will do. Bonus points for plaid.

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You can see the Western detailing on the back. Note the tank top – not too much cleavage or you’ll end up looking Woo Girl, as this is what we are trying to avoid.

Add the hat:

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Now, as I said, I don’t have cowboy boots. They would be perfect with this outfit, however, my normal ankle boots will have to suffice.

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Outfit complete!

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Outfit #2

Start with a tank top and denim skirt, if you have one. If you don’t have a denim skirt, jeans will work just as well.

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Next, add a bandana. I have had this thing for years. I actually got it in 2001 at this restaurant in Houston called Taste of Texas, which features gigantic steaks that are free if you break the record of x number of ounces. I did not partake in that activity, but nevertheless I received this bandana.

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Next, add the hat. See how versatile the straw hat is? I’m really pushing for it.

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Bandanas are very inexpensive to purchase – or free, if you frequent the right restaurants – but if you don’t have one, just go with the hat and tank top/ skirt combination works.

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Cowboy boots would be the best footwear choice in this scenario, but usually I end up wearing sandals. People aren’t generally looking at your feet, unless those people are my shoe-obsessed mother, in which case she is totally looking at your feet. The lady likes her footwear, is all I’m saying.

Outfit #3

Start with a sundress, any sundress. Floral is really cute if you have one, but I do not, so I have to settle for this black number.

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A word about this dress: it’s made by the yoga-wear company Prana, and it is, without exception, the most comfortable article of clothing I own. That includes pajamas. The material is soft and stretchy, and it has a built in shelf bra so it’s just like wearing the most comfortable yoga top ever, but extended to the knees. I like that it’s a bit on the longer side, so I don’t have to worry about a gust of wind displaying my badonkadonk.

Next, add a jean jacket, denim vest, or denim top.

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The outfit could, really, be complete right there, but why not top it off with a cute straw cowboy hat?

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Again, cowboy boots would be very cute with this, but sandals are a decent second place.

Are you all set for Stampede now? Can I get a YAHOO? Or maybe just a WOO? xo

Scaredy Nicole Wears Blue. This Was Not Part Of The Plan!

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This weekend I got on my bike for the first time since 2003. I know! It felt like quite the undertaking. I stopped going for bike rides when I was pregnant with Mark, and then I never started again. My husband rides with the kids, but the truth is I’m not a strong rider, I cannot ride in traffic without panicking, and I just can’t deal with worrying about the kids riding WHILE I’m riding. But the kids are now at an age where they are perfectly competent, and they’ve expressed interest in “family bike rides” and so I thought riding up at the lake, where there is little traffic and few things to worry about, might be just the ticket. I also remembered how shocked the kids were to learn that I actually know how to swim, and so I thought in some way I should show them that their mother is actually capable of riding a bike.

So my husband dragged my bike out of storage, and tuned it up a bit. I went out and bought a bike skirt because if I’m going to spend any amount of time doing an athletic activity, I want to do it looking nice.

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My friend Alice (HI ALICE) expressed concern about the colour. She thought the blue was too bright for me, and that I resemble a flower, and will get swarmed by marauding butterflies. If this happens, I will probably die. Or scream.

Anyway, I nervously rode with the boys and it was pretty fun, so I guess we are going on family bike rides now. It’s one of my goals to be more sporty and active with the kids, and as long as I have a cute outfit, I’m good to go. Right?

A friend (HI JOANNE) posted a long quote about embracing yourself as you are and I just have to share the last part:

 I don’t want to waste one more precious, livable moment being anything other than totally thrilled that I’m here! I’m alive! I get to live every day in this body that my soul chose and my only job is to honor it with a full life!”
~ Christina Vanvuren

So I guess I’ll be bike riding more often. I’m not sure if ANYONE is capable of being in a state of thrill every second of every day, but it’s good to remember that it is good to be alive.

Social media is a funny thing, isn’t it? For the most part, I love it, and not just because I have a job based on it. I really like to peek into other people’s lives and celebrate their little victories and happiness. I love photos of pets, kids, and vacations. I love selfies, recipes, pictures of what someone had for dinner, and links to funny or interesting stories. Most of all, I love personal stories. The other day, a woman I know from yoga (HI LAURA) posted an anecdote in which she and her one year old son were in Starbucks and were approached by an elderly lady with dementia. This elderly lady thought that Laura’s baby was her own grandson, and instead of correcting her, Laura sat down and had visited with her. Not one out of one hundred people would do that, I think. What a kindness. This has stayed in my thoughts and has given me a goal to be more open and kind. Think about it – what a gift she gave that lady, the gift of dignity and kindness. I want to be more like Laura.

Then there’s the flip side of social media, the passive aggressive updates, the angry link posting and the threads that follow, the invitations to express differing views followed by the total rage that results from people expressing differing views. I’ve actually seen friendships – actual, real-life friendships – disintegrate over vaccination discussions and political decisions. Just this weekend, someone posted a piece about the price of starter homes. The thread that followed was basically many people agreeing that no one but the very rich can afford to buy a house, and buying a house is stupid anyway. Then one of my friends very reasonably and calmly commented that, by making informed decisions and figuring out where one’s priorities lie, most people can in fact purchase a home. He also – very reasonably – pointed out that the definition of “starter home” is possibly flawed; a 2500 square foot house with all new appliances might not fit this description.

I strongly agree with this last point. My husband and I bought this house in 2000, and it was in terrible shape at the time. The living room was bright pink with shiny forest green trim, and featured a giant fireplace with gold-toned rock work. The basement was panel board and linoleum, the kitchen had five different – but coordinated! – patterns of wallpaper, and the bathroom had BROWN FIXTURES. The kitchen cupboards and drawers were homemade in 1962 and required a great deal of strength to open and close them. The linen cupboards smelled like ginger and garlic had gone in there to die and the gardens were completely overrun by weeds and grass. That, my friends, is a starter home.

But I digress. After my friend made these very reasonable points, and also drew on his own experiences and setbacks, he was immediately attacked by the other commenters. People said some really mean, cutting things, and THAT is what I hate about social media. I hate the pretence that everyone is open minded and can express opinions freely, but if someone does that, then they get attacked. I hate that people say things that they very likely would not say face to face, and most of all, I hate when people follow up a mean comment with a smiley emoticon and/ or an “lol!”. THE LOL DOES NOT CANCEL OUT WHAT YOU SAID, PEOPLE.

Well, we can’t control what others do, we can only control our own reactions and behaviour, and that’s why there’s the “I don’t want to see this” option. And in the meantime, I will be thinking to myself “What Would Laura Do?” Laura probably wouldn’t write a blog post about what she hates about social media. Hmm. Too late now, and so if I do get swarmed by marauding butterflies, it will be karma, I guess. xo