Monthly Archives: October 2016

God Bless The Bus Drivers

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For weeks, it seems like everyone around me has been sick with this weirdly debilitating cold that’s been going around. Everywhere I go, there’s coughing and sneezing and nose-blowing. So far I’ve been able to stave it off with my signature trifecta of near-obsessive hand-washing, over-the-top vitamin intake, and homeopathic hoo-ha. Today Jake is home with it and I feel an impending sense of doom, like my healthy days are numbered. In the meantime, I will continue to scrub my hands like I’m going into surgery, all the while downing weird concoctions with a side of Vitamin C.

Things feel a touch gloomy because it’s completely dark and snowy outside, although I’m pretty relieved that the snow held off until today. Yesterday Mark – along with the entire Grade Seven body – went to the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller, which was, from all accounts, EPIC. It meant a four hour round trip on the bus, however. God bless those parent volunteers, is all I can say. Not to mention the teachers and bus drivers.

Mark told me that a few kids screamed hysterically, in that Grade Seven Humour kind of way, every single time they saw a dinosaur statue, so we should have all probably invested in ibuprofen stocks prior to this field trip.

In any case, yesterday was warm and sunny so it really was a good day for a field trip. I took under-the-weather Jake for his own field trip, to Superstore, for groceries, pumpkins, and Halloween candy. Somehow we have ended up with 250 little chocolate bars, which will surely be more than enough for the eight to ten Trick or Treaters we are sure to have.

Speaking of which, the guys set up all the decorations on the weekend, and although they haven’t yet put up the animatronic ones, I have noticed a number of people stop and look at our creepy, creepy house. I have gotten used to it, but at first I was pretty startled every time I would go to the living room and see this out the front window:

view

Gah! There are two of those guys in our front yard.

scaryguy

Not to mention zombie dogs:

zombiedogs

A number of bats:

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In this house, we bury our secrets:

rip

And we hope no one is arachnophobic:

spider

At least we have pity for the poor mail carrier who has to make his way through all our festive creepiness. He only really has to deal with this guy, swinging in front of our mailbox.

pumpkinhead

This is the first year that I haven’be been really involved in the creation of the kids’ costumes. They are making some kind of weird mash-up (a MONSTER MASH, perhaps? It was a Graveyard Smash!) of old costumes and by old, I mean things they wore when they were in first and second grade. I’m not one hundred percent sure what the result will be, but most likely they will be wearing their parkas and toques to Trick or Treat anyway.

I wonder what the reaction will be to them Trick or Treating. Most of our street is filled with elderly people who have, by and large, known the boys since they were small, and they usually give out tons of candy. However, I know some people have a problem with older kids Trick or Treating, particularly those whose costumes are somewhat suspect. Personally, I don’t even care if someone is dressed up or not, or is a toddler or nearly-legal. I have 250 chocolate bars in my house, and you can be damned sure that I am going to give away as many as possible. Especially since one box contains Wunderbars, which are one of the greatest chocolate bars ever invented, in my humble opinion. I don’t need that kind of temptation just sitting around in my cupboard.

At least I had the fortitude not to buy Rockets! That would have been debilitating in every way, and since sugar is bad for immunity, I would be sure to be on death’s door by next week. As it is, I JUST sneezed! Time for an orange and some more of that weird echinacea tea. Have a great weekend, everyone! Happy Halloween. xo

Howard/ Nicole The Duck

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One benefit of keeping an old school blog for the past eight years is that I can easily see patterns in my own life. For example, every single fall I feel like I’m careening off the rails a little bit, in terms of busyness, and yes, we are all busy and tired and whatnot, no one wants to hear about how busy we are, but it is nice to see a pattern and recognize that I feel this way every year.

In related news, October is almost over, and I feel like it should still be mid-September. But no. Sometimes I feel like I’m a duck, gracefully gliding through the water on the pond, but what is not visible to the eye is my pair of little feet-flippers going like mad, just to keep gracefully gliding.

All is good, it is, even though I have bags under my eyes that require their own postal code. Several months ago I wrote something for YMC called “Confessions of a Pulled-Together Mom” and I braced myself for the blow-back. I was expecting trolls to come out of the woodwork to criticize my vanity at the expense of neglecting my children, but I only really received one such comment. The rest were more of the “me too” variety, which was completely surprising. On discussing it with the YMC Editor-in-Chief, I realized that this generation of young moms is much more comfortable with the concept of self-care than MY generation. This is a very very good thing. When I had babies, lo those many years ago, it wasn’t the done thing to admit that you showered every day, put on makeup, and blow-dried your hair. Back when my kids were babies, many of my peers were into that martyr thing: I was so busy I didn’t brush my teeth all weekend, and I haven’t had a shower for days. Hygiene, oral and otherwise, was frequently scorned because my generation seemed to be made up of High Powered Career Girls Who Are Now Putting 100% Energy Into Child-Rearing And Have No Time To Spare On Vanities. Not everyone felt that way, of course, but motherhood did feel a bit like a Project back then. I mean, I had a book – which I have since donated – about how to raise smarter babies, and another one that was all about brain-enriching and sensory-stimulating activities to do with your baby. Such activities included making a pulley system for teddy bears, to illustrate cause-and-effect, and the concept of impermanence. And I actually did those activities. Now, thinking about how my children enjoy such things as Grand Theft Auto and jokes about farting and people getting hit in the testicles, I cannot help but smile at my younger, optimistic self.

But I digress. The only negative comments I had from that Pulled-Together piece were that, in the photos, I didn’t appear to be wearing makeup at all. I had several such comments, and I was taken aback by it a little, because YOU GUYS, if you could see me without makeup. HOO BOY. In particular, today, when I have eye bags under my eye bags, well. I promised my husband I wouldn’t post any more unflattering photos of myself on this blog, but you can see a few here and here. And those are from two years ago, so as you can probably imagine, I have aged somewhat since then. Anyway, I love the thought that some people think I’m all au naturel when really, the opposite is true.

eyebags

Eyebags with a side of grey roots.

Speaking of oral hygiene, a few months back there was some kind of expose about Big Dental and the Flossing Conspiracy. Did you know we’ve all been conned into thinking that flossing is beneficial, when in fact there has been almost no empirical evidence to suggest that it prevents cavities and gum disease? Quick, everyone burn your dental floss!

Just like that, but with floss.

Fun fact: I had that fish without a bicycle poster on my office wall when I was in grad school, along with a copy of the Feminist Manifesto.

Anyway, I think I’ll keep my floss, since I’m not a fan of having decaying bits of food between my teeth, studies be damned.

There have also been a number of studies saying that vitamin supplements are essentially useless, and you may as well set your money – along with your dental floss – on fire. Well, I will say this: you will tear my bottles of vitamins out of my cold, dead hands. Especially my Vitamin D, since it has been grey and gloomy and foggy here like you wouldn’t believe. Yesterday my friend and I were walking our dogs at the off-leash, and it was so foggy we could barely see twenty feet in front of us. It was very eerie, like something in a horror film. Maybe it’s just the lead up to Halloween (YOU GUYS, HALLOWEEN IS ON MONDAY! MONDAY!) but it was really creepy.

On that note, I have things I need to cross off my to-do list, and if I start talking about my love for vitamin supplements, or how virtuous I feel because I haven’t yet bought and eaten several boxes of Halloween candy, I’ll be here until the cows (or children) come home. Signing off, xoxo.

But it’s not on the list!

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Part of the Life-Changing Magic that I have enjoyed since Tidying Up The Kitchen is that I have become incredibly organized and non-hoarder-ish when it comes to food. I had gotten into a bad habit of freestyling when it came to grocery shopping. I would think, wow, what a great price for coconut milk!, then I would purchase several cans of said coconut milk, only to discover upon returning home that I had a dozen cans already in my cupboard, but no black beans, which I would have gone to the store for.

No longer! Now, since I’ve Kondo-ed My Life, I not only have all cans/ dry goods arranged by ingredient type and frequency of use, I also have four lists going at all times of purchases I need to make at one of the four major stores I shop at. I do not allow myself to write an item on my list until I am down to the last one or two of something, depending on how valued that item is in my life. For example, I would never go below two cans of chickpeas, but I might go as low as one can of coconut milk. I write every single item on the list, and then I do not deviate from the list.

Usually. But more on that in a moment.

Part of the problem I discovered with myself is that I seemed to have a certain desperate emotion when shopping that I had cultivated when the boys were small and it was difficult to get out to Costco or Superstore. I had that if I don’t get it now, I might not be back here for months kind of attitude, which is no longer my reality. I live within walking distance to a mall, a Walmart, two major drug stores and two grocery stores. I live within a very short drive to another mall, and within a 10-15 minute drive to Costco and Superstore. I am not Ma Ingalls, living 40 miles and across the river from Independence, Kansas, with only a horse and wagon to get to and from for basic living requirements. I am not stranded, thinking that the only thing my children will get for Christmas is a goddamn mini cake baked out of the white sugar I save for company only, because I can’t get to town.

I also tended to have the feeling that if I don’t get it now, what if the item is unavailable which is ridiculous. Rarely, if ever, are the four major stores I shop at completely out of large flake oats, tahini, or the laundry detergent I like. There is no need to hoard. Therefore, I shop based on my list ONLY. Mostly.

Lately I’ve been taking advantage of the hour the boys are at karate to go to Superstore for groceries. It’s a quick hour, but doable. Yesterday I found myself with a full cart behind a lady who didn’t seem to have too much in her cart. Great! However, she had put a divider between every few items, and then would pay for them separately, with different cards. Listen, everyone has a different situation, and that’s fine. I also think it’s kind of bullshit that “Grapes: $2.94, limit of 1” is a thing, and yes, the way around that is to pay for each container of grapes separately. That’s fine. I also realize everyone has different cards and different needs.

I’m just saying that it took FOREVER.

I zoned out a little bit, when I realized the cashier was addressing me. He had his hand on a package of Golden Oreos, which was right before the divider that had two pomegranates in a bag, which was right before the divider that separated my groceries. Naturally, since he had the Oreos in his sight, I figured he was asking about them, and so I said they weren’t mine.

“No!” he said sternly, with a huge frown. “I’m JUST asking if you want the Deal of the Week.” At that point, he waved a box of Q-Tips at me, which was, I assumed, the Deal of the Week. I declined, and he exhaled sharply. “It’s my JOB. I HAVE TO ASK IF YOU WANT THE DEAL OF THE WEEK.”

I get it. Customer service is HARD. It must have been especially hard with the lady paying for everything in separate, tiny groups, while her teenage children kept running up to the till with something else in hand, which he would ring through, and then she’d say that she didn’t want it. I get it.

When I was in university, I waitressed at Moxie’s for a few years. It was a good job for a student, but one August I worked 28 days in a row and by the end of it I hated the entire human race. I hated the elderly who would come and eat their one veal cutlet and drink their endless cups of hot water and then tip fifty cents, I hated the children who would scream if the red crayon was broken, I hated the women out on a girls’ night who would complain bitterly if there was too much salt on the rim of their margaritas and then would fail to tip at all, I hated the way people patted me on the butt or thigh as I walked by, to get my attention. I HATED THEM ALL.

But what I hated most was that we had certain items we had to sell, or promote, and certain language with which to promote them. There was a white board in the kitchen that listed every server’s name and how many of those items we had sold that week, and our shifts would depend on that. The person who sold fifty Long Island Iced Teas would get a better shift than the person who would sell two, and then it was a vicious cycle of bad shifts and inability to sell booze at the noon shift.

Worse, at that time there were “Mystery Shoppers” who had checklists to mark off, and if you didn’t use the particular language or promote the particular product, you could lose your job or get demoted to hostess, which was the worst. Dealing with hangry people in a lineup, seating people only to have them request a table change, or say that they really wanted a booth, with no tips to even soften the indignity of it all.

Any time I had a table, even if the table was full of barely-mobile elderly people, I had to cheerfully ask if they would like to try our feature drinks, today it is a Sea Breeze, and would they like regular or Moxie size for just $1.99 extra? And then half the time the customer would forget that they’d Moxie-sized it and dispute the bill and it was not fun at all.

All of which is to say, I get the cashier’s frustration. I get being tired and hating people and having to ask if they want the Deal of the Week. Sometimes there are people like me who are strictly shopping based on a list and no, lavender-scented liquid soap is not on that list, but it’s $1.99 and I am not made of stone, so I dither a bit and take too long to decide if I am going to spend TWO DOLLARS on an item that is not on my list but will be utilized eventually so maybe?

Anyway, I had just been to Costco, and have a three pack of 500 Q-Tips at home, which is at least a two-year supply in my household, so I was firm on that one. But then I heard the lady behind me, when the cashier asked if she wanted to partake, dither about whether or not $3.97 WAS a good deal or not, eventually deciding in the negative.

The cashier turned to me, loading my spinach and grapes (LIMIT OF ONE) in my cart, and he took a deep breath before muttering, “For FUCK’S SAKE.” under his breath.

And all I could think of was, I understand, buddy. I hope you get the day off tomorrow.

The Golden Girls Action Figures ARE On My Christmas List

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On October 6, I was alerted by three people that the world has become a perfect place; there are now Golden Girls action figures to be had. Since that time, I’ve had messages from no fewer than eight people about the existence of such a glorious thing.

You know, we all just want to be heard, and to leave our mark on the world, and my friends messaging me about the Golden Girls action figures means that I have been heard. I have left my mark. I truly felt warm and happy, knowing that my Golden Girls love is that well known. Thank you to everyone who has mentioned them, and yes, they are on my Christmas list.

The thing about the Golden Girls is that it was a show about women supporting and accepting each other, and I think that is what is the most appealing thing to me. I think about my friends – you know who you are, right? – who are really more like sisters to me. My friends who I see daily, my friends who I see almost never but talk to often, my friends who are there for me no matter what. If I could build a giant commune somewhere warm, we could all live together, eating vegan cheesecake and drinking coffee (with vegan Bailey’s).

I was thinking about women supporting other women this weekend, when my friend (HI VALERIE) posted a piece entitled “When Her Good News Makes You Feel Bad.” I read these words over and over: …quit fighting over a bigger slice of pie and just bake a bigger pie and invite everyone you know to share it with you. Isn’t that the most beautiful way to live? Bake a bigger pie, or vegan cheesecake, as the case may be.

I know so many amazing women, I think my cake will have to be Olympic Oval sized.

On a much less inspirational note, the battery in the wall clock in the kitchen died last week, and this might seem like a small thing to you, but to me it seemed to be indicative of a looming loss of sanity. If you want to discover how many times you instinctively look at something in one day, change it up. Apparently I check the time approximately several hundred times a day, even though there are digital clocks on both my oven and microwave, as well as the one on my laptop that I often use at the kitchen table. Yet, it is the wall clock I look to for reassurance that I am on schedule throughout the day. Several hundred times a day.

We all know that a stopped clock is correct twice a day, and yet, a stopped clock is still pretty much useless. Yes, I could have just changed the battery immediately, but for some reason I did not. Well, that reason is that I was probably lazily hoping my husband would just do it. In any case, I let this stopped clock issue go on for a good thirty six hours, at which point I was about to lose my mind, looking at the wrong time constantly. I pulled over the high stool to reach the clock, efficiently changed the battery, and hung it back on the wall.

Or so I thought.

I had apparently not secured it to the wall, since it came crashing down, shattering everywhere.

Do you want to know what’s more annoying than a stopped clock? A non-existent one, a bare space of wall that you constantly look at because apparently you have a tic that causes you to look at the time several hundred times a day what is wrong with me why am I like this.

Today I finally had a chance to stop at Bed Bath and Beyond, which always makes me think of Frank the Tank (I don’t know, I don’t know if we’ll have enough TIME) and I purchased a clock which is now affixed to my wall and my sanity is saved. The only problem with going into Bed Bath and Beyond is that it immediately makes me want to be The Ultimate Consumer. I want EVERYTHING. I feel like I need every little gadget from the non-stick rolling pin to the Magic Bullet to the little scrub sponges that are in the shape of happy faces. I don’t know who sets up the displays, but they are extremely effective.

And, for the love of god, the Christmas displays are up, everything smells like cinnamon, and I had to physically restrain myself from buying a miniature light-up tree meant for a coffee table, a leg lamp, and a set of tea towels with reindeer embroidered on them. I left with ONLY the clock, feeling virtuous and regretful. I really wanted those tea towels.

But if you ever throw a party, and invite everyone you know, you’ll see that the leg lamp will be from me. And the card attached will say Thank you for being a friend. xo

Life is a destination. No. Wait.

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I feel like I’m in some weird time warp and also, like I’m Laura Ingalls at the beginning of the Long Winter, with a sense of foreboding about the months to come. There’s snow on the ground and it’s cold, cold, cold. I dug out my thick woolly legwarmers and enormous warm mittens today, to take Barkley for a walk. It snowed all weekend, much to my dismay.

Friday my husband loaded up the van and took the boys and dog to my in-laws’ for Thanksgiving, eight hours away. It snowed or sleeted most of the way, but was otherwise uneventful. I had teacher training until late Saturday afternoon, so the plan was for me to fly out Saturday night, and drive back home all together on Monday.

Side note to say that Friday was the first time in years – I don’t even know how long – that I was all by myself in the house, without even the dog to keep me company. It was bizarre, not having anyone else’s schedule or needs to think of. Mind you, the days prior to that were a blur of preparing and packing and getting everyone else ready, but come Friday, I realized it was just me. I didn’t have to let the dog out, I didn’t have to feed anyone except myself. All I had to do was make it to class on time, and that’s it. It was a little surreal.

Another side note: since my husband took the van, I was driving his three-quarter-ton truck. Technically I could have taken his car, but the thought of it possibly getting dinged in the parking lot of the yoga college was too much to bear. I don’t think I could stand that kind of pressure. Plus, the snow had started and the plain fact of the matter was that if I – god forbid – was to get in an accident, being in the giant truck would be much preferable than being in a little sports car, on so many different levels. One of those levels would be that my husband would be much less upset if the truck was in an accident, than his girlfriend/ car. The other was that I felt eminently safer in the truck. You can’t hurt me, motherfuckers, you can’t even try, I thought to myself from my much-higher-than-normal vantage point. This is what driving a three-quarter-ton truck will do to you. I’m not excusing my behaviour, I am just stating a fact. You try it, and tell me it’s no different from driving a minivan. You cannot. I felt like one of those guys on one of those gold mining shows, but with much lower stakes. And less gold.

I will admit I felt a little strange when I drove it to the homeopathic dispensary. I mean, it has an elk decal in the back window.

truck

I am pretty spoiled, on account of my nice van with its heated seats and its sharp turning radius and its keyless entry. Despite my newfound extreme driving confidence, I found myself feeling slighted at having to actually use a key to turn on the engine, like a barbarian. And the radio stations were not tuned to my favourite Hits of the 70s and 80s. However, those inconveniences paled in comparison to my new Don’t Mess With Nicole I Am Woman Hear Me Honk The Horn of This Big Truck kind of way.

I also felt slightly ridiculous in that I left a lot of extra time, in anticipation of the roads and traffic being awful with the snow, and it turned out there were no delays at all. I ended up at class a full fifty-five minutes early, so I sat in the cab of The Truck, pressing “Like” on all the Instagram posts that had cute animals and photos of food in them.

Saturday was even gloomier than Friday; the snow kept falling intermittently and, alarmingly, a fog started to creep in. It is hardly ever foggy here, being landlocked in the middle of the Prairies, but the fog indeed rolled in. The last time it was foggy I was also due to fly out of town, if you recall. All through class on Saturday I kept glancing out the window, where it was evident the fog was getting thicker and thicker. I kept checking my flight status app and all was on time, no delays. O-kay. I rushed home after class, caught a cab to the airport, sailed through security, checked again. Flight – on time. I sighed with relief and sat at the bar to order a glass of wine. No sooner had my wine appeared than my husband called, to tell me my flight had been cancelled.

Indeed, one check of my app and I saw the truth, updated one minute prior: CANCELLED.

Cancelled, and me with a full glass of wine.

Thirty minutes and 2000 steps later, I found I had been bumped to another flight, that was going through Edmonton. Edmonton! My one hour flight was now going to take much longer, but I would still get there. I sat down at the bar – again – and ordered a glass of wine – again – only to find out, ten minutes later that the flight to Edmonton was delayed and I now had a mere ten minutes to make the connection.

At least this time I had made a dent in my wine.

I trundled back to the gate, where I was chirpily informed that the plane hadn’t even arrived yet, and if it did arrive, I would hopefully still make my connection. “Hopefully” was not the term I wanted to hear, particularly since I had sent all my luggage in the car with the guys, and all I had with me was my makeup bag, a toothbrush, a hair brush, and my blow dryer. I was extremely unequipped to be stranded in Edmonton.

Too long, didn’t read; I ended up on the 8:05 am flight Sunday morning, which meant I had to grumpily get up at five after an anxious, unrestful sleep. The good news is that everyone was happy to see me, and we had a nice visit with a lot of people. I missed seeing my friend Sam (HI SAM) and I could have done without paying for three cab fares in less than twelve hours, but it’s all about the destination, not the journey, right? No? Oh.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

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Last Friday our roof was re-shingled and, as the old shingles were tossed into the big bin, so went my sanity. My husband asked why I didn’t just leave the house for the day, but it happened to be one of the only days that I had slated in my week to get some work done at home. All day long was the scraping of the old shingles off the roof, then the hammering and nailing and sudden startling bangs that made me wonder if something had just fallen through the ceiling. Through it all was the faint, tinny sound of the roofers’ radio playing. The music was especially audible in the bathroom, so whenever I went in there I could hear the strains of various popular songs of yesteryear. Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me, maybe. It wasn’t the music that I would have expected the roofers to be listening to.

Fortunately both house and garage are now done, to Barkley’s extreme relief. Having a sound like someone is loudly knocking at the door for eight hours will stress a dog out, not to mention seeing unknown persons in the yard. The occasional shingle would fly off the roof in unexpected ways, and so I was paranoid to let the dog out, or have the children come home, lest someone get concussed.

September flew by but this week has been a long one, and it is only Wednesday. I have been feeling a bit dreary and complain-y the past couple of days; this morning an article entitled How To Complain Less popped up on my Facebook feed. Oh, omnipotent Facebook. The article was prefaced with Complaining is almost never a positive response to our circumstance. See also: feeling judged by my Facebook feed.

It’s true, complaining gets us nowhere, but on occasion we must all vent a little, lest we explode, like when Homer gives up swearing and ends up kicking down his shoddily-made doghouse. So I will own up to being a big complain-y pants yesterday, and will make up for it with things I’m thankful for right now. ‘Tis the season for thankfulness, at least up here in Canada.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

Nature Is Wearing Her Prettiest Clothes, But She’s Also Kind Of Nude

Sure, most of the leaves are already off the trees at the dog park, but there are still some pretty fall colours out there.

nakedtrees

The trees might be naked, but look at that sky!

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The trees are still in full colour at my parents’ place.

Boring, Yet Somehow Satisfying

I have become a person who has an actual, strong preference for dish soap, and that preference is this:

palmolive

This is the part where I say no, this is not a sponsored post and no, I did not receive anything for free. I just really, really like this dish soap. Don’t we all have funny little frugalities? Mine is with dish soap; I usually buy the Palmolive brand that is “Original” scent, because it’s about $0.50 cheaper. But for some reason I SPLURGED on this brand and now I don’t feel like I can ever go back. I get much more than fifty cents’ worth of satisfaction from this Oxy brand. The marginal benefit I receive is much, much higher than the marginal cost, for all you economics types.

Stop! Smoothie Time.

My current favourite is spinach, almond butter, almond milk, frozen banana, and cinnamon. It has gotten to the point where I eagerly look forward to smoothie time, because I love this combination immoderately.

greensmoothie

Ugly, and yet beautiful.

Pasta Night Is The Greatest Night Of All

Wednesday night is Pasta Night in the Boyhouse, and some of us are happier about that than others. I love pasta night, and I love that I have this sundried tomato sauce simmering on the stove right now. It smells divine, it tastes divine, and it makes enough for three Pasta Nights. I roast cauliflower and zucchini and add it to my pasta, and it is just the best, most satisfying meal of the week.

pastanight

I’ll Make Him An Offer He Can’t Refuse. And In The Morning, I’m Making Waffles

donkey

On our morning constitutional, up at my parents’ place this weekend, I spotted this guy. There’s nothing like a severed stuffed donkey head to make you wonder what’s going on with the neighbours.

Those are the things I’m thankful for and happy about today. I hope you have many things that are making you smile – perhaps your own severed donkey head? I don’t know what’s going on in your life. Happy Thanksgiving! xo