Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Five Happy Things

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1) It has been unseasonably warm for the past week; the air feels soft, almost spring-like. I’ve been able to let the boys play in the snow after school until the sun goes down (i.e., 4:30) and I’m not even painfully frozen by the time we leave the playground.

2) While my friends and I were walking our dogs yesterday morning, we came across this and two other trees just like it:

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I keep picturing someone with an excess of ornaments heading over to the offleash, and it makes me smile. Frankly, it’s inspiring. I have tons of extra ornaments, perhaps I’ll start decorating the trees in the green space behind our house. Maybe the mannequin will come back, wearing a Santa hat.

3) I’m currently reading The Girl Who Saved The King of Sweden and it’s delightful.

4) We went to see Big Hero 6 on Sunday and I found it very enjoyable, even if 50% of our family disagrees with me. I would love my very own Baymax to snuggle with.

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5) I went to the Ladies’ Advent Luncheon with my mother, and one of the elderly ladies hugged me and said she remembered what an “exuberant young girl” I was, which I take as a compliment. Also, there were about four of us under age sixty and we all brought quinoa salads. Solidarity!

What’s making you happy today?

Clark, that there is an RV.

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Today is not only a no-school day, but it is also a moon day, meaning that I have had a slow, lazy day with the kids, making truffles, roasting squash, and pulling teeth. In the interest of veracity, I should say “pulling one tooth”, rather than giving you the image that I’m spending my day with a pile of baby teeth. In any case, it’s been a great day, punctuated by the excitement I’m feeling over being nominated for the Canadian Weblog Awards in the categories of humour, life, and parenting. Not to be all, it’s an honour just being nominated, but it is, actually, an honour being nominated.

It’s a nice cap to what has been a very strange week. After last week’s bake sale, I swore that I wasn’t going to volunteer for anything for a while; after that decision I immediately signed up to provide a main dish for the teacher’s potluck dinner. What is wrong with me? In fact, I had three dishes to make for three separate potlucks in a 48 hour span, so I’m feeling a bit fatigued. I am attending the Ladies’ Advent Dinner with my mother at her church tomorrow, so I’m hoping the elderly ladies will enjoy my quinoa dish. Years ago someone brought hummus to the Ladies’ Advent Dinner and it caused a bit of a stir. I’m hoping a funky quinoa dish will show that I’m just as much a rebel as I used to be. It has quinoa and kale in it – and that is how you spell wild and crazy.

Other than cooking a lot of things, I’ve also spent a lot of time standing in lines this week. I went to Costco, on a Tuesday morning, and I was reminded why I hate going anywhere in the month of December. Costco is especially terrible, what with the hundreds of giant carts blocking the aisles and what seems to be a company policy against plowing the parking lot. I had to position my entire body at a 45 degree angle just to push the cart back to the car, and I felt like I had been actually run over by a stampede of giant carts by the time I got home. It was like when the kids were small and I had to walk two blocks to the grocery store with them in the back-to-front double stroller on snowy sidewalks. It was an epic workout, just going to the store for some crackers or milk.

After the exhausting Costco trip I headed to the post office for stamps. It’s December. People are mailing things. There was one employee working, and the lineup snaked around the post office. Twenty five minutes and a long, detailed conversation with the elderly woman in front of me about her grandchildren and the price of stamps later, I purchased my stamps and went home, where I was immediately faced with a “Missed Delivery” notice from Canada Post. I was instructed to pick up my parcel the following day at the post office that I had just left.

What can you do? The following day I headed for the post office, notice in hand. After standing in line for 20 minutes at the post office while the single person in front of me – an elderly man – had discussed every single option for sending a package to Manitoba, and asked about delivery estimates for what seemed like every possible location across the country, I decided to stop at the photo centre next door to the post office; I had received an email that the photo calendars I had ordered were shipped. I stood in line for another twenty minutes, only to be told that “shipped” did not mean “in store”. We’ll call you when it’s in, the lady at the counter said cheerfully, to which I very consciously smiled and answered as pleasantly as possible. I went home and one hour later received a phone call that my photo calendars were in.

So it’s been that kind of week. At least this is no longer parked in front of my house:

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I looked out my window one morning and there it was. Clark, that there is an RV. I guess, technically, that a somewhat decrepit fifth wheel is not an RV.

When I was in university, I was taking a special statistics tutorial from a guy who, when he used “RV” for “Random Variable”, began discussing the actual recreational vehicle that one of our professors owned. It was the most simultaneously interesting and disturbing digression from statistics ever, since he talked about how he once peered into this professor’s RV (the recreational vehicle, not, obviously, the random variable) to see what was housed inside. I do not remember the result of this RV peeping Tom, but all these years later I remember wondering a) how the tutor knew where the RV was, and b) why he would want to see what was inside. Now, though, I understand his compulsion to look past the little frilled curtains, because I wanted to see if the mannequin was inside. I did not look, however, because the only thing weirder than me looking inside the strange fifth wheel in front of my house would be to find something like the mannequin. OR WORSE. In any case, the mystery of the RV’s appearance and disappearance – in the middle of winter, no less – will remain unsolved, just like the mystery of the mannequin.

Here’s Looking At You, Kid

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Well, hello there, December! It’s absurd to say that a date snuck up on me, what with the availability of calendars and all, but the date snuck up on me. This morning the boys cracked open their Advent calendars, and here we are. December. I have so much to chat about!

First: Sexiest Man Not Alive. It turns out there is an entire tumblr account dedicated to this exact thing, called “My Daguerreotype Boyfriend” and I do not recommend visiting it unless you want to be sucked down the rabbit hole of captivating men of yesteryear. There are some very attractive not-alive men on that account but this fellow is my favourite:

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That is one sexy criminal. A bad boy in need of reform and possibly temperance? He went to jail for “stealing a fur necklet”. What does that mean. I do not know. Anyway, go look at http://mydaguerreotypeboyfriend.tumblr.com for more fun.

 

The only problem with looking at sexy dead guys is that I know with 100% certainty they would have smelled bad, and although I’m happily married and just looking at men that died a century or two ago, it still affects my feelings for them. I mean really, how often would these guys bathe? And their dental hygiene would be abhorrent.

Speaking of sexy dead guys, I’ve been re-reading an autobiography of Lauren Bacall. I read it years ago and I’m finding it different now, from my almost-forty vantage point. For one thing, they started their affair when she was 19 and he was 44, which requires no further comment, I think. But the big issue I’ve had from reading this book is that I’ve had Key Largo stuck in my head for a week now. I had mentioned this book to my friend, who said “Wasn’t there a song about Bogie and Bacall?” ONE WEEK LATER I’m still randomly singing lyrics: I was your hero. You were my LEADING LAAYYY-DEEEE. I’ve tried to replace the song with all sorts of music from Uptown Funk to Mele Kalikimaka, and it only works for a while. Moments later: We had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall. Starring in our own late late show. Sail away to Key Largo. And repeat.

The other day Might As Well Go For A Soda came on the radio, so I quickly switched the station, denouncing the song along with the much-loathed Patio Lanterns. My older son took umbrage at my labelling of those two songs as the “worst ever”, saying that the B52’s Rock Lobster was “way worse”. We got into quite an involved discussion about it; the upshot was that once Mark had that song stuck in his head for two days. MY BOY. “I couldn’t even concentrate on SCHOOL,” he said, “Because I just kept thinking of that song.” Well, I can certainly empathize. I once had “Getting Jiggy With It” stuck in my head while writing my microeconomics final in grad school, so I know pain. Who’s the kid in the back? Who else – Will Smith! Living that life some consider a myth.

And speaking of getting jiggy with it, this past Friday was our school’s Costume Carnival, and I was in charge of the bake sale.

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Pre-Festivities

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So much baking.

People had brought the most interesting and creative baked goods, and it made me think I need to up my cupcake game a little – perhaps I need to FINALLY buy a pastry bag and some of those decorating tips, or at least add some gummy candies to my frosting because DAMN those candy-covered cupcakes are hot items at a bake sale.

I was a little worried that I would end up with this entire table of baked goods, because Friday was minus 30 with blizzard conditions. I drove through white-out conditions to set up at 3:00, and I only live a few minutes away from the school. I was a bit nervous that we would host this carnival and the only people there would be me and the other two organizers, but happily we did have a reasonable turnout, mostly from people in the neighbourhood. A good time was had by all, and the DJ even played a few songs at the end to get the parents up and dancing: I Like To Move It (Move It), Cotton Eye Joe, and, of course, the YMCA. You could almost see his thought process: If I play songs from the parents’ clubbing years, they will get up and dance. Hilariously, the DJ was the same DJ that played at my husband’s office Christmas party the very next night. I wondered if it was kind of weird for him to go from playing Shake It Off and Let It Go to playing music appropriate for a largely middle-aged crowd, i.e., Billie Jean. We left before Cotton Eye Joe could make it’s appearance.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year, Sears Style

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This weekend was a whirlwind of Christmas cheer activities – there are only FOUR WEEKS until Christmas, people! We actually put the tree up even though it seems early, even for me. This coming weekend is massively busy, and I cannot and will not go into December without the tree, and so this weekend was it, even though it’s five days until we can bust open the Advent calendars. Speaking of Advent calendars, a friend of mine put together craft beer calendars for charity, and I bought one for my husband. I will tell you this: it is an incredibly great idea. She did this last year and sold thirty calendars; this year she made 96, all proceeds to purchase socks and underwear for the Drop-In Centre. She raised over $4700 doing this; that is a LOT of socks and underwear. Bravo, Lyndsey! And sign me up for next year.

So the tree is up, and so are the outdoor decorations. It was a mild weekend, and Calgarians know that you just cannot let a chance like that go by. Seize the day; next weekend will be minus 20, and putting up Christmas lights in those temperatures is not pleasant. My husband not only had a theme for the front yard, but he also decorated our detached garage with coloured lights, and set up the light-up moose in the back yard. I can look out the window while I’m in the kitchen, and feel festive and happy. It’s so dark here now; the sun sets at 4:30 and it’s completely dark by 5:00. As I write this, it is 10:30 am and the house is completely dark. The sky is grey, the snow is grey, it would be pretty damn depressing if I didn’t have glittering light-up icicles on the house to go with the light-up deer, hippo, penguins, and three trees. Our house is glowing, not unlike the Griswold’s, but happily with less power usage.

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Do I look happy?

kissthecook

I’m excited about my new ornament!

Since the tree is up and the house smells like peppermint-chocolate from my incessant baking, it’s time for everyone’s favourite gift list: NICOLE’S FAVOURITE THINGS FROM THE SEARS WISH BOOK. I picked up the Wish Book back in late August but I’ve held out on sharing because people tend to think poorly of one’s mental state when one talks about Christmas in late August. But oh, the treasures that are in the Sears Wish Book! As we all know, Sears Canada is having financial trouble – mostly because the clientele that frequents the actual store tends to be elderly and the elderly have a bad habit of, um, passing on – but the day the Wish Book becomes unavailable is going to be a sad, sad day, people.

I’m already a little sad because I scoured the catalogue and there is not one Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker. I looked, and looked, and nothing. There’s a whole page of old-timey toys, though.

 sears 001

Didn’t everyone have that rotary phone and radio? My husband had the radio; it is at my in-laws’ and it still works. That is some quality workmanship. The rotary phone feels like quite the collector’s piece. Again, my in-laws’ have a (non-working) rotary phone at their place and it was a little fascinating for my kids. That’s how you dialed the phone? How did you text? Slinkys, though. Those were awful toys. They were always getting tangled and twisted and even if you could get them to go down the stairs, they would only go down a few steps before stopping. Disappointment.

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Ever since the word came out that Hello Kitty is not an actual kitty, I feel weird when I see this kind of merchandise. It’s like when I watched Stand By Me in my youth – hoo boy, did I have a thing for Kiefer Sutherland and his bad boy kitch – and there was discussion around Goofy. If he is not a dog, what the hell is he?

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More Hello Not-Kitty. In “Everything Old Is New Again” news, the Ninja Turtles? I was actually shocked – SHOCKED, I SAY – to hear my kids talk about the Ninja Turtles, and refer to them as Mike, Donny, Ralph, and Leo. What? Are the actual famous-artist names too difficult for today’s youth? I’m disappointed. But I’m not disappointed in the availability of unicorn and rainbow dog glowing plush night lights. Remember Glo-Worms? This is like a fabulous rainbows-and-unicorns improvement to the poor, lowly worm. Although I’m sure the worm world is saddened by this. We finally get high status as a stuffed glowing lovey, only to be knocked down by puppies and unicorns AGAIN? Goddammit. Back to getting stepped on after rain storms.

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I SO BADLY wanted to get an Elvis shirt and pajama bottoms, but my husband threatened to never have sex with me again if I wore one. Is a silk-screen picture of Elvis really such a boner-killer? Sadly, the women’s t-shirts only feature young Elvis, not the glammed-up, sparkly, be-caped-and-huge-glasses Elvis that I love. This is why you’re going broke, Sears. If I had the chance to buy a t-shirt with 1973 Aloha From Hawaii Elvis, I would in a heartbeat. You’re out of touch, Sears. I’m out of time.

Of course, if I did I would be a poor, sex-crazed woman. The last time we were in Hawaii I saw a t-shirt that said Elvis Has Not Left The Island and I wanted it SO BADLY, but it was unavailable in my size and also, my husband presented the same boner-killing argument.

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He didn’t say anything about a leg lamp shirt, though…

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Here’s a PSA: do not buy these mugs. I received one in this same style (although not with Mickey Mouse on it) and it constantly leaked. Unless you enjoy having hot coffee scalding your chin and chest, don’t buy one. Those little mediation fountains are pretty fun, though, and only $9.99 – what a steal! It seems strange that they are on the same page with potty seats and a beer belt, but I guess they are all “Gifts for Under $10”. Oh, wait! Those aren’t potty seats, they are neck pillows. Still.

To file under creepy things:

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These sweatshirts that zip over faces, I HATE THESE THINGS. I’ve seen kids with ninja-style ones and they creep me out. I must see faces. Even creepier is a storm-trooper/ Sith hoodie. Also creepy?

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Those freaky-ass dolls that are dressed up as animals. I don’t know what it is, exactly, that is creepy about it. Is it the dead eyes? The “I’m going to eat you in your sleep” expressions on their faces? If you cannot read the description, here it is:

Little Mommy Cutie Animal Dolls: part stuff animal and part baby doll with soft furry body and a matching hood with fun-to-hold ears – colourful pacifier attached by a ribbon.

I need offer no further comment, except to say that it comes in three varieties: Cutie Bunny, Cutie Bear, and Cutie Lamb.

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I know I said this last year, but if you are considering buying someone an electronic ear wax remover for Christmas, DON’T. Talk about boner-killers. Baby, I love you. Here’s an ear wax remover. I cannot believe that the Sears catalogue no longer has Snoopy Sno-Cone Makers but it offers an electronic ear wax remover as a gift idea. Also probably not a great gift idea: the Wraptastic Kitchen Wrap Dispenser. There are very few people in the world that would actually be glad to receive this under the Christmas tree.

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I know it’s supposed to be cute, but You Crawl I Ball onesies seem very inappropriate to me. These mugs, though! What could be cutesier than having “Mr. Right” and “Mrs. Always Right” mugs with which to sip morning coffee with your beloved? It’s like the mug equivalent of I’m With Stupid, but nicer. It reminded me of these t-shirts I saw in Maui:

mauishirts

I STILL laugh when I think of them. That is some funny merchandising.

Speaking of sexytimes and boner-killers, what do we think of Santa and Mrs. Claus costumes?

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 The expression on the elf-dog’s face is PRICELESS. Poor thing’s probably going to be a target at the off-leash.

 

He’s gone, oh I, oh I, I have to learn how to face it.

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THE MANNEQUIN IS GONE. For all it’s creepiness, I’m strangely bereft, and also very puzzled: where, exactly, did it go? It wasn’t garbage day. Did one of the neighbours take it and, if so, what are they doing with it? It’s also strangely unnerving because when it was behind my house I knew where it was. Now, it could turn up anywhere. It’s like when your toddlers are underfoot and they’re noisy and messy but at least you know where they are. When they sneak off silently to another room, you do not know the carnage that awaits. This is how I feel about the mannequin; also, I never got to dress him up in a jaunty hat and scarf to take a photo.

Today I made the monumental decision to buy myself and the boys new socks. This sounds like a nothing kind of decision, but honestly, I hate buying socks with a weird, irrational passion. There is no explanation for this. I tend to wear my socks until they are literally falling apart, and then I just hoard them like a weird sock-wearing squirrel in my sock drawer. Then – because I only wear black socks – the socks inevitably get mixed together and I wear slightly mismatching socks, or one normal sock with one almost-worn-out sock and…I don’t know. I have a closet full of clothes, drawers full of sweaters, panty drawers full of attractive panties, and yet my sock drawer is a disaster. There may be some psychological explanation for this, but I don’t know what it is.

Anyway, today I had enough. I threw out ALL my socks, because they are all nearly destroyed, and all the boys’ socks, because of the same situation, and bought a total of twenty-four pairs of cheap socks. Now we all have nice socks, and I promise on my honour not to hoard them when they are worn out.

What a weird thing to be cheap about, I know. I don’t understand it either.

So People magazine came out with the Sexiest Man Alive and it’s Chris Hemsworth. Honestly, I’m just excited that I actually recognize a celebrity. All that action-movie-watching with my children has finally paid off! To be honest, Thor isn’t my type, really, but I can appreciate him as an excellent physical specimen. I’m sure my husband will have something to say about this, the way he did when I said that Adam Levine is not attractive, but he just got back from a business trip late last night and so I haven’t had a chance to divulge the very important information regarding the 2014 Sexiest Man Alive.

Wouldn’t it be fun to make a list of the Sexiest Man Not Alive? I tried to think of some but only came up with Almanzo Wilder.

almanzo

Oh, Manly. You save the town from starvation, you save Laura’s sanity by rescuing her from red-rum, red-rum Mrs. Brewster’s house, taking her home by sleigh in minus 40 degree weather when she said she wasn’t interested in you, you purchase a pretty hair comb set and anonymously leave it for Laura at the town Christmas tree, you buy her a pretty brooch and surprise the bejesus out of her on a totally separate Christmas Eve, you build her the cutest house with cupboards because you know a woman won’t love you without a proper kitchen. And yet, you actually turn into a pretty lame duck, what with your amassing massive debt, your inability to farm, your crippling diphtheria. And again, I regret every minute I spent reading The First Four Years, a truly depressing book. Why didn’t I leave off at These Happy Golden Years? Regrets, I have a few.

Anyway, I keep trying to think of deceased men that would be considered sexy and I can’t think of any! This is wrong. There must be someone! I’m having dead-sexy-men writer’s block, people. Any suggestions?

Something strange in the neighbourhood

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You guys, you guys, YOU GUYS. Someone has been playing with the creepy mannequin behind my house.

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As unnerving as it was seeing the dead-body-ish leg poking out from behind the pile of branches, it was nothing compared to driving home on a Sunday morning to see the mannequin rising, Lazarus-like, from the dead. The dog keeps growling at it from across the alley. I keep forgetting it’s there; I’ll back the car out of the garage and see it in the rearview mirror, and I gasp every time, EVERY TIME. I’m like Dr. Kimble: there was a one-armed man, you must find him. The fact that he is creepily standing at attention, staring into my backyard, is kind of getting to me. A few people have suggested I make friends with it; maybe take it a toque or a scarf, or at least cover up its junk – it’s cold out, we wouldn’t want the fellow to be suffering embarrassment due to shrinkage.

A couple of people have suggested I throw it in my garbage can, but really, this is a life-sized mannequin. Plus, just in case it was involved in some sort of kinky bedroom play, I don’t really want to touch it. Ew!

In other strange news, yesterday I took Barkley to the dog park and there were at least twenty-five little tiny dogs there, all wearing sweaters and all barking madly. It was strangely unnerving. I wondered if they were barking in fury because they were wearing sweaters, or maybe were they taunting the other, non-sweater wearing dogs. Maybe they were showing off: I’m wearing a sweater look at meeeeeee. Who can say? I can only comment that Barkley seemed unimpressed; he did not greet or sniff any of the yappy, sweater-clad dogs. Maybe he feels left out, like he showed up to the party wearing jeans when everyone else was in fancy dresses. Or, more appropriately, he went to the Ugly Sweater party in a regular outfit.

It was a bit of an odd weekend, and not just because of the raised-from-the-dead mannequin or the doggie sweater party that Barkley wasn’t invited to. The much-anticipated new washing machine that was delivered on Friday was found to have a hole in the drain hose. And this is where I give all you unmarried people a piece of advice: if you, like me, are untalented in the “handy” area, and you have a tendency to burst into tears when faced with a problem requiring handiness, MARRY A HANDY PERSON. Because my god, I was weepily grateful for my husband who was able to jury-rig a solution for me using duct tape and some clamp thingies. The hose – for those who are interested – is “housed internally” and so a repairman is being sent out, since the hose was not easily replaceable on a Friday night, with a crying wife standing amid a mountain of laundry. In any case, the repairman for my brand new washer which should be a thing of beauty and not a cause for my nervous breakdown is coming tomorrow, but at least the temporary – if ugly – solution is working and my mountain of laundry is no longer.

My husband and I headed out to Canadian Tire on Saturday morning, to get the clamp thingies, which surely have a name that I do not know, and we somehow ended up with icicle lights, a light-up deer in a grazing position, and a gigantic LED outdoor Christmas tree. Christmas decorations AND a working washing machine? These are things to be grateful for indeed!

The posters are five dollars each.

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The book fair is all over! It was a big success and now I’m really, really ready for a big glass of wine. Forget the glass, I may just take my friend Hannah‘s advice and stick a straw in the bottle. I only went through two brief periods where I hated children and the entire world, but each period was only about ten minutes long, so I feel like that is a win. I also only had to say “Gentle hands and polite words ONLY when we are at the book fair” twice. However, I answered numerous variations of the question regarding the price of posters approximately one million times, but that is only to be expected.

I’m TIRED. There was also a SC/PA meeting to chair, and karate class for the kids, and a whole lot of paperwork and money counting to do. Plus, there was the little issue of an unexpected Tech Club meeting. At 11:55 on Wednesday, the announcement came over the PA system, reminding Tech Club members of the lunch time meeting. The boys are both (nerdily) in Tech Club, but this meeting was brand new information to them. Since they are two of five children out of six hundred that go home for lunch, we were in a bit of a pickle. No lunch! But there was no way they could miss the meeting, which was all about setting up AV equipment and caring for the school’s laptops. This was a very important meeting. PANIC AT THE DISCO. I did what anyone would do; I sped home, packed two lunches, and sped back to the school. Note, I said TWO lunches. I went back to the book fair – which is closed at lunch – and tidied things up a little. I did not realize that I had forgotten my own lunch. I realized it around 4:15 when I felt like I was going to die of grumpiness. I can empathize with the toddler set, is what I’m saying.

The nice thing about doing this for six years is that I can really see how the children’s tastes have changed over the years. I see kids who are now in Grade Six choosing I Survived books and Dear Canada books, when it seems like just a moment ago that I was helping them choose easy readers about the World’s Cutest Animals. I have kids who tell me about what they bought at the last book fair, and about how they’ve saved up their allowance to buy the Minecraft Construction Handbook. I walk down the halls and kids wave at me to tell me that the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid is the best ever. Last year, a ten year old boy was dejected as he really, really wanted the Pokémon Essential Handbook but it wasn’t available, and when I procured one for him through the magic of online ordering, he literally jumped up and down with excitement. There are many critics of Scholastic, with their exclusive marketing and their books that fall apart with repeated readings, but to me, it is all outweighed by the fact that those two days of answering the posters are all five dollars each yielded $3000 for our library, home reading, and ELL programs. Sure, the books are frequently gender-specific and feature a lot of Barbie and Cars characters, but the kids are reading, and they’re excited about reading, and I’m satisfied with that.

I’m going to overlook the fact that I had to thwart a couple young shoplifters and other depressing findings. Focus on the good! Mark had a few extra quarters burning a hole in his pocket, and so he bought me a bookmark. It’s purple and it says “DIVA” on it in sparkly letters.

More exciting news around here – my new washer was just delivered, and it’s a thing of beauty. The only problem is that my husband wanted to hook it up himself, and who knows when he’ll be home tonight, and so the piles of laundry are not getting any smaller. It’s funny, I never realized how much time I spend doing the laundry until I spent a week not doing the laundry. I foresee a weekend of folding clothes.

The delivery was slated for any time between 12 and 6, which meant that the boys – for the first time ever – walked home by themselves. I was unreasonably anxious about it, given that they a) know the way home very well, b) would cross the busiest street with the school crossing guard, and c) my oldest child actually IS a school crossing guard, but you know. Mothers. It’s also about minus 20 with the windchill and my children have a very bad habit of stuffing their hats and mitts in their backpacks. I’m happy to report that not only did they make it home with all their winter gear actually on, but they also brought a friend with them. Hot chocolate and cookies for everyone!

Well. Since it’s several hours before my husband gets home to start The Great Laundry Caper, and the butternut squash soup for dinner is simmering on the stove, and the crusty bread is in the oven baking, I think I will pour myself a glass of wine and binge-watch a few episodes of The Good Wife. A nice end to a crazy week! Happy weekend, lovely readers. xoxo