Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Death by Shapewear; Nicole’s Favourite Things, Back-to-School Edition

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I was watching the news the other day and there was a story about how wearing shapewear, such as Spanx, excessively could lead to infection, blood clots, and death.  Death.  By shapewear.  I’m sure there are more humiliating ways to die, but at the moment I cannot think of any.  As my friend Rachel said, you would have to die twice – you would need to come back and die of embarrassment when the coronor cut you out of said shapewear, with the ensuing flesh explosion. 

Death by shapewear.  I don’t even want to think too much about the “infection” part. 

As we all know, nothing gets between Oprah and her Spanx.  So, on that O-related note, may I present the second edition of Nicole’s Favourite Things!  This is the back-to-school edition.  I am not exactly looking forward to the change of seasons.  I’m a summertastic kind of girl, and the thought of cold mornings and my aching, purple hands does not get me excited.  But, as I tell the boys cheerily, there is always SOMETHING to look forward to in every season! 

This is how you can tell I’m a Canadian girl – last week I pulled out all the kids’ winter gear and forced them to try everything on, in anticipation of the stores being sold out of everything by the end of September.  If you’ve ever tried to buy a pair of snow pants in January, you know of what I speak.  Fortunately my methodology of buying large so that the boys will “grow into it” worked – I only needed to buy one pair of mittens and one hat.  I also needed to buy indoor shoes for school since my children have disproportionately ginormous feet that grow quickly.

My favourite shoes for the boys are Skechers.  They last well, they’re cute, and at this time of year there is always a buy one, get one 50% off deal at the outlet store.  My only complaint – and this is not just Skechers related, but related to every single retailer in the world – is that the selection for boys is a tenth of the selection for girls.  RETAILERS, YOU SUCK.  There are always thousands of glittery, adorable girls’ shoes, and a handful at most of boys’ shoes.  This reminds me of my recent trip to Costco – not this Costco, thank goodness, or I would be lynched by the Americans for taking up a parking space – when I looked for boys’ underwear.  Pretty simple, right?  It turns out Costco had – and I am not exaggerating, people – four packages of boys’ underwear, size 16.  NOTHING ELSE.  Of course, there was a large selection of girls’ underwear.  Boys need underwear too, Costco, you bastards.

Whew, I went off on a little tangent there, didn’t I?  I also would like to give a shout-out to the good people at Mountain Equipment Co-Op, where I bought those backpacks last year.  MEC is famous for having an insanely good return/exchange/fixing faulty items policy.  They will literally do anything to satisfy their customers.  Their backpacks – along with most of their items – last forever, so I always make sure I purchase a nice, neutral colour that no one will tire of.  Most of their kids’ gear has reflective strips, which is nice for those days when the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon.  Sob.

My kids come home for lunch, which has its pros and cons.  The biggest pro is not having to pack lunches.  The only exception to this is our early-dismissal Fridays, when the kids are out at 1:10 and so they have a “nutrition break”.  I don’t know about your kids, but mine aren’t huge fans of sandwiches when they are not of the peanut butter and jam variety (we are at a nut-free school).  One of my girlfriends suggested a healthy, homemade alternative to those vile Lunchables: packing crackers with various cheeses and meats, veggies, and fruit.  I found these cute little Tupperware containers to keep things separated.

What are those little hearts?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve never tried one of those label companies before, but I won a set from Lovable Labels and included were these cute little stickers that say things like “I love you to the moon and back” on them.  Awwww.  I stuck some of the little hearts on the inside of the containers, as a special reminder to the kids.  Awwwww.  I’m going to miss them and their constant Star Wars prattle.

Nothing to do with back-to-school, but this time of year is fantastic for zucchinis and tomatoes.  So why not think about baking a deliciously addictive loaf of chocolate zucchini bread, roasted vegetable lasagne, or salsa (not seltzer)?  You can eat your feelings about your children going back to school and your somewhat-empty-nest syndrome.  Or maybe that’s just me.

Landslide’ll bring you down

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“I have a feeling you’re not going to do well when the kids leave home,” my husband said to me today.  My parents took the kids to their place at the lake, and when they left the dog – who is me, but in canine form – flopped on the floor, dramatically whimpering.  The dog and I stared at each other in silence for about ten minutes, then I silently moved from room to room, aimlessly staring out the window.  Fortunately my lovely friend popped by for an iced tea in the backyard, or I probably still would be staring out of Jake’s window, singing Landslide to myself, while the dog lay in a heap at my feet.

I’m afraid of changing, cause I’ve built my life around you…

The house is so quiet.  I realized around 4:00 that I didn’t even need to start dinner yet, since it would be lame to eat all by myself at our regular time, instead of waiting for my husband to get home from work.  But, since I am accustomed to eating at early hours with the children, I was starving, so I decided to eat a plate full of crackers with cashew pretend-cheese spread, and drink a beer.  I’m feeling much better now.

Speaking of cashew not-cheese spread, a friend passed on his recipe and I don’t know if it’s super amazing or I’m just so cheese deprived that I’m enjoying anything these days, but it is pretty good!  My husband thinks it’s the latter, by the way.

But what does he know?  Husbands.  They are the reason the “Better Marriage Blanket” was invented.  Have you seen these things?  Apparently this is a real thing.  Although – I don’t know.  It seems a little Saturday Night Live for me.

I don’t know what I love most about this product.  Is it that it completely and quickly absorbs the odor of flatulence?  Is it that it contains technology used by the military to protect against chemical weapons?  Is it that it is recommended as a wedding or anniversary gift?  No, I think it’s the part where it is a real solution to a real problem, and I OWE IT TO MY MARRIAGE.  How many couples are breaking up because of bedtime flatulence?  If this is a joke, I don’t want to know.  I just want to enjoy the thought of giving this blanket as a gift.  You guys seem like you could use this…  Maybe it could be given out in couple’s therapy?

Listen to me.  The children have been gone a mere three hours and all I can write about is flatulence?  It’s like they’re right here with me.

Speaking of silent houses, school starts in two and a half weeks!  Where has the summer gone?  I’m not quite ready to get back into routine, maybe because it’s been a strangely hot and fabulous summer here in YYC, or maybe it’s because I seem to have the attitude THE CHILDREN ARE GONE, I MUST EAT ALL THE CRACKERS AND DRINK ALL THE BEER.  Speaking of which, my beer is empty!  How did THAT happen?

I know all over the continent there is much consternation about school supplies and back-to-school and whatnot, but here’s the great thing about the public system in Calgary: they supply the school supplies!  I mean, there’s a fee and everything, but the fact is that I don’t have to kill myself labeling pencils and finding very specific and colour coded duotangs.  So that’s kind of awesome.  Also kind of awesome – and here’s how you can tell I’m a Canadian girl – I went through all the kids’ winter gear and discovered that buying things that they can grow into really works!  The only things I needed to purchase were a pair of mittens and a hat.  SCORE. 

The house is SO QUIET.  Clearly I’m not ready for back to school, and neither is the dog.  Although, carpe diem.  CARPE FUCKING DIEM.  I think I will take advantage of this situation by having another beer and watching an inappropriate television program.  What do you do when you have the house to yourself?

Time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older tooooooo….

The Skinny on Being Skinny

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Last week, in what can only be described as an incredible burst of energy – of gittin’ ‘er dun – I made pre-back-to-school appointments for the children to see the doctor, dentist, and optometrist.  I’m not sure what this says about me as a mother, but I’m always very anxious prior to any kind of medical/dental appointment.  It’s like my self-esteem is tied up with healthy checkups and no cavities.  It’s been this way since the kids were born.  What percentile are they in?  75th?  Yesssss.

So I had a teensy bit of a crisis yesterday when Jake – who, like his brother, and if I’m being honest here, also like his parents, is tall and skinny – slipped from the 25th percentile for weight into the tenth.  THE TENTH.  And yes, I know, intellectually I know that these are just numbers, the real indicator is that he’s happy, healthy, energetic, and smart.  I know that those charts are probably inherently flawed, and I know that one cannot fight genetics.  Still.  There’s something unnerving about having a child who is one stomach flu away from being seriously underweight.  Something that makes me want to explain to random strangers that yes, I do feed him, and no, of course I don’t give him low-fat anything, and yes, he is allowed to have ice cream.

I really have to watch myself so that I don’t accidentally give him some kind of complex about it, watching every morsel of food that goes into his mouth and mentally counting his caloric intake.  No one needs that kind of glaring spotlight on their eating habits.  I deeply resent anyone who watches and comments on what I eat, so I will endeavour to relax, Frankie, and trust him to eat what he needs. 

As a society, we are so focused on weight and body image.  If we’re not griping about childhood obesity, we are snarking about Angelina Jolie’s arms or Keira Knightley’s protruding breastbone.  We mock women who may have an eating disorder and dismiss their illness by saying Just eat a cupcake, Jesus.  Then in the next breath we express deep concern about someone’s weight gain, rudeness masked as worry.  I’m so worried about you, it’s not healthy to be so heavy.  Someone who shall remain nameless but who I believe should be unconditionally adoring of my children said to me I wouldn’t love them so much if they were FAT KIDS.  Yes, really.  This person wouldn’t feel the same about my children if they were on the other end of the scale.

It’s disturbing.  And yet it is perfectly acceptable in our society to disparage others who do not fall into the narrow realm of “normal weight”.  Sure, it’s only acceptable to whisper about the obese behind their backs, or on the front cover of the Swimsuit Shockers! edition of Star magazine, but it’s okay to say directly to skinny women that they are horrifying, and we hate them. 

It’s wrong and we all know it.  We all know that our society’s focus on appearances and our unrealistic expectations and impoverished neighbourhood’s inaccessibility to fresh foods and our busy-busy-busy fast-food lifestyles are wrong.  And yet we can only fix the things that we can fix.

So I take a deep breath and I continue to prepare healthy meals for my kids and to stock up on ice cream and whole milk and protein sources, I will not allow myself to shine the blinding fluorescent torture light on Jake’s plate at dinner.  I will not say things like “Just one more bite” or “You can’t leave the table until your plate is clean”.  I will trust him to know what’s best for his body, and as long as I provide him with healthy, calorie dense foods, I will trust him to do the rest. 

I don’t want him to feel like his worth is tied up in what he looks like or what he eats.  As long as he is healthy, he’s fine.  He’s more than fine.  He’s smart, happy, healthy, and energetic. I have struggled with body image for my whole life, I do not want the same for my children.  It’s idealistic, but there it is.  Now excuse me, I have some cookies to bake.

Adventures in Boyland

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I’ve been reading the boys all the Little House books, in order, since they became interested in settlers and whatnot after reading Little House on the Prairie at school.  Their favourite was On the Banks of Plum Creek, what with all the plagues and Pa getting lost in a blizzard at Christmas and Laura getting a fur cape and muff from the church Christmas tree and totally flaunting it in Nellie’s face – Nellie didn’t have a muff – take that, Nellie, you uppity bitch.  But now we are reading The Long Winter and it is by far the most captivating for them.  All the tragic foreshadowing – no geese or ducks to be found, the muskrat’s extra thick home, the teeny tiny harvest they have to make last an entire winter – along with the drama of the storms, near-starvation, and seemingly imminent death really captures their interest.  I do not know what this says, but in any case, we’re enjoying it.

So I was very entertained when they dug out Jake’s old Playmobil farm and all the various Playmobil people from other sets – including the veterinarian and dinosaur hunter – and began to reenact scenes from the books.  Kind of.  There were blizzards, and there was fetching water from the creek, but there was also an ocean involved, and water desalination.  There were two moms, two dads, and two kids, so it was either a commune or a gay marriage thing.  I’m guessing commune.  Then one of the Pas – whose name was, coincidentally, Charles – bought some droids to help with the farmwork.  Just like Uncle Owen.

Story worlds colliding!

Then a friend of mine who is a farmer told me that the dairy farmers she knows all have robots that do the milking.  I informed the children of this development and they stared at me, wide-eyed, and said in a reverential whisper “Cooooool”.  My friend said that the cows have computer collars so that the robots know where their teats are located, and the cows CHOOSE WHEN TO BE MILKED.  My mind – along with the children’s – is blown.  Completely. This is a little different from when Pa would use the clothesline to feel his way to the farm during a blizzard, and come back with a pail almost emptied of milk from the wind, and the milk in there just little frozen shards of milky delight.

What an age we live in.

Speaking of dairy, I’ve had a few people ask me how the whole no-dairy thing has been going, and I will tell you this: it’s much less horrible than I thought it would be.  I’m craving it much less, and taking the opportunity to eat more of the yummy non-dairy things I love.  Like guacamole.  So far this week I’ve had three avocados’ worth of guacamole, which is not giving me the shiny hair I covet, but IS pretty tasty.  I’ve also made my own version of my friend Natalie’s banana “ice cream”, which I plan on writing about over on my cooking blog, but here’s the Reader’s Digest (remember Reader’s Digest?  All those hilarious jokes?  Life’s Like That?) version: take two frozen bananas.  Put in food processor.  Add some almond milk.  Put in some chocolate syrup.  Process until it looks like soft ice cream.  EXCELLENT.  The kids lost their little minds.  YOU CAN MAKE ICE CREAM OUT OF BANANAS?  THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER, MOM!

Speaking of the greatest thing ever, the kids wanted me to make bacon for them, for one of our weekly “breakfast for supper” meals.  Now, as a vegetarian who is now practically, and reluctantly, a vegan, making bacon is not my forte.  The thing is, if one doesn’t consume meat, one generally sucks at cooking it.  And yet the motherly love I have for the children pushed me to make it, on the recommendation of a number of friends, in the oven.  OH THE JOY.

Jake: Are we eating Porky Pig?  I sure hope so.  I hate that guy.

You put the meaning in my life, you’re the inspiration

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I’ve been blogging for a while now, and I am still blogging for the same reasons I started: for a creative outlet, to ensure my mind didn’t atrophy from and to make connections with other moms and writers.  I feel like I’m part of a blogging community, which is very cool.  You, dear reader, read what I have to say which is beyond cool.  Many blogs that I read back in the day are defunct.  Many blogs are all about giveaways, and product testing, and sponsored posts, but the blogs that I read and love are the ones that are interesting, funny, and from the heart.  Not that I scorn the other kinds of posts – I just won a label pack from my sweet friend Kimberly – but the bloggers that continue to get my love are those that feel like friends to me.  

Back in the day, bloggers gave each other awards often, and I think we should do that more.  We should show the love to the ones we love, right?  And so I am going to pass along the Very Inspiring Blogger award that my dear friend Hannah gave me!  Some of the people I am going to pass this along to are my very good friends, others may not know I exist.  But, as we said in high school, why should we let that stop us?  They don’t even know we exist is no excuse for not giving a loving shout-out, right?  Keep on keeping on, my fellow bloggers.  Dance like no one’s watching.  Write like your mother isn’t reading (my mom totally reads this blog, but she’s polite enough not to comment when I talk all about sexy times).

And without further ado, I shall accept this award!  Here are the rules:

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

1.  Thank the person who gave it to you, and link back to their blog.

Hannah at Hodgepodge and Strawberries gave me this, and she is like my East Coast sister.  She’s an inspiration, even though she refuses to move onto my street so we can be neighbours.  Just because we have no ocean here!  Whatever, we have the Stampede.  Anyway, I adore Hannah, and if we are ever at a blogging conference together, I am going to force her to be my roommate.  Also, she always answers my Star Wars questions, so much that my kids actually ask me to ask her when they have a question.

2.  List seven random things about yourself.

If you’ve been reading this for a while, you probably already know everything about me.  But I will endeavour to come up with seven previously-unknown things.

* Along with every popular song lyric from the 1970s to the early 1990s, I also have in my brain Kenny Rogers’ entire catalogue.  I impressed my father-in-law last week by singing Lucille.

* I love drinking wine, but I hate to be drunk.  I prefer warm fuzziness.

* I hate the term LOL.  And yet, I use smiley face emoticons disturbingly often.  Sometimes I even sign my name – like, with a pen and paper – and add a smiley face.  I do not know what this says about me, except that at one point in my life I a) dotted my i’s with hearts, and b) signed my name with a flower.

* I – like Hannah – wore army boots when I was a teenager.  I paired them with short little babydoll dresses, which is a grand look.  Later I switched to short little plaid kilts and super tight turtlenecks, which may explain my father’s grey hair.

* Kidding!  My father went grey way before that, and since I take after him, I was completely grey by age 30.  Which means I’m going to be colouring my hair for a long, long time.  I envision myself as one of those old ladies with improbably bright red hair.  Also a grand look.  I shall pair it with bleeding lipstick and Chanel No. 5.

* I was feeling sorry for myself when I discovered I have a dairy sensitivity, until one of my besties discovered she has a COFFEE sensitivity.  Like, no coffee, ever.  I am in awe of this. 

* I was once romantically pursued by a guy who later became a much-reviled politician.  But we never went out!  I swear! 

3. Nominate other blogs

The rule was fifteen – FIFTEEN – blogs, but I have amended it to include blogs I am currently loving, and that I find inspiring.  After all, it is the Very Inspiring Blogger award! 

Allison from Bibliomama!  She is hilarious, and if you don’t believe me, read her posts about chaperoning field trips.  Talk about inspiring – field trips I just don’t do.  I always thought that if she lived on my street, we would be hanging out drinking margaritas all the time, so it’s probably good that she doesn’t, because I like my liver and a gal can’t JUST drink margaritas all the time.

Gretchen from Lifenut.  The woman is making her own baseball team.  HER OWN BASEBALL TEAM.  I stand in inspired awe of her and her (soon to be) brood of nine.

Kimberly from All Work and No Play Make Mommy Go Something Something, which is the longest blog name ever, but she writes with great humour and great heart.  She’s a dear friend of mine, whose honesty and strength inspire me. 

Swistle from Swistle.  Whenever a post from Swistle comes up in my reader, I get super excited.  She has five kids – twins in there! – and she is a fabulous writer.  Also, she won a math medal in her youth, which is to say she is my people.  I think she’s the bomb, and she was one of my early blog inspirations. 

Sarah from Sarah Piazza.  Sarah, oh Sarah, my heart breaks with the beauty of her writing.  She’s a lyrical inspiration.

Catherine from Ben and Birdy.  File this one under people who don’t know I exist, but hers was the very first blog I ever read, way back when she wrote for Baby Center.  She wrote an exquisite piece in the latest Brain, Child, which summed up things for me very nicely. 

Julie from Dinner with Julie.  She’s my foodie inspiration, and I spent an evening with her in June of this year, and it was one of the most fun evenings I’ve ever had!  Even if I almost fell asleep when everyone stayed up until almost 10:00, omg. 

Angela from Oh She Glows.  This is a new blog to me – and so she totally doesn’t know I exist – but a friend told me about her when I complained that the vegan cookbook I bought to get ideas for dairy-free recipes just used regular recipes with fake cheese substitutes.  Burn.  I could have totally written a vegan cookbook if I knew you could just put in regular recipes with fake cheese and egg substitutes.  But Angela has a wonderful recipe repertoire!

Ciara from Hilarity in Shoes.  The title alone is enough.  But Ciara is a funny, honest, and heartfelt writer.  We were also born in the same year and have a thing for Little House on the Prairie, so I feel kinship.

So, smooches, inspiring ladies!  Feel free to play along and pass the award along, but if not, just know that you have inspired me with your words.  I just wanted to share the love with you – you are a fabulous group!

 

Well, hello there, stranger!

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How have you been?  I’ve been away.  I just spent a week with my in-laws, and I ONLY have nice things to say.  We had fabulous weather, we had lots of fun, and I discovered something about myself: I am naturally a rigid and rule-oriented person (this is not part of my self-discovery; I knew that already) but with effort, I can be very easy-going.  I KNOW.  I also realized that by only reacting agreeably to anything that I may have, in the past, taken in a hurtful or negative way, not only diminishes the effect of hurtful and/or negative comments, but it also diminishes the frequency of such comments!  Do you see what I’m saying here?  It’s a miracle of epic proportions!  You know that saying that no one can hurt your feelings without your permission?  Well, I actually think that saying is bullshit.  I mean, take it from the flip side – does that mean we all have license to act like total assholes, and if someone is hurt by our actions, we can simply say that they allowed themselves to be hurt?  I don’t fucking think so.  But I’m here to tell you, in a modified way, that we really, truly, cannot control what others do but we can control our own reactions and behaviour. 

You know what else makes a person calm and easy-going?  Booze and saturated fat.  Just try it; right now, drink three beers in rapid succession, eat half a bag of potato chips, and just see how relaxed you become.  Easy like Sunday morning, I’m telling you.  You will not be bothered by endless conjectures concerning who, exactly, your children take after, or why, exactly, you still get blemishes at age 37.  Who cares!  Another beer?  Yes please!

The kids were astonished by my new persona, who they dubbed Vacation Mom.  Vacation Mom buys potato chips at the grocery store, Vacation Mom allows them to eat Aero bars at 9:30 in the morning, Vacation Mom even went down the waterslides and got her hair all wet at the water park.  Vacation Mom is a lot of fun, but sadly, she’s dead now.  Regular Mom is back.  Regular Mom is also very tired and somewhat brain dead.

This is how my day has been: up at 4:45 to pack up the car, on the road at 5:45.  Drive for seven hours and fifteen minutes, which includes two short stops.  We made “great time”.  Do you have a spouse, or are you yourself someone who loves to make “good time”?  Before we left, my husband and I were talking to a friend who had just made a similar road trip to us, and she mentioned all the places on the way she liked to stop with her kids to break up the drive.  My husband and I both looked at her nonplussed.  We never want to break up the drive.  We always want to just get there already, dammit.  Clearly we are not those “the journey is half the fun” people.  We’re all about the destination.  This surely is some kind of metaphor about our lives but I’m too tired to make the metaphoric leap.

Once we got home we discovered we had an ANT INFESTATION – it was less of an infestation, really, and more of a “the ants have found their way in through a teeny crack in the foundation” but yet I had a slight ant-related meltdown.  Fortunately my husband is very, very good at dealing with such matters, and we seem to have things under control.  I have seen nary an ant over the past two hours.  I unpacked, cleaned things frantically, did a mountain of laundry – despite doing laundry every single day on vacation – purchased groceries not of the potato chip variety, and then, in a stunning climax to this weird day, stabbed myself in the foot with my nail scissors.  I mean, I really stabbed myself.  I am wearing a Hello Kitty bandage as we speak.

This, too, feels somewhat like a metaphor, but I’m TIRED.  I have much to say about vacation, and about the lovely bloggy award that my dear, dear friend Hannah gave me – my bloggy bestie – and about how my dog now has the whitest teeth after consuming approximately, and not exaggeratedly, one hundred Milk Bones over the past seven days.  But I’m exhausted, and I need a shower, and I sure hope said shower gets that creepy-crawly ant-infestation feeling. 

So tell me, lovies, how was your week? xo

Olympic Fever, sort of

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One of the things I love most about blogging is how much I learn.  My mind is expanding.  I mean, really, who knew about modesty socks or fake cigarettes?  WHO KNEW?  I am enlightened.  I am also confused because a very androgynous cashier called me “sir” today.  I’m not sure why.  I don’t think I look like a man.  I was wearing makeup, my hair was down, and I was wearing a pink tank top, a top that I discovered later, was missing its inserts and not properly concealing my nipples.  I don’t feel my appearance really warranted a “sir” but maybe this is a newfangled way young people refer to their elders nowadays?  Sort of like how the word “actor” refers to male and female thespians?  I don’t know.

It’s Olympic fever time around my house.  True confession: I find watching any of the events to be dull in the extreme.  I appreciate the athletes and their training, I’m happy to hear of a Canadian medaling, I understand other people’s excitement, and yet…I’m not that excited.  I did enjoy watching the opening ceremonies however.  I found myself becoming an encyclopedic explaining machine for the children, fielding questions about the British Empire, the Industrial Revolution, and Mary Poppins.  The trouble is that I tend to err on the side of over-information.  Children are by nature very black-and-white, and I end up explaining the grey areas like nobody’s business.  Half the time I can’t tell if the kids are informed or completely befuddled.  Lately some of the topics we have covered are drugs and ecstasy use, death, the dangers of not wearing helmets while bike riding, drunk driving, and what constitutes a cocktail.  After the past twenty-four hours we can now add the rise of factories and urban living in eighteenth century Britain, child labour in the modern world, and the definition of a banana hammock.

The children, unlike their mother, are very interested in watching the events with their father, who may or may not be enthused by their incessant questioning.  I observed them this morning watching the cycling and I realized that my husband is passing on his personal Olympic knowledge and general philosophies about life.  In my house, it is only acceptable to cheer for Canada, or, if the Canadian athlete is not close to finishing in the top ten, the host country, with one exception.  Under no circumstances can the American athlete be cheered for.  The Canada/US rivalry must be upheld at all times, as evidenced by the 2010 gold medal hockey game, during which I actually thought my husband was having a heart attack.  Fortunately he was not, and also fortunately, the Canadian team took the gold. 

So I have a long two weeks of Olympic commentary looming before me.  However, I think it will be more than two weeks before I get this image out of my mind.  There are some things you just can’t unsee, like how my neighbour – who has lately been mowing a lawn in both a shirt AND pants, thanks be to god – parked his truck in front of my house last night, lumbered out wearing nothing whatever but a smallish pair of shorts, and stood there with his back to me, showing off a large percentage of his butt crack.  Look away, Nicole, look away.  And yet, like a particularly horrific train wreck, I was paralyzed and powerless to look away.