Monthly Archives: July 2015

Lazy pants and life mottos.

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You guys, did you know Ashley Madison was a thing? I always feel badly for hacked websites but I had no idea this was a thing and I am as shocked as a little old lady learning for the first time about Brazilian bikini waxes. They do what?

The boys now have a two week break from karate; last Friday they had a mini-tournament to finish off their camp week, and then there was a shiah on Saturday. I was a bit worried since Mark had what I thought was the beginning of a cold, but which I now think was maybe a bad allergy attack. Thursday night he was up coughing much of the night, and for those of you who have known me for a while, I have some kind of PTSD from when he had pneumonia at age 7, and so I didn’t sleep at all. This also coincided with my hormonal pre-ladies’-holiday insomnia, so I felt like I had been run over by a truck on Friday.

Does anyone else suffer from this? I find about a week or ten days before Ladies’ Holidays, I have a few nights where I can hardly sleep at all. This is very unusual for me since I’m generally a solid sleeper, albeit one who wakes up at four in the morning. Anyway, I find this hormonal insomnia very annoying and it makes me fear for my menopausal days.

Thursday and Friday were terribly cold – 8 degrees Celsius – and rainy and windy as well. One of my heavy lawn chairs blew over and rain came down in sheets. Therefore, I was a bit surprised to hear that they went swimming at the outdoor pool at camp on Thursday. I feel fairly sure this didn’t help Mark’s cough, but after almost twelve hours of sleep on Friday night he was basically recovered and full of his usual energy.

Hilariously, because of the cold, the boys had to forego their shorts for track pants. They wear track pants very rarely; basically only for long plane trips and not much else, but they were perfect for cold days at camp. Mark sighed a bit when he came home, and said “I like track pants, but they really make me feel lazy.” I thought this idea could be extrapolated to any elasticized pants: yoga, track, sweat. In fact, maybe this could be a classification system: lazy pants versus non-lazy pants. I am currently still wearing this morning’s sweaty yoga pants. I know of what I speak.

Speaking of camp, my husband took the kids actual TENT CAMPING yesterday. He is a fairly outdoorsy kind of guy, and being married to me probably doesn’t help his outdoorsy-ness. A few months ago the boys decided that an annual boys’ camping trip would be a fun idea, starting now and continuing, apparently, for the rest of time. It sounded good to me, especially since I wasn’t really invited. They’ve been preparing for this for the past few weeks, gathering the things that they need and making lists of the food they wanted (all meat, all the time). Amidst all this merry chatter, my husband looked at me with concern and wondered if I was feeling sad or left out. Um. No. It’s no hardship for me not to go camping.

It is a hardship for someone in our house, and that someone is Barkley. Poor puppy. They’ve been gone less than 24 hours and they will be coming home soon, but such a sad thing has never happened to him in his life. WHERE IS EVERYBODY. Every weeknight at 6:30, Barkley sits at the top of the steps and stares out the back door window, waiting for my husband to come home. He did this yesterday, slowly slumping to the floor by 8:30 pm, when I decided enough was enough and put him to bed. This morning he went to all the empty bedrooms and flopped sadly back into his crate. It’s heartbreaking!

Meanwhile I’ve enjoyed my solo time by eating food no one else really likes (kale salad and roasted chickpeas), watching TV shows no one else wants to watch (NYPD Blue), and reading Gone With The Wind. I last read Gone With The Wind in 1989, when I was fourteen, and I can safely say it reads very different now. For one thing, when I was fourteen I had zero concept of US politics, the economy, or industrialization. I mostly just focused on the sexy romantic parts, of which there are many. I’m finding that I feel a bond with Scarlett, which is something I have sort of mixed feelings about. It’s not like we are the same person, but the line “Even if you think such things, why do you say them? If you’d just think what you please but keep your mouth shut, everything would be so much nicer.” speaks to me. I feel like that could be the entire basis of a life motto. Maybe Margaret Mitchell was clairvoyant, seeing into the internet age and the comments sections of sociopolitical columns.

Perms and jumpsuits

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It’s Summer Productivity Week around here – in other words, the week that the boys are in karate camp. THE HOUSE IS SO QUIET, YOU GUYS. I am getting so much done!

Yesterday I went to the hair salon, despite this being the kind of thing I can easily do with the kids at home. They like to be left at home for short periods to showcase their responsible sides and also make milkshakes without my policing them on the amount of chocolate syrup utilized. But it just so happened that my five-week-old grey roots – and the rest of my hair – was due to be coloured yesterday.

Back in the day, I used to be able to go eight weeks easily between colours, sometimes even nine. Now, five weeks is the absolute maximum, and I’m considering using those home touch-up kits because it’s pretty bad. I think the worst thing about grey/ white roots, other than the Cruella DeVil look, is that when I pull my hair in a ponytail, the roots match my scalp which makes me look like I’m balding. This is not a good look for me.

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Before colour. Also before washing hair.

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After. A rare straight-hair sighting.

My hair therapist likes to give me a sleek look, which is nice, shiny, and makes me feel on-trend, which is a rare occurrence.

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Back to my bouncy self.

While I was at the salon, I flipped through Flare magazine and found an article devoted to that staple of 80s hair style: the perm. The perm! Apparently the perm is making a comeback, which made me tilt my head and stare blankly at the magazine for a while. I asked my hair therapist if this was true, if she still actually gave people perms, and she said she only really permed older ladies’ hair, which is what I would have expected. I wonder if this article is going to start a trend?

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Is this coming back in style?

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Or this? SHOULD I RUN OUT AND GET A PERM AND A PUFFY SHIRT?

 

Honestly I find it quite entertaining to see what comes back into style. Acid wash jeans are definitely making a comeback, as are high waisted denim “booty shorts” which really flatter no one, but which I too wore back in the day. At the mall a few weeks ago, I saw three separate instances of jumpsuits making a comeback, and by this I don’t mean I saw them on a display. I actually saw three separate young women wearing them. One had sleeves and was a light peach material, one was sleeveless and turquoise, and one was full-on denim.

Whatever floats your fashion boat, I guess. The big problem with jumpsuits – as I see it – is using the washroom. It’s also the reason I don’t like one-piece bathing suits: I do not like stripping down to go to the bathroom. It just feels awkward. Plus, if you are in a public washroom, you have to worry about the top part of your jumpsuit accidentally touching the floor, and we all know that the floor of a public washroom is writhing with terrible things. At least the bodysuits of the 90s had snaps so that this problem was avoided, although re-snapping the bodysuit was often problematic, especially if you were at the bar drinking $6 jugs of Long Island Iced Tea. Or so I hear.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just turning into a fashion curmudgeon, or maybe I was scarred from the pale pink velour jumpsuit I had in 1984, that was strapless and therefore terrifying to wear lest it fall down during any kind of physical activity. To this day I dislike strapless things, although I freely admit the strapless look is a glamourous, sleek look on the right person.

But I digress. The woman who wrote about perms viewed it as a bit of a feminist issue, in that instead of spending 30 minutes on her hair every day, she simply washed and went, with her new curls bouncing behind her. She said that she was using more of her day to just DO things of importance, rather than fussing with her hair.

To be honest, I always find this kind of reasoning a bit depressing, because I do spend time every morning doing my hair and putting on makeup. It’s not a HUGE time commitment, but it is still time that I am committing to my physical appearance, rather than cultivating my inner self and/ or doing something useful. And yet, shameful as it is, I am not going to change my behaviour any time soon. And I’m not planning on getting a perm either, even if Julia-Roberts-in-Pretty-Woman hair comes back in style. I have my limits.

NicoleAge16

Rocking the spiral perm and thick eyebrows before it was cool.

Hashtag “Blessed”

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Yesterday the kids really wanted to go to the amusement park, and although that meant TWO big outings in one week, I agreed. It’s Stampede Week and the amusement park is always quiet at this time of the year, we have season’s passes, and also it was a beautiful sunny day. I was preparing snacks and water bottles when I got a call from my husband: his building had a small fire and the office was closed for the day, so he was on his way back home.

Score!

As soon as he got in the door the kids immediately begged him to come with us. This NEVER happens, since we usually do our outings during the week when he’s at work. The four of us piled into the car and headed off, and we had the best time. There’s nothing like going to the amusement park with both parents to showcase which one of us is the “fun one” (hint: it’s not me). I did, however, agree to go on the bumper cars with the kids and although at times I felt like Marge Simpson, driving neatly in a clockwise direction, it was a blast.

I maintain that there cannot feasibly be two really fun parents in a relationship, and I’m okay with not being the fun one. I don’t really want to go on the log ride, for example, and I certainly don’t want to get shot with water in the bumper boats. And yet sometimes this can be hard on my non-cool ego. A few weeks ago we were discussing over dinner which Star Wars character best represented each person in our family. The boys had agreed that their father was most like Han Solo, Jake was most like Luke, and Mark was just like Anakin prior to going over to the Dark Side. When I asked which character I was most like, they both thought for a moment, and then agreed – IN UNISON – that I was most like C-3PO.

I related this to my friend Hannah, who soothed my soul by saying I was Princess Leia in a gold bikini, and I shouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise. I would like to think that I could choke a giant slug with my neck chain, but sadly I’m now convinced that I am most like the second-lamest character in the entire Star Wars series.

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Have you ever had the experience of sharing something from your childhood with your own children, and you build it up and build it up and then it’s a total letdown because they are bored or uninterested or politely concede that it’s “okay?” I’ve had that experience numerous times, but this week was different. I discovered Top Gun is now on Canadian Netflix.

Longtime readers know how I feel about Top Gun. If not, please read this post right now. I’ll wait.

I decided to watch it Wednesday evening, since my husband was going to be at a Stampede event and I wanted something fun for myself. I asked the boys if they wanted to watch it with me, and they said yes. Mark watched and enjoyed the first and last thirty minutes, wandering off mid-movie to do something else, as is his wont. But Jake. Jake LOVED it. He loved the story line. He loved the flight scenes. He loved the call signs and the lessons learned and Maverick turning into a Team Player after all. I skipped through the sex scene, but other than that he watched the whole movie and was glued to it the whole time. He analyzed it extensively, saying things like “I don’t think Maverick is really mad at Sundown. He’s just upset because Goose is gone now.”

We have now perfected the double high-five – up high, and backwards down low, and he says that he wants this to be our playground goodbye, instead of the fist-bump that we’ve been doing for years. He is now saying things to me such as “Mom, you can be my wingman anytime.” It brings tears of joy to my eyes.

This morning, when he woke up, he asked if we could watch Top Gun together again soon.

YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES.

The Hippo Whisperer

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It’s Stampede Week in Calgary, and on Friday my husband headed into the office, wearing cowboy boots, a plaid shirt, and jeans. He looked pretty hot, by the way, but his usual work wear is a suit and tie (which is also hot. Hello? Hooters for women would just be guys walking around in suits holding up their credit scores, am I right?). In any case, Mark was hugging him goodbye and then stopped. He looked at my husband, and the shock and confusion on his face was impossible to hide. Um, Dad? Are you…going to work? Is this…casual Friday?

Then yesterday my husband brought out his cowboy hat, to wear to a function, and Jake gave him the side-eye. Dad? You don’t look like a cowboy. You just look like some dude in a cowboy hat.

My poor husband is going to have some self-esteem issues by the time the week is over.

Stampede Week is a great time to get out and do non-Stampede-related things around the city, so this morning the kids and I went to the zoo. They have a Dinosaurs Alive exhibit that was last there in 2010. This was me and the boys looking at a Parasauralophus in 2010:

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And this is them in front of the Parasauralophus now:

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I THINK THEY’VE GROWN.

One thing that hasn’t changed over the years is Jake’s deep and abiding love of hippos. Remember Foggy, and how deeply we mourned him? Jake has grown to love Ghost, Foggy’s grandson, just as much. As a side note, Ghost is no longer actually called Ghost, but Lobi; however, in our house he has remained and forever will remain Ghost.

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And I don’t know how it happens, I honestly don’t, but every single time we visit the zoo, something occurs that deepens Jake’s belief that he and the hippos are inextricably bonded. Today when we visited Ghost, the giant hippo turned around, looked at Jake, and wiggled his ears. When we were leaving, Jake said “Bye, Ghost,” at which point the hippo honked loudly. Cynics may think this is a silly coincidence, but I am not going to dispute Jake’s belief that he and the hippo are communicating. This is the kid who never believed in the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, and who stopped believing in Santa when he was in kindergarten. If anyone tries to tell him that he is not the Hippo Whisperer, I will stab that motherfucker, I swear I will.

On a much less violent note, yesterday I was invited to a Ladies’ Lunch in honour of my niece’s fifth birthday, and it was so nice! There were eight of us: her grandmas, aunties, big sisters, and her mom. Her other auntie also has two boys, and between the two of us, I thought we might steal the gifts to play with ourselves. I had given her a paper doll/ sticker book, and it was all I could do not to cut out the dolls and start dressing them up. The boys and I went shopping last week to pick it out and they could not have been less interested.

Me: Should I get the pink puppy one, or the dolly one?

Jake: Puppies.

Me: Really? Because this dolly one is really cute too.

Mark: Then get the dolly one.

Me: I’m just not sure which is cuter!

Jake: JUST PICK ONE. IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Mark: I’m going to look at the Percy Jackson books, come on, Jake.

Maybe I should have gotten the pink puppy one for myself.

How to survive and thrive in the summer with tweens.

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About a year ago, someone posted about how if and when she had kids, she would never, ever schedule “playdates” or other activities for them, especially during the summer, because she had shit to do and the kids should learn to be self-sufficient with their social lives.

Don’t you love how the people with the best parenting advice aren’t parents?

It’s true that when we were kids, we spent most summer days with friends from the neighbourhood, doing our own thing, and generally without our parents’ supervision or specific knowledge. My own kids are now pre-teens – age 11 and almost 10 – and this kind of summer activity is nearly impossible for them. Almost all of their friends fit into at least two of the following three categories: a) they live in a neighbourhood that is a minimum ten minute drive away, b) they have two working parents and so are in day camps most of the time, and c) they are out of town/ country on vacation. With that in mind, there is no way the kids can just knock on their friends’ doors and ask if they can come out to play. It’s just not happening. Hanging out with their friends actually requires some level of logistical planning on their part, with assistance from me and the other parents, and as much as I like having a marauding group of tween boys in the basement eating all the food and making all the noise, it’s just not possible as a daily occurrence.

This marks my eleventh summer at home with kids, and things go pretty smoothly, for the most part. The boys actually get along really well 95% of the time, which makes things fairly easy. However, I do find they need a bit of direction at times to keep things running smoothly, so I thought I’d share with you what works for us, what makes for happy kids and a happy me.

Kick Them Out Sometimes

No, this isn’t a nostalgic post about the 1970s summers where kids left in the morning and came home in time for dinner. As I said, that’s not exactly feasible in my case. However, 10-and-11 year olds can certainly head off to the playground on their own, despite alarmist newspaper articles. In fact, my kids love doing this: a trip to 7-11, a walk to the playground, a wander around the neighbourhood. These are the same kids who are “too old” for playground activities, but if they are by themselves, will easily spend an hour making up obstacle courses or training for a future spot on American Ninja Warrior by hanging on the monkey bars.

Get Out Of The House Every Damn Day

This harkens back to the days when they were little and I would lose my mind if I didn’t get out of the house at least once. Sometimes getting out of the house is the afore-mentioned kicking out, while I do some relaxing gardening, and sometimes the “outing” is kind of lame – a trip to Costco or Wal-Mart. Sometimes it’s a dog walk, while the kids chatter to me about some Minecraft thing they are building. The point is, I – and they – need to get out of the house, every day.

A Medium Activity Once A Week

I define a medium activity as one that requires a medium level of effort from me: having some friends over, for example, or taking them to the pool for the afternoon. Other than some involvement with sunscreen, snacks, driving, etc., there is little else required of me, and the kids have a good time. The pool is especially a good bet, because I can hang out in the sun with a book while they swim.

A Large Activity Once Every 7-10 Days

A large activity is something like a trip to the amusement park or zoo, or a day hike in the mountains. This involves considerable physical effort on my part, but is always worthwhile because these are the outings the kids remember with fondness. Years ago, my friend Tara (HI TARA) introduced me to the brilliant idea of using Christmas/ birthday money from relatives to purchase season’s passes for favourite activities. Experiences over things, right?

Let Them Lounge

One of the best things about being home in the summer is the ability to be lazy. When the kids were little, we generally needed to be OUT of the house between 9 and 9:30 or all seemed lost; now the kids are in their pajamas until lunch more often than not. That’s okay because it gives me an excuse to be in my sweaty yoga clothes until then. Unless we are going to do a Big Activity that involves crowds and lineups, we don’t need to leave the house early. I work part-time from home, and while the kids lounge in their jammies, I am able to get a few solid hours of work in. Which brings me to…

Screen Time

I know, I know, we are all supposed to nix the screen time and unplug and everything, but I allow it. I mean, it’s not an all-day-every-day-non-stop-video-game-extravaganza, but I do let the kids have at it while I’m working. Here’s the thing: they build interesting things together in Minecraft, they talk constantly about the characters in Disney Infinity, and later, they talk and draw and make up stories about these imaginary things. Their games on the PS4 are much more physically active and imagination-inspiring than just watching TV shows, which – as I remember from my own childhood – is something our generation did a lot of. I say, bring on the screen time (in moderation, blah blah blah).

Cooking

When they were little, we would do science experiments and make play dough and crafts and colouring, but they have no interest in that anymore. What they do have interest in is making things to eat (tween boys and all that). The other day, Jake wanted to make crepes. He had made them in French class at school, and he had a recipe. What really surprised me is how little supervision and help he needed to make the crepes. Every so often, putting the kids in charge of making things is a really great idea – not just because we don’t want them to grow up to be idiots in the kitchen, but also because they love eating things that they make. It’s pretty easy to give them a sous-chef position when you’re making dinner, or to let them be in charge of their own smoothies/ milkshakes. So what if they use five tablespoons of chocolate syrup when making a milkshake? They’re exercising their independence!

Housework

When I was a kid visiting my grandma, I knew never to say “I’m bored.” Grandma hated that, and would immediately put the offending child to work. My kids get a monthly allowance which gets docked if they don’t do their specified chores. There are so many things kids this age can do – from weeding the garden to vacuuming the floor, from cleaning the kitchen after dinner to making beds. A few daily chores, coupled with a few weekly chores, will keep the boredom at bay – or, at the very least, contribute to a cleaner house.

Academic Work

This is really the subject for a full post on its own, but suffice it to say that the kids do some kind of academic activity for about five hours a week. Call me a Tiger Mom if you will, but I’ll go into details later.

So that’s what we do to survive and thrive in the summer. What are your tips and tricks? xo