Monthly Archives: September 2022

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Wake Me Up When September Ends Edition

Posted on by

Okay, September ends tomorrow, but I kind of feel like I could sleep until then, right now. How boring is it to say I’m tired? Very boring, but here we are. It’s been a hectic week and it’s not going to get less hectic for a few days, but my son gets back from his camping trip this afternoon and I am very excited to see what I assume will be a dehydrated, starving, smelly shell of his former self.

Have I mentioned that they had no potable water available? Oh, right. I have, several times.

Anyway, we have not had any emergency calls from the school so I assume everyone is fine. Please, no giardiasis.

Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) mentioned that September feels like a free-fall of a month; it just starts and then suddenly it ends. To be honest, most months feel like that now for me but September maybe more so. You guys, October is SATURDAY.

It feels very September-ish around here, in the very best way. For the most part, we have had glorious September weather: sunny afternoons, crisp mornings. Even in the warmest part of the day, I can feel the crisp in the air, and the mornings have been very frosty indeed. It makes getting dressed slightly challenging, but that is what layers are for.

The leaves are changing, the sky is blue, and MCINTOSH APPLES ARE BACK IN THE GROCERY STORE, GREATEST APPLE EVER! In the meantime, here are a few of my Favourite Things!

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Wake Me Up When September Ends Edition

Drying Out

I love growing herbs but I don’t cook with fresh herbs as much as I could. Many years ago my husband surprised me with an Excalibur dehydrator, and let me tell you, fall is its time to shine. I have been drying all my herbs from the garden in it, and it makes me feel like a very high-tech Ma Ingalls. You know, if Ma Ingalls had access to herbs. I know that, technically, I could dry herbs by just hanging them upside down, but that would cut into the fun of using a gadget!

I’ve dried oregano, basil, chives, and parsley; the first two won’t last the whole year, but the latter two probably will.

A-Z: All the Zucchini

One of my students mentioned that she’d had trouble with her zucchini plants this year, and I knew exactly what she meant. I too have had trouble with tiny zucchinis suddenly rotting on the vine, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had lots of delicious, perfect zucchinis as well. I probably have harvested 3-5 zucchinis a week for the past several weeks.

Mostly I’m grating them and freezing them in one-cup increments for my favourite chocolate zucchini bread and “zunana” muffin recipes, but I’ve also been adding them to stir-fries and salads. Speaking of the dehydrator, I might just make some zucchini chips as well.

Some of you might not know that between 2013 and 2017, I wrote a weekly food blog at YMC, which means I have a lot of recipes online. I have organized them all here, in my Soul, Food section, and there are a lot of zucchini recipes.

Long Cool Woman in a Long Cool Top

I am going to say this in the most value-neutral way that I can: over the past year and a half, my body and physical appearance has changed. Some of those changes are a result of incorporating strength training into my fitness regime, and some are a result of aging in general and perimenopause in particular. Specific to the latter, my waist has widened and my stomach is much softer and rounder than it was eighteen months ago.

All of which is to say I am really embracing the long top. I mean, I haven’t been a crop top girl since the 90s, but I am finding lately that my softer, rounder stomach and I really, really appreciate a longer top with a lot of coverage. My waistline is what it is, but I feel a bit cuter and more comfortable wearing a non-body-skimming top.

When I Curated My Closet a little while ago, I came across this gem that I literally forgot I had. I hadn’t worn it since the summer before the pandemic, which is three solid years ago.

I like it but it really is long-sleeve weather now, so I’m pairing the long tees with skinny jeans and pants, and I do like the ease of the look.

Shake Your Booties

Along with long-sleeve tops, it’s time to break out the boots and socks! It’s not cool enough for tall boots, so it’s all about the little booty. They are booty-licious.

I like these two little ankle boots; one pair is a bit taller than the other, but both are very comfortable. The boots in the first photo are actually Sorels; they aren’t warm like winter Sorels but they are totally waterproof. With all my boots, I prefer a side zip so I don’t have to spend five minutes lacing things up. They are great for walking, and cute TO BOOT.

My What A Guy, Gaston

I feel badly that I haven’t brought up Gaston, my kitchen gnome before now! Shame on me! Gaston came into my life at the same time as Salvadore, but he has not had nearly as much attention. Here he is, quietly bringing joy into my kitchen, never seeking the spotlight.

Isn’t he cute? I like to think of him as bringing good juju into the kitchen, and if the amount of food that my family eats in great appreciation is any indication, he is doing a great job.

I feel like I am well on my way to life as a Crazy Gnome Lady. A dedicated gnome garden is not far off.

Roasted Tomatoes and Focaccia

I do love eating roasted tomatoes and focaccia, but even more than that, I loved this piece by the incomparable Laura Bray (HI LAURA). I don’t know how she reads my actual soul, but she does. This is such a beautiful post about the beginnings of an empty nest, and reconnecting with your partner in a new way. It reminded me so much of a woman I knew back when my youngest was in kindergarten; this woman was his friend’s grandmother, and she was a vibrant and wonderful person who cared for her grandchildren before and after school. She spoke to me about marriage and keeping connected, because one day it will be just the two of you, and you’ll look across the table and say “Oh! Hello.” I have thought about that many times in the ensuing years.

Happy End of September, friends! Another month flying off the calendar. I hope you have enjoyed many of your own favourite things, and if you care to share, I’d love to hear about them! xo

Life, Unstaged and Unfiltered

Posted on by

A couple of weeks ago I was at a farewell party for friends of ours who are relocating to the States; we had a very interesting conversation about what it’s like to buy a house from afar, and also about selling and listing a house in today’s market. The housing market in Calgary isn’t as hot as it was, but it’s still pretty spicy. My friend mentioned how tired she was from getting the house ready to list: decluttering and cleaning and staging, on top of having to disappear for hours while the house was being shown. It occurred to me at that very moment, that when we were house hunting, back in 2000, there was no such thing as “staging” your house. In fact, I clearly remember when I first heard the term “staging,” and that was in 2007 when a girlfriend was selling her very beautiful home, and hired a staging company which, because her home was already like a showhome, wasn’t really necessary.

The conversation quickly turned from Staging to Misleading Realtor Photos, which is a real phenomenon. Sometimes I’ll snoop on a realtor website to see homes in my 1960s-established neighbourhood to see houses that appear to contain enormous, spa-like bathrooms and infinitely spacious living areas, only to see that the curtains do not match the carpet, so to speak. Well, I guess it’s nothing like that. It’s more like this house is 1100 square feet, how is it housing all these giant rooms? Very good photography, that’s how.

Here is where I go back to my own experience, almost 23 years ago, in which there were no digital photographs and I don’t even think homes were listed on the internet. You found out what houses were available through a realtor or by seeing lawn signs. Wow. I feel like my own grandmother here, but I can still remember going to the open houses or scheduled showings, and being handed a sheet of paper with tiny, grainy photos of all the rooms of the house, plus the yard. There was no trick photography involved, and, as I said, no staging whatsoever. Generally the houses would have been cleaned before viewing, but not always, as evidenced by the house with the rabbit hutch, complete with several rabbits, in the basement of one house we looked at. If I think about it, I can honestly say I’m pretty sure this house, the one I live in now, was not at all cleaned when we viewed it. In fact, I’m pretty sure it smelled like old grease.

One of the things that I loved about house hunting, which would never happen now, was seeing all the little touches of home that painted a picture of the current residents and their lives. I loved seeing family photos on the walls, children’s toys in the rooms, even shampoo bottles in the shower. These people use Dove soap too! Just like me! I wonder if those hair masks really work. I loved it. Now, of course, everything is sanitized of anything that could indicate that people reside in the house that is on the market. Family photos are replaced by stock wall hangings, all toiletries are stashed under the immaculately clean sink, nothing about the kitchen would indicate that actual humans had cooked actual food in it ever, so pristine are the appliances.

Here’s a question: how do you live in your house when you are trying to sell it, what with keeping it pristine and staged? I realize people move house all the time, but people, HOW. It must be exhausting.

I find it so interesting that fancy, and possibly misleading, photography and special staging are such an important part of selling a home. It’s so in tune with the times that we live in, where everything is filtered and set up Just So, and then exhibited on social media. I came across a former yoga teacher’s instagram account, and all the photos of herself utilized a sparkling, soft-focus filter; when I say “sparkling,” I mean that they had literal sparkles on them. Listen, I like sparkly things as much as the next person, but it is so jarring to see someone In Real Life when you are used to seeing them Filtered, let alone with a Sparkle Filter.

I am just so fascinated by other people’s actual lives and homes, which is why I don’t like filters and I don’t like home staging. I absolutely loved this piece on Catherine Newman’s house; she was the very first blogger I ever read, and was an inspiration to me when I started the Boyhouse, back in 2008. Her home is glorious; I love every little beautiful detail. The puzzles! The books! The toiletry products! The lovely Ally Bean (HI ALLY) wrote about sharing slices of our lives that are messy, unstaged, and perfect in their perceived imperfections. I was inspired to show you a few completely unstaged, beautifully imperfect pieces of my life this past week:

Making dressing for a Thai-style quinoa salad. Fun fact: I recently was scolded on Instagram for calling it a Thai-style quinoa salad, as it contains tamari, which is Japanese. The scolder thought it should be a Western “Asian” sauce, which felt a little aggressive to me. I didn’t name it! That was what it was called! In any case, it’s delicious and everyone loves it and I think that Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) had originally linked to it, which gives me warm and fuzzy feelings when I make it. She posts so many good recipes on her “Dinners This Week” feature; if you’re not following her, you SHOULD.

Roasting lentils and chickpeas for the salad, and then cleaning up. My dishrack looks like this all the time. I don’t mind washing dishes but I HATE drying them. Hate it. It was always my job to dry dishes growing up and as god is my witness, I shall never do so again. (Lie: I do occasionally dry things, but only when there is so much stuff in the dishrack that one more item threatens to topple everything, like Aunty Ant climbing aboard the plane in Busy Busy World.)

Anyway, here is the end product:

This is our back entry/ mudroom, and this is as good as it ever looks, because I was the only one home. Generally there are more shoes, and since my younger son is a size 12, those shoes take up a lot of space. Note the bin to hold recycling, that is stuck on my boot. Usually once it’s in a state of Almost Overflow, someone will take it to the blue bin in the garage.

Speaking of my younger son, this was the sight that greeted me in the basement: his gear for this week’s camping trip was piled up and added to as items were obtained. It was like this for a solid week before he had to do the gear check at school and actually get everything into his backpack:

That sucker is heavy. Note the Aquatabs for water treatment on top of the day pack. Am I obsessed with the fact that they will have no potable water? Yes. I am.

Moving on! This is “my” side table in the living room, and it is a source of happiness for me. My mom gave me the piano-themed coasters when she was stuck in Moose Jaw during an enormous snow storm and couldn’t leave for three days, so she went shopping (I love my mom, shopping is her cure for everything). There is a jade plant and a vase given to me by former yoga students, pussy willows that I kept from a bouquet my friend Sarah (HI SARAH) gave me on my birthday, a family photo, and Barkley’s paw print. There are also books!

I always have a jumble of books from the library, plus a couple of books of my own that I’m slowly reading or referencing. My older, Seinfeld-obsessed son “won” a Seinfeld-themed Clue game that we haven’t played yet but I sure am looking forward to.

So those are a few pieces of my life this week, no filters, no staging, just little slices of joyful jumbles.

Weekly Reading

A People’s History of the United States. I finished! I finally finished! It took me at least six weeks to get through this because a) it’s huge, b) it’s really heavy, and c) it was so disheartening, dark, and depressing that I could only make it through a chapter a day at best. AT BEST. However, it’s a very important and eye-opening read. It’s very hard to read, particularly about the treatment of indigenous people, black people, immigrants, and basically anyone who is not a privileged white male. I’m not going to lie, some chapters were extremely dull, long, and repetitive – the formation of unions and strikebreaking chapters went on forever – but mostly this was a whole new look at things we may have taken for granted. There’s a very upsetting chapter on manifest destiny and if you’ve ever wondered how Hawaii became part of the US, well, it was annexed. The Dole family had a large part in that. There are, of course, chapters on the slavery, violence, and how white men thought it was perfectly fine to just eradicate Indigenous people, since they were unable to enslave them, in order to increase their living space. “Why shouldn’t we just take over everything and have everything at the expense of others?” seemed to be the major theme. This book delved into events that I remember from my own childhood but was fuzzy on, since I was a child, like the Iran-Contra affair. This is an incredibly important read, but very difficult as it challenges mainstream beliefs and is VERY upsetting. In case you think I’m being a Smug Canadian, I am not: I am fully aware that any “people’s history” of any western country would be also horrifying, for what it’s worth. Canada’s treatment of Indigenous people is the darkest stain on our history; it goes beyond horrifying. Anyway, this book is worth reading but be warned: it’s a monster of a tome and very heavy.

The Crown Dissected. Hugo Vickers has been a Royal commentator since 1973, and it brought me so much joy imagining him watching The Crown, frame by frame, and delving into it. Think about it! Elderly British man, sighing as he brings out his many reference books and notes, and then detailing every little thing in the episode and why it is historically incorrect. Some of the issues are big, and some are “Tommy Lascalles hair is parted on the wrong side and his moustache is too big.” I am 100% here for this. What an absolute delight to read. Listen, there are so many awful and horrifying things happening in the world; I was happy to be lost in ridiculous details such as the wrong insignia was used on personal stationary, or the purple on Prince Phillip’s uniform was too bright, or that the incorrect year was shown and dramatic license was taken with all the royal relationships. HERE FOR THIS.

Run Towards The Danger. Wow. I am very interested in the ways that trauma informs a person’s day-to-day life and wow, did this woman suffer a lot of trauma. These essays made me audibly gasp many times. From her experiences as a child star in a time when a child’s safety came secondary to everything else, to her scoliosis surgery, to extremely high risk pregnancies, to a debilitating head injury, to her silence during the Jian Ghomeshi trial due to her fears of repercussion (spoiler alert: this woman was yet another of his victims), these essays are at times distressing, horrifying, but ultimately hopeful. A must read from a brave woman. Fun fact: she was the main character in the show Road To Avonlea, which I never watched as I was just a bit too old, but was a Canadian staple in the early 90s.

So here we are, the last week of September already! It’s going to be a busy one. I hope you all have a lovely week! xo

Psychological Long Covid

Posted on by

Well, it has been a very busy and festive week in the Boyhouse! The biggest news, of course, was that we celebrated a 17th birthday!

There was a parent meeting for the birthday boy’s Phys Ed camping trip at the end of the month, notable because I still find it novel that we are having parent meetings in person. The camping trip itself is Very Backcountry, which should be interesting, as I inferred from the meeting that very few of my son’s fellow students have been camping at all, let alone in the backcountry. Where can I charge my phone was a question asked in his class, which is amusing since there is no electricity and in fact no signal at all where they are going. I mean, they are going to have to treat their water before drinking it, this is the level of Backcountry. It sounds like the seventh circle of hell to me, but he’s excited. He camps annually with his dad and brother but it’s never this extreme. I hope no one gets giardiasis.

Back in the fall of 2019, he started spending two lunch hours a week learning all the boring ins and outs of sailing; he did fundraising and worked really hard to go on the Grade Nine Sailing Trip, which was something he had looked forward to all through junior high and which he felt would be the Pinnacle of His Life, So Far. Of course, it was cancelled, and to say that was a disappointment would be an enormous understatement. All of which is to say I’m very happy for him and his hellish camping trip; I wouldn’t say that things are Pre-2020 Normal around here, just over two and a half years from the first lockdown, but I’m no longer feeling constantly anxious that activities are going to get cancelled at the last minute. I no longer refuse to think more than a week ahead of time.

I was feeling a bit weird and anxious on my last grocery trip, however. Superstore has rearranged all – ALL – of its aisles, which is incredibly disorienting. Instead of efficiently popping down Aisle Five, say, to grab a box of pasta, I found myself slowly wandering through each and every aisle just trying to find the pasta, as the signage detailing what was contained in each aisle were not consistently updated. Nothing was in the least bit intuitive: the condiments were beside the toilet paper, the cereal was tucked into the Natural Foods section, which was separate from the hot cereal that was next to the garbage bags. It took me a moment to realize why this was happening, and that moment came when I realized I needed to go down the chip aisle, something I normally avoid, to grab snacks for my son’s birthday party.

The whole aisle was like that, just filled with big boxes containing fifty single-serving Old Dutch products, almost exclusively plain chips. It was clear then, that Superstore is just filling space and that they amalgamated all their aisles to make it look fuller.

Who is buying all this water? No one. So I suppose it’s great to give the illusion of full shelves. It was unnerving, to say the least.

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but there wasn’t much in the baking supplies department. There was flour, but they had arranged it to seem like there was much more than there was; there was probably a third of the stock that they normally have. And, of course, still no sriracha, and I have no idea when that will be back in stock.

This is where I will shamefully update you on my Just One Backup promise. A few weeks ago I saw this:

While I would like to say I thought Oh, lemon juice is plentiful again, isn’t that interesting, I did not react with such equanimity. Friends, I bought a bottle to go with my other six in backup. Then, that very same day, I went to Costco where they had Boom Chicka Pop on sale for two dollars off per bag.

I bought three bags.

Other than that I have been doing really well, I swear. I emptied the freezer almost down to nothing before buying a few things, I’m working my way through the jars of salsa and nut butters, and the kids ate every last eighth of a container of homemade ice cream before I started making more. I wonder if there is a Long Covid, but for our psychological health? I think I must have some kind of Psychological Long Covid that causes a hoarding instinct whenever I perceive a shortage of certain key items. You can bet that when sriracha comes back, I will be unable to keep to my Just One Backup rule. In the meantime, I am stretching out the 1/4 of a bottle that we have, hoping it will last as long as possible.

Weekly Reading

This week contains a hit and a miss!

Bookends. I had never heard of this podcaster; I picked up the book on the promise of her showing “how books can help us through tough times,” as it says on the cover. I love books and so I assumed I would love this. I WAS SO VERY WRONG. For one thing, there is absolutely no discussion on how different books helped the author through tough times, instead she merely lists the books she was reading at the end of each chapter with no discussion or context whatsoever. As an example, she writes about the very tragic death of her best friend, who lost her life in the Twin Towers on 9/11, and then at the end of the chapter she says the title of the book that she was reading, with absolutely no parallels drawn. If you want to just write a memoir, fine, but if you’re advertising it as something that shows the meaning and inspiration that comes from reading, then you should probably write something about the meaning and inspiration of that book, not just the title.

The author is an incredibly privileged woman with enormous inherited wealth, and boy does she make that clear. This might be the most humble-braggy, name-dropping book I have ever read, and I read Will Smith’s memoir, so that is saying something. Sure, I would probably also be very proud that my dad created his own Fortune 500 company, and that my mom’s second wedding was featured in Town and Country, but in the absence of any other context, it just comes across as obnoxious. There is a paragraph about the author working out on the elliptical machine in the gym of the very fancy Hotel Bel-Air, and John Legend was working out beside her. End of sentence. Not to get all Chekov’s gun on the woman, but if you’re going to mention John Legend working out beside you, there should be an anecdote about it, or at least a reason that it is mentioned, not just a statement of fact, otherwise it’s just ridiculous name-dropping.

Even in the more relatable moments, like with parenting struggles, I found myself rolling my eyes about them. It is HARD to parent small children but whenever she talks about something like bedtime or dinnertime, and then mentions her two employed nannies, well, it’s hard to feel too sympathetic. I’m sure parenting twin toddlers is incredibly difficult BUT such paragraphs are followed by a description of her super-rich mother sending her to a weekend spa to catch up on sleep. I mean. Life is stressful for everyone, but I feel much less compassion for a person who has to run with the stroller to the expensive Manhattan toddler activities or when someone is late to the very expensive private school parents’ night, than I might to a woman who is stressed to the maximum just putting food on the table for her children, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. I had to remind myself to be compassionate – she did lose many people in tragic and horrific ways, and she did struggle with anxiety and depression. But her writing made it so hard to be compassionate. Anyway. I wanted to read it because of how it was advertised, all about books. I was extremely disappointed. Tl;dr, if you’re looking for a book about literature, this isn’t it.

Whew! That was a lot of words about a book I didn’t care for at all.

Writers and Lovers. I really enjoyed this gorgeously written book about a woman trying to live a creative life, trying to write a novel, all the while desperately needing to make a living and get herself out from under massive debt. It was particularly interesting to read right after Bookends. Yes, one is a memoir and one is a novel, but I could not help but be struck by the incredible differences between the memoir author and the protagonist of Writers and Lovers.

It’s obvious, of course, but being independently wealthy makes such a difference in being able to make it as a writer. In Writers and Lovers, the protagonist has to wake up very early to carve out writing time, and then work double shifts at a restaurant to pay her bills; she is absolutely crippled by debt and living in a garage, quite literally a starving artist. Compare that to Owens in Bookends, who is the recipient of enormous inherited wealth, such that, as she states, she never actually HAS to work in her life. She lives in a four-story brownstone in Manhattan, and was also a legacy student for both Yale AND Harvard Business School. Some people have everything literally handed to them and others, like in Writers and Lovers, have to hustle every minute of their lives, and have to try to still flex their creative muscles while their physical muscles are exhausted. It was a very interesting juxtaposition.

Speaking of exhausted muscles, it looks to be another busy week; I started back at teaching last week, and am getting to know a few new students, along with my old faithfuls. I hope you all have a wonderful week! xo

Dancing In September

Posted on by

Remember the sign that advertised taking a “reliable” car on vacation?

The sign is, if not punctuation-wise, at least thematically correct. The seasons (“season’s”) ARE changing; the afternoon temperatures are lovely and pleasant, but there is a definite crisp in the air, crunchy leaves are starting to litter the neighbourhood, I have swapped my summery tea towels for those with a fall leaf, owl, or apple motif, and we are eating as many plums, peaches, and nectarines as is physically possible. I’ve been busy in the garden, and it’s almost time to cut and dry all the herbs.

Look at my haul! It was exciting but I am never planting carrots again, mark my words. They are so much work for so little gain; I think my biggest carrot is maybe three inches long. Tasty, yes, but not worth the effort. Next year: more kale, more lettuce, same amount of zucchini and tomatoes. I did get a total of two little cucumbers, which was very exciting, but again, perhaps more work than results.

Anyway, the air is crisp and after months of bare feet and sandals I am wearing socks, and reminding myself to put on a jacket when I leave the house. It’s also Cute Scarf Season!

September always feels like a Fresh Start time of year, just as much as January does. I wonder if it will always be that way for me. In any case, I was infused – INFUSED – with energy last week, and decided to deep clean the kitchen. To be clear, my kitchen is always generally clean, but there were little things that it felt like only I could see: slightly grubby cupboard doors, a few fingerprints on the fridge, some build-up of grime here and there. I spent two hours scrubbing, even going through not one, but two old toothbrushes, to really get into the corners and crevices. It was so satisfying and I was thrilled with the results, even if no one else could really tell. Here’s the before and after:

So it really is apparent to no one but me, but believe me, it was SO satisfying to scrub the tiny edges on the cupboard doors and the sink corners and around the windowsill, and I have been just standing in the kitchen admiring my work.

This would be a much more dramatic photo if I had a “before.”

One thing that is dramatically different is our Vitamix. If you have a Vitamix, or any other blender with a plastic container, then you have probably experienced The Cloud, caused by mineral buildup:

Prior to the summer I was scrubbing the Vitamix with baking soda paste every week, to deodorize it after making salad dressing that contained garlic. No one wants a garlic aftertaste in their smoothies, after all, but as a side benefit The Cloud was minimal. This summer all the dressings I have made were just “mix in a mason jar” rather than “blend,” and so the Vitamix was just washed in a regular, non-scrubbing way, and The Cloud was getting out of control, as you can see. Not today, Satan. Not today. I made a baking soda paste and scrubbed in all the little crevices, then I soaked it for hours in vinegar and water, and voila:

Now THAT was a satisfying job.

It was during my deep clean that I learned of the Queen’s death. I was, and am, quite sad about it; I have been very interested in the Royal Family since the announcement of Lady Di’s engagement, back in 1980. The Queen and I shared a birthday, which always made me feel bonded to her. The Queen and I, celebrating our birthdays together, yet apart. I feel sure she loved cake as much as I do.

What an incredible life of service she led; she dedicated her whole life to her country and worked up until the day she died. Who among us could say such a thing? I hope she’s frolicking with horses and snuggling corgis, in the heaven version of Scotland.

Weekly Reading

A Town Called Solace. This was an enjoyable read about a town in Northern Ontario in the 70s, written from three points of view. A girl goes missing, a stranger moves into town, and a woman at the end of her life ponders a life-altering incident thirty years previous. Well done and satisfying; it didn’t blow me away but it was a diverting, solid story. 

Bomb Shelter. So a few weeks ago, I read I Miss You When I Blink, and while I enjoyed it, it didn’t really resonate with me in a meaningful way. Lisa (HI LISA) mentioned that the author had a brand-new book of essays out, which deals with processing emotions about having teenagers on the cusp of moving out, and her son being diagnosed with epilepsy. WELL. This hit home, let me say that. It hit home. Every essay had me deep breathing and thinking YES, THIS. It is such a complex thing; we spend so much time preparing our children to eventually not need us, because that is the goal in parenting, and then they don’t need us, and oof. But sometimes they do still need us? Life is an exquisite tapestry of emotions and feelings. Anyway, it is an excellent book and it’s 100% geared towards the life stage I am currently in, AND there are a couple of essays about having teenagers at home during the Covid pandemic. If that wasn’t enough, there is an essay about birthdays, and never before have I read my own feelings about birthdays, so exactly, in someone else’s words.

All The Queen’s Men. I picked this up on a whim – I liked the cover! – a few weeks ago, and it has sat on my side table, apparently waiting for just the right moment for me to pick it up. I suppose the Queen’s passing was just that moment. In any case, it felt like the perfect time to read a murder mystery/ detective story starring our very own, dearly departed, QEII, taking place in – where else? – Buckingham Palace! This was a very fun little book.

So it has been an energetic kind of week; everyone has been out of the house except me. This coming week I start teaching again, my younger son starts wrestling, I have a parent meeting for an upcoming Phys Ed camping trip, AND we have a seventeenth birthday in the house! CAKE!!!! I’ll leave you with a photo of me seventeen years ago this week, and with the wish that you all have a wonderful week. And maybe some cake? xo

Should I Just Burn The House Down Or…

Posted on by

It’s a tough day in the NFL, my husband said conversationally a few weeks ago. I thought that meant someone died, but no, it was the day the draft picks got cut from 80 down to 53. My husband watches the NFL draft every year – the sound when someone is drafted is actually the ringtone on his phone – which means I vicariously watch the NFL draft every year. I do like seeing the absolute joy when a player is drafted, particularly from the family members watching, and, even more specifically, the happiness on his mother’s face. The years of work and sacrifice and wondering if it will ever pay off; then when a player’s name is called you can see the relief and pure joy. Now imagine that same mother, just a few months later, when her son gets cut. Even if the player survives the cut, such a career is tenuous at best. I always think of a player’s mother, when I see one get carried off the field with what my husband will inform me is a career-ending injury, sometimes before the season even begins.

Parenting is hard, is what I’m saying.

So it’s been a very roller-coaster week around here, and I’m not going to get into all the ups and downs, or bore you with my subsequent existential crisis, but I will say that Thursday was my last first day of school ever, and I came home to a completely empty house, for the first time without a sad Barkley to commiserate with.

Well, onward. Let’s rewind two weeks to our Mexico trip and how the boys fared on their own.

I was a bit nervous to leave the boys to their own devices for five days. What if there is an emergency? I kept saying, but when my husband asked me what kind of emergency I was pondering, I just couldn’t articulate. I don’t know, someone gets gravely ill or the house floods or the furnace explodes or something? But the fact is that a) we have left them overnight before with zero issues, b) they are both very responsible and have pride in the house, c) they are both fairly competent in the kitchen, and d) my older son is 18, so technically an adult. I had two rules. Rule Number One: No parties! Rule Number Two: If you do have a party, erase the evidence and make it look like you didn’t.

I mean, we have to be practical here.

The boys did have friends over, and I know all their friends and they are all good kids. I wasn’t worried; as long as no one barfed in my house or got alcohol poisoning, everything was fine by me. Let’s not be naïve! I’m of the belief – and this may be controversial, and it really depends on your own personal situation – that the European way of introducing alcohol as something that is not forbidden, but should be consumed in mindful moderation is what’s best for my family. I also don’t want the boys sneaking around; I know some of their friends hide booze from their parents, but I wanted my kids to tell me if they were having a drink. If you want a drink, have a drink, but don’t sneak around and for god’s sake, don’t barf or drive or do anything stupid. Open communication! It’s something that has worked for us; my older son is legal drinking age now, but we’ve been doing this for both boys for a few years. Again, this is something that should be looked at on an individual basis but for us, it’s worked. I think flat-out forbidding things makes them that much more desirable, which leads to bad decisions.

In any case, I knew that they had a few friends over early in the week and a few drinks were consumed. I know this not only because they told me but because there was cheap beer leftover in the downstairs fridge (Mountain Crest, who are these people), and my husband’s very expensive five-year-old bottle of Patron was opened, even though we have many half-empty bottles of cheap vodka in our liquor cabinet BUT WHATEVER. Side note: kids, if you are going to take from your parents’ liquor cabinet, don’t choose the very most expensive bottle. And then don’t tell us you MIXED IT WITH DR PEPPER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THESE PEOPLE ARE MONSTERS. Anyway, I texted my sons while we were getting ready to come home, and was surprised that my younger son didn’t text me back until late in the morning. He’s an early riser generally but he said that was up late because he needed to “take care of some things late last night.” I was sure they didn’t have friends over at that particular evening, since my older son had a job interview early the next morning, so I figured he was just cleaning things up from two nights previous. We got home to a perfectly clean house, and I just shrugged it off. I don’t need to know every single detail, the house was clean, who cares.

The day after we got home, I decided to make a loaf of banana bread. I reached into the drawer under the oven where I keep all my baking pans. I noticed something suspicious. I moved the pans and confirmed that it was not my imagination. I started screaming my younger son’s name over and over, moving over to the cupboard underneath the sink. He came running out, probably thinking I was dying, which I was in a way. By the time he got to the kitchen I was taking everything out of the cupboard under the sink, screaming incoherently.

Me: That thing you had to take care of, what was it? WHAT WAS IT?

Younger Son: It’s okay, Mom. I took care of it. You don’t want to know.

Me: THERE IS MOUSE POOP EVERYWHERE, WAS IT A MOUSE.

YS: Um, yes. But I didn’t see any poop! I didn’t know about that.

Me: THEN HOW DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS A MOUSE?

YS: I saw it.

Me, now hysterical: WHERE WAS IT?

YS: Um, in the hallway.

It is a miracle I didn’t black out right there. I mean, I feel a bit dizzy just writing that. Reader, it is impossible to convey my reaction and the depths of my feelings, but when I relayed this information to my mother on the phone later, she let out a low-pitched sound like aieeeeeeeeeee and that pretty much sums it up. My son assured me that he found the traps and caught the mouse! It’s all okay! But how did he know there weren’t many mice, and if they were in the hallway, what is to say they aren’t everywhere right now. What if they are in my dressers, what if they are in my bed. At this point my husband, who was working from home and had been on a call, came upstairs to see me spiralling into insanity, hysterically disinfecting everything in sight and wondering whether boiling all the baking pans would suffice or if I should just burn down the house and start over.

Five traps later and things seem to be under control, mouse-wise. But for how long? I ran into one of my neighbours down the street, who casually mentioned, with no prompting from me, that they were having mouse problems. They mentioned a certain trap they had obtained and that in the last week they had caught over thirty mice in their house and garage. MY NERVES. THIRTY. If it comes to that I will have no mind left, none at all. As it is my poor fragile sanity is hanging on by a thread.

Whew, let us change the subject to something infinitely more pleasant: my garden. The flowers have been gorgeous; the roses are still blooming, the daylilies are beautiful, and we’ve had lots of tomatoes and zucchini. I thought I would have more zucchini, given I have seven plants, but perhaps I overplanted. Maybe there is just too much competition for the soil. Lessons for next year, I guess.

Exhale. In any case, the crazy week ended on a high note, as I spent a couple of nights at my parents’ house on the lake. It was a great way to end this very beautiful summer.

Weekly Reading

The Lies That Bind. Okay, so the first 2/3 of this book, I was thinking this is a cute little romance! It takes place in the months before and after 9/11; I was 26 in 2001 and so the events and the cultural details really resonated (remember Fodor’s guides?). Then it TOOK A TURN. Then it got really wild, like a weird train wreck that you have to keep reading but the whole time you think wait, what? What? Did that just happen? I’m not recommending it but I’m not NOT recommending it either. It just…was not at all what I expected. Reading it, I felt like that meme:

Literally, me as I was reading this.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. I hardly know how to describe this gorgeous piece of writing. The author spent twelve years creating new words for the very specific emotions we all experience. It’s brilliant and profound, and also makes me feel very, very seen. What a unique and creative work!

Here we are; the long weekend is over. We are officially in September and fall mode! I guess it’s back to reality on all fronts. Happy September to you all! xo