Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

A peek inside my house, or the snowball effect of cleaning.

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You know when you have one of those days where you wake up totally normal, and you seem totally normal, and you go to do a little housecleaning like a normal person – bathroom cleaning here, a little dusting there, ooh, maybe should sweep the floor – and then suddenly you become an obsessive cleaning machine who starts rearranging the children’s shelving units amd scouring bootracks and the mudroom floor on your hands and knees? I had one of those days yesterday. But look how great Mark’s shelves look:

It feels like I should have taken a “before” picture just to illustrate the impact. The impact is immense! I was worried that Mark was going to be a future star of one of those hoarding reality shows, but it turns out he has little to no emotional attachment to anything obtained prior to age seven. He was just too lazy to purge craft items, Kinder surprises, and strange Lego creations from said era. The number of dried out, unused miniature Play-Doh containers obtained from years of trick-or-treating at earnest households was enormous. I felt gloomy as I chipped out the Play-Doh to recycle the tiny containers like the earnest hausfrau I am.

I really should have taken a “before” photo because prior to this rearranging all of these were on the floor:

 
It was getting a little hard to sweep around all that Lego, and I was especially worried I would break something and have to fix it, and as we all know, building Lego is not my forte. I had to fix something off of Jake’s Palpatine’s Arrest and I nearly had a nervous breakdown over it. It seemed, at the time, like so much was on the line, besides putting on a movable door.
 
 

There’s Jake’s collection, including the giant Muk-Muk-Atron that is the colourful creation in the background, made yesterday with the discovery in Mark’s room of a basketful of smaller creations, made years ago and then forgotten.

In the interest of sibling fairness, here is a photo of Jake’s fairly neat shelves. Note that his room is painted orange and blue. Home decor note: orange is a bitch to paint.

Besides obsessively cleaning, I did some gardening and the boys played in the sprinkler. I’ve got some pretty blooms happening right now:

This is the daylily that, like love, will go on. About twelve years ago my husband accidentally sprayed it with weed killer, seven years ago we paved over the flower bed with stamped concrete, and somehow it has grown into a four foot long patch of daylilies with dozens of blooms. Lazarus in flower form, if you will. Isn’t it pretty?

My much-loved and pampered clematis, which is blooming and filling up the entire trellis.

Summer breeze, makes me feel fine. Most of the other flowers are done their blooming, with the exception of the annuals, of course, and the blue sage and yarrow which apparently NEVER stop blooming. The leaves on my front Mayday are starting to turn, already. I’m starting to feel a bit glum that summer is almost gone (cue Doors music) and that the kids are back to school in twelve – TWELVE – days. Once they’re back I’m going to be thrilled to have a quiet house in which to get ‘er dun, but I’m going to miss those crazy kids and their constant chatter about Animal Jam and Star Wars.

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The winner of the giveaway was Kat! Congratulations Kat, and thanks everybody for playing along! The next giveaway will be…whenever I think of one!

I can see for miles and miles

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Last weekend I went to Saskatchewan to visit with my grandma, as well as with my cousins, aunt, and my brother who moved from the big city to a small town and is now realizing that everyone on his block knows what he is doing at any given time. He has also nicely transitioned to small town life by describing his whereabouts using the Home Hardware as a landmark.

My kids stayed with my parents at the lake, and due to some awkward scheduling on my part this meant that I had to drive there to drop them off and then drive back home that same afternoon. I am usually the cheery passenger, not the responsible person, and so I was pretty exhausted when I got home. I rolled all the windows down and listened to music full blast, re-living some kind of lost youth in which I was speeding down the prairie highway with the wind in my hair, breathing in the scent of hay and diesel. Later I had to spend a lot of time brushing out the tangles. Next time I’m wearing a Jackie O scarf. Baby we were born to run.

I didn’t want to arrive at my grandmas looking like a tramp – tramps like us – and so when I picked up my rental car in the Regina airport I decorously put on the air conditioner. Knowing now what I didn’t know then, I would have foregone the air conditioner, being I spent the weekend shivering under Grandma’s high-powered cooling system, wishing I had brought wool socks, or at least pants, rather than the summery skirts and tank tops I did pack.

It’s important to learn from one’s mistakes. For example, last year when I went to visit Grandma I didn’t bring any CD’s for the two hour drive, and so I ended up listening to a lot of AC/DC and talk radio. This time, I brought some great mixed CD’s – I’m a mixed tape girl at heart, but more technologically advanced – but unfortunately the CD player was not working properly. All music was played at high-speed, which was extraordinarily agitating. Everybodywaskungfufightingthosekidswerefastaslightening. Happily, the car was equipped with satellite radio. Unhappily, there were only four stations available, and one of them was Country. The other three were a) Classic Vinyl, which heavily leaned toward Grateful Dead, b) 80s on 8, and c) Margaritaville, a station entirely devoted to Jimmy Buffett music. I have nothing at all against Jimmy Buffett and I like to Get Drunk and Screw as much as the next person, but an entire station? I wish I had a pencil thin moustache. The Boston Blackie kind. Three songs in and I was kind of done.

Of course I ended up listening to mostly 80s on 8, with detours into the other two – I took off my flip flops, stepped on a pop rock – and I noticed something I hadn’t before: saxophones were very popular in the 80s. On the way back to the Regina airport on Saturday morning, Classic Vinyl was playing a live recording of a Grateful Dead concert, Margaritaville was playing live recordings of Jimmy Buffett songs, including the witty and somewhat drunken repartee he had with the audience, and the 80s on 8 was doing a top forty countdown of music from 1986. Score! That was a pretty fun year for music, I must say. I used to listen to the countdowns on a popular music station back then, and I can remember staying awake until midnight to hear that the most popular song of 1986 was The Greatest Love of All. If I fail, if I succeed, at least I lived as I BELIEVED, no matter what they take from me they can’t take away MY DIG-NI-TYYYYYY.

It’s a good thing I’m not a long haul trucker. I would surely be insane from singing saxophone-infused songs over and over, and my hair would be terribly damaged from driving with the windows down. Also I would have to get a CB handle, and I just don’t know what that would be. How does one choose a CB handle? Or is it assigned to you when you get licensed to drive rigs? I don’t know. All I know is Rubber Duck and Big Ben are taken already.

The Opposite Of Extreme Makeovers, and a Giveaway!

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Lawsy, I’ve been busy – relatively speaking – since returning from vacation. It’s amazing how much piles up after an eight-day hiatus from the homefront. I’ve been multi-tasking like a motherfucking riot; taking the boys to the playground while mentally composing posts, responding to constant “fun facts” about animals while making 16 litres of tomato sauce, preparing frantically for my solo trip to Saskatchewan while photographing plates of tomato-based dishes. Did I mention I have a whole lot of tomatoes in my possession? My mother-in-law supplied me with “a few” tomatoes; “a few” meaning “fifteen pounds”. It’s a good problem to have, all these sweet and delicious tomatoes.

Although it’s been warm here the past few days, there is a slight change in the air and I realized there are only three more weeks of summer vacation left! Cherish every moment goddammit. In addition to cherishing moments and tomato preparation, I am also beginning my usual August routine of thinking about back-to-school items and festive things like snowsuits and boots. The children are sweltering as I force them to put on their boots and mittens to ascertain fit and what is needed for the imminent winter. In Calgary, you never know. WINTER IS IMMINENT PEOPLE. Cue music of doom; perhaps an instrumental version of Patio Lanterns or maybe The Devil Came Down To Georgia.

The music of doom was also playing in my mind as I found myself in the mall at 5:00 on Saturday night. Unfortunately earlier in the day I was getting my old grey mare roots coloured, necessitating the late-afternoon mall shop, which is – as we all know – is the most spirit-crushing time to attend to all your shopping needs. Why is that? Why are there so many crowds, screaming children, rude people, and despondent employees at that time? And why do I never learn? There were two lights at the end of this tunnel of consumerism: Sport Chek had sales on running shoes, which I liked since we had to buy the boys each two pairs, and we had dinner at the food court, which is the kids’ favourite, as I have undoubtedly mentioned before. A teenage girl and her boyfriend sat at the table next to us, along with this cute fellow:

Speaking of the old grey mare and giant orange bears, I decided that I was going to make a dramatic change in my hair colour, and so I took this photo to my hair therapist, who looked at me quizzically. “Okay,” she said, “But it’s kind of the colour you already have. It’s pretty similar.”  No no! I said cheerfully, explaining that I wanted something more coppery. She made a change to my formulation, coloured my hair, and…it’s marginally different. Dramatic overhaul fail.  It looks pretty much exactly like this photo, taken poolside last week, pre-colour. Note: my dad makes this exact same face when he’s thinking, leading me to believe once again that I am an actual younger, female, and artificially red-haired version of him. Thanks for the grey hair genes, Dad!

It’s giveaway time! Prize yet to be determined but sure to be awesome. Or at least kind of fun. Leave a comment and let me know what you’re up to this August. Or what colour your hair is. Or at what point in the year do you start thinking about snowboots? Ah, who am I kidding – leave a comment about anything and I’ll enter you in the draw. Name to be drawn August 22!

Vacation Nicole versus Regular Nicole

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Vacation Nicole

1) Vacation Nicole drinks Palm Bay at 10:00 in the morning with her father-in-law. She has a second one at 11, followed by a few more later in the afternoon

2) Vacation Nicole goes down waterslides and gets her hair wet in the wave pool.

3) Vacation Nicole eats six giant Greek salads, made with fresh-from-the-garden vegetables, in seven days.

4) Vacation Nicole eats chips and salsa for lunch, along with stuffed green olives. Plus Palm Bay.

5) Vacation Nicole does not wear underwear but instead wears swimsuits and cover-ups all day long.

6) Vacation Nicole allows the children to go to 7-11 for Slurpees every single day.

7) Vacation Nicole stays up until 11:00 – ELEVEN O’CLOCK – watching The Sopranos.

Regular Nicole

1) Regular Nicole immediately unpacks all suitcases, washes all water bottles and snack containers, and starts on the mountain of laundry.

2) Regular Nicole cracks the whip on the children regarding nutritious food and sitting properly at the dinner table.

3) Regular Nicole wears proper clothes – including a sweater, since it’s damn cold here – along with regular underwear.

4) Regular Nicole will have a glass of wine and go to bed at 9:30, right after catching up on Breaking Bad before it premieres on Sunday.

5) Regular Nicole is making to-do lists and is thinking about buying snowsuits, snow boots, school shoes, pants, and sweaters for the sprouting children.

6) Regular Nicole missed all her readers and friends and is desperately hoping they will catch her up on what’s been going on since she’s been gone.

7) Regular Nicole has apparently forgotten how to write about herself in the first person. She will work on it, she promises.

"The REAL Reason He Never Texted" – page 136

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A few weeks ago, I was feeling kind of blue, and so my husband took the boys for an outing and came home with snacks and a magazine for me. Cosmopolitan magazine.

Husband: Isn’t that the magazine you always read at the hair salon?

Me: No, that’s People.

Husband: Well, same thing.

No, husband, it is not the same thing, but I will tell you this: Cosmopolitan is much, much more entertaining. For one thing, I never know who anyone is in People unless said “celebrity” is a) a member of the British royal family, or b) is featured in an article entitled “Still Sexy at Fifty!” or similar. Not that I know who any “celebrity” is in Cosmopolitan, either – the cover showcases someone named Demi Lovato and advertises her shocking interview – but fortunately, Cosmopolitan has not changed its format much since I last purchased a copy circa 1994. BEST.SEX.EVER. 42 New Tips! So says the front cover, which is probably what all the cover stories are, and have been since the magazine’s inception.

As an aside, does anyone else find it alarming that we have before us a whole generation of young women who were (possibly) named after Demi Moore? I feel like I’m about one hundred years old looking at this magazine, but of course I’m not the key demographic here. Most of the stories have something to do with back to school fashions, new looks on campus, and this:

I practically had a hilarity overload reading this. Ah, to be young again and want to have sex inside the field-hockey net at the football stadium. Or to hook up with your TA. For the record, neither of those things happened to me – certainly not the TA – I was in economics, after all. I did, however, “work it at the library”, not in order to hook up but I did always wear cute outfits and makeup when I studied. What. I put on nice clothes to go to the grocery store; I’m like an old lady getting dressed up for a nice outing.

There are lots of style tips and advertisements in Cosmo that I found simultaneously alarming and also cute. Here’s an ad for Jordache jeans. Jordache jeans! Who didn’t wear Jordache jeans exactly like this in the eighties?

Actually, I do wear jeans like this. Not Jordache, but similar in style. I can’t tell if this is alarming (mutton dressed as lamb) or if I’m actually young and hip. I’m leaning toward the former. More alarming is the apparent comeback of the hot style of 1987 – rolled up jeans.

Unrelated to “things I wore in junior high” is this monstrosity of an idea – tailored sweatpants.

It DOES look comfortable, but not sure if it looks “chic”. What do I know, though? I thought ALL of this was kind of “skanky”, as opposed to “sexy”:

I also gave this article the side-eye:

Sex on the First Date: article concludes that, like the rule “no white after Labour Day”, “Don’t have sex on the first date” is considered to be an outdated one. Wait, what? First of all, no white after Labour Day is a very good rule. Let’s keep that one, mmmkay? Also? Now, I haven’t been on the dating scene since my husband and I “hooked up” in 1998, but I’m not sure sex on the first date as a faux pas should be equated with wearing white pants. But then again, I’m pretty sure I am not the target demographic here.

HOW CUTE IS THIS GIRL? “I’ve been going on roller coasters and riding my bike.” She’s adorable! Or cray-cray adorbs, as all the kids are saying these days.

Well, I wasn’t the exciting one…

In any case, I’m planning on bypassing the People magazine the next time I’m at the salon, and taking this instead, because I’m thinking of changing my haircolour.

What do you think?

Gazing at you, I get the beat.

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It turns out I am easily unmoored.

My parents took the kids up to the lake yesterday, and I was faced with thirty childless hours in which to get some things done. Productivity! It’s actually amazing how much can be accomplished when the children are not around. It’s also kind of startling how much of my time is spent preparing food and washing dishes. My husband wanted to take me out for dinner – to a restaurant, on a Tuesday night, the apocalypse – and so I really had a vast amount of time on my hands. What does one do with the hours between 4:00 and 6:00 if not make dinner, eat dinner, clean up from dinner, supervise children’s cleaning of the table? If you’re me, you guiltily curl up on the couch and watch an old episode of Mad Men, read an Alice Munro short story, and feel despair because you STILL haven’t written the article for the community newsletter but DAMN you really don’t want to write about the bridge club and senior’s tea.

It’s strange not having the kids around, and the dog seems to have lapsed into a depression. When the kids are at school, Barkley generally has the air of someone who has been left with the world’s most boring person, but who is bravely making the best of it: namely flopping bonelessly on the mat outside the door or the dog bed, perking up only to go for a walk. The kids being gone overnight, though, is a whole different story. Barkley is currently lying at the top of the steps, with his head hanging over the top step in what appears to be a terribly uncomfortable position but possibly represents all the effort he is currently willing to put into life.

Yesterday I had finished quite a bit of writing – not about the senior’s tea, mind you, but quite a bit – and buoyed by my no-adult-responsibilities lunch of grapes and popcorn, I started pruning the giant spirea shrub beside the garage. This shrub had grown fairly out of control, such that anyone of any height coming out of the garage would get hit in the face by a number of branches, and so I grabbed the pruning shears and went to town. I looked down and there was Barkley, standing silently, covered with leaves and branches that he didn’t even bother to shake off. Poor puppy! I vowed to take him for a walk immediately but then realized that I was still in my sweaty yoga pants at 1:30 in the afternoon, my yoga practice having ended five hours prior.

This is what happens when I have no kids and no schedule, apparently. Another day like this and the next thing you know I’ll be a total unwashed hippie, busted flat in Baton Rouge, putting daisies in bazookas, dropping the bad brown acid at Woodstock, and contracting STD’s from all that free loving. Because it’s a slippery slope, don’t you know. One day a person wears sweaty yoga clothes all day long, the next day that person is on an acid freakout and passes out in a field of mud, with chlamydia and syphilis. TIME TO SHOWER.

For a trippy Woodstocky experience, check out this “director’s cut” of The Who’s See Me Feel Me. I love that song and I think this video is quite awesome, but yet I find myself obsessed with the fact that Roger Daltry is shirtless underneath that enormously fringed leather jacket. You can practically smell the body odour, just watching that video. Ah, the Sixties. So much musical talent. So little personal hygiene.

Ooh, I just discovered this Jefferson Airplane clip from Woodstock, and if you want to see some REALLY HIGH people with some funky-ass hair, check it out. Fun fact: Grace Slick is still alive and is 73! Man, that’s remarkable on a number of levels.

All right, enough about Woodstock (how did I get on that topic? Oh yeah, showers.) My life will resume regular programming tout de suite, since I’m heading out to pick the kids up today, albeit a little nervously, since there are severe thunderstorm warnings in the direction I’m driving. “Significant storm activity” is not something I want to be driving into, especially since I am not, exactly, someone who loves highway driving. Wish me luck! Also wish me luck on actually finishing this article on the bridge club. It’s not going to write itself. xo