Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

A Darker Shade of Pale

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Aloha!  It feels like I haven’t written forever, but that’s because I was on vacation in Maui!  We flew in on the red eye last night, and so I’m feeling a little red-eyed.  Pardon the incoherence.  Despite sleeping only about five hours last night, the boys are shockingly energetic and pleasant, which indicates that a ball must be about to drop.  I am also about to drop but wanted to give an update on my lovely, lovely vacation.  As my friend Marilyn mentioned recently, it’s easy to get verklempt about the passage of time and formerly chubby cheeks and adorable mispronunciations, but when it comes to travel, older kids are the bomb.  There was a family – and I mean, parents, plus grandparents, plus two uncles – with one small child at the condominium pool, and all the adults were chasing and doting on and pacifying said small child.  Someone was always following closely, making sure she didn’t tumble into the pool, or slip on the cement, or drown in the hot tub, or eat a plant.  It reminded me of how busy that age was and how un-relaxing a vacation could be.  It also reminded me that I don’t remember anything that happened from 2005-2007, since that little girl was 17 months, and Jake was born when Mark was 17 1/2 months.  I was chatting with the mother and mentioned this, and she said emphatically “Well, she sure has put our plans to have other children on hold indefinitely!”, which seemed somewhat extreme.  In any case, between that family and another mother with three small children – who said to me “I’m still cooking dinner, doing dishes, and folding laundry.  How is this a vacation?” – I was feeling pretty excellent about my children who could be in the pool with only marginal supervision and who weren’t about to eat sand. 

Look at them hanging out at the hot tub like little old men.

It was a fabulous vacation, complete with marginally supervising the children:


Where are the children?  I don’t actually know.  A lot of time was spent at the beach


where I got to ogle all the sexy men:

Is it horrible to post a picture of this guy?  Because he reminded me of Saturday Night Fever.  You can’t tell in this picture but he had a ginormous gold chain on, plus hair like a silver John Travolta, plus – PLUS – his swimsuit was fluorescent animal patterned on the front only.  But you know what?  I give him points for confidence.  Rock it!

We watched the sunset, and also were entertained by the kite flying and pick up volleyball games:

It wasn’t all warmth and sunshine though.  My husband wanted to drive to the top of Halekala volcano, where it was over 10,000 feet of elevation, 36 degrees Fahrenheit, wet, and windy:

I also re-discovered a universal truth: one cannot eat and or drink whatever one wants whenever one wants without consequences.  Related: drinking three beers while barbequing every night, plus wine, plus umbrella drinks, may be excessive.

That photo was for my girlfriend – she knows who she is – who wasn’t there to help me drink those giant bottles.  I had to do it myself.

Finally, we had fun exploring new places and spending massive amounts of time together with a minimum of discord.


Shorts without pockets?  Is this an inside joke?  Or does it just mean no shorts without pockets?  I DON’T GET IT.  Also, since this refers to guys only, does that mean the ladies can party in bikinis after 9 pm?  I’m guessing yes. 

"And then I posted that as my status, and three people liked it."

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Remember that old Simpsons’ episode where Apu went without sleep for several days and then thought he was a hummingbird?  I feel like that, except for the no-sleep thing.  I mean, I haven’t been sleeping that well but I have been sleeping; during the daylight hours I have been flitting around exactly like a hummingbird, going from task to task in a frantic kind of way.  I have lists everywhere and every time I cross something off I do not get my usual feeling of accomplishment; instead I feel like I need to add five items.   

The boys are sick with colds; Jake has a massive headcold and is currently lying on the couch watching Looney Tunes.  Mark has a cough and any time he has a cough I get something like post-traumatic stress disorder from that time he had pneumonia.  He coughs and my heart starts pounding, my entire body gets tense.  Last night I heard him cough, ran into his room – nearly passing out in the process, due to the excellent combination of my super-low blood pressure and jumping out of bed – and asked if he needed his emergency inhaler.  He was sound asleep.  I stood there in the doorway, my heart pounding, feeling like a ridiculous hypochondriac of a mother.

In an interview prior to the Super Bowl, Ray Lewis said “I’m too blessed to be stressed” and I decided to adopt that as a motto for my life.  I thought I should work that thought, in a zen-like way, into my everyday life.  Which means I was practically screaming “I’M TOO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED!  SERENITY NOW!  NAMASTE MOTHERFUCKER!” today, for reasons too ridiculous to go into. 

Oh well, they are sick, they’ll get better.  The other day the boys were at a make-up karate class, on a different day than usual.  On their usual day, all the kids get dropped off and picked up later, but for me, it’s too far to drive home and back, so I normally sit in the waiting area by myself.  At the make-up class, the kids were younger and so there were a number of moms also waiting.

Here I must interject.  I am the chatty, small-talky mom you might meet in a waiting area.  Chances are if we just met I will find out your kids’ names, ages, activities, and favourite movies.  But on this day, in this waiting room, there were three moms that obviously knew each other and settled in for what I assumed was their weekly chat, and I smiled at them and then, not wanting to interrupt them, continued writing in my notebook.  

It turns out that I couldn’t have interrupted if I had wanted to.  One of the moms started talking at 4:15 and didn’t stop for the next forty five minutes.  It was something to behold.  I looked up at one point, and noticed one of the moms she was talking at was busily crocheting, and the other was simply nodding and murmuring “Um hmmm.  Hmmm.” at intervals.  I guessed this was business as usual for this group.  The woman talked nonstop about the following topics: her son’s hockey practice and the schedule they keep, her hairdresser, the frequency with which she speaks to her mother-in-law, the frequency with which her mother-in-law visits or with which she visits her mother-in-law, her Italian lessons and the expense incurred, the Kiwanis music festival at which she was accompanied by someone not musically talented, her son’s field trip to the Calgary Opera and how she was the single greatest chaperone on the trip, her own vast musical talent, fondue, and the weekend hockey tournament that took place at a wonderful venue in Edmonton and the cost of their hotel room.  She told the other women what she posted as her statuses on Facebook for the past week, and how her family liked to spend their time in a relaxed manner at Disneyland.  One of the other moms, at this point, began to talk about her own recent trip to Disneyland, and was instantly cut off when she said she liked to get to the gates early and then stay until close.  “That must be because you’re Asian!” the woman said.  I looked up, startled and horrified.  The crocheting woman was still crocheting madly.  The Asian woman, with what I thought was extreme self-control, nodded politely. 

With the boys being too sick to go to their karate lesson today, I am not particularly looking forward to taking them to the make up class and being subjected to this kind of asinine one-sided conversation again.  Although I’m kind of curious: will this obnoxiousness be a Groundhog Day-like occurrence?  Does this verbal spewage happen every Tuesday from 4:15 to 5:00?  If I flit around the waiting room like Apu the hummingbird, will it be noticed, or will everyone be too busy listening to “And then I posted on Facebook that happiness is a family marshmallow fight.”? 

The Third Dimension (of Top Gun)

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It was pointed out to me that Top Gun – TOP GUN – is being re-released in 3D!  This month, in an IMAX theatre near you!  As thrilling as that may seem, I do find myself wondering if watching that (much beloved by me) movie in 3D on a huge screen would actually enhance the experience.  I’m sure the action sequences would be intensified, but would the volleyball scene be better or worse in 3D?  I’m not convinced either way.  Slider’s oiled up posturing might border on the frightening.  Or, it might be awesome.  Either way I’m not going to find out.

Oh, my.  I went looking for this picture and fell down a rabbit hole.

 
Sorry, I cannot help myself.
 
 
 
Okay, one more.
 
 
PLAYING WITH THE BOYS.
 
Whew.  Where was I?  I think I blacked out for a minute there.  I need an antidote to all this glossiness.
 
 
And…there it is.  Now I can focus.
 
No matter how awesome a 3D showing of (talk to me, Goose) Top Gun would be, I won’t be seeing it.  The reason is that a) I very, very seldom see movies in the theatre, and b) if I do see a movie in the theatre, I want it to be Les Mis, which I still haven’t seen and, if history is any indication, I probably won’t see until it’s on video-on-demand.  Watching movies in the comfort of my own home does have its benefits: unlimited access to the wine bottle, the ability to pause the movie when said wine consumption is high and a visit to the ladies’ room (or, in my house, the room that I am forced to share with the boys) is necessary, and the fun of munching on snacks that did not cost $10 per portion.  The downside, of course, is not seeing the movie as it was intended to be seen, i.e., on the big screen.
 
The last movie I saw in the theatre was The Lorax.  It was in 3D, which was my first 3D movie ever.  It was all right, but the only reason we went to see it in the first place was because our family was visiting our in-laws, and it was raining and cold and an outing was most definitely in order.  Prior to The Lorax, I saw Cars 2 in the theatre (don’t get me started) and prior to that?  Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2.  I don’t even have any idea when I was in a theatre prior to that, which means in the past eight years I’ve been to the theatre three times.
 
Oh wait!  I forgot – there was a fourth time, when my girlfriend and I went to a screening of Mirror Mirror, courtesy of my lovely friend Marilyn.  So, four times in (at least) eight years.  My record is not great, so I’m guessing I’m not seeing Les Mis anytime soon.
 
My memory of Pirates of the Caribbean is fuzzy; Jake was about ten months old at the time and I was exhausted.  He woke several times a night until he was four and a half years old, for the love of god, but I was also tired from the following: pregnancy (years 2003-2004) and interrupted sleep, having a newborn (2004), having a nine month old baby and being pregnant (2005), and having Jake, who was colicky and, as I said before, was a terrible sleeper (2005-2010).  Anyway, my parents were watching the boys for a matinee (since even they weren’t crazy enough to babysit in the evening at that time) and I almost immediately fell asleep.  I slept through the entire movie, waking once in a while to scenes of creatures with squid heads. 
 
All of which is to say, no matter how much I love (Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash) Top Gun, I won’t be seeing it in 3D.  If you see it, let me know how it goes, okay?

February and Friday Happiness

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It’s the first day of February!  January is over, for those of you who had a case of the January blues.  And here in Calgary, the weather today is unseasonably warm, the snow is melting, cars are filthy.  This warmth is in sharp contrast to earlier in the week, when it was minus 37 with windchill.  I went to pick the boys up at lunch – the boys who went to school wearing snowpants, parkas, neck warmers, hats, mitts, and boots – and was sadly disappointed with the sight of them sprinting across the icy playground to meet me, hatless and frozen.  Mark, in particular, cheerfully popped out of his school door wearing only his coat, and unzipped at that.  By the time he made it to the car he was blue, and I asked him what he was thinking.  “Well, the sun was shining,” he said, “So I thought it was warm out.”

The blue skies of Calgary in the winter can be deceiving.  There is a very special breed of Calgarian who ignores the information on the temperature gauge and instead dresses based on what the sky looks like.  You can see these purple legged people everywhere, running along the pathway system, wearing shorts despite the minus 20 temperatures.  It appears that I have birthed one of these people.

But hey, it’s Friday, it’s February, AND it’s a PD day, which I love.  I am still in my sweaty yoga clothes, the kids are in their jammies playing Poke Park on the Wii, and I’m trying to figure out what to do with the giant batch of vegan sour “cream” I made yesterday.  I was reminded after I made it why I avoid soy.  Possibly this can be used as an ingredient in some other recipe; it certainly cannot be used on its own because NASTY.  Oh well, either I salvage it or I forfeit $1.49 worth of soft tofu.  The consequences are not that dire.

I went shopping at Costco yesterday, which isn’t generally my favourite thing to do, but thanks to short lineups and the fact that only one person disparaged my choice of almond milk, it wasn’t too bad.  At least I wasn’t buying this:

 
Cocoa Pebbles!  I had no idea those were still in production.  I have never actually eaten these in my life: my mother, wise woman, did not believe in sugar cereals for children.  Once in a while we had Honey Nut Cheerios, but that was the extent of it.  Still, someone must be eating them.  At first the words “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” popped into my head, but then I realized that is advertising for a totally different cocoa-flavoured-cartoon-branded-cereal.
 
I’m not criticizing, mind you.  Critiquing people’s grocery choices is so not me.  Hell, for all I know this is a base for a Rice-Krispie-esque Square.  Perhaps a Valentine’s Day treat for that special someone.  Speaking of Valentine’s Day, I came across this on Facebook, and I wish I knew the creator:
 
 

These really leave those “Bee Mine” or “I Choo-Choo-Choose You” cards in the dust.  The dust, I say!  Quit Stalin, I shall say to my husband.  And he will shake his head at me, brow furrowed, probably wondering why his wife is such a nutcase.

For example, this morning I was scrolling through news headlines and saw “Ed Koch Died In The Closet.”  The first – the very first – thought that went through my head was how did he die in a closet?  Did he fall into the closet, and did no one find him?  Poor guy.  Then I read the article.  OH.  Light bulb.  I took that for a sign I needed more coffee. 

Then, to top off my nuttiness, I realized that there is a whole folder of messages in my Facebook account that I didn’t know was there!  A sweet note from a woman at the Yoga Shala, from OCTOBER that I had obviously never replied to since I didn’t know it was there.  Rude!  Also in that folder, this classy note from an unknown stranger:

Hello, I am Oscar. I am 45 year old and i am italian live California. I came across your profile and it would be my pleasure if we can be close friends…

Is this how people meet people these days?  It creeped me out – possibly unfairly.  I mean, maybe Oscar just needs a friend.  A CLOSE friend.  Anyone want to be Oscar’s friend?  Anyone?

Being a MILF

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I was driving home from yoga this morning and I heard “You Shook Me All Night Long” on the radio, and it occurred to me – not for the first time – that the line “knocking me out with those American thighs” had much different connotation back in 1980 than it would today.  American thighs probably doesn’t have the same seductive imagery these days. 

Unless, of course, the owner of the American thighs are following the MILF Diet.  Have you heard about the MILF diet?  I had been blissfully unaware until yesterday, when I discovered that there is a book and website devoted to becoming a MILF via nutritional intake.  The book describes a MILF and her diet in the following way:

A true milf is confident, sexy, and radiates natural femininity. By eating whole, plant-based foods, you, too, can find balance and dynamic health, and unleash your inner MILF. It’s simple: you are what you eat. So, to fulfill your true potential for health, happiness, and MILFiness, it’s best to avoid refined sugars, processed foods, dairy, and meat.
 
You guys, that is totally MY diet!  Plant based, no meat, avoiding dairy, refined sugars, processed foods…do you see what I’m saying here?  I AM A MILF.  Either that or the MILF people stole my diet plan. 
 
Who am I kidding, I didn’t need a diet book to tell me about being MILF-y.  I felt Mrs. Robinson-like the first time I accidentally flashed my thong while gardening in my front yard, and noticed the young guy across the street standing there, staring at me.  HOWDY NEIGHBOUR.  Nice day, isn’t it?  That incredibly awkward situation did have an upside: I now only garden in yoga pants and with long shirts.  No need to disturb the neighbourhood, or to make my other across-the-street neighbour feel like it’s okay for him to mow the lawn wearing only giant sneakers and a pair of cut-off red sweatpants.  This is not that kind of neighbourhood, people!  We have real estate values to think of, here. 
 
MILF is one of those words – or acronyms, to be more accurate – that some people find incredibly offensive, and to be sure, it isn’t the most polite way of saying that a woman is attractive.  It’s better than, say, hootchie mama, but that’s about it.  Still, it’s best not to think of it literally; in the fucking sense, I mean.  I would prefer not to think of men – especially those who live across the street from me and with whom I now have very stilted, awkward conversations about the weather – thinking of me as someone they’d like to fuck.  Because ew.  Just…ew.  I’m sure this goes without saying, but bedroom-sexy-times imagery is something I would prefer to keep between me and my husband.
 
Apparently though, the term has evolved to simply mean a woman who is a mother who happens to be attractive, which is okay, unless you take everything from When Harry Met Sally as Biblical-level wisdom:
 
Harry: No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.  He always wants to have sex with her.
 
Do you see what I’m saying here?  I’m saying this term, which started out kind of gross and offensive, and which is generally now thought to have a gentler meaning, is really just gross and offensive, due to the nature of men wanting to have sex with attractive women.  It’s a circular argument.  That is, if When Harry Met Sally is considered to be an accurate representation of male/female relationships, and if it’s not, then I just do not know where to turn.  TOP GUN?  Never fire unless fired upon?  It’s unthinkable.  SAY ANYTHING?  They take your money and tell their friends everything.  It’s about economics, man.  No way.  THE BREAKFAST CLUB?  Don’t play with the bull, young man.  You’ll get the horns.  No, no, no.
 
One might think that I should possibly get on top of pop-culture references that are less than twenty-five years old.  This might be something to think about in future posts.
 
But really, do you know what I find offensive about the term MILF?  It’s an inaccurate acronym.  It really should be MILTF, but I guess that’s just too complicated.  Also?  In The MILF Diet, the author refers to – get this – DILFs.  As in “Dad I’d Like To Fuck”.  Is it me or has the whole thing just gone too far?  There was a line, MILF Diet author, and you crossed it.  That is a big fucking envelope and you are pushing it to the extreme.  First a diet based on how to get random male university students to want to fuck you, now we have to pull men and some kind of Freudian imagery into it?  Not to mention that DILF just makes me think of DILLHOLE, which isn’t exactly a term that makes me think of sexy-times.  The whole thing smacks of idiocy. 
 
It appears I may have had too much coffee today.  Wait.  WAIT.  Is coffee allowed on the MILF diet?  Probably not.  I have overestimated my position as a MILF.  I guess I will abdicate and just go on with life as a regular mom.

Oooh, I hated the Colonel, with his WEE BEADY EYES

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After my last post, I had a few people grumpily say There is NOTHING good about January, to which I respond, sunnily, There is only a week left!  One week and then we are into February!  So there’s a positive thought for you, even if it is just time tick-tick-ticking away.  Also, tomorrow is Robbie Burns’ Day, for all you of Scottish or partial Scottish heritage.  Time for the annual viewing of So I Married An Axe Murderer, complete with Rod Stewart and the Bay City Rollers impersonations.  My dad is probably gearing up for a Haggis feast right this very second.  I was in the grocery store the other day and noticed this sign:

It’s so cheerful!  Got Haggis? 

Gracious, that’s repellent.  Well, the Scots are not known for their cuisine, that is for sure.  Anyone for some sausage cooked in a lamb’s stomach with a side of boiled potatoes?  OH YES PLEASE.  Has anyone noticed that there is not exactly a plethora of Scottish cookbooks around?  There is a reason. 

So I’m not a fan, of haggis or boiled potatoes.  But each to his own, right?  For example, my husband hates my new hairband, which I think is the cutest thing ever.  It has a bow on it!  And lest you think that I look like I’m about to break into the Good Ship Lollipop, the bow is very small:

I think it’s cute, anyway.  It occurred to me that the gap between what my husband thinks is cute and stylish and what I think is cute and stylish is often very wide indeed.  I do tend to pause, if he has issue with something I think is tres adorable, because after all I do not want to become one of those women who bring to mind the wretched “mutton dressed as lamb” saying.  It’s good to have feedback, even if that feedback isn’t exactly what we want to hear. 

Which brings to mind something I meant to mention last week, but I was too mired in the January Blues.  Kate Middleton is, in my opinion, the most beautiful woman in the world.  What I wouldn’t do for her hair and her wardrobe.  Her shoes!  Anyway, she is, without a doubt, stunning.  This portrait, however, is not:

Now, I’m no artist.  (This is an understatement.  I can draw little stick people, daisies, and a happy little sun and that is about it.)  However, I find myself a bit depressed about this portrait.  If this can happen to Kate, what chance do the rest of us have?  At least her hair still looks fabulous, even though her eyes look strangely dead and she looks like she needs to sleep for twelve hours. 

All of which is to say, feedback is good, even if it is not what we wish to hear.  And yes, I know that Kate was purportedly thrilled with this portrait, and to that I think, well, what is she going to say?  Is she going to threaten to have him beheaded and throw a bucketful of paint at it?  I’m guessing NOT.  I’m guessing she dug deep into her good manners reserves, smiled politely, went home, and berated William with questions “Do I need a new undereye concealer?  My god, why didn’t you TELL ME?” 

Nicole’s Favourite Things, January Blues Edition

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Last week I posted about being blue on Blue Monday, but today it was brought to my attention that TODAY IS BLUE MONDAY.  But I was sad last week!  I’m not sad today!  How can it possibly be Blue Monday if I am not sad?

I know.  I know.  It isn’t all about me.  Maybe some of you are feeling blue?  Well, you have come to the right place, because it is *cue Oprah-audience-like-screaming* Nicole’s Favourite Things, The January Blues Edition!!!

Squee!

January is SUCH a bear of a month, what with the comedown from the holidays and – if you live in a climate like mine – the thought that there is at least, at LEAST, three more months of winter, and often more.  Now that’s depressing.  But!  At least we don’t have to worry about the trains not getting through and grinding wheat and twisting hay to keep warm, am I right?  Plus there are lots of fun things that will help us get through this month.  So, let’s get started, shall we?

Nicole’s Favourite Things – January Blues Edition

I spend much more time outside in the winter than I would like.  I take the dog on long daily walks, I stand in the playground dropping the kids off at school, I stand in the playground waiting for the kids after school, I stand in the playground watching the kids sled and play in the snow and assure me that no, they’re not warm, in fact they are boiling.  In other words, I’m constantly freezing.  This year I bought legwarmers, and they have been life-altering.

Life-altering, I tell you.  They are not at ALL Flashdance-like.  They are long, and woolly, and cozy.  If I could, I would make out with them, I love them THAT much.

After I wrote this, a girlfriend told me about her favourite coat from Eddie Bauer.  She swore that she was warm walking her dog in minus 25 degree weather; she sent me the link noting that a) the coat was on sale for 25% off, and b) it was available in black.  SOLD.

It’s so long and warm, and as a bonus I do not feel like I’m an octogenarian while wearing it.  Plus it’s got a cute hood!

It’s faux fur, of course.  In the course of my winter coat shopping, my husband coaxed me to try on a Canada Goose coat, which he was highly in favour of.  That’s when I found out the grim truth – Canada Goose uses real fur on their coats!  Real fur!  Who does that anymore?  When I told the salesgirl that, sadly, this was a deal breaker for me, she informed me that Canada Goose only uses animals that have died of natural causes.  The bees are doing what now?  I have strong doubts about that.  How is that even possible?  Do they harvest their furs from roadkill?  Do they put animals on little treadmills until they die of exhaustion?  It boggles the mind.

Moving along.  Calgary is a dry, dry climate, and it’s much worse in the winter.  My hands have been known to snag my clothing, they can get so dry and chapped.  I bought this cocoa butter hand cream, and it’s a miracle.  I put it on at night because otherwise I’m not sure I could open door knobs.  The smell is wonderful; it reminds me so much of the cocoa butter stick I used on my giant pregnant stomach to avoid stretch marks.  It always makes me think of how happy I was while pregnant, and I always smile.  Cure for the blues, right there!

And I know, I know, I say something about Bath and Body Works lotion every time I write a Nicole’s Favourite Things, but, as I mentioned before, I’m a lotion addict.  The Brown Sugar and Fig scent is nice and warm smelling, perfect for a cold January day.

I like using shower cream instead of shaving gel; it leaves my legs softer and smoother.  This scent always makes me smile because I have a friend and yoga teacher named Harmony.  I like to think “Stop!  Harmony time!” in the manner of MC Hammer.  Also, it has a really pretty floral scent.

I have not yet seen Les Miserables, although I’m dying to.  I saw the play in the theatre years ago and immediately went out and bought the soundtrack, I loved the music so.  Now, I see movies in the theatre rarely but I’m hoping to make it out before it ends up on Pay Per View, but in the meantime I have been listening to the soundtrack non-stop.  Unfortunately, that means that I have At The End Of The Day perpetually in my head.  Remember that old episode of Seinfeld when George gets Master of the House stuck in his head and is worried about his eventual descent into madness?  It’s like that.

Of course, one thing leads to another, and then I start listening to The Phantom of the Opera.  This is terrible news for my children, as I sing all the parts.  Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say GOOOOOOD byeeeeee.
Speaking of the darling children, they have started karate.  “I know it’s a martial art,” I said to my husband, “But I’m surprised at how much they talk about potential attacks!”  He raised his eyebrows at me.  “You’re surprised by this?”

That last picture makes me nervous.  I mean, Mark is RIGHT by the stairs.  Well, they are all still in one piece, so it’s all fine.

Your turn, dear reader.  What makes you happy during this blue month of January?  xoxo

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PS Every Monday I will be writing about lunches, over at The Ladies Who (Make) Lunch!  I’m so excited about this, I just can’t hide it.  Go check out my first post, about coming home for lunch, and some nice memories from the 80s.