Monthly Archives: August 2015

See you in September

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Today is the very last day of summer vacation and I’m simultaneously melancholy about the fleeting nature of time, and excited to get back into routines. Every single platitude about time and children getting older (I’mmmmm getting older toooooooo) seems more poignant every year. I don’t want to be all “My BABIES” or anything, but I keep being reminded that I only have a limited number of summers to spend with the kids, and at some point they are not going to want to go bowling or watch Downton Abbey with their mom, so I Must Cherish Every Moment. Of course, all that cherishing gets tiring after a while, and so everyone is getting excited about back-to-school. I am, especially, looking forward to not working frantically between 7 and 9 am to get things done so I can Cherish My Darling Children All Day Long.

At this very moment, Cat’s in the Cradle came on the radio. Nice timing, 70s on 7.

The boys will be in Grades Five and Six this year; I have nice memories about Grade Six, but Grade Five was unequivocally the worst of my entire school career, due to typical ten-year-old Mean Girl Syndrome. I’m trying not to project, though, and Mark tells me that Grade Five Was The Most Epic Year Ever, so hopefully it’s equally epic for Jake.

Part of the back-to-school excitement is coming from actual certain knowledge of the kids’ new classes and teachers. Last week I received an email confirming a) each child’s teacher, b) each child’s classroom number, and c) the door at which each child is to line up at. This might sound like nothing to you, but it is certainly a big deal to me. In previous years, we wouldn’t know who the teachers would be or what classroom the kids would be in until 8:45 on the first day of school. Is that not a ridiculous system? Arriving at the school at 8:45, milling around the courtyard with hundreds of kids and their parents, looking for a teacher with a clipboard who would look up names and then finding the appropriate lineup. It was inevitable that there would be sad looking, teary-eyed children discovering that they’d been split from all their friends, and parents trying to Make The Best Of The Situation. I cannot imagine why it’s taken so long to implement such a normal strategy such as emailing parents to disperse information about teachers and classrooms so that kids can be prepared on the first day, but, continuing with platitudes, Better Late Than Never.

Filing under Other Things The School Rocks At, each fall parents pay a fee and school supplies are purchased by the school and distributed throughout the year. I cannot emphasize enough how appreciative I am of this policy, especially when I hear of my friends in other school boards frantically shopping for three lined notebooks in blue, green, and red or twelve number two pencils, yellow, all appropriately labelled, or a ridiculously unrealistic number of Elmer’s glue sticks. Unfortunately I often forget that not every school is the same, and I inevitably find myself thinking, on the first week of school, hmmm…I should go pick up some toothpaste and then ending up in Walmart feeling like I should just probably burn the whole store down and everyone in it, just to end the misery.

What is it about Walmart? Why is it so agonizing there? The boys and I briefly stopped in there last week to pick up some Benadryl and hand lotion, and it was a soul-destroying experience. It didn’t help that we were there on what appeared to be Shelf Restocking Day, and so the aisles were clogged with giant dollies full of product, and no product on shelves, along with people stocking up on sheaves of paper on sale for ten cents each. There was a giant lineup snaking into the “jewelry” department, along with six empty cashiers for 12 items or less. Fortunately that was us, and I wondered, if Walmart has some kind of conspiracy to keep people coming back multiple times just to get in the 12 items or less lineup. Why punish people who get in excess of 12 items? It makes no sense, but it must make sense to someone at Walmart Headquarters. It’s a puzzle for sure, but the bigger puzzle is if it’s really worth it to me to save $2 on Benadryl or if next time, I should just pick it up at the much-less-chaotic old-people Co-Op.

Also known as banana hammocks.

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I had so many plans for this last week of summer vacation – the pool! the zoo! the amusement park! – and the weather has been beautifully warm. It would be a perfect week for all those things! Unfortunately, the city is hidden in a giant cloud of smoke, courtesy of the wildfires out west. The air quality is so bad that we’ve been housebound for days; five minutes at the dog park on Monday, and we all had burning throats and eyes, and Mark was wheezing a bit. It doesn’t smell exactly like being downwind of the world’s largest campfire anymore when I open the back door, but the boys and I just walked down the street to get their hair cut, and now I have a screaming headache. Well, maybe tomorrow will be better. Hold on for one more day, and all that.

Over at Throwing It Back, Hannah wrote about Pump Up The Volume, and it has thrown me into a flurry of nostalgia for movies of my youth. Oh, how I adored Christian Slater. Oh, how I loved that movie. Isn’t it interesting how movies back in the 80s and 90s would never be made today? Think about Heathers: accidental murder, suicide becoming trendy, and homophobia. Oh boy! Just last night my husband and I were talking about Vacation. Can you imagine that being made today? Family road trip ends with enraged man holding Wally World employees at gunpoint so that he can ride all the rides. Well, possibly this movie would be made today but it wouldn’t be a comedy. It would probably star Nicholas Cage and end with the promise of a sequel; a pumped-up and tattooed Clark Griswold, looking like Robert DeNiro from Cape Fear.

Side note: I do know that there is a remake of Vacation – I haven’t seen it yet, although Chris Hemsworth in his underwear is enough enticement, really. I feel fairly sure there isn’t the “holding employees at gunpoint” plotline though.

Meanwhile, the boys and I are still tucking in for our daily episode of Downton Abbey. All this re-watching of it had me puzzled about – of all things – underarm hair. While discussing plot lines of feudalism, estate planning, male heirs, and rape with the boys, I have been secretly thinking about underarm hair.

Nicole says: Well, the reason that note is so important is that Lady Mary actually didn’t have any rights to the Abbey, because she’s a woman. I know! But that’s the way things were back then. Everything went to the boys.

Nicole thinks: They are all wearing sleeveless dresses. Was shaving a thing back then? Or did they all just let it all hang out?

After literally YEARS of wondering about when shaving underarms became a thing, I finally remembered that there is this handy thing called the Internet, and on that Internet is this handy thing called Google, and I could probably stop wondering and get some answers about this very important issue.

The great thing about the Internet is that there is not only a Wikipedia article for practically everything, there is also a website or blog for every single thing. I found a whole article devoted to when women started shaving their underarms, and indeed, it was in the 1920s when sleeveless dresses became popular. Hooray for Downton Abbey and their attention to detail.

Interestingly, leg shaving wasn’t really a thing until the 1940s, what with women wearing longer skirt lengths until that time, which makes sense. Apparently, bikini waxes were first popular with Muslim women in North Africa and the Middle East, when brides would get all their body hair removed pre-wedding night. I had no idea. And here I thought waxes became popular with the rise of the string bikini.

Speaking of which, my friend Candace over at Life in Pleasantville posted a discussion about Speedos, which spurred a comment along the lines of if we say anyone can wear a bikini, why can’t anyone wear a Speedo? This is an interesting point. Why indeed? On the beach in Maui, I would estimate 95% of women are in bikinis, and I think that’s awesome. Rock that bikini, sister, I would say if anyone asked. I celebrate women of all shapes and sizes embracing their figures and wearing any kind of bathing suit they feel comfortable in. And yet, my first response to a man wearing a Speedo is revulsion.

Is this a reverse sexism thing? I don’t know. I mean, there was an incident in which I was sitting by the pool and an older gentleman in a green Speedo bent over in front of me and I got a full glimpse of his testicles, which was disturbing. As much as I want to be open minded, I do not actually want to see a strange man’s testicles. And yet, I have accidentally flashed a nipple while swimming, so the same could be said about me. Maybe I disturbed someone’s inner peace that day, in the same way that gentleman very innocently did to me.

So what is it about Speedos that get us ladies all riled up? Not everyone is flashing their testicles, although the suits do leave very little to the imagination. Of course, bikinis – and, for that matter, most bathing suits – do as well, hence the popularity of the bikini wax for those itsy-bitsy bikinis. Why do we hate Speedos so much? I can’t reconcile my to-get-a-bikini-body-put-your-body-in-a-bikini self with this. In the extremely unlikely, hypothetical event that my husband buys a Speedo, I would burn it, and yet if he did the same to one of my bikinis, it would be mur-diddly-urder around here. HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION, MY HUSBAND WOULD NEVER BUY A SPEEDO OR BURN MY BIKINI.

I don’t know. Maybe I need to work on my open-mindedness. Om shanti.

All depressing subjects covered in one blog post.

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Perhaps in a foreshadowing to Black Monday, it snowed on Friday! Snow in August isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t exactly typical either. Well, snow melts and markets move and the world keeps on spinning.

Fortunately we didn’t have any snow actually stick at our house and my flowers are still alive and well, despite it being 3 degrees for much of the day. The weather has definitely changed and it feels like fall. Even though the afternoons are warm and sunny, there’s still a crispness to the air. School starts next week and despite my excitement about wearing boots and scarves, I’m feeling a bit melancholy about it. We’ve had such a wonderful summer that I’m loathe to have it end. We are trying to fit in as many fun things as possible during this week – the zoo, the pool, the amusement park – so hopefully the weather will cooperate.

Last week I took the kids to see Inside Out. In retrospect, this might not have been the best idea since I has hormonal and emotional, and I had a giant lump in my throat for the whole movie, and actual mascara-wrecking tears at the end of Bing Bong. What a good movie that was. I highly recommend it to everyone as it was probably the most clever and entertaining children’s movie since the first Shrek.

Remember when Shrek first came out, and what a delight it was? I remember seeing it in the theatre with my then-boyfriend-now-husband and just wanting to watch it over and over to catch all the little jokes again. I feel this way about Inside Out – that it’s a many-times-re-watchable movie.

Speaking of re-watching things, the boys have developed an interest in Downton Abbey. I know! I can’t believe my luck either. It all started last year when we were visiting my in-laws; the television at our disposal doesn’t actually have any channels available, and so I had brought my Downton DVD’s with me. The boys started watching with me, and now we are working our way back into Season Four. I’m starting to feel a little uneasy, though, because although the boys have dealt with the storylines involving war, pregnancy struggles, death, and murder, I’m not sure if I’m ready to explain rape to them. Although, a few weeks ago I did have to explain child sexual abuse to Mark, who was completely stunned that such a thing could happen. Aren’t we all, though.

Let’s see: market crashes, snow in August, the death of childhood imaginary friends, and now rape and sexual abuse. I think I’ve covered pretty much every depressing subject available to me today. Quick! Let’s think of something cheerful! How about puppy Barkley sleeping in a Thomas the Tank Engine chair?

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 Ah. That’s better!

 

Zen and the art of child/ carpet maintenance.

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I am relieved to say that I was wrong or, at least, that my first instinct was correct: the insurance that was advertising to those whose “other car” has a siren on top is indeed aimed at first responders, police, and the like. I realized this when I saw another similar sign advertising to nurses, which leads me to believe that such professions are associated with lower accident rates. As someone who is not unfamiliar with the basic tenets of actuarial science, I find this fascinating. Which professions tend to make more insurance claims? Which professions are associated with high risk behaviours? I spent way too much time contemplating this, while driving and singing along to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun this morning.

I know, I know, I had you at actuarial science.

Last week was all about dental checkups and this week is all about the optometrist. Sometimes parenting feels like a lot of maintenance, like the kids are vehicles and I’m trying to maximize performance and longevity. I guess that IS what parenting is. Nevertheless, I find it infinitely satisfying when I’ve successfully made appointments for all these things (next week: haircuts). It feels like the actual appointments are nothing compared with phoning/ emailing to make appointments, scheduling them and figuring out the calendar and schedules. And I only have two children! I admire all of you who are making all the back-to-school appointments for more than two because honestly, two is challenging enough.

One thing I do need to make an appointment for is carpet cleaning. We only have carpet in the basement (does that sound dirty? It kind of sounds dirty.) and it’s reached reprehensible status, in my opinion. I remember when we ripped out the carpet upstairs and replaced it with hardwood, how disgusting it was to dig the dust bunnies out from under the TV and realizing that when the carpet was there, the dust just WENT INTO THE CARPET. It’s enough to make me want to rip out the carpet downstairs, but that is simply not feasible. Anyway, I do need to get someone to clean it but the thought of having to move all the moveable things, and then have someone in the house with a giant hose for several hours (okay, this really sounds dirty) is overwhelming. I keep looking at my calendar, and then at the carpet cleaner’s number, and I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.

It’s a hard knock life.

I’ve been reading a few books this summer that have garnered a lot of buzz and interest, and once again I feel like I’m an alien from another planet who dislikes things that seem to be commonly enjoyed. This is like when I read the much-acclaimed The Goldfinch, and ended up wishing that I’d never picked it up. What a downer of a book. Anyway, I read Hausfrau and I found it very disappointing. I should have known it wasn’t going to be my type of book. Sex addiction. Dissatisfaction with what appears to be a perfectly normal life. Boring sessions with a psychoanalyst. Multiple affairs. An affair with a man named Archie. VERY SAD THINGS THAT I WON’T GO INTO IN CASE YOU WANT TO READ IT. The whole thing was like a modern, less interesting Anna Karenina, which maybe was the point since the main character is named Anna. Have you read it? Did you hate it or am I all alone in this?

Then I read Little Children, which sounded light and interesting, and instead circled around the following: an affair, a pedophile released into the community, and bitchy moms. Doesn’t that sound great? In other words, I’m looking for some book recommendations, preferably something uplifting, or at least not depressing. Anyone? xo

Zucchini Fest 2015

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Remember in Gone With The Wind, when Scarlett has a recurring dream in which she is running and running through mist and fog, looking for something, something that will make her happy? And then she finds herself actually running through mist and fog and she realizes – finally – that the key to her happiness has been right in front of her this whole time, that Rhett has always loved her and now in a Saint-Paul-On-The-Way-To-Damascus burst of understanding, she loves him too. And then she tells him, that the dream has come true and she knows what she’s looking for, and he’s moved on and is all “I don’t give a damn?”

Ah, to have such dramatic and interpretive dreams. My dreams are so dull that they make Bert from Sesame Street looks like a wild adventurer. About half the time, I dream that I’m folding laundry. Last night I dreamt that I was going through a giant stack of mail, sorting it into piles: recycle, shred, and file. Even in my dreams I’m bored. What this says about me, I don’t know, because I don’t find my life to be particularly dull, but my dream life would make anyone long for pigeons and paperclips, just to vary things a little.

Today is a moon day, so I didn’t practice yoga. Instead, I decided to make today Zucchini Fest 2015 in the Boyhouse. My mother-in-law had given me her usual Excessive Number of Zucchinis, and so I made a quadruple batch of dill pickle zucchini chips (recipe here) and two loaves of double chocolate zucchini loaf (recipe here) and grated and froze 3 cups for later use. I also set aside two more zucchinis for roasting/ grilling on the weekend and that, my friends, will be the end of the Excessive Number of Zucchinis.

After Zucchini Fest 2015, I took Barkley for a very long walk, as part of my Increased Cardiovascular Exercise To Combat My Shrunken Pants regime. While we were walking I noticed a sign in a bus shelter for one of those insurance companies that deals with older people. Usually those signs are kind of cute and deal with things like “were you at Woodstock” or “did you have a beehive hairdo” and state that if so, you qualify for lower insurance rates.

This sign read, IF YOUR “OTHER CAR” HAS A SIREN ON TOP, YOU ARE PAYING TOO MUCH FOR AUTO INSURANCE.

What? At first I wondered if they were catering to first responders or the police, but it was a “grey power” type of company, which leads me to believe, alarmingly, that they are catering to people who RIDE in ambulances on the regular.

Who came up with that advertising campaign? If you keep having heart attacks, call us for your insurance needs. If you are near death, you shouldn’t be paying full price for insurance. I am going to go out on a limb here, and say that if you are nearing the end of a long, full life, maybe you shouldn’t be driving at all. If you have had a lot of ambulance rides because of your advanced age, possibly you should not be behind the wheel. Hey, look on the bright side – that way, your auto insurance will be zero!

I live in a senior heavy neighbourhood, and while I love my elderly neighbours, walking in the Co-Op parking lot is terrifying. I do not even attempt to walk NEAR the giant Cadillacs and Lincolns that MIGHT be backing up, because the drivers seem to be fairly indifferent to things like “shoulder checking” and “looking behind while in reverse.” Eh, those things are just not for me. In my day, we just backed up, and we liked it that way.

Speaking of shopping, yesterday the boys and I went to Costco, and while I was not at all surprised to see the plethora of Halloween costumes and decorations, there were CHRISTMAS TREES AND DECORATIONS ON DISPLAY. I’m all for early shopping and being prepared, but that seems excessive even for me. It’s AUGUST. Sadly, there were no Back to School displays, but I guess I must be a few months late on that. Maybe they do Back to School when school is still in session. All I’m saying is that I’ll be looking forward to Valentines’ chocolates coming out next month.

No half measures.

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This morning my husband went back to work after three weeks off, and on that festive note, I headed to the dentist for a cleaning and checkup. What better way to start out a week after so much fun family time? I’m happy to have modern dentistry at my disposal and I like having non-rotten teeth, but good lord teeth scaling is AGONIZING. Something about having a variety of metal picks scraping my teeth and occasionally jabbing my gums for the better part of an hour makes my hands clench and my entire body tense up. I would much rather undergo a pelvic exam given by Keyshawn Johnson than get my teeth scaled.

Oh well, at least my teeth are nice and shiny now. And Monday morning isn’t all bad: Judy Blume tweeted me! I’d like to say that it was because she loved my Deenie and Are you there God? It’s me Margaret. recaps over on Throwing It Back, but it was in response to a comment about her latest book, In The Unlikely Event. In case you’re in doubt, it’s a very good read and I highly recommend it.

JudyBlume

I was already a Fangirl, now I’m a SuperFangirl.

This weekend was not without excitement, either. We were at my parents’ place at the lake, and the weather was perfect. On Saturday my mother and I went into town to do a little shopping, and as we were walking down the street, I heard the thumping strains of Thunderstruck slowly approaching. I turned to see where it was coming from, and there, slowly cruising the main drag, was a shiny, pimped-up Dodge Challenger, windows rolled down to reveal a middle-aged man in a ball cap. It was so awesome I actually laughed in delight, and received a glance and a nod. I don’t get many glances-and-nods these days so that just made it better. We saw him again later, this time blasting Hells Bells. Was he just cruising the strip? Was he looking for a parking space and just happened to have ACDC blaring? Was he driving in loops, enjoying his tricked-out muscle car? We will never know the answer.

The other notable thing that happened this weekend is that I went for a bike ride with my husband. My husband has given up golf in favour of cycling, and he isn’t one of those “half-measures” kind of people.

Digression: “half-measures” always makes me think of Mike from Breaking Bad. Will any other show ever be as well written/ heart-palpitation inducing?

Anyway, my husband has taken up cycling, and during our time at the in-laws’ he clocked more than 120 kilometers. On Friday night he asked if I wanted to go for a “little ride” with him and I accepted, having stepped on the scale earlier that day and being horrified by the result (more on that later). The “little ride” turned into an hour and a half and 17 kilometers, which is the longest ride I have gone on for many, many years. Possibly ever. I was a little sore the next day – my butt! – but I welcomed the extra exercise.

Another digression: my friend Lyn (HI LYN) thought that, taken out of context, saying my husband took me for an hour and a half ride is really quite funny and not safe for work. Pretty sure THAT kind of physical activity would leave me even more sore.

In my last post I mentioned I was a victim of Shrinking Pants Syndrome, but I didn’t realize how bad things had become until I stepped on the scale. People, I have gained seven pounds since June. Seven pounds. In less than two months. Some of you might think this is no big deal, but believe me, it’s a huge deal. For one thing, I have an extensive wardrobe but all my clothes are the same size. Nothing fits right now and I am very uncomfortable. Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to subject you to my new diet-and-exercise program, because that will just bore and depress us both. But I am thinking there will be more evening bike rides in my future.

NEVER AGAIN

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My husband has taken three consecutive weeks off of work this summer. Such a thing has never happened before. The result was we spent five days at the lake with my parents – during which we left the kids for a night and road-tripped to Jasper, just the two of us – then after less than 20 hours at home, we left again for ten days with his parents. It was a lot of fun, but I am definitely glad to be home again, not the least because I put on jeans this morning and had to jump around just to get them on. I have Post-Vacation Too-Tight Pants Syndrome. Thank goodness for long shirts, is all I can say at the moment. Who knew that averaging four drinks a day over a two week period would cause weight gain and bloating?

We got home yesterday, and I was a bit distressed at the state of my garden; the city had been hot and dry while we were gone, and my plants were a bit crunchy. We put the sprinkler on for a few hours, rotating it carefully around the yard, when a gigantic thunderstorm hit and we received several hours of steady rain. The garden is no longer crispy.

This vacation marks the first time ever that I have under-packed, and I shall never do it again. I packed three skorts, a few tank tops, two beach dresses, and some bikinis, along with a pair of knee-length yoga pants and some very light t-shirts. I figured the weather was going to be too hot to need pants or sweaters, and things are pretty casual on the vineyard. Wouldn’t you know, the first two days were cooler than normal, rendering my light pants-less wardrobe insufficient, AND we got invited to a fairly dressy function, to which I wore a striped beach dress and sandals dating from 2009. Never again will I travel without my usual five pairs of shoes and little black dress just in case. Packing light is not for me. NEVER AGAIN.

I was largely unplugged for the vacation, save for a few things I had to do for work. I did, however, witness outrage about the killing of Cecil the lion, followed by outrage about the outrage, followed by photo memes that dealt with the following: a) why should we be outraged by a lion’s killing when there are so many human rights violations in the world, b) photos of farm animals captioned “If I was a lion, would you care about me?”, and c) photos of fetuses captioned “If we were selling lion body parts, would you care?”

HONESTLY PEOPLE. Mass outrage and then mass outrage about mass outrage and then MEMES about mass outrage about mass outrage showcases everything that is wrong in the world today. I love the internet and I certainly do not want to go back to the days of the rotary phone and looking things up in the Encyclopedia Britannica, but this – what my friend Swistle calls The Giant Internet Hand of Spanking – is one of my least favourite things. And to top it off, there is an election coming up. Two elections, if you happen to have friends in both the US and Canada. God help us all.

I don’t know how you feel, but the prelude to an election makes me long for the days when you didn’t really know where acquaintances’ political sympathies lay, unless you noticed a campaign sign on their front lawns or a pointed letter to the editor in your local newspaper. To me, politics is just too intimate to discuss; I find conversations about elections to be awkward and uncomfortable, not unlike someone telling me about their partner’s proclivity for porn or their own fantasies of being the girl in 50 Shades of Grey. These are things that I don’t want to know, it’s information that I just don’t want to have. Just like I don’t want to hear someone’s husband’s name and the words “loves anal” in the same sentence, I don’t want to know anyone’s voting preferences, unless we are very good friends, and then it is okay but I still prefer not to talk about it. I prefer my Facebook feed to be filled with photos of pets, kids, vacations, and what you ate on the 30 Day Shred. More puppies, less politics – maybe I should make it a hashtag.

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