Monthly Archives: February 2016

Leaping With Joy

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Happy Leap Year Extra Day, everyone! Leap Year Extra Day seems to be the least appreciated of the holidays, probably because it’s just an extra day in February. I celebrated by shovelling a tiny bit of snow for the first time in a while.

Have you noticed that I have not been complaining about the weather this winter? We’ve hardly had a winter, really; there have been only a handful of cold days since October, and of those, not one has been below minus 25. That, my friends, is a win. And yes, like any good Calgary girl worth her Stampede wear, I am cognizant of the fact that winter cannot truly be declared over prior to the May long weekend, but still. Getting through January and February with greatly-above-average temperatures is absolutely glorious, and even if that means we are going to get a ton of snow in the next few months, well, so be it. It has been so warm that the leaf buds on the lilacs are starting to swell, and the day lilies are popping tiny green shoots out of the ground. Fortunately, the residents in my garden have been chosen largely due to their extreme hardiness, so even if we do get two feet of snow, they will be fine.

Another thing of note that I have not been complaining about: the book fair. Last week was the book fair – it was my sixteenth! – and I was not at all stressed out about it. For one thing, I have been transitioning my duties to the co-coordinator in anticipation of my Book Fair Lady Resignation in March of 2017, and she has really hit the ground running. (HI HAYDEE). She did nearly all the prep work for it, so I felt like I was on easy street. In fact, now that I see the light at the end of the Book Fair Tunnel, I am starting to feel a bit emotional about it. I really just had a live in the moment feeling and enjoyed the kids and their incredible excitement about the fair. One kindergartener was vibrating with excitement at the thought of buying a Lego Ninjago book; that excitement coupled with the fact that I’ve really seen some of these kids grow up vis a vis their book choices gave me a mixed feeling of contentment with my Book Fair Lady lot in life and also pre-nostalgia. I did not even feel impatient when I received six questions about the cost of the posters ($5) in a ninety-second span, nor did I tire of explaining that the cupcake wasn’t an actual cupcake but a pencil sharpener. I just thought, it won’t be long until I will no longer be the Book Fair Lady, and then I might miss saying The posters are five dollars, yes, the Minecraft one is also five dollars, and so is the Batman one, they are all five dollars, yes, Shopkins too.

It’s wonderful that the kids are that excited, but even better was the fact that this year we’ve raised over $8500 for the library, ELL, and home reading programs. So I feel great satisfaction due to the money raised and general student happiness. This feeling even extended to doing the book reorders on Friday, since demand for certain items much exceeded supply. People, I had to order an all-time record of sixty-seven books. Nineteen of those were “Stampy’s Lovely Book,” which I had never heard about before. The cover was Minecraft-esque, so I wondered why I had never heard of Stampy, given my children’s penchant for crafting tables and the like. Jake informed me that Stampy is a YouTuber, but not one that he deems worthy of notice. “He’s super LAME, Mom,” he said when I asked about it. “He talks about Minecraft, but in a totally lame way.” Jake seems to be in the minority, however, given the clamouring for Stampy at the book fair. Tomorrow the orders come in, and I am wondering how to effectively manage my schedule. I’ve never had to distribute sixty-seven books before.

Time, it flies. On Wednesday I passed off my Book Fair duties to a couple of devoted volunteers (HI JEN HI BERNY) and I took Mark to the orthodontist. We now have a metal mouth in our midst! To be honest, I was expecting things to go, how shall I say this, not well. I was very pleasantly surprised; I think his expectations were so low that the whole experience was much better than anticipated. “I thought it would be like someone hot gluing metal in my mouth!” he said, which, what? I thought it was well explained to him but perhaps not.

In any case, he was sore for the first two days, and now seems to be just fine. He’s thrilled with the orthodontic swag bag given to him that included such thrilling things as an electric toothbrush and mouthwash. So all is happiness and roses in the Boy House.

I’ll never look at Cookie Monster the same way again.

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If I was a person who analyzed my dreams, or took the interpretations to really mean something, then I might be worried. Usually my dreams are incredibly dull; folding laundry for hours on end, for example, is a common dream of mine. But Saturday night I had a vivid dream that I was supposed to make a cake to look like Cookie Monster. It was incredibly agitating; whoever was asking me for this cake specified that it could not be round, it had to be the exact shape of Cookie Monster’s body. I kept stressing out about the EYES, how would I make EYES to look like Cookie Monster? What kind of decorating tool would I use or could I buy something that would be like an eye. And the mouth – oh, god, I didn’t want to make a mouth out of black food colouring. Then, when I went to bake the actual cake in a kitchen that wasn’t mine, the oven wouldn’t heat to 350 degrees. Instead, it heated to all sorts of strange and unusual temperatures: 414, 273, etc. I woke up in a panic about it and then wondered, why Cookie Monster? My kids haven’t watched Sesame Street in many years. That was weird.

My friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) suggested it sounded like an anxiety dream. If so I should have had it last Thursday; Friday morning I had a physical with my doctor. Now, I’m very healthy and have no issues, but I was due for a Pap test. Menfolk, you might want to consider not reading on, if you happen to be squeamish about women’s issues. First of all, my period is due any day now, and so I was worried Aunt Flo would arrive 20 minutes before my appointment and I would have to rebook. Again. The only reason I had this appointment was because I was scheduled for a Pap five weeks ago, and my period unexpectedly shown up. I was worried this would happen again, and again, and again, and I would have to call the office and rebook constantly. If there’s one thing I hate to do, it’s phoning for appointments.

Why is making appointments over the phone so hard? I dread it; it’s almost like I hate committing that time to an appointment. There never seems to be a good time for anything; and then once I figure out an appointment that will work for me, it’s not available, and we start all over again.

Anyway, Aunt Flo stayed home and I was able to carry on with my appointment. All signs point to healthy; and then it was time for the Pap. My doctor – who I really do like, and who I really do feel is a good doctor – could not find my cervix. Longtime readers will know that this is not the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. The only doctor who did NOT have a problem finding my cervix was a woman, and although it is a small sample size – one that I do not want to get any larger, three different hands up in my business is quite enough, thank you – I think it is significant, if not statistically, then emotionally.

Time goes slowly when one’s feet are in stirrups, so a solid ten minutes of speculum-prodding feels like hours. The doctor asked me TWICE if I’d had a C-section; I have not, and I’m not sure what C-sections have to do with cervical positioning. I’m not sure I want to know. “I’m sorry,” the doctor said, “I know this is uncomfortable, I have just never had so much trouble finding a cervix before.”

“Well, you’re not the first,” I told him, “But I’m pretty sure it’s still there.”

Ten minutes and two different speculums later, my cervix was found. Hurrah! Except…”Oh dear, the speculum moved. I have to reposition it.”

Now that I think of it, maybe my Cookie Monster cake dream was a post-traumatic anxiety dream. Maybe my anxiety about making the eyes was some kind of response to the cervical searching, and the big black mouth was a symbol of the cavernous wasteland of my womanhood? In any case, it’s only about 362 days until I have to start thinking about my next Pap test, so carpe diem? Or something.

Eating, Playing, and Making New Friends: It’s A Dog’s Life

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Since nothing says romance like spending the weekend with one’s in-laws, that is exactly what I did. Well, technically we visited my in-laws because it was a long weekend – the kids had Teacher’s Conventions and Monday was Family Day – but the former sounds funnier. It was a really nice weekend, and like the day after every long weekend, yesterday found me frantically catching up on various domestic duties.

Honestly, I know we are all in the same boat, I know this is the most tedious and mundane of topics, but does it ever amaze you the sheer amount of time spent doing things just to keep the household running smoothly? Laundry, for example. Yesterday I spent an enormous amount of time doing laundry, which only results in having to do laundry again today. I also went to two different grocery stores, took the kids to the dentist for a cleaning and checkup, and went to pick up the dog from the kennel. That, along with various meal preparations and resulting kitchen cleanups, comprised my entire day. God, I’m even boring myself talking about it. Domestic drudgery, I swear.

The bright light in my day was picking up the dog from the kennel. It was the first time he had gone to this particular kennel, which is actually not called a kennel at all, but a Pet Resort. The last time Barkley was boarded overnight was in December when we went to Orlando; I was picking him up from the kennel we had always used, and I happened to mention to the fellow working there that I would phone in a week or so to book him in again for this long weekend. I called and it went straight to voice mail. I tried back and it went straight to voice mail. I left a message and my phone number, and no one returned my call. This was around Christmas, so I figured things would be busy – dog boarders are notoriously busy over the holidays.

Something felt strange though, as I continued to call and get the voice mail. My husband and I were headed to Costco just after New Year’s, and I thought I would swing by the kennel to book him in, in person. I had a weird feeling, and sure enough, when we pulled up the sign was gone and a notice of closure was on the door.

First, imagine all the people who would be stranded for dog care during the holidays. Second, imagine all the unsuspecting people who would come to drop their dog off for boarding, only to discover that the kennel was closed. They did not inform any of their customers; I texted a friend who had her dog booked in at the end of January, and she had no idea.

Long story short, on many recommendations I booked Barkley into the Pet Resort and I am very happy I did. They gave him a report card when I came to pick him up, and it was glowing with praise for his friendly and social behaviour, and also his ability to eat no matter what the circumstances. He’s an A+ eater! Barkley had so much fun playing and making new friends was the comment on the report card. Just like when my babies gained the requisite amount of weight at their newborn checkups, and when later they passed dental checkups with nary a cavity, I felt a self-esteem surge at Barkley’s popularity at the Pet Resort. One might say I’m living vicariously through my dog, and taking credit where it is not due, but I will take a boost whenever I can.

Friday morning was foggy, and although to some of you that might sound like no big deal, we do not get a lot of fog on the Prairies. I had to drive Barkley to the Pet Resort, which is just west of the city. I have driven in snowstorms, blizzards, hail, and 90 km/hour wind gusts, but I have never driven in conditions like I did on Friday. The fog was so thick I couldn’t see the highway exit signs until I was just below them; I couldn’t see the cars 25 feet in front of me, and I couldn’t see the side of the road. It was so eerie, like I was actually just in a cloud instead of on the road. The problem was that although I knew approximately where the Pet Resort was, I didn’t know exactly, and I couldn’t see anything; no landmarks, no signs, nothing at all. If I hadn’t been worried about being hit by a similarly-disadvantaged driver, I would have pulled over on the shoulder to cry. As it was I kept telling myself to breathe deeply and to not cry. There was no way out but through, so to speak. I ended up taking several wrong turns in the small commercial district, and resorted to both calling the Pet Resort to try to tell them where I was – which was impossible because I couldn’t actually see where I was – and asking random strangers in parking lots how to get there. Turn at Tractorland, one fellow told me, and although I know that Tractorland is a giant yellow building, the fog was so thick I couldn’t even see it from the road. Finally I did end up in the right place, proving once and for all that even a blind squirrel gets a nut every once in a while.

Getting VD from naked yoga

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Yesterday my husband realized that he did NOT have another month’s worth of blood pressure pills in the hall cupboard, and he had exactly one pill left. I went to the Co-Op pharmacy to get refill his prescription, and on the way out I saw a display of “long-stemmed strawberries.” These strawberries were sold in regular clamshells, and they were $12.99 for a one-pound container. $12.99! There were one-pound containers of non-long-stemmed strawberries right beside them for $3.99, which seemed much more reasonable. Now, I love strawberries, and if someone presented me with a pound of them for Valentine’s Day I would be perfectly happy, but I’m not sure the long stems would be worth the extra $9. I guess you could do some kind of Pinterest-worthy bouquet with them or something, but it seems wasteful to me, considering the strawberries themselves looked exactly the same as the $3.99 ones, just with long green stems poking out.

Whatever floats your boat, right? On the radio yesterday I heard an advertisement to get a divorce for Valentine’s Day. “For Valentine’s Day, get what you’ve been wanting – a divorce! Only $700.” So I guess the Valentine’s market has really expanded to include everyone.

And while we are on the topic of inclusiveness, there is a yoga studio in Calgary that offers naked yoga – which I’m sure I’ve written about with horror before, my god, think of the MATS – and it is offering a Valentine’s Day special as well. Naked Couples Yoga. I find this even more horrifying than Naked Non-Couples Yoga. Then again, I’m not exactly a “let-it-all-hang-out” kind of girl; I don’t even like practicing in pants that are not tights or non-fitted tank tops, the thought of my own breasts not being completely constrained is extremely uncomfortable, let alone seeing a non-husband penis in downward dog. GOD. I just shuddered.

The other day, I saw a meme on Facebook that said “Can you think of a name that starts with O? 99% of people will fail!” Wait, what? How hard is that? I mean, there’s a whole O magazine devoted to Oprah, for one thing. For another thing, there are a LOT of names that start with O. Whoever comes up with these memes probably get a kick out of making up statistics about people. 99% of people will fail? At finding a name that starts with O? Or just in general – is the human race doomed to failure? Maybe, but I’m not sure a Facebook meme really has the empirical data to back that up.

Have a happy weekend, everyone. Don’t forget that I choo-choo-choose you to be my Valentine!

Bumper Stickers and Big News!

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It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and because there is no semi-holiday that goes by uncelebrated by sugar cookies, I spent some time this morning cutting out round cookies. Heart-shaped cookies have been deemed too embarrassing for words, but round cookies? With bright pink buttercream and heart-shaped sprinkles? Perfectly acceptable. I was getting ready to frost them when I realized I was almost out of powdered sugar, so I popped over to the grocery store and was almost sidetracked by this:

fundip

Fun Dip! They still make Fun Dip! I haven’t seen Fun Dip for decades! And this Fun Dip – it magically changes colours! I’m sure the child bringing in Fun Dip would be super-popular amongst peers, but perhaps less so amongst parents and teachers. I stuck with the cookies and they turned out nicely, even if a round cookie cutter seems to be an elusive item, necessitating the use of a small plastic cup instead.

heartcookies

Speaking of things unseen for decades, yesterday Mark and I were walking home from the library, where he had cleaned out the entire section on children’s Greek mythology reference books, and I had picked up a delightful little read entitled “Fishbowl.” Slight digression: if you have the chance to read “Fishbowl,” do, because it is just wonderful. A truly fun read.

Anyway, we were walking home and parked along one of the side streets was a van, covered in bumper stickers. We stopped to look because one of us noticed the sticker saying “My Other Car Is A Dino-Bot” and I immediately regretted our decision. Along with “Oral Sex: The Best Last-Minute Gift” was a bumper sticker that I hadn’t seen since the early Eighties, at best: “Grass, Gas, or Ass: Nobody Rides For Free.” The sad thing is that this bumper sticker was not an old one from the Seventies; it was obviously newly purchased and affixed to the back of the van. In other words, you can still, somewhere, purchase a Gas, Grass, or Ass: Nobody Rides For Free bumper sticker. And here I thought hitchhiking was a thing of the past. I’ve never hitchhiked, and I most likely never will, but if I did, I probably would NOT want to take a ride from the person driving that van, especially with all the not-so-subtle messages plastered all over the back, Dino-Bot notwithstanding. Anyone who watched Silence of the Lambs in their formative years would feel the same way, I’m sure. One moment you are taking a ride from a person who encourages prostitution in exchange for a lift to the next town, the next moment you are in a giant hole in the ground being forced to lube up so some sicko can make a skin suit out of you.

I mean, maybe the owner is perfectly normal and just likes distasteful bumper stickers, but why take the chance?

In any case, Mark and I stood in awkward silence for a moment before heading for home and resuming our discussion about the twelve labours of Hercules.

Completely unrelated to any of the above, I have big news! After nearly nine years of yoga practice, I have decided to take yoga teacher training. I’m pretty excited about it! With the kids getting older, the timing just seemed right, so in April I will be starting my 200 hour program. My goal is to work with people with pain and limited flexibility/ mobility, and perhaps seniors. It’s been a while since I’ve been in school, so I fear I might be a bit like one of those mature students who asks all the questions and discusses the role of Life Experience and its Real World Implications. I’m like Grandpa Simpson! But maybe a bit more stylish.

KonMari FAIL

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Here’s a little tidbit about me that some people (read: my husband) find quite un-endearing: I have a really, really hard time spending money on non-essential items. What often happens in my house is that my husband will suggest a purchase, and no matter how minor, I rail against it. Spotify, for example. Why would we need Spotify, I argued passionately, We already have Sirius! Or the Roomba. We don’t need a Roomba, we have a vacuum!

Well, over the course of our marriage, my husband has learned to just make the purchase, which I subsequently fall in love with. Like, I cannot imagine how I actually did workouts before without Spotify. And Roomba? Roomba, as I’ve mentioned before, is now my favourite child. Everyone in the house talks about Roomba as if he is a living, breathing person who exists only to clean our floors. Great job, Roomba! we all say as Roomba whirrs around. Oh, Roomba, you got into the cords again! we will gently chide him as we see an extension cord pulled out from under the bed. Even Barkley has learned to live with Roomba, even though his tail was once almost vacuumed, causing him to now watch warily when the whirring starts.

roomba

 

It naturally follows that if a person has a hard time spending money on non-essential items, then that person should have – in theory – a fairly empty closet. Right? Well, it appears that clothing is essential and that I have far, far too much of it, if my exploding closet and drawers are any indication.

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The “yoga clothes and beach wear” portion of my closet.

The problem is that I like clothes, and I buy quality, long-lasting clothes, which means I have a lot of clothes. I mean, I have yoga pants from 2008 that still look fantastic, I have classic black dresses purchased between 2011-2014 that are always in style, and I have very well-cared for sweaters from the now-defunct but much loved Jacob.

Everyone has been talking about the KonMari method of tidying up; yesterday was a PD day and I was looking for a project, so I thought I would re-organize my closet. Although I am a very organized (read: anal) person in general, my closet was getting a little small and cluttered. Now, I knew the rules: if an item was used and brought joy, then it could stay. Otherwise, it would get purged.

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How much beach wear is too much beach wear, when one does not live anywhere near a beach?

Do you know, all of my clothing brings me joy?

Reader, I couldn’t bear to part with a thing yesterday. I regularly comb through my dressers whenever I get a phone call asking for clothing donations for this charity or that one, and I usually can gather a good solid garbage bag full. But perhaps I’ve gone to that well too often, or perhaps yesterday was the wrong day to go through my things, I don’t know. All I know is that after putting everything in a giant pile, I ended up neatly rolling everything up and putting it back in the closet. I found a couple of unused containers and I rolled each bikini piece together, Kondo-like. (Who needs fourteen bikinis, mostly black? I DO. I need ALL the black bikinis.)

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It’s marginally neater!

 

So that was a bit of a fail. Not only did I go through my closet, but I also cleaned out my dressers and the same thing occurred; I couldn’t bear to part with any items at all. Well, on the upside, everything is now neatly put away. On the downside, I still need to deal with my shoes and boots, and that, my friends, is going to be a test.