Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Just settle the fuck down already, it’s just Pyjama Day.

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It’s Pyjama Day at the boys’ school today and – this may not seem significant to you, but it IS – Mark is wearing pyjamas!  Not once has Mark ever worn pyjamas on Pyjama Day.  He has always preferred to wear just regular clothes, despite the pyjama clad children everywhere.  His refusal to conform to Pyjama Day bothered me a bit when he was in preschool, then less and less with each year.  I figured, in my chillaxing way, that he as he grew he would become more interested in festively wearing nightwear to class, or if he didn’t, that was okay too.  I was pretty sure that somewhere out there were perfectly functional adults who also opted to wear jeans on Pyjama Day, so I was not too worried.  When he told me he was going to participate, I tried not to make a big deal about it.  This morning he was a bit concerned, telling me that he was worried about what the public would think – his “public”, upon further investigation, was discovered to be our neighbours.  He reassured himself that our neighbours probably would not laugh at his pyjama clad legs, and in any case, he was wearing snowpants.  In the car he fretted that no other children would be wearing pyjamas – what if it was just he and Jake? – but then we saw my friends’ children, all of them in Division Two, and all of them wearing pyjamas, and he was vastly reassured.

I have known parents to get upset if their children choose not to participate in an ostensibly fun activity at school – it’s FUN, we say, why don’t you TRY it?, just TRY IT. – but sometimes kids have reasons of their own, and what’s wrong with that?  Wearing your pyjamas to school is an odd concept, after all, and in any case, certain quirks can be outgrown.

All of which is to say, I really like my friend Nan’s plan for a parenting magazine section entitled “Just Settle The Fuck Down Already“, indicating that we cannot control every single facet of our children’s lives.  Once we all realize this, we will be much more at peace.  Not everything that happens to our children or every part of their personalities is a direct result of our actions.  We can all point to parents who, to all appearances and with all the available information, did everything right and yet their child’s life turned terribly, horribly wrong.  See also: Nancy Spungen.  We also can point to parents who adopted the “Feral Child” method of childrearing and yet produced functional adults who contribute to society.  See also: Jeannette Walls.  I’m not saying parenting doesn’t matter: of course it does.  This is not license to guzzle whiskey and smoke while pregnant or allow your toddler to watch TV for twelve hours a day or to feed your children nothing whatsoever other than Coke, Chicken McNuggets, and Pop Rocks.  I mean, that’s really going to fuck shit up.  Obviously we need to do the best job we can and use our brains and our instincts and reliable, researched information, and YET, we still cannot control and shape our children exactly to our specfications.  Nor should we want to.  They are little people, in their own right. 

I have a post on my mind right now that I want to write – not that Pyjama Day is not important stuff – but I’m just not ready.  I realize this is kind of like one of those vague Facebook statuses that people probably mean to be enigmatic but instead turn out kind of flaky.  You know what I mean.  Today was the worst (or, alternately, best) day ever!!!!! with no explanation to what happened, spurring questions and concern from all fronts.  Or an inspirational quote to show that there is drama going on in your life right now, but you are making peace with it.  Or – and this is my favourite – I’m going through my Facebook and deleting everyone who is not a true friend.  If you are NOT a true friend, GOODBYE.  Those always make me feel uncomfortable.  If you are going to unfriend me, I guess I would rather not it be part of your Facebook status, you know?  Not that I should talk.  I mean, my Facebook status today had to do with the fact that I’m wearing compression stockings and jeggings at the same time.  I’m melding the part of myself that wants to be stylish and hip with the part of myself that is next door to drinking hot water and lemon on a summer day.  WORLDS COLLIDING, OMG.  

I also really, really want to talk about the New York Times article about yoga and all the fallout from the yoga world and all that and throw Jim Fix and running into the mixture, but I have run out of time talking about PYJAMA DAY and so I will have to save that topic for next time.  In the meantime, I came across this “Shit Nobody Says” video over at Hilarity in Shoes’ blog, and I love it even more than the “Shit Vegans Say” one (is there HONEY in your bread?).  Maybe I should make my own video.  But I’m not sure what it would say.  My hands are cold.  Barkley is the cutest dog EVER, you should totally get a Labradoodle.  Please don’t fart at the dinner table.  The secret ingredient is love.  Mmm, cheese.  Please don’t talk about your penis at the dinner table.  I used to have a nice rack, now I’m totally deflated.  Chickpeas are awesome!  NO FARTING AT THE DINNER TABLE.  Inhale, exhale.  You have to use your breath.  Do not talk about poop at the dinner table.  Barkley want to go for a walk?  Walk?  Walk?  I think I’m going to have a glass of wine.  STOP TALKING AND FINISH YOUR DINNER.  NO.  NO MORE FARTING.  I made this kick ass stirfry.  Do you want to go to Costco with me?  I have a phobia about it.  Okay, just clear your plate and get started on your home reading.  Yes, it’s okay if you have to poop first.  Wash your hands.  Asana is only one PART of yoga.

There’s the foreshadowing – for the next post!  No, not the farting and pooping part.

Are you feeling sad? It’s Blue Monday!

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My very good friend reminded me this morning that today is Blue Monday, the saddest day of the year, and yet I’m not feeling sad.  That’s a win!  I am, however, feeling cold; our mild, springlike winter has suddenly ended.  The dog keeps looking at me balefully, probably trying to telepathically communicate to me his desire for a walk.  And I keep looking back at him, telepathically communicating something along the lines of “Are you out of your furry little mind?”  We seem to be at an impasse.  Perhaps if it warms up to minus twenty, we will go out for a walk, but if not, you will be stuck in the house with me for the foreseeable future, my canine companion. 

So how many of you watched football this weekend?  I cannot say I watched it, but fortunately I have a football fan of a husband, and so I am IN THE KNOW.  The first game brought much joy and excitement, the second game extreme happiness and satisfaction, the third and fourth games semi-disappointment and disgust.  Awkwardly, the team I like and my husband’s favourite team will be playing each other next week, which does not bode well for marital harmony around here.  Truly, I don’t care enough about football to really have a stake in this particular argument; I will submit in a medieval wifely way to my husband’s will and cheer for his team.  Hey, no one wants a divorce over football for heaven’s sake.

More interestingly, how many of you watched the Golden Globes this weekend?  I did, not that I have ever heard of most of the TV shows and movies that are being celebrated; in fact I don’t know most of the celebrities.  But I do enjoy Ricky Gervais and I also do enjoy me some eye candy, i.e., Johnny Depp.  I realized, alarmingly enough, that I have had a crush on Johnny Depp for twenty-five years.  That’s distressing.  Also distressing: Angelina Jolie’s arms.  I saw her sitting at the table, thought she looked elegant and beautiful, but when she stood up…eeek!  Her arms!  Her giant arm tattoo!  Normally I shy away from mentioning that someone is “too skinny” – commenting on one’s body type is rude, no matter the body type – but HER ARMS OMG.  Have some cheesecake, Angelina.  Also – and this is controversial and will probably open a big huge can of worms, but – I tend to dislike arm tattoos, unless the tattoo is an anchor and the tattooed person is an old sailor.  That’s kind of cool.  But Angelina’s big tat really detracted from the beauty and elegance of her outfit, I think.  Feel free to disagree with me!  I’m just not an arm tattoo kind of girl. 

By far the best parts of the Golden Globes for me were Seth Rogan’s comment about concealing a massive erection, Jimmy Fallon VERY ACCURATELY imitating Mick Jagger’s dance moves, disproving forever the myth that “moves like Jagger” is a good thing, and Mark Wahlberg’s extraordinarily sullen award presentation.  Why so glum, Marky Mark?  Is it a Blue Monday preview?

My dog just sat on my feet and looked up at me, tail wagging.  FORGET IT, BARKLEY.  I have been outside a few times today to do dropoffs and pickups, and I am still chilled from those brief encounters with the out-of-doors.  I was wearing jeans, turtleneck, knee high socks, thick wool sweater that doubles as a fall jacket, gigantic mid-thigh down parka with hood, Joan of Arctic Sorels, gloves AND wool mittens and I was still frozen.  When I was at the doctor’s last week, he commented on the colour of my hands and feet and suggested a) I may have a mild form of Raynaud’s disease, and b) that I am not built for this climate.  Tell me about it, doctor.  Tell me about it.

Saturday the Fourteenth, the Black Boot Edition

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I am not a very superstitious person, so I am not going to put any weight on the fact that I woke up last night and the clock read 3:16.  In related news, did you know there is a football game with very high (emotional) stakes tonight?  Things are going to be TENSE in the Boyhouse, as they often are during the playoffs when a certain New England team is playing.

I may take this opportunity to quietly update my neglected-of-late cooking blog, because watching the game may add too much stress-by-osmosis to my life.

I will tell you that I have never been so happy to see Friday the Thirteenth than I was this week.  This week really kicked me to the curb.  I was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, and my husband looked up from the – I kid you not – Enron documentary that we were watching and said “Wow, you really look worn out.”  Honestly.  I do not get sick very often so when I do I feel like I have been completely run over by a large piece of machinery. 

But!  On the cheerier side I am almost completely back to normal, enough to be able to make ribald jokes regarding vegetarianism.  Informing someone that you are a vegetarian will invariably result in the question of whether or not you eat fish, and while I realize that there is such a thing as pesco-vegetarianism, I am not of that group.  I still consider fish to be meat, so I do not eat it.  The follow up question to the fist one is, without a doubt, “But how do you get enough protein?”  And this is where I usually smile and lift my eyebrows, and intimate that my husband must be one lucky fellow, don’t you think?  Generally that ends the questions.  There’s nothing like referring to your skanky bedroom antics to get people to never ask you anything again.

Hilariously, I once told a male friend that I am a vegetarian, and his response was completely different; he exclaimed “Really?  But you seem so NORMAL.” 

While I am a vegetarian, I will admit that I do have some boots that are made from – gasp – leather.  I have some pairs which are vegan, true, but I’m not entirely convinced that the process used to create man-made shoe materials is actually BETTER than leather.  I don’t know.  It’s a complex issue.  It’s kind of like about ten years back, when everyone was on a super low-carb diet, but no one was losing weight because they were all eating highly processed low-carb substitutes for high-carb items, i.e., low-carb bread and cookies.  For the record, I was never on that diet.  It is VERY difficult to be on a high-protein, low-carb diet when you are a vegetarian; no one is THAT skanky. 

Related to perceptions of what is “better” or not, I saw a fellow being interviewed who was part of the “Occupy Calgary” movement, and he was passionately championing more electricity use as opposed to that of fossil fuels, when in fact electricity in this province is almost all coal-generated.  Heh.  Facts, people.

Anyway, I realized that I had promised to post pictures of my new boots, the ones that made the salesman tell me that I was – awkwardly enough – Puss in Boots.  I thought that in addition I would post a few pictures of my favourite boots, both vegan and, um, non-vegan.  Enjoy!

The new boots!  My mother referred to them as “hooker boots”, which I take as a compliment.  My husband takes that to mean I’m low on protein.

The same boots, but with turned down cuffs.  Puss in Boots!  These are not particularly practical, because they are not lined, but they are cute, I think.

These boots look really slutty with leggings.  I wear these when I wear a skirt or dress and I think they are pretty saucy.

This photo is specifically for Nan and for Kimberly, neither of whom believed me that Ugg boots could be even remotely attractive.  See?  They can!  I purchased these at half price in an outlet mall in Palm Desert.  Why do we not have outlet malls like that here?  Please note the gratuitous shot of my new Pandora bracelet, but please ignore my freakishly giant hands.  Seriously, my hands really are that big.  I have issues finding gloves that fit.

These are my practical, dog walking boots.  I wear these when it is cold and snowy, but not cold enough for my Joan of Arctic Sorels.  I feel very patriotic when I wear these boots, what with the maple leaves on them.  Canada – I love you.  Let’s get some of those American-style outlet malls, hmmmm?

These are my actual favourite boots; they are perfect for walking with their low heel, and they are lined to be warm for fall weather.  Sadly, they are not warm enough for winter.

These boots are comfortable, but they are really only good for dry, non-snowy sidewalks since they do not have a very grippy sole. 
That concludes a partial walk through my boot closet.  Can you tell which are leather?

The fog has lifted.

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The fog has lifted, so to speak.  It turns out that I have a raging sinus infection, which certainly explains why I was just getting worse and worse and why I would sleep for ten hours a day and still be completely exhausted and why I felt like I was walking around underwater and why I sat up yesterday when the alarm went off and had to lie back down with a stabbing pain behind one eye and a dull ache in my ears and teeth.  I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, and since this doctor is new to me, I was a bit nervous.  My old doctor always erred on the side of undermedicating, and so I mentally prepared myself to argue for some kind of medication.

Turns out, I didn’t need to argue, the doctor immediately diagnosed sinus infection and prescribed a round of antibiotics, plus an over the counter medication.  I went to fill my prescriptions, and the friendly pharmacist informed me that they did not have that over the counter medication, but I was not to worry.  It was not necessary, he said, my doctor only recommended it to help manage the pain and congestion.  Blink.  Blink blink.  “That seems pretty necessary right now,” I said, before bursting into tears.  My puffy, blotchy, sobbing ugliness spurred him into action and he found a suitable substitute. 

I feel much better today.  I can feel my old energy returning, and I also do not feel like ripping off my own head.  I have been able to accomplish some of my everyday tasks: I did the laundry without collapsing into the warm-from-the-dryer clothes, I cleaned the bathroom without crying, I walked the dog without contemplating death.  I may even bake a banana bread later today, without fear that the noise from the stand mixer will cause unspeakable anguish. 

All in all I would say that’s a good day.  Which is not to say I’m 100%, since I tried to send my husband a jokey sort of text that said “I’m sexting you!” but for some reason it came out “I’m decrying you!”.  I’m not sure how that happened.  He did not respond, probably thinking that this is my normal behaviour now.  Or maybe he thinks I’m actually crying, which is a fairly unremarkable occurrence.

A few months ago, my husband went to run an errand and came home with an iPhone for me, thereby catapulting me into the modern age.  Previously I had only a flip phone with no voice mail and I had never sent a text in my life.  Upon receipt of my iPhone, I immediately texted a friend – one who mocked me for my lack of technological savvy – saying merely “I’m texting you!”.  I was so excited.  I was less excited when my husband took my old phone to be recycled.  He went through, deleting my old information, and came upon a whole pile of texts that I had received, utterly unaware that I had received them.  One of them was from January 2011, and said “Hey Nic, so sorry but I won’t be able to make it tonight.  Call me later!”  Oops. 

All of which is to say my lack of texting and/or sexting abilities may have nothing to do with my recent illness, and more to do with the fact I listen to the kind of radio station that advertises for Grey Power Insurance.  A girlfriend sent me a message the other day, saying that she was thinking about me as she heard a Hall and Oates song on the radio.  Hall and Oates!  She knows me well indeed.

A Fabulous New Weight Loss Plan!

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I have a fabulous plan for all of you who wish to lose a couple of pounds as per your New Year’s Resolutions.  First, come and hang out with me while I cough and hack away and – presumably – pass this very weird virus on to you.  Next, wait until the virus settles into your sinuses and causes you to wonder if there is something else going on and if perhaps you should go see your doctor, because even your teeth hurt.  Then, realize that you have no appetite and all food tastes like nothing to you.  Have you ever eaten guacamole and not be able to taste it?  Tasteless guacamole is just really weird.  Your pants will be looser in no time at all!  New Year’s Resolutions fulfilled. 

I’m so dull, and I’m not sure if it’s just my personality taking a turn for the grim, or if it’s the constant headache, or if I’ve just always been so dull and have never noticed.  But hoo boy, I feel boring!  At least I’m not complaining about the weather.  Of course, it has been abnormally and remarkably warm here – it’s like March or April, rather than January – and the snow is almost completely melted.  My neighbour’s sexy snowwoman is nothing more than a stub of snow in the middle of his brown front lawn.  This feels symbolic in some way that I just can’t put my finger on (see also: my dullness). 

Something exciting did happen this weekend, though.  I was at the hair salon, and my hair therapist had just finished telling me this long and detailed story about the firing of her male colleague, and that very same colleague came through the door and started working!  It was as if he didn’t realize that he had not been fired.  Tensions came to a head when I was sitting at the sinks and he attempted to rinse out my colour.  Drama!  Drama at the hair salon!  Sadly, it wasn’t so dramatic as to be entertaining, just dramatic enough to be kind of awkward and also passive-aggressive, in a hair stylist sort of way.  Upon recounting this tale, I realize that this was less of an exciting event  and more of a minor diversion from the usual People magazine epiphanies that happen at the hair salon. 

I guess my personality really is taking a turn for the grim.  It doesn’t help that the house is silent – absolutely silent – since the boys went back to school today.  The only sound is the ringing/roaring in my ears.  That, and the dog constantly going to the door, but when I go to let him out, he turns and runs back to his doggie bed.  What the hell, Barkley?  I have a feeling the silence is affecting him too.

Inspiring!

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This weird little Christmas holiday virus seems to be the gift that keeps on giving – every day it’s a new and different symptom, and although I am feeling better – i.e., functional – I am far from being my usual energetic and healthy self.  For example, my cough is now almost all gone but my sinuses seem to want to kill me softly, with their extreme pressure of a song.  It’s enough to make a person pull out the neti pot, and I do not make that move lightly.

Back when my cough was the symptom of the day, I was taking Halls’ cough drops when I noticed something on the individually wrapped candies.  I looked closely: on each wrapper was written “Nothing you can’t handle” and “Don’t waste a precious minute”.  Inspirational quotes on my cough drops.  This seems like the thin edge of the wedge.

Is it me, or is the vast volume of inspirational quotes making them superfluous?  Everywhere you look, there are little nuggets of precious wisdom; from Lululemon bags to my favourite but very pretentiously named Yogi tea, from billboards for a “better Calgary” to the massive influx on my Facebook news feed.  It’s like, to paraphrase a modern quote, drinking from the firehose of motivational sayings.  Don’t even get me started on Jack Layton’s final letter to Canada: the first time I read it I felt somewhat uplifted; by the fortieth time I read that love was better than anger and optimism better than despair, I felt more irritated than inspired.

This is not to say that I am a cynical sourpuss – or if I am, that will surely change momentarily, given that it’s Friday and I’m planning to test the theory that red wine is medicinal.  When I was young, my grandma had “Desiderata” hanging on the wall of her home, in between framed embroidered pictures of flowers in baskets with such maxims as “Grandchildren are a gift from God” with all of our names surrounding it.  I would look at “Desiderata”, and even at a young age it spoke to me.  As I hit the bumpy road that is the young teenage years, I would remember “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.” and I would feel peace.  Her “Desiderata” was the one thing I wanted from her possessions when she died; I had it reframed and it now hangs in my living room wall.  I look at it every day, and every time I read “With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world” I feel that it really IS a beautiful world.  Everything I believe in is written in “Deserata”.

So I suppose that is my inspirational quote, the one that inspires me.  Perhaps someone out there is being inspired by “Don’t waste a precious minute” on their cough drop wrapper; I suppose it’s possible.  Or perhaps we should treat the constant stream of motivational sayings the way we do fortunes in fortune cookies – with a “in bed” addendum on the end.  Like, “Nothing you can’t handle – IN BED”, or maybe “Do not do to others what you would not want done to yourself – IN BED”.  Or even – and this is a nod to all the hockey fans out there, I am a Canadian girl after all – “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take – IN BED.” 

You say you want a resolution

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Well, you know.  We all want to change the world.

I used to be a dedicated non-resolution-maker, but in the past couple years I have made – and kept! – resolutions at New Year’s.  Of course, one of those resolutions was to learn how to bake bread, so it’s not like I’m asking the impossible of myself (bread baking, it turns out, is remarkably easy).  Last year I resolved to be more social, and to stop drinking on weekdays.  I did both of those things, and I continue to do them, as I continue to bake bread regularly.  It was a bit harder – I had to get myself out of my homebody rut a bit, and I had to get used to relaxing on the couch without a glass of red – but I found that they were resolutions that really had a positive impact on me, both my body and my mind.  My yoga practice improved and I know giving up the weekday wine had a part in that.

I had to think for a while to decide on resolutions for this year.  If I’m going to resolve to do something, I want it to be something lasting, a lifestyle change, if you will.  I have decided on the following resolutions for 2012:

Drink Less Coffee

Don’t get me wrong, I still heart coffee very much and I am still going to enjoy 3-4 cups a day, but it’s going to be 3-4 cups a day, rather than 6-8 cups a day, and I don’t think I need to explain this further.  To this end I have stocked up on tea.  Helllllooooo, methadone!  To be honest, the teas I have stocked up on are herbal and/or decaf, so it’s not exactly a methadone situation.  It’s more like one of those plastic pretend cigarettes people use to quit smoking.  I am cold all the time and I like to sip on something warming, so I think the teas will be just the ticket.

Be More Patient

This is mostly for the kids.  It’s not that I’m particularly impatient with the kids, but I do find myself becoming snappish or going into “fly-off-the-handle” mode for silly things.  This is not to imply that I’m going to let my children run wild and undisciplined while I explain quietly that Mommy Does Not Like That Behaviour And Here Are The Reasons Why, but I’m going to be more patient with them being just…kids.  I want to be more patient with regular kid silliness and regular kid requests, rather than getting annoyed and impatient.  Also, have you ever noticed that we – or, I should say, I – have a tendency to talk to my kids in a way that I would never use to speak to anyone else.  Why should the people who live in my house, who I love more than anything, have to be spoken to in a less-kind way than I would speak to a perfect stranger?  It does not make sense.

Walk Away From Negativity

I have decided not to let negativity affect me negatively.  Get it?  There are certain individuals in my life who are, for lack of a better word, very negative people, and I’m tired of letting their negativity ruin my day.  What I need to remember is that passive aggressive comments geared toward myself, my husband, or my kids only reflect on the commenter.  Right?  I AM RUBBER YOU ARE GLUE.  This is going to be a tough one for me; it’s always easier to believe the negative things, rather than the glowing reviews, strangely enough.  I’ve spent a lifetime taking things like that to heart, when really, a passive-aggressive person is only showing their own insecurities and that should not affect my day and make me sad.  A very good friend reminded me that an easy way to deal with negative people is to be compassionate; consider how awful that person’s outlook must be in order to be negative all the time.  I’m really going to try this; I’ll let you know how it goes.

Did you make any resolutions this year?  Do you ever?