Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Say Hello To My Little Friend

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I have had “Mairsy Doats” going through my head all morning, which has to be some kind of record for “weird earworms”. I am winning the contest, people, the contest to see who can get the weirdest thing stuck in one’s head for the longest period of time. If you don’t know “Mairsy Doats” it is a song that was commonly sang by grandmothers of my generation, and it goes like this:

Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy. A kid’ll eat ivy too. Wouldn’t you?

And repeat. But it has to be sang very quickly so the words slur together, like this:

Mairsy doats and doasy doats and little lambsy divey. A kiddly ivy too. Wouldn’t you?

In other words, I’m slowly going insane. I’m searching for something, ANYTHING to get this out of my head: the theme song from Cheers, Hey Joe, Clap for the Wolfman, and nothing is working. Nothing. I keep attempting snippets from songs, and this is what happens:

Clap for the Wolfman, he’s going to rate your record high. Clap for the Wolfman, you won’t dig him till the day you mares eat oats and does eat oats…

I feel like Scarface, but instead of saying “Say hello to my little friend” and shooting everyone in a violent fashion, I am saying “Say goodbye to my little brain” and drinking coffee. So not at all like Scarface, I guess.

Yesterday I went to buy pumpkins for carving; I’m pretty behind on my usual fall festivities. I haven’t even put up our decorative scarecrows, and it’s only two weeks until Halloween! This is unacceptable. The scarecrows must – MUST – go up this weekend. Apparently having a freak snowstorm and then even more freakishly warm weather is great for fall colours, because the leaves that are left on the trees that are left are gorgeous. I stared at my friend’s beautiful mountain ash this morning; it’s gloriously orange with the most beautiful red berries. I took a photo but it just didn’t do it justice; you will have to trust me that the city looks gorgeous.

Back to the pumpkins; I went to the Co-Op yesterday, thinking it would be an easy trip. Pick out four cute pumpkins, boom, done. I ended up staring at the pumpkin selection for an uncomfortably long time because they were all enormous. Where are all those cute small pumpkins? Not the little tiny decorative ones; those are adorable but I need ones that are actually carveable. It’s a family tradition that we each get a pumpkin to carve so we have a family of pumpkins. A family of weird looking pumpkins, but a family nonetheless. However, at Co-Op all the pumpkins were absolutely huge. Huge is not always a good thing, guys. I could barely lift them. After staring at the pumpkins and weighing my options – huge pumpkins versus driving somewhere else to hopefully find smaller ones – I decided that laziness was a virtue and started hauling out the less-enormous pumpkins. They were all battered and weird-shaped, but I feel that this will add character. I set them all on the front step but I think their still-mammoth size is distressing to Barkley. He keeps randomly barking at the windowed front door, and when I go to look, nothing is there but the pumpkins. Poor doggie. He’s trying to protect us all from being overrun by giant orange spheres.

Last night when I was driving the kids home from karate, MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This came on. When I changed the channel, the boys protested. They love that song! Love it! So I turned it back and listened as they sang along. How do they know it? It’s a mystery. I clearly remember Hammerpants being a large part of the fashion scene, back in the day. All the boys in my Grade Nine class walked around in those pants, so patterned and colourful. Sadly, I’m sure this will be back in style before we know it. The other day my girlfriend’s beautiful daughter was wearing acid wash skinny jeans with combat boots, and while she looked adorable, I felt like Methuselah. It’s funny how the crazy styles of the 80s can look great on the young, but when I saw a woman my age walking down the street wearing relaxed-fit, elastic waist acid wash jeans that were clearly a vintage/ saved item from 1986, I felt sad for everything. We cannot go back there, people. We must leave the acid wash – and, probably, the Hammerpants – to today’s youth. On that note, I am going to the mall to pick up some nice blouses, slacks, and sensible shoes.

According to Buzzfeed, Elvis is my boyfriend from a past life.

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Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I had full intentions of writing an emotionally-charged gratitude/ thankfulness post, but then my post-Blissdom cold morphed into a Super Cold which left me unable to sleep or function in a semi-coherent way. I was also at my in-laws’ for five days and now I’m catching up – again – on the mountain of laundry that somehow appeared although I actually did laundry twice whilst at my in-laws’. I also cannot comprehend the date: how is it halfway through October? Jake was looking at his calendar last night and said “Hey, it won’t be too long until Christmas, and then I get a new calendar. The year is just flying by!” Tell me about it.

I’m thankful for many things, not the least of which is the approximately one hundred pounds of apples I currently have in my house, and the fifty pounds of grapes. Fruit leather, coming up. Now that I think about it, I really am not sure why I thought this was an appropriate amount of fruit to take home, but there it is. My husband suggested last night that I make some grape juice, but the thought of the juicer and the insane cleanup afterwards just seemed overwhelming, especially after we spent the majority of the day in the car. Fortunately there was not much traffic, and so my husband had very few people to swear at; another thing to be thankful for.

I was so sick last week that I actually missed a School Council/ Parent Association meeting. Such a thing has never happened before. I made it to the meeting, but my friend looked at me and said “Um, I think you should go home. NOW.” Meanwhile, I blinked at her uncomprehendingly. What? Nicole doesn’t understand. By all accounts it was quite the dramatic meeting so I guess it was for the best, since I probably would have passed out, drooling on my notes, while the activity took place. Staring blankly into space and drooling is probably not the best way to chair a meeting, although it might be an interesting experiment.

There was a music tag game going around last night, in which one puts their music on shuffle and notes down the songs that come up. It’s quite an interesting portrait, this peek into people’s playlists. Here’s mine, and I must note that I thought I had written down ten songs, but it was pointed out to me that I actually wrote down nine. I was a queen in calculus but apparently I can’t count to ten. I blame the road trip!

Nicole’s Shuffle Playlist: My Personality, as represented by music

Dreadlock Holiday (I don’t like reggae. I love it.)

Islands in the Stream (Sail away with me. To another world.)

Fast Car (Take your fast car and keep on driving.)

Me and Mrs Jones (We got a thiiiiiiing going onnnnnnn)

Nights on Broadway (Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway. Blaming them love songs. Blaming them straight to the heart songs)

Linda Put The Coffee On (I got sunshine and red wine, a friend of mine taking it easy)

Thrift Shop (Is that your grampa’s coat?)

Over My Head (And it sure feels nice)

BUST A MOVE (Okay smarty, go to a party.)

When I did this exercise, I actually fretted for a moment, as to whether or not I should post these songs. I mean, Islands in the Stream? Really? There are two ways to face it: with total confidence that this is a fabulously eclectic collection of music, or with shame. I’m going for the former.

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Happy Thanksgiving!

No Cash Cab, But Heart-Pumping Cab Rides Anyway.

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So I didn’t get to ride in the Cash Cab, but I did have a fabulous time in Toronto (well, Mississauga, really) this weekend. I had been fretting a little that I was leaving the kids for too long but they were absolutely fine. Everyone had a great time and as my husband said, It’s GOOD if they miss you. It’s good for them. It’s true, of course.

And I had a great time – I was busy enough not to miss the children desperately, and I met so many wonderful people (*waves at everyone*). All the late nights, the constant hugging and handshaking, and the less-than-perfect nutrition (read: snack mix and Bellinis for dinner) has caught up with me, since I’m nursing a cold. Post-conference illness, it’s a real thing. Not to mention flying; airplanes are just one giant petri dish of recycled air that I don’t want to think about too much. Someone told me once that airplane seatbelts have very high levels of fecal matter on them, apparently from people not washing their hands after using the teensy little lavatory. Ew! I have always had slight misgivings about headrests as possibly housing lice of epidemic proportions, but happily my headrest was vinyl.

Despite the germ-factory that is an airplane, I really do love flying. It’s so exciting, the thought that in a few short hours I’ll be somewhere totally different! Adventure awaits; it’s the miracle of flight. I remember the first time we took the kids on a winter vacation, how amazed they were that we could leave a snow-and-ice filled city, and just a few hours later land somewhere warm and full of flowers and green grass. It’s truly wonderful, and I still get a little thrill about it. Also, there’s something really nice about being forced to be inactive for a while. It’s kind of nice to just stay in your seat, watch a movie, and eat cute little snacks from the cute little flight attendant.

And yet, there is a big downside to flying, and that is other people. Most people, I think, are kind and decent, but it’s a one bad apple kind of situation. On the flight home, there was a dog on the plane. It was a little dog, like a “purse dog” and the poor puppy whimpered and/or barked the WHOLE TIME. Now, I’m a dog lover, and I’m sure that dog’s ears were in pain with take-off and landing, but OMG. People, a high-pitched whimper for four hours. My husband had given me his fancy noise-cancelling headphones, so I was able to tune out for most of the time, but take-off and landing were agonizingly noisy. I would far rather be next to a screaming baby than be anywhere near a whimpering dog.

Further to that, I would rather be on a flight with a whimpering purse dog than with the crazy woman behind me on the flight to Toronto. According to my friend who was seated behind her, this crazy lady put her headphones down on the seat behind her, where they evidently fell off. The woman then looked around her to find the headphones, and noticed an older lady in the row behind her who was wearing a pair that were the exact same colour and style. What are the chances? The older lady must have stolen them, or so said Headphone Lady. “My headphones were here, and now they’re not. It’s funny that you have a pair exactly like the ones I JUST lost.” The older lady explained they were her own headphones, to which Headphone Lady replied, sharply, “If you wanted to BORROW my headphones, you could have asked!”

Slight digression: who on earth would ask to borrow a stranger’s headphones, and for that matter, who on earth would loan out their earbud style headphones to a complete stranger in the row behind them? That’s pretty gross, and also very weird considering that Air Canada just hands out headphones, free of charge.

All through the huffy exchange, to which several witnesses said that the older lady had been wearing the headphones for a while, and had not picked them up off the floor but taken them from her purse, I fretted that this would turn into some sort of strange headphone brawl and the plane would have to turn around. Remember the Bubble Guppies lady (who was not a robot) of just a few weeks ago, who got into some trouble over headphone-related anguish? I was a bit worried this would happen and we’d be forced to land in Winnipeg or somewhere and I’d be late for the Yummy Mummy Club meeting. Everyone just stay calm, I wanted to yell, there are enough headphones for everyone on board this aircraft. After landing, when we were all deplaning, my friend noticed the headphones lying on the floor, thus proving that the headphone-wearing older lady did not, in fact, steal the other woman’s headphones.

Headphones aside, it was a great weekend. Here are some of my favourite photos:

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PJ’s and Bellinis

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The Lentil Carnival, on the red carpet with the creepiest carny ever, with the possible exception of the guys who would grope teen girls while buckling them into roller coaster rides at the Calgary Stampede during the 80s and 90s.

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The strong man at the Lentil Carnival. I asked him if he felt objectified, and he said he was paid to be objectified. Which doesn’t make it BETTER, muscular guy in little shorts.

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And then he picked me up and my hands got all oily from inadvertently touching him, so that was kind of odd.

MeAndDan

I spent most of my time at the YMC booth, alongside Daniel Thompson Beauty, who is a goddamn makeup genius.

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YMC girls, and Cheryl Hickey from ET!

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Pretend redhead hanging with Catherine from Always a Redhead!

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Bellini-induced eka pada sirsasana, in the hotel hallway.

Cash Cab, Here I Come.

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I’m so glad there are so many of you on the same page as me, in the “ladies’ holidays” way. It makes me feel much less insane, although the word “peri-menopause” is coming up a wee bit more than I would like it to. As an aside, my grandma had some very helpful advice regarding alleviating those menopausal symptoms: a late-in-life pregnancy. Apparently, getting pregnant in your mid-to-late 40s is a guarantee that your menopausal symptoms will be minimal.

I feel like this advice isn’t really going to work for me.

In any case, I am having a much better week and I’m in the throes of excitement since bright and early tomorrow, I leave for The Big Smoke, for the Blissdom Canada conference. All indications point to this being a very enjoyable time, except maybe from the point of view of my husband and children. The children in particular have said several times how SAD they are going to be and how much they are going to MISS ME, and while I appreciate the sentiment, it’s not like I’m throwing them to the wolves. Jake offered me the remaining quarter of his strawberry Tic-Tacs, and Mark gave me a partially consumed package of Ice Breaker Sours, so I would have something to eat on the plane; this, along with my husband offering me his fancy noise-cancelling headphones, makes me feel like I’m travelling in style.

Although the boys are going to MISS ME SO MUCH, they are pretty excited about one aspect of me visiting Toronto: Cash Cab. The Cash Cab is in Toronto and I will need a taxi, therefore I could be on Cash Cab. I don’t have the heart to tell them that the likelihood of a taxi at the airport being the actual Cash Cab is very small, since exhausted travellers would probably not take well to being dropped off in the middle of the highway with all their luggage, in the event that they give three incorrect answers. Secretly (or not so secretly) I wish I could be on Cash Cab. I think I would totally rock it.

The boys seem to have inherited my love of game shows. During the Christmas holidays I love to watch The Price is Right with them, and not just because Christmastime seems to be the time for Firefighter’s Day. Much to the irritation of my husband, we like to watch Wheel of Fortune and, less often, Jeopardy. I have never told them that I once was on a game show: Spelling Bee. Anyone who grew up in Calgary in the 1980s might remember our beloved Ed Whalen hosting the game show for kids. Our team made it three rounds before we were cut, and I’ve always been a little disappointed we didn’t go all the way. I’m not sure, exactly, what we would have won had we become Spelling Bee champions, but I’m sure it would have been amazing.

Always A Bridesmaid…

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Gentlemen, you may want to skip this one.

 

This month I was reminded – not for the first time – that in my not-so-distant past, getting my period was the worst part of the “monthly cycle”. Sure, there would be a day or two prior to that of maybe feeling deeply sad when I heard “Tears in Heaven” or extremely irritated when my husband put his peanut-butter knife in the sink, rather than the dishwasher, and maybe a day of craving salty and/ or chocolatey things, but in general, those slight annoyances were nothing compared to the discomfort and inconvenience of actually menstruating. In my very-distant youth, I can remember skipping gym and taking some Midol, but pretty much that was it. It seemed like a big deal at the time, but with age comes wisdom and I can now say that Nicole-in-the-past was a complete baby.

Because not only does age bring wisdom, but it also brings a whole lot of hormonal changes. These days my ladies’ holidays feel like I’m Carrie at the prom, as opposed to the past, when I was Sandy doing the hand-jive, if we are to take 1970s dance metaphors to a whole new gross level. Getting my period is now the good part, and not just because it reaffirms that the baby factory is closed. No, it is the good part because it ends the time of the cycle that causes me to doubt my own sanity.

I will not use the words time of the month because I don’t know about you, but there is nothing monthly about this. Three weeks, seven weeks, or anything in between can be considered “normal” for me. This is a problem because there is no way to predict when I will be sane and when I will not be. This past cycle saw me struggling with suddenly ill-fitting bras, sudden strange cravings, irritation with everything and extreme emotion about anything for ELEVEN DAYS. At one point I said to my husband that if I didn’t get my period soon, I would die of emotion. I started to wonder if maybe I was never getting my period again, and my personality had just warped into someone horrible who, incidentally, hated the way she looked and couldn’t handle the sound of children’s laughter. Maybe I’m really just a grumpy bloated bitch, and now I’m in menopause. This was an actual thought that I had.

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride – but in a menstrual sense.

So it’s been that kind of week. Jake had a cold that kept him home from school and I’m going to go out on a limb and say that being tied to the house for a day and a half didn’t help matters, especially with my new obsession with cleaning and purging things. I found a “Franklin and Friends” treasury that I kept weepily showing to Jake, who remained stoic.

Me: Look, Jake. It’s Franklin. Franklin’s Bad Day. He was SAD because his friend was moving away. But then he made a new friend.

Jake: Uh huh.

Me: And Franklin’s Trip to the Hospital. Remember how much I read this to you before your operation? Do you remember?

Jake: Um. Well. I don’t really remember much about my operation.

Me: And when Franklin’s mom has a baby! *tears up*

Jake: Um, Mom? I don’t really like that book anymore. I kind of mostly like books about dragons now.

So that was entertaining. I did, however, get my closet and drawers reorganized and you will be happy to know that I still have several drawers full of predominantly black sweaters. I took photos but they are unconvincing. You will have to believe me that it’s a huge change and things aren’t falling off of my shelves now. For example:

before

Before

after

Trust me, this is way more organized.

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Oh, the top shelf of the closet, where everything gets balled up and thrown into.

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IT IS SERIOUSLY MORE ORGANIZED.

At some point I need to go through the gigantic Rubbermaid containers of children’s artwork and school work that is downstairs, but I need to do it at a time where I am not going to cry about Franklin and Friends.

Rainy Day

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I’m writing this on the couch, accompanied by a sick, sniffly Jake, who is busy watching Phineas and Ferb. Oh, September, the return to the petri dish that is the elementary classroom. Actually, the boys each had a minor bout of the sniffles during the first week of school, which turned out to be only a one-day affair, which I, sadly, made worse for Mark. His colds always morph into coughs, and I gave him some over-the-counter cough suppressant, optimistically thinking that this would actually suppress his cough. Instead, he continued coughing and just passed out on the couch for a few hours, feeling lethargic and pale for the rest of the day, and, eventually gagging on his own cough and barfing. Note to self: don’t try to medicate the children unnecessarily.

I’m hoping this cold is as equally short-lived as the first one; I’m still scarred from the cold-that-morphed-into-pneumonia event of 2011. I also have a hair appointment tomorrow and I don’t want to miss it – my roots are insane. I feel like a scarecrow, with orange straw-like hair and startling grey roots, but with non-ragged clothing.

In any event, I’m pleased that the colds are going on this week, instead of next week, when I’ll be out of town for the Blissdom Canada conference. I’m going to be out of town for five days, which is by far the longest I’ve been away from the kids. I’m getting pretty excited to see all my Yummy Mummies and bloggy friends – Hannah and Allison! – and as my excitement grows, my husband’s wanes. He’s always supportive of my endeavours, but I think he’s getting worried about the ensuing to-do list resulting from me not being there. I keep giving him little reminders about what needs to be done while I’m gone, and I think it’s starting to overwhelm him. I don’t totally blame him. After all, I didn’t do any laundry this weekend – I usually do a load a day – and the resulting laundry mountain was immense.

Buoyed by my kitchen reorganization, I’m newly motivated to reorganize and purge my entire house. I’m setting a goal to spend an hour a week reorganizing/ purging one area of my house for the entire winter. First stop: my closet. My closet is a cesspool of clothing, shoes, and bags. It’s really out of control. I oscillate between feelings of despair and regret – for the love of god, no one needs this many sweaters – and a feeling of complete unwillingness to part with a single thing. But I must part with a few things because my drawers and shelves are literally overflowing. And again, I’m faced with the question of how many of a similar item I need. Do I need twenty five black sweaters in different cuts, lengths, and trim? Do I need eight black t-shirts with different necklines, along with twelve black tank tops and seven pairs of black yoga pants? Should I consider buying something that isn’t black? What is wrong with me?

Right now cleaning out my closet feels like some sort of weird psychological experiment, or like I’m on a reality show where someone is going to admonish me for my clothing choices.

Kitchen Love, The Final Frontier

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I know, I know, I started the Kitchn Cure over a month ago. It turns out – unsurprisingly, perhaps – that cleaning out the fridge, freezer, and all appliances were not the issue for me. The biggest and most overwhelming piece of this project was the reorganization and cleaning of the pantry, cupboards, and drawers. It was desperately needed. I had a cupboard that housed all sorts of Tupperware and miscellaneous items, in which everything would kind of fall out when I opened the door. I had a junk drawer that barely closed, I had a drawer that housed boxes of Ziploc bags, cling wrap, aluminum foil, and, apparently, one million elastic bands. I had cupboards in which I just sort of shoved coffee go-cups that I didn’t like and never used, a crazy full spice cupboard, and a mysterious cupboard over top the fridge which housed things that I rarely used and didn’t need.

But I procrastinated, because I had several weekends in a row that were busy: I attended two weddings, went out of town, hosted a baby shower, and celebrated Jake’s birthday. I couldn’t really get myself into that mental space that one really needs to be in, in order to tackle a large project. I reorganized the pantry one morning when the kids were at school – more on that later – but today was the big mammajamma, the drawers and cupboards.

Fueled by several cups of coffee and absolute disgust at my own slovenly behaviour, I set to. And people, the things you do find when you clean your long-neglected cupboards. THREE BAGS FULL. That is how much stuff I got rid of. I finally threw out the to-go mug that was used by my husband back in 2001 when he had strep throat, and we never used again. I found a box of baking chocolate that expired in 2011. I threw out old plastic water bottles that were full of BPA that I never could bring myself to use but couldn’t throw out either. A mysterious old neti pot (don’t think too much about that…), six menus from the same pizza place, a container of green sugar sprinkles that was taped together and used as a kitchen shake toy when Mark was a baby and I needed him to be distracted while I cooked. MARK IS NOW TEN AND A HALF. And look!

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This is the drawer that contained one million elastic bands, six pizza menus, and a mysterious bag of googly eyes. Mark confiscated the googly eyes for his own use, and there are still one million elastic bands, but look how neat it is! I use the elastic bands for Book Fair, so I really cannot throw them out.

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This may not look particularly neat, but this is the drawer that wouldn’t really close well. I found four half-used rolls of Scotch tape, highlighting my terrible habit of buying something because I thought I ran out of it, when I really had it all along.

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This was home to the expired sprinkles and chocolate, and also two sippy cup lids.

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This was the cupboard in which things would tumble out of whenever it was opened.

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Spice cupboard. I found “Poultry Seasoning” that I think was my husband’s BEFORE we moved into this house. We have lived here for fourteen years.

Before pictures would have shown a better story, but I was afraid if I got out the camera I might get too overwhelmed and wouldn’t start the process. Look what else I found: little napkins from every birthday party ever, including dump truck ones from Mark’s third birthday, pirate ones for Jake’s third birthday, Go Diego Go and Backyardigans from – I’m guessing – even before that.

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We are going to use these napkins until they are all gone.

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Mark is in charge of table setting; he has been instructed that these napkins are to be used for the foreseeable future.

 

There is only one thing that should have been thrown out, but I just couldn’t.

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I bought this tea in a corner store in Cairo in 2001. I loved it so much I had to bring it home.

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Clearly, though, this was a case of “things being better on vacation” because it’s almost full. But I can’t throw it out! It’s a souvenir!

I also did the gross job of scrubbing out underneath the sink, although that is something I do fairly regularly. Why is it always so gross? I don’t know.

A few weeks ago I cleaned out the pantry, and that was a deeply satisfying job. I remember when we first transformed the spare room downstairs into a pantry, how life altering it was to have everything in one neat space. And now, the pantry had turned into an abyss that might get me onto a show about hoarding. I took things off the shelves, rearranging things so I could clearly see what I have and what I do not need to buy. This is very important to me; my canned goods cupboard contains enough beans, coconut milk, and crushed tomatoes to get me through the apocalypse. Note to self: do not buy any more coconut milk, even if it’s on sale. Anyway, I spent an hour happily listening to 80s music and reorganizing things, recycling unnecessary cardboard boxes and lining up things just so. I’m all out of love! What am I WITHOUT you? I sang as I piled six packages of rice stick noodles and 25 toothbrushes neatly so that I could see them clearly and not buy any more, for the love of god. On the bottom shelf was a light box; I moved it to see a box of candy canes. Candy canes? In September? I guessed I’d forgotten about them, and they seemed sticky so I assumed Barkley had licked them. I picked it up to throw it in the garbage and AIEEEEEEEEEEE. It was swarming with ants. ANTS, PEOPLE. I threw the whole thing in the trash, ran it to the black bin outside, and went on an ant killing spree. Fortunately – FORTUNATELY – the ants seemed contained to the licked candy canes. (Entrepreneurial idea: ant traps that are just dog-licked candy canes. GOLD.) I’ve been checking several times a day since then, and no more ants. But still. ANTS IN MY PANTRY. This is not as bad as last year’s Moustastrophe, but I am newly motivated to do two things: keep my pantry and cupboards spotlessly clean, and to not keep candy canes past January 1.

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I showed this proudly to my mom, and she said “Why do you have so many vitamins?” MOM. Just admire the handiwork.

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It’s all so neat! And ant-free!