Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Sears and Anthropologie: Reunited and it feels so good.

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It’s snowing, again, huge fluffy flakes that would fill me with appreciation for their beauty if it were not mid-April.  But!  I am not going to focus on that.  Instead, let me tell you about receiving the “Hello Summer!” Sears catalogue. 

I love clothes and fashion.  I love browsing through fashion magazines and thinking about what new styles might work for me, my body type, and my own personal style, and what, most emphatically, would not.  Bright colours, patterns, and off-the-shoulder prairie blouses – no.  Dark colours, tight pants, flowy tops – okay.  I love to flip through the Sears catalogue to see how the company is marketing itself.  We all know Sears as a store that appeals strongly to older demographics, but they are also trying to get a piece of the hip, young audience.  So it’s kind of fun to see items like this:

juxtaposed with items like this:

 

I will spare you my Adam Glassman-esque diatribe about shorts and how they are an abomination to society unless worn for particular athletic and/or lifestyle reasons.  In any case, I think we can all agree that Sears is trying to be everything to everyone. 

My favourite mail days are when I get the Sears catalogue AND the anthropologie catalogue at the same time.  I like to do a contrast and compare between the two; anthropologie is a company that definitely caters to the “young, hip, moneyed” crowd but oftentimes I will find clothing that really screams out “older demographic”.  I find this very entertaining.  View Exhibit A:

To me, this $168 dress says “cabana wear”.  This one as well:

 
Man, that is one unflattering dress.  It is not doing this woman’s figure any favours, and what hope does that give the rest of us?  This dress is not dissimilar to this one, for $100 less, in the Sears catalogue.
 
 
 
What I found entertaining was the vast amount of floral skinny pants available in both catalogues.  I’m not exactly sure of the target audience, but can you guess which pants are from which catalogue?
 
 
 
 
 
If you said anthropologie, Sears, anthropologie, Sears, then you’re right!  Honestly, those pants are a BAD idea no matter where you buy them.  There is just no way that those pants will flatter anyone.  No cute shoes, tops, or scarves are going to save an outfit that contains floral patterned pants.
 
Other items of note:
 
 
 
This whole outfit is terribly fattening in every way – the way the skirt hits the widest part of the calves, the skirt itself, the cinched waist – but what I find funny is how the horse’s head hits right in between the breasts.  The horse is looking at my boob.
 
Speaking of horses:
 
 
Jeans: cute.  Booties: cute.  Red plaid top with horse sweater?  Well, I’m from Calgary.  This outfit puts me too much in mind of bad Stampede wear.  Plus, the sweater alone is $118.  If I want kitchy western wear I may as well buy this very ugly denim dress from Sears for $29.99:
 
 
 
Not that I would, mind you.  It’s pretty ugly.  Item of note: there are NO horse sweaters in the Sears catalogue.  There are many with floral or snowflake appliques, but no horses.  There is one owl sweater:
 
 
That model finds her owl and the pretend elbow patches really saucy.
 
Now, lest you think I’m a hater, I found some items that I love, from both Sears and anthropologie.  This dress, OMG, this DRESS!  If I had somewhere to wear it I would buy it in a heartbeat.  It’s gorgeous.
 
 
Someone PLEASE get married and invite me to the wedding so I can have an excuse to buy it.  This one, too:
 
 

Isn’t it adorable?  So zhu bisou bisou.  Now, Sears, don’t feel left out.  I have love for you too.  This dress is very cute and much more reasonably priced:

 
The only thing is the name of this dress.  It’s called, and I quote, “Boat Neck Slinky Dress”.  I’m not sure I can get down with that label.
 
**********************************************************************************
 
All images from www.sears.ca and www.anthropologie.com
 

The only way out is through

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Yesterday I was having a fabulous hair day, which is not something that happens frequently at the best of times, and especially not when it’s T-3 days until my appointment at the hair salon.  Generally, at this time in my hair cycle, my hair resembles a cross between straw and the fur on the old grey mare eating said straw.  But yesterday, due to some random act of kindness from the universe, my hair was soft and bouncy and wavy in all the right ways.

I tell you, I felt like I had it going on, even though it was kind of a wasted good hair day.  I was only planning on writing and cooking the whole day, and except for my usual drives to the school and dog walking, I wasn’t going anywhere or seeing anyone.  Nonetheless, I felt fine and saucy with my excellent hair and my giant woolly sweater and my long winter coat, because it is COLD here. 

I always feel better if I’m looking well.  It’s the reason I do my hair and makeup every morning and put on a cute outfit, because it is a slippery slope when one is a stay-at-home mom.  It’s a slippery slope to sweatpants and ballcaps and running shoes.  Rightly or wrongly, I feel like if I look good, then I can face the day with confidence, and so I slicked on some lipgloss, pulled on my tall winter boots (did I mention it’s really, really cold?) and headed to the dog park with Barkley.


Ah, Barkley.  Barkley my sweet, cuddly dog who looks like a Gund, a soft and huggable stuffed animal.  My adorable ball of fur.  My fluffy friend.  I’m guessing that, perhaps, a mouse had found its way into our yard.  Perhaps due to the recent warm day and subsequent cold snap, this mouse may not have been as quick on the draw as mice usually are.  In any case, the mouse ended up meeting its maker.  Barkley acted on his superior position in the food chain; the circle of life, enacted in my backyard.

How do I know this?  Because, at the dog park, the mouse got stuck on the way out.  The way out, after being digested.  And I, I was the only one who was able to help.  I had that terrifying realization that all the responsible adults are gone, no, wait, I am the responsible adult.  There is no one else.  IT’S ON ME TO SOLVE THIS.

And I will confess to you that I hesitated, wondering if perhaps the universe wouldn’t solve this itself.  The universe that had blessed me with such a fabulous hair day with only three days to go until my hair appointment.  If we were in the wild, if Barkley wasn’t some pampered and beloved pet but an animal fending for himself to survive, wouldn’t there be some natural solution?  Save yourselves! 

No.  I realized, philosophically, that the only way out was through, so to speak, and I fashioned a glove out of one of the little blue bags I keep in my coat pocket.  I solved the problem and then I looked at his cute, fuzzy, brown face and briefly hated him and his carnivorous ways. 

And just like that, the universe was back in balance.

In the wink of a young girl’s eye

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I have heard “Glory Days” no fewer than five times in the past two days.  Is it a sign?  Perhaps the universe is saying something about my impending 20 year high school reunion.  Should I start reliving those glory days?  Perhaps don a baby doll dress to wear with army boots?  Spiral perm my hair?  Wear bright red lipstick and get all excited about quadratic equations?  Perfect my Southern accent so I can portray Amanda Wingfield in the school play?

Glory days indeed.  It occurred to me today that I have never seen a single episode of The Littlest Hobo or The Beachcombers.  I wonder if that’s enough to get my Canadian citizenship revoked.  I can only recall regularly watching three television shows when I was a child: The Muppet Show (and later, Fraggle Rock), The Smurfs, and Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness.  I loved Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness.  I can still recall being devastated by the episode about Canada geese, and the widowed goose who would now live out the remainder of her life alone and mateless.  The poor, poor goose.

Speaking of popular culture on television, Season Five of Mad Men is now on Netflix and I have been voraciously re-watching it in anticipation of the Season Six opener on Saturday.  I’m really enjoying this since I seem to have forgotten all the plot lines.  Peggy, and her vague disillusionment with her job.  Megan, following her dream to become a lady of the theatre.  Betty, attending Weight Watchers meetings.  I’m almost at the episode where – spoiler alert! – Lane is FOUND IN HIS OFFICE and damn, I forgot how great this show is.  Also I am coveting Megan’s entire wardrobe which is a strange thing to covet.  “I should get a dress like that for next year’s Christmas party!” I say to my husband on a near-nightly basis, who looks alarmed at the very idea of me wearing a dress with a six inch skirt to his conservative office party. 

The children were the thrilled recipients of clock radios last weekend.  We are all early birds in this house; waking the kids up for school is not something that actually happens here.  We are all up and raring to go hours before school begins, but my husband and I thought the clocks would be a good idea for the weekend.  The children are only allowed to play video games on the weekend, so they have taken to waking up extra early on Saturdays so as to maximize their game-playing time.  There are worse problems, but I like being able to sleep until the crazy hour of 6:45 or 7:00 on the weekend, and so we have installed clocks in their rooms as a “please don’t wake Mom and Dad up until 6:45” measure.  So far it’s worked but the most fun thing about it is how the kids will retire to their rooms during the day just to listen to the radio.  It’s like we’ve been transported back to the sixties.  THOSE KIDS AND THEIR ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC. 

Clock radios!  I wonder if they are boasting about them at school.  They are so thrilled with them, I would not be surprised.  Are clock radios an actual status symbol, or are my children just deprived little pseudo-Kazhakstanis?  “I get window from glass, he must get window from glass.  I get step, he gets step.  I get clock radio.  He cannot afford!”  Hopefully none of their little friends will break into our house late at night.  Say goodbye to your clock radio.

Be Happy, Moar Happyer

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The kids are back at school this morning, and Mark’s class is in swim lessons this afternoon – the first time ever one of my children have had school swim lessons not in the dead of winter.  It’s a beautiful, sunny day; only a few tenacious and icy snow spots are left in the shady parts of our yard, the dog keeps rolling in and subsequently tracking into the house dead grass, and despite the snow in tonight’s forecast I keep thinking about my plans for the front garden. 

One of the things I love about blogging is – to quote every woman ever in every season of The Bachelor – making a connection.  I feel a real connection to you right now, they say.  Truly, though, I often feel like I have a group of pen pals; some of whom I have met in person, some of whom I haven’t, some of whom I may never meet.  I cheer them on in their endeavors, I get excited for them when good things happen, I worry about them when they go through hard times.

And when they suffer a loss, my heart aches for them.  This is what is happening right now: my friends Sarah and Liv, among many others, have lost a friend to cancer, and while I didn’t know her personally, she was by all accounts a warm, loving, positive woman who influenced many for the better.

To honour my friend Liv, who is honouring her friend, I bring you Moar Happyer, reasons to be happy today, on this beautiful spring day, this Tuesday in April.

1) Being warm on the playground.
2) Pizza with cashew cheese for dinner.
3) This guy:

 
4) This guy:
 
 
5) Skinny jeans and fuzzy slippers:
 
 
6) Penguins and otters:
 
 
 
 
7) My husband, who was in charge of dying Easter eggs on the weekend:
 
 
8) My beautiful, vibrant, circle of friends: the ones I practice yoga with, the ones who dog walk with me, the ones who I hang out with in the playground and coffee shops, the ones scattered far and wide, across time zones and borders who check in on me and encourage me and listen to me.  Everyone reading this.
 
And now it’s your turn to tell me what’s making you Moar Happyer today.  Pass it on. xoxo

Hippos and Spring

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Important Boyhouse update for those of you who have been reading for a while: we visited the zoo yesterday for the first time since the tragic (for us) euthanasia of Foggy the Hippo.  There is a new hippo; his name is Ghost, courtesy of his Halloween birthday, and he is Foggy’s grandson.  I wasn’t sure how the zoo visit would go, since Jake still tears up at the mention of Foggy and he started crying in the car a few weeks ago because a song came on the radio; apparently it was the very song we heard driving home from the zoo after Foggy’s death.  A zoo trip was in the works however; we had a day with no plans, we were all excited to see what turned out to be a very underwhelming “Penguin Walk”, and the day promised to be sunny and mild.

After visiting the penguins and the Canadian Wilds, we started our death march towards the hippo enclosure.  Jake was completely silent, while Mark and I chattered on about how nothing could ever take Foggy’s place in our hearts, but maybe Ghost was a nice hippo, and anyway, there were other animals to see in the African Savannah display.  Giraffes!  Meercats!  Giant pythons!  Jake silently entered the enclosure and peeked through the glass barrier at the hippo pool below.

And – I kid you not – Ghost the hippo immediately poked his head out of the water, turned to Jake’s direction, and wiggled his ears.  He then, in a surprisingly agile move, spun around in the water, looked in Jake’s direction again, and sprayed water out of his nose.

Jake assumed that this hippo behaviour was solely for his benefit, and of course I encouraged this.  Ghost then dove underwater and surfaced in the middle of the pool, directly in front of us.  Sparky, the other hippo, joined him.  “I guess he really likes me!” Jake said happily.  What’s not to like?

All is well in the Boyhouse.  You may notice that Jake is wearing his winter coat.  The sun was shining, the snow was melting, and it was about eight degrees Celcius which was enough to prompt many, many people to wear shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops.  FLIP FLOPS.  A few hardy individuals were seen to be wearing tank tops; meanwhile I felt pretty footloose and fancy free to be wearing my “light” winter jacket.

Mark’s coat is unzipped!  Spring!

I have started, slowly, to bring out spring/fall weight jackets and footwear.  I set out the rain boots and put winter boots in an easily-accessible-but-still-kind-of-away location downstairs.  Yesterday, after the vivid success of the dehydrated pineapple, I went to the grocery store to pick up five more pineapples in my bid to look like someone who needs more tropical things in her life, wearing only a spring weight coat and kicky little ankle boots in place of my usual knee high ones.  I felt slightly naked; my calves especially felt exposed, despite my jeans.  There are buds swelling on the lilac bush, my tenacious daylilies near the back door are pushing their little green sprouts through the thawing earth.  It feels, ever so tenuously, like spring is in the air.  I know, I know that there will be more snow, I know that it will be below freezing at night for many weeks to come, but at the moment everything feels fresh and new.  It feels like spring is poking its head up and wiggling its ears at me.  It’s enough.

Spring Break! Put your (paint covered) hands up!

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It’s only, technically, day two of Spring Break and it is the Most Exciting Spring Break Ever.  Yesterday I looked out the window to see a Canada Post truck parked in the middle of our road and a delivery man struggling up our sidewalk with a giant box addressed to me. 


What is it, you may be asking yourself.  It’s an early birthday present!  A food dehydrator!  I’ve wanted one for a long time, and was completely surprised.  Welcome to Dehydration Nation!


I spent the rest of the day spinning off the earth with excitement, and reading the user’s manual.  I felt dangerously like Crazy Eddie from Friends, the guy who was briefly Chandler’s roommate and who dehydrated everything.  This is a strawberry!  This is a cantaloupe!  Pineapples were on sale last week at my local grocery store, and fortuitously I had picked one up.  You’re first, Mr. Pineapple.

Mark kept stealing pieces, and I felt bad telling my child to lay off the fruit.

It’s in the dehydrator right now, and the entire downstairs, according to the boys, smells exactly like Maui.  It’s a very pleasing smell, and I hope the end result will be tasty as well. 

This morning I took the boys to the dentist, which was as pleasant as could be hoped.  There was a high degree of agitation in the five minute drive to the dentist, and much slumping and sighing in the waiting room, but it turns out that asking for the fluoride to be brushed on, instead of using those little trays can turn an entire dental visit around.  Who knew that fluoride trays could be the cause of so much sadness?  To celebrate our excellent visit, I took the boys to Colour Me Mine, where you can choose a piece of pottery to paint, and the Colour Me Mine people glaze and fire it for you. 

 
 
 
So far, spring break has been pretty excellent.  Next up: cleaning up the dog’s fecal matter in the melting backyard.  This is the downside of the exciting spring melt.  But the snow is melting, the sun is shining, and my house smells like pineapple!  Things don’t get much better than that.

Nine Feels Fine

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Mark was born on our second wedding anniversary, after a pre-eclampsia diagnosis, a three week bedrest, minor panic, and a startlingly short labour.  I learned that not everything always goes as planned.

 
He was a seriously cute baby with super spiky hair.  I learned how to eat and cook one-handed.
 
 
 
He was a cheery and happy baby.  I learned the words to Goodnight Moon, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb, and Mr Brown Can Moo off by heart.

 
A few short months after this picture was taken, he became a big brother.  I learned that having one baby was actually pretty easy.

 
By age two, he knew the makes and models of all vehicles in our neighbourhood.  I learned the difference between a Ford F150 and a Chevy Silverado.
 
 
At age three, he loved everything with wheels.  I learned everything I needed to know about heavy machinery.

 
At age four he loved dinosaurs.  I learned all about even the most obscure dinosaurs, including the periods they lived in.

 
At age five, he lost teeth, discovered a love of science experiments, and learned to read.  I learned that when your child starts school, it’s not necessary to be on every single committee, even when you are asked to be.

 
By age six, he decided he wanted to be a businessman when he grew up.  I learned how to be a soccer mom and to always keep a sleeping bag in the car.
 
 
At seven, he started swimming for real.  I learned that being the mom of school aged kids was pretty awesome.
 
 
At eight, he loved video games and books, animals and golfing, sand and sun and snow alike.  I learned about Geronimo Stilton, Pokemon, and Phineas and Ferb.
 

Today, at age nine, he is smart and silly, the classroom peacemaker who also loves karate and battles.  He’s a great brother, an awesome kid, and I’m proud of him every day.  Because of him, I learned how to be a mom.