Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Sweep, sweep, hurry, hard!

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You won’t believe it, but it has been actually hot here the past couple of days.  Not just warm, but HOT.  It’s beautiful.  Nothing teaches you to carpe diem like a hot day in Calgary.  It’s like the whole city is well aware that such a gift may not ever happen again, and so everyone is outside frantically enjoying the sunshine.  Seize the day, goddammit!  I’ve noticed a lot of sunburned faces around, which is also typical of this city where people take a few weeks to realize that yes, there is such a thing as sunscreen. 

A lot of those red faces were at the school.  Yesterday was Music Monday and I went to watch 430 students singing on the hill behind the school.  It couldn’t have been more perfect, and as a side note: is there anything that Chris Hadfield cannot do?  The guy is the whole package, moustache and all.  He writes songs, he orbits in space, he plays the guitar – seriously, what an amazing man.

I brought freezies to the playground yesterday after school and enjoyed feeling the sun while the kids played.  I checked Mark’s agenda and in there was a note reminding all parents about appropriate clothing for warm weather, reminders about hats, sunscreen, and water bottles.  There was also a reminder about shorts – how short is too short? – and that there are no spaghetti straps permitted in the classroom; tank top straps must be two-finger-widths at minimum.  I’d never received this particular note before, and I didn’t get one from Jake’s class, so I have to assume Grade 3/4 is the age when these rules start to be enforced.  After all, I’ve seen plenty of kindergarteners in sundresses with skinny straps. 

It reminded me so much of Swistle’s Middle School Dress Code post that I had to go read it again.  This is my very favourite paragraph from that post:

I can HEAR in the newsletter that the middle school staff does not WANT to make a dress code. They want to say, “Wear REASONABLE clothing, please, and let’s get on with the day.” But no: the children push and Push and PUSH, until the staff is FORCED to say things such as “Shoulders of tops must be at least three (3) inches wide.” I’m sure that in the beginning they were thinking, as I am, “What’s wrong with a tank top?” And many VERY HEADACHEY days later, it’s “three inches” and then needing to spell out that “three” = 3.

I just didn’t realize I would be facing this in Grade 3.  Of course, I can be as flip as I like about it, since my own children are wearing t-shirts that have the 2010 Vancouver Olympic mascots on them and nearly knee-length cargo shorts.  I am not likely ever going to have to worry about them wearing spaghetti straps and short shorts to school, and because of this I feel very fortunate.

Slight digression: I’ve always found sleeveless shirts on men to be kind of vile, outside of a gym or yoga studio or athletic activity.  I think it’s the armpit hair.  Anyone else feel this way, or is this going to be another of those issues that divides us, like shorts?  We can all still be friends, no matter what our view on shorts are.  This isn’t O Magazine.

There is one thing that is very trying about this weather, and that is the very dry dead grass that is everywhere.  Green grass is only just starting to sprout, and so the dead grass is literally everywhere.  It was all over my blanket that I took to Music Monday, it’s inexplicably all over the kids’ clothing, and the dog, the DOG keeps rolling around outside and bringing in vast quantities of it.  The dog isn’t due for his day at the groomer’s for another two weeks, and so his giant fuzziness is constantly shedding dead grass all the live long day.  I cannot stand the sight of it, which means I am sweeping the floor constantly.  “I’m in a battle with the grass,” I said casually to the boys, who immediately jumped on the word “battle”.  They immediately began describing the video game that could be based on my life.  Mom versus grass.  My weaponry is a broom and sometimes the vinegar-and-water spray bottle and mop.  Level up!  I swept up the grass.  There’s more grass!  I’m losing lives!  Get out the broom! 

Anyone want to get in on the lamest, most housewifely video game idea ever?  Anyone?  I was a little saddened by the apparent turn my life has taken here; I mean, my superpower is sweeping up dead grass with a broom.  This is what my life has come down to. 

More, More, More

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Has it been a weirdly long week?  Not a bad week, but a long week?  On Tuesday I told Mark that he had better get his library books together for school, to which he answered that library was on Thursday.  I knew that but honestly thought it was Thursday.  Wednesday I was planning for Friday, which I thought was the next day.  The fact that it’s the third of May is not helping matters either; I feel like I’m in a weird time warp in which I don’t have any idea what day, month, or year it is.  I realized this morning that there is only seven weeks left of school, which was shocking.  Time is slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, my kids are getting older and I’m getting older too, and the cat’s in the cradle with the silver spoon.

Speaking of getting older, I received – completely unsolicited – a copy of More magazine in the mail.  More!  The magazine for mature women.  I was very startled to see it in my mailbox, with my name and address on it, being I didn’t subscribe to it.  I realized this must be some kind of promotional item; perhaps since I actually have a subscription to the mature suburban Canadian women’s magazine Canadian Living I am actually on some kind of mailing list.  For mature women.  More magazine!  I scoffed a bit, picked it up, and then realized that I really am this demographic now.  Much more so than, say, Cosmopolitan.  Not that I’ve read Cosmo in years – I know all the sexy tricks, Cosmo.  I don’t need any more lists. – but it is a little startling when you realize that you’re more More than Cosmo, is all I’m saying.   

Anyway.  It’s Friday.  I’ve been busy in the kitchen all morning, preparing for some girlfriends to taste test some new recipes.  I’ve also been doing a little bit of taste testing myself, in other words, I’m feeling a bit FULL.  There’s not much that I love more than preparing desserts and appetizers for my open-minded girlfriends, while singing along to the station that plays all the ballads from the 1970s.  Cause I’m easy…I’m easy like Sunday morning. 

Segueing right into the eighties, I was heading into the grocery store (because where else do I go?) and I saw this amazing license plate.

If that doesn’t immediately make your day just a little bit brighter, then I don’t know what will.  That is the single greatest license plate/ car combination ever, better even than 1Bruce1 or HotCarl.  I wondered who owned this fantastic vehicle; perhaps a sexy, hirsute, moustachioed man.  I was not at all disappointed when the owner approached:

 
I kid.  I did not see the owner, mostly because I felt it might be weird and stalker-ish to stand at the car waiting for someone to bring out their groceries.  I did keep looking for Hawaiian shirts in the Co-Op, but alas, none were to be found. 
 
I have only ever seen one episode of Magnum PI.  I know!  You would think that I would be more up on that, but you would be wrong.  I’m sure there are reruns playing somewhere but I seem to be too busy these days watching and re-watching Mad Men episodes and making Tom and Lorenzo-like notes on the fashions.  How did Betty become so frumpy?  Is Megan wearing hair extensions?  Is it weird to have a crush on Henry Francis?  He’s wearing a Christmas sweater!  What is WRONG with me?
 
But back to Magnum.  My husband watched it a lot in the eighties, and every time he hears Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight he says “Best. Magnum. Ever.”  Then he explains the plot to me and I think it sounds interesting and maybe I should watch it, and then I end up wondering if I could wear a gypsy scarf as a headband like Megan did that one time or would that look weird.  So I will probably go through my entire life without actually watching Magnum PI but still enjoying photos like this:
 
 
Remember back in the day when men didn’t shave and/ or wax their chests?
 
Somewhere hidden in a family album is a photograph of my mother in the late eighties, standing next to a life size cardboard cutout of Tom Selleck.  If I didn’t think my mother would disown me I would blow it up and frame it, or at least post it here.  However, I like to maintain good relations with my mother and so I will leave that photo where it lies.  My mother is a big fan of the moustachioed man, given her penchant for Tom Selleck and the famously stached Sam Elliot.  But I shall not make fun of her mature women fantasies because I picked up a copy of People at my hair salon and flipped to the men who were deemed to be “Sexy at (fill in the age decade)”.  I realized that the only appealing demographic was the Sexy at Fifty category.  HENRY FRANCIS?  I guess I am ready for More magazine after all.  
 

Taxidermy! Food courts! Ukrainian Folk Dancing!

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Today I attended an assembly hosted by both Mark’s and Jake’s classes where there was a wide variety of Reader’s Theatre (Mark was Narrator #3) and also Ukrainian folk dancing.  Really, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen sixty five children wearing paper headbands and headdresses, dancing to Ukrainian folk music.  It was very entertaining.  I thought – unbiasedly, of course – that Mark was the very best of all the narrators, but also that he is most emphatically NOT a performer.  Or specifically, a dancer.  He seemed to gravitate towards the middle and back of the group, eyes on the ground, almost as though trying to disappear.  In fact, that was what he was doing, as he told me he was embarrassed to dance in front of the whole school.  Jake’s role was to do a sort of squat-kick spin-your-partner, except his partner was absent, so he spun himself.  I thought it was excellent, in a most unbiased and objective way.

On Friday I opened the childrens’ agendas and discovered that, for this assembly, they were required to wear dark pants and white shirts.  Now, I don’t know about you, but I have a policy about white shirts, and that is that we don’t have any.  I mean, my husband wears them to work, and I have a couple that I guard with aprons and extra care, but my children – no.  However, I didn’t want them to be the only two children without white shirts, and so I resigned myself to a mall excursion.  ON A WEEKEND.  I felt that since I was dipping my toe in anyway, I may as well just jump right in and also get shoes for Mark, given that his feet suddenly had a growth spurt and he was walking strangely in his old shoes, probably semi-crippled with shoe discomfort.

So there we were, the whole family, at the gigantic mall just outside the city.  Like I said, go big or go home, and so we made the trek to the place that houses the Skechers outlet.  We fairly expediently obtained the needed items, plus less expediently obtaining others (not for me, sadly) and then we went to the food court.

What is with kids and the food court?  They think this is the biggest treat of all time.  Any mention of a food court and they get so excited I worry about their little blood pressures.  FOOD COURT!  When I am on one of my rare evenings out, my husband will proclaim “It’s a BOY’S NIGHT!” and the children will lose their little minds with excitement, knowing that they are going to get to go to a mall and eat in a food court. 

After the super-exciting food court lunch, we started to head for the exit.  On the way, we passed Bass Pro and my husband asked the boys if they wanted to go in.  For those of you who don’t know, Bass Pro is a wretched, wretched place filled with a myriad of taxidermied animals.  I cannot even step past the taxidermied moose that mark the entrance without feeling alarm, which seems to be the exact opposite of my children, who enjoy looking at the taxidermied animals, as well as the camouflage hunting tents and whatnot.  Both boys immediately said that they did NOT want to go to the store because they didn’t want to lose Mom again.

Here’s the story: the last time we were at that mall, the kids wanted to go into Bass Pro and look at all the (dead) animals, and also the gigantic fish tank.  I, understandably, wanted to pass.  I said I would wait outside, but I got bored and started to wander around.  I texted my husband to tell him I was going to Jacob to look at black sweaters.  I texted him that I was now in a shoe store.  I texted him to say I was buying some boots.  I texted him to ask where are you?  God, I thought, they are taking forever.  I wandered some more and ran into him, white-faced and frantic.  It turns out that my husband didn’t have his phone with him, and thought I had disappeared.  Oops.  In any event, the boys were so traumatized that a) no one wants to ever go into Bass Pro again, and b) my husband doesn’t leave the house without his phone.

The last time I was in Bass Pro – many, many months ago – I snapped some photos:

Sexytimes!  A camouflage lingerie section, to go with the camouflage quad/ hunting tent combination, in case anyone’s in the market.


A date to Home Depot

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Breaking News: the ground has thawed in YYC!  Yes, only a tiny drift of snow remains in only the shadiest part of my yard, and all other gardens are showing signs of life.  Little green shoots!  Tiny baby plants!  Buds on the trees, with the regrettable exception of the once-beautiful-now-apparently-dead, fifty year old hawthorn tree.  I’ve been cleaning up the gardens and cutting back the dead foliage on my perennials, and making big, big, big plans for the front garden.  Well, not BIG plans like ripping out all the lawn – which I would like to do but I encounter resistance from my husband – but plans such as replanting and changing the look of things.

With this in mind, my husband and I went to Home Depot together to buy dirt.  DIRT.  It was possibly the lamest, least romantic date ever, and that includes the time we went to Lowe’s to pick out a high efficiency toilet.  But there we were, with a cart full of dirt, about which we actually had a discussion regarding if this was the ideal kind of dirt.  My husband decided that he needed some kind of ventilation thing for the garage and then left me, with the cart full of dirt, to go look for it.  And I tell you this: there’s nothing like standing by oneself in Home Depot for a long period of time, examining the various cleaning supplies (stainless steel SINK CLEANER?  YES PLEASE.) to make you feel like a 1950’s housefrau, or, alternately, a six year old girl.  No fewer than eight separate Home Depot employees came up to me, wondering if I needed help?  Did I need to find something?  Was I lost?  I don’t mean to play up gender stereotypes or anything, but there was one other woman in the store and she was efficiently purchasing paint supplies, which means that I was not exactly doing my part for feminism.  Eventually, after about fifteen minutes of standing there between the paint and the plumbing aisle, I decided to go look for my husband.  Maybe he forgot I was there?  I ended up in the lumber department, where various burly men turned to look at me as if to say you’re in the wrong place, miss.

By the time the eighth employee asked if I was SURE I didn’t need anything, I said “Well, my husband kind of left me here.  If I’m still here at closing time, I might need a new husband.  Or a ride home.”  The young employee laughed a little nervously.  Was that the wrong thing to say?  In any case, it was only a few minutes after that my husband appeared with a number of vents and something completely unrecognizable but apparently related to the ventilation project.  He suggested I go find the checkout line and he would meet me there.  On the way I stopped by the display of gardening gloves, engaging in conversation yet another employee who gave me some unsolicited information on the various types of gloves.  Possibly I was on the closed-circuit video: she’s finally on the move!  Catch up with her in the gardening glove section!  In any case, it took me a few minutes to get to the checkout, when I saw from a distance my husband looking around for me.  “Where did you go?” he asked, frustratingly.  Where did I go?  Pot and kettle, I swear.

It was still better than the Home Depot-related trauma I suffered last year when we were doing our renovations and I was tasked with picking out fixtures.  I recall wandering around Home Depot, completely overwhelmed by the choices and close to tears, snapping pictures at random and probably raising the ire of the employees, who may or may not have seen me as some kind of competitor spy.

In any case, we now have a whole lot of dirt, the weekend is looking lovely, and I am soon going to have the shiniest sink since Hannah went all fly-lady on me. Also, it’s Friday and it’s golf season, which means wine, Greek salad, and a whole lot of NYPD Blue.  What are you doing this weekend, dear readers?  I hope something lovely. xo

It’s not easy being green.

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I was digging through my bottom dresser drawer on the weekend and found a little bag containing a number of cards, including a Blockbuster Video membership card.  How long has that been there?  There was also a Northwest Airlines World Perks card I had from my working-girl-business-travel era, which was some time ago.  Clearly I need to clean out my drawers more often.  At least I didn’t find any maternity pantyhose, like I did last time.

In case you missed it, it was my birthday on the weekend!  Best weekend ever, I tell you.  My mom made me a cake and my husband went out and bought me a case of wine, including a very nice bottle of Amarone that we shared while watching my new copy of Les Miserables, which as you may know I’ve been wanting to see for…well…for as long as it’s been out, I guess.  It was a great movie, and I restrained myself from singing along to the entire score.  I am only human though, and occasionally I would slip out with a Who am I? 2-4-6-0-1! which is when my husband would wander downstairs to see how the boys were doing on their video game or into the kitchen to fetch me more wine.  Good husband! 


The boys gave me a new yoga outfit, which I proudly wore on Sunday morning, negating the Shala’s need for lights:



I felt a bit like a walking glo-stick or lime popsicle, but in a good way.  I kind of love it.  And hey, my birthday is right before Earth Day and right after Pot Day, so wearing green seems like a great idea.

Other things I love:

1) We have finally finished reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series.  I have been reading it to the boys at bedtime for the past couple of months and believe me when I say this: I cannot think of another series of books that I have so loathed.  The kids loved it, mind you, but I felt that it was the lamest, most mean-spirited series in the history of time.  It pushed so many buttons for me and reminded me of why I hated the tween years.  Obviously I am not the target audience but in any case I’m ecstatic it’s all over.  Next up: Charlotte’s Web!  Hooray!  No one knew that a little grey spider played the biggest part.  No one was with her when she died.  Wah.  Poor Charlotte.

2) 31 Inanimate Objects With Secret Inner Lives.  The gherkin!

3) 14 Engagement Photos. Although, the train track picture is giving me heart palpitations.  DON’T PLAY ON THE TRACKS! 

4) Mad Men.  I am really enjoying this season, especially the swingy fashion of the late sixties.  If I could get away with wearing minidresses, go-go boots, false eyelashes and white lipstick every day I would.  If I wouldn’t look like death with white lipstick, that is.  And if it wouldn’t look strange to wear false eyelashes, minidresses and go-go boots to the school, dog park or grocery store, which are my three main destinations.

I think it’s almost time for another Nicole’s Favourite Things, now that the temperatures are actually ABOVE freezing and little green things are starting to poke out of the ground.  Watch for it in the coming days!  Spring!  Finally!  Things feel grand.  xoxo

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Thanks everyone for playing along for my giveaway.  Justine was the big winner!  Congratulations Justine – something fun will be on your way, just as soon as I get to the post office. 

Yeahhhh, that’d be great.

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I enjoy Facebook for many reasons, but those reasons do not include certain pictures that get posted with political or inflammatory messages on them and pictures that are prefaced with “Share If You…”  Share if you love your mom!  Share if you love your kids!  Share if you have a dog!  Share if you hate cancer!  Whoops, I didn’t share.  Guess I hate my mother.  (I don’t hate my mother.  Hi Mom!). 

However, on occasion a picture will be shared that I think summarizes a certain situation up admirably.

One of the reasons I do like Facebook is that my twenty year high school reunion is coming up and I already pretty much know what my graduating class has been up to, which will cut down on awkward “So…what have you been doing these past two decades?” conversations.  A number of people have said things along the lines of I can’t believe it’s been twenty years! to which I strongly disagree.  It feels more like fifty years since I was in high school.  I have only to look at photos from my high school graduation to feel that it was a lifetime ago: my shiny red off-the-shoulder dress with satin clutch and shoes dyed to match, ringleted hair in a fancy updo, and the piece de resistance – a white rose corsage on my wrist.  My high school boyfriend was wearing a tuxedo with a red bow tie that matched my dress, for the love of god.  I wouldn’t relive those years for anything, and not just because everyone wore belted, high waisted pants with baggy t-shirts tucked into them.

Speaking of exes, I don’t know about you but I never have the urge to get in touch with any of them.  I was at a wedding once where the bride prided herself on maintaining friendships with all her ex-boyfriends, and so there was not one, not two, but SIX ex-boyfriends in attendance.  There was also an open mike at the reception which was a terrible error in judgement.  One of those exes got up and started a long and inebriated ramble about how much he loved hitting that (I’m paraphrasing here) and how jealous he was when she was with a man who was not the groom, but who was another ex-boyfriend, seated at table 12.  It was more awkward even than the wedding I attended where the brother of the groom, who was also the best man, gave a thirty-five minute drunken speech about his brother that started with their childhood dream of becoming Stampede wrestlers and ended with the groom being so drunk that he vomited after offending every woman in a bar with his interpretive dance to the “Thong Song”.   

You know, the last giveaway I did was so fun, I think I might just do another. To enter, leave a comment either telling me a funny wedding story OR what you wore to your high school graduation. Or both! I’ll do a draw on Monday April 22 (EARTH DAY! Maybe the prize will be Earth Day related! Or maybe not…)

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In case you haven’t already heard, I’ve got an exciting new gig over at Yummy Mummy Club!  I’m the new food blogger, and I will be putting the yum in Yummy Mummy with tons of recipes for the whole family to enjoy.  So, check it out, pretty please, and maybe subscribe to my feed over there?  I’m the Meatless Mummy Con Carne, so I’m going to spill all my secrets on how I cook vegetarian meals and adapt them for those meat-loving boys of mine.  I’d be ever so grateful if you took a look – maybe you’ll find some recipes that you can enjoy as well. xoxo

Moar Happyer; A Diversion

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“I don’t get it,” Mark said from the back of the minivan, the minivan that was rocking with hip tunes from the seventies.  “Why does that guy want to be a Fireside Girl?”  “Maybe he wants to sell those cupcakes or get badges.” Jake suggested.

For reference, this was the song that was on the radio.  I know, I should really listen to more current music, and I DO, I really do.  But sometimes I need a break from accidentally belting out the uncensored lyrics to “Thrift Shop” in front of my kids.  “Mom, that word is really bad.  It’s even worse than FRICKING.  It means the same thing as this,” the kids will say in their best reprimanding manner, raising their middle fingers so I can see for myself just how inappropriate it is.

In other words, I’ll keep my old-people radio station that advertises for Grey Power Insurance.  Related: it’s almost my birthday!  Time to break out the tiara, drink lots of wine, and eat cake!  So, pretty much like every weekend.  Last birthday I celebrated turning-older-than-Mrs-Robinson; this year is kind of anti-climactic since I don’t know what cougarish fictional character I’m going to be older than.  I have a good ten years before I will be older than Dallas from Suburgatory.

Although I do have one of these foam fingers, only it’s green:

My foam finger is highly underutilized in the bedroom department, however.
Speaking of sexytimes, Barkley has finally stopped attempting to, ahem, dominate a certain little Shih tzu dog named Freddie at the off leash park.  This is big news.  It is also the end of a short lived, yet very embarrassing era in which I would have to grab Barkley’s collar, yelling “Barkley, NO!” while simultaneously apologizing to the older lady to whom Freddie belongs.  I was somewhat curious why Barkley continued to try to have his way with Freddie given that a) Barkley is a eunich, and b) Freddie is male.  Perhaps Barkley is gay?  My friend Nan informed me that if Barkley is gay, then her dog, who regularly attempted to dominate pillows in a similar manner for many months, must be a foamosexual.
Foamosexual.  It’s a word that never fails to make me smile, although now that I posted a picture of a foam finger, it’s kind of disturbing.
Other cheerful things that are happening around here: Jake told me he loves school, and that is because in his mind school is a video game and whenever he accomplishes a goal or a difficult task, he considers it a “level completed”.  I feel like something is a bit off with that, but whatever works.  Level up, buddy.  Mark is finishing his last swim class today and I’m fairly sure he did not “level up”, as it were.  “I’m the slowest swimmer in my class!” he told me, to which I did NOT respond that I was consistently the second worst athlete in every single phys ed class growing up.  He should just be glad I procreated with his “Award of Excellence” father, just to get some athleticism genes.  I mean, that’s not the only reason I procreated with him.  He’s number one!  *raises foam finger*
It is also “Tacky Tourist” day at school, and I for one welcome this dress-up day as being much, much easier than “Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up” day or “Dress As Your Favourite Storybook Character” day, both of leave me bemused and devoid of all creative ideas.  At least, I thought it was easy.  This is what they looked like this morning:
Of course, we got to school and all the kids had crazy straw hats and sunglasses and cabana wear but STILL.  Maui t-shirts count for something, I think.