Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

"Pa Ingalls Was Such a Massive Dickhead"

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Few things, I find, are more offensive and soul-destroying than trying to find parking in the busy Costco lot and then finding some spots, only to discover at the last minute that there are several giant carts stranded in the vacant parking spots, the vacant parking spots that are mere steps from the parking lot cart corral, which is totally devoid of carts.  Quite honestly, it makes me sad for the state of humanity.  Can we not all walk five metres to return our giant Costco carts to the cart corral?  Why?  Why is this an issue?  Are Costco shoppers just completely depleted after their trips and the extra steps are just too much to take?  Does Costco just destroy people’s souls so much that they cannot return their carts to the corral, but instead leave them where they lie and rush home to consume recently purchased extra-large bags of potato chips?

I still managed to return my cart to the corral, although I did feel like my soul was being swallowed when I was in Costco, as usual.  For one thing, I sustained an arm injury while attempting to lift a giant box of San Pellegrino.  The very tender skin of my inner forearm got stuck between two of the boxes, which was very painful and also led to the unfortunate result that I couldn’t actually move one of the boxes, since my arm was painfully stuck.  Moreover, after this debacle, I discovered that Christmas decorations and other assorted Christmas-related items were on display.  On September 7.  As if I didn’t feel like time was fleeting enough.  Not half an hour prior to witnessing this early Christmas display, I had dropped the boys off at school after lunch.  They insisted that they could get to their door by themselves, so I watched as Mark led Jake through the playground, placing his hand so gently on Jake’s shoulder.  And then I cried.  I did not need to see the Christmas display, Costco. 

So I felt a gloom permeate the air as I narrowed my eyes at the Christmas display, but then fortunately remembered the most cheering remark I had heard – possibly the most cheering remark I had heard in my entire life – after my last blog post.  Beck can be credited with what is, most likely, the greatest Little House on the Prairie quote of all time:

“Pa Ingalls was such a massive dickhead.”

I cannot help but feel that she has summarized the entire series quite admirably.  From my friend at Hodgepodge and Strawberries came this fabulous quote about Ma Ingalls:

“His wife was either a laudanum addict or a saint.”

And that is nearly all one needs to know about Little House on the Prairie.  There have been some questions regarding the appropriateness or otherwise of reading these books aloud to small children, and I would say that, despite my sarcasm, they are great reading.  Some things to note that may need editing/ teachable moments/ beforehand preparation:

1) As mentioned before, Pa throws the family into financial ruin by building a fancy house – with glass windows and a stove, my stars! – on credit, to be paid back with the lucrative wheat crop which never materializes.  This right there could be used as a teachable moment given the state of the world’s economy.  Stay in the damn sod dugout, Ingalls family. (On the Banks of Plum Creek)

2) When the Ingalls family moves from Wisconsin to Kansas, they are moving into Indian Territory.  The government is supposed to give them the land that belongs to the Indians, but in the end it doesn’t.  There is a lot of racism, not subtle, in this book.  This could be used as a teachable moment regarding past attitudes towards non-whites in North America.  (Little House on the Prairie)

3) Several older boys plan to beat the new teacher and break up the school, and are supported in this endeavor by their parents, who are bragging to the community that their sons are going to give the teacher a beating of a lifetime.  Previously they beat a teacher so badly that he died of his injuries.  Oh boy!  Manslaughter!  Happily, Mr. Wilder – a gangsta, for sure – provides the new teacher with a bullwhip which he unleashes on those boys.  Revenge, Little House style.  (Farmer Boy)

4) Bored with the quietness of their lives, Pa and his cronies dress up in blackface and put on a show for the whole town.  The townspeople think this is the greatest thing ever.  Much time is spent applauding this showcase of talent.  (Little Town on the Prairie)

5) Laura – who is fifteen and forced to work as a teacher, which she hates, so that her blind sister Mary can attend the College for the Blind – is billeted at a house where the wife is driven insane with hatred for her husband who forced her to move from civilization to some god-forsaken shanty in the middle of the prairie.  This woman pulls a knife on her husband in the middle of the night, threatening to stab everyone in the house right then and there if he doesn’t let her move back to her home.  It’s a little creepy.  (These Happy Golden Years)


Despite all this, the books are definitely worth a read.  Little House in the Big Woods is an especially cozy family book.  After reading it as a child, I kind of wished WE would have a pig slaughter just so my dad could inflate the pig’s bladder and I could play with it like a balloon.  And if six year old me could feel that way, imagine how delightful these stories truly are.  Despite the manslaughter, insanity, racism, and poor economic choices.

The grasshoppers are going to eat all the wheat!

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Did you read the Little House on the Prairie books?  I was delighted by them as a child.  As a child I could just imagine the sheer joy of finding an orange, a stick of candy, a tiny homemade cake – made with WHITE SUGAR – and a penny in my stocking at Christmas.  I could imagine sleeping in an attic with all my possessions in a little box and my dress hanging on a nail.  I was completely charmed by these books. 

As an adult, though.  Can you even imagine feeling that the home in the woods of Wisconsin, where all your family resides, is just too populated, and so you think that the optimal plan is to pack up your wife and kids and start a new life in Kansas?  And then – THEN – when it turns out that white settlers are not allowed there, you get back in the covered wagon and head to Minnesota, where you go into incredible debt building a fancy big house with the idea that you will pay it back when you harvest your first amazing wheat crop?  But then the amazing wheat crop never materializes because it keeps getting eaten by grasshoppers?  And so you have to walk two hundred miles just to get some work so that your family won’t starve, but in doing so you are leaving them alone and possibly you will never come back, leaving your wife a widow with three children at the mercy of the elements and neighbours?

It kind of makes parenting in the modern world seem like a cakewalk, no?

I mean, what’s my biggest concern here?  Gee, this unseasonable and wonderful heat is not going to last forever.  Guess I better order some snow boots for Mark.  It doesn’t really have the same urgency as we had better harvest all this extra hay in case there are blizzards every three days that will prevent the trains getting through with supplies and we have to twist the hay into sticks to burn it so that we don’t freeze to death! 

Looking back at those books, I wonder about Ma Ingalls.  Talk about vulnerability; if anything had happened to Pa, what would she have done?  How would she have coped?  I suppose she would have had to marry a neighbouring bachelor with the hopes that he would be kind to the children.  Pa Ingalls and his disregard for socialization, along with his insatiable wanderlust set the family up for poverty and lack of opportunity.  It makes for a good story though.

Don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuueeee.

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So I’ve been blue, due to a number of factors, the most pressing being disappointment over not being offered a writing contract that I had my heart set on.  I’ve been in mourning about it, wallowing and eating all manner of bad things, and reading my most favourite comfort book, Diary of a Provincial Lady.  That book never fails to cheer me up.  It’s like chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese for the mind.  It is possibly the wittiest book ever written, and contains such gems as:

Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature.  I ask if he has published anything lately.  He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication.  Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.

Right?  Mark said “I’m sorry you’re sad you can’t write for those people.  But you can still write at home!  On your computer!”  True. 

Do you have a comfort book?  I once dated a guy who had a comfort movie.  Whenever he was feeling ill or down, he would watch Rudy.  The thought of it makes me snicker, and not in the kindest way.  Remember the scene – if you ever had the misfortune to watch said film – when all the players brought their jerseys to the coach.  “It’s for Rudy, Coach.” 

It just occurred to me: maybe I’m like Rudy.  I do have a lot of heart.  That’s depressing.

It also occurs to me that perhaps I just need an excuse, at this time of year, to have an emotional breakdown.  Remember last year?  When I had a complete breakdown at the fact that my printer wasn’t working and ended up sobbing, on the phone for hours with the Dell representative who kept speaking in soothing tones and asking if maybe I should get myself a drink of water and not to worry, he was going to to take care of everything?  I’m a mental case.

Not helping matters is the fact that we are all a tiny bit sick.  Nothing full blown, nothing major, but the boys both woke up Friday morning with slight runny noses.  Two things: a) that was fast, normally the first cold of the year occurs within the second week of school, not the second day, and b) five years old is NOT too young for a man-cold.  Jake became completely indignant that he was going to go to school, despite a tiny sniffle and slightly watery eyes.  “I can’t BELIEVE this,” he said, “This is the SECOND TIME I’ve gone to school like this!”  I related this amusing anecdote to my husband but ended up having to explain the concept of the man-cold to him, which was somewhat awkward.  I tried to make the explanation as general as possible.

And how was the first day of school?  It was excellent.  Both boys are, as anticipated, in the same class at school.  The benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the negatives, not the least of which is that I don’t have to be room parent for two separate classrooms and, with any luck, I will only receive ONE copy of all the notices that come home from school.  Also the boys are ecstatic to be together, and their teacher is fabulous, one in a million.

On the way home from dropping the boys at school, I saw a woman with a very small boy, standing on the sidewalk watching a wood chipper at work.  That brought me back, intensely.  I don’t know how many hours I spent watching various large machinery at work, boys in tow.  I don’t know how many times I would take them outside to watch the garbage truck pick up the trash, or watch sidewalk repairs, or to the nearby construction site where a large office building was being built.  “Diggies!  Diggies!  Happy!  Happy!” one-year-old Jake would say from the stroller, clapping his hands.  A gas station in our neighbourhood was demolished, and believe me, I spent days watching the machinery tear down the buildings and dig out the contaminated soil.  It got so that the crew would wave when they saw the three of us walking up the street.  My jeans would be caked with mud from carrying Jake, his muddy rubber boots bumping against my thighs.  I would be tired, so tired, but would stand there with my fascinated boys, daydreaming about other things.  And now we’re in a whole new chapter.

  

“What grade are you guys in?”

Pretty Girls

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I turned the furnace on today; it’s been chilly and pouring rain -it even snowed in the mountains – and seems fitting, somehow, for the end of summer vacation.  Frankly, it’s a bit depressing.  But not as depressing as this:

This t-shirt was for sale at JC Penney – was, but not anymore.  Someone at JC Penney, after a public uproar, decided that girls sized 7-16 should probably not be advertising that they are too pretty for homework; something about their core values.  Regardless, the shirt was for sale, and someone, somewhere in the JC Penney corporation must have felt that it was at some point appropriate, just as someone at Old Navy decided that this shirt was appropriate for boys:

Similar idea, but without the public outcry, and also without the focus on physical appearance.  There’s the rub.  Celebration of idiocy and underachievement is socially acceptable, it seems, until we bring the cult of the pretty into the picture.

We like to at least give lip service to the idea that appearances don’t matter.  It’s what’s inside that counts – that is what I tell my children all the time, and of course it’s true – but also true is that appearances DO matter.  When I was in university studying economics, I read an academic article about how beautiful people earn more money, are promoted more often and more easily, and in general are afforded more advantages.  I was appalled, of course, I was outraged and angry, but I also knew that the restaurant in which I waitressed part-time would not hire anyone for their front-house staff who did not have a certain look.  Any applicants falling short of that would be considered for a job in the kitchen.

The ugly side to this is that pretty and smart are frequently considered to be mutually exclusive, as in the JC Penney shirt, or this one from Amazon:

If a grown, female mathematician was wearing this, I would consider it amusing in an ironic way, the same way I considered that guy wearing a Vagitarian t-shirt to be amusing in an ironic way.  But the thought of children wearing a shirt like this, children who see things in black and white and who may equate smart with ugly and therefore may be less inclined to strive for high academic achievements, the thought of that makes me ill.
There’s nothing wrong with being pretty, or striving to be pretty, but passing along the idea that pretty girls do not have to be responsible for homework, or math, or anything else requiring thought or effort, is pathetic.
The day I defended my master’s thesis, I had a celebratory lunch with several of my fellow grad students.  I had a 4.0 GPA, I studied all the time.  I prided myself on my work ethic.  As we sat in the lounge, I mentioned how exhausted I was.  A male student smirked at me and said “Why?  Did you sleep with the defence committee?  Is that how you get A’s?” 
It is possible to be pretty and do math.


Where will we be when the summer’s gone?

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Have I mentioned that it has been – wait for it – unseasonably hot around here?  Honestly, it’s beautiful, and every day I have a sneaking feeling that I have been transported to a different city without my knowledge.  Today it was – wait for it – thirty degrees Celcius which is both highly abnormal and very welcome.  Sadly, the days of capri pants and tank tops are going to come to a screeching halt tomorrow given the forecast of rain and cool temperatures, but that’s okay.  I’m now ready for the kids to go back to school, which is happening Thursay.

The kids are also very ready to go back to school.  Mark has been making up his own math worksheets, and is asking me to put little checkmarks beside each correct answer.  Jake has been creating incredibly complex and difficult to follow stories, and doing home reading of his own accord.  It’s a sign. 

And the talking, my god, the talking.  It’s like someone set the children to “Loud” and “Rambling”.  Part of it is that my husband was not working last week and is now back to work and MY WORD THE CHILDREN MUST FIND AN OUTLET FOR THEIR INCESSANT CONVERSATION.  And by conversation, I mean spouting random facts about Cars 2, bodies of water, and Canadian wild animals, along with non-stop questions about those topics and also complicated explanations for “games” in which I am to pretend I am someone who has a pet river otter, or a pet wolf, and then the “wolf” and “river otter” compete for my attention.  At this point I think my brain has liquified.  But still I participate in these “games”, thinking that wine sounds nice but I can’t have any until Friday and it is only Monday, dammit.

Yesterday I was walking my dog and I ran into a woman who lives in the neighbourhood who I met once, briefly, a few years ago.  She told me that her daughter had graduated high school and her son was a year away from graduation and that she is also now, sadly, widowed, and so she was feeling extremely empty-nested.  Wow.  I was startled by all that information and also felt that maybe I was not appreciating all the time with my children over the past couple of days and that I should get home, pronto, and cherish the moments. 

But I can’t cherish the moments right now because there is SO MUCH NOISE.  Plus right now the kids are arguing about what is more destructive: bombs or fire.  They are getting very emotional and worked up about this apocalyptic argument.  “But fire would burn everything up!”  “But bombs would blow everything up!”  “Fire!”  “Bombs!”  I don’t even know the context of the disagreement, and to be honest, I prefer not to find out.

T minus 7

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My husband has been away on a golf trip and yesterday I did something I haven’t done since my single-girl days: I had popcorn for dinner.  I announced it to the kids that we were going to have pancakes and popcorn for dinner, and that announcement was met with silent, nervous smiles.  “Do you mean, we’re going to have breakfast for dinner and THEN have popcorn later?” Jake ventured.  No.  I assured him that popcorn was on the menu, and there was some mild cheering, followed by “Okay, but you said we’re having pancakes too, right?  I mean, popcorn for dinner doesn’t really sound that HEALTHY.”

I’d feel much more smug about their health conscious attitudes if these weren’t the same children who would, if allowed, eat chicken fingers and fries daily for the rest of their lives.

It’s just one week until school starts and I feel somewhat compelled to cram as much fun as possible into the remaining days, and so yesterday we had a lovely day with friends at the local amusement park.  It was hot and sunny, the kids had a blast, and the day was only slightly marred by the disappointing “prize” won by Mark at the fishing game.  Instead of a hoped-for tiny, crappy stuffed animal, he won a pair of crappy, star-shaped glasses.  Much sadness followed, as well as a vow to never play the fishing game again.  Would that I could believe that.
It was unusually hot, and so the boys played in the sprinkler for hours after we got home.  I sat on the deck with a cold beer and watched them, thinking that this is truly the life.  There are times when being a stay-at-home mom can feel like some kind of sentence, but summer days like that are pure gold.

Speaking of gold, prior to my husband’s golf trip we took the boys for a day trip to Lake Louise and Moraine Lake; quite possibly the most beautiful area in the world, and one that we haven’t visited with kids before.  It was a great day, although it was much, much colder than the city.  Fortunately I had packed jackets.  I also packed my thirteen year old, heavy duty leather hiking boots.  My husband looked askance at them.  “We’re not really doing hard-core hiking”, he said “Why don’t you just pack some practical shoes?”  Um, because I have no practical shoes?  Perhaps it’s time to go shopping.

The magic is GONE

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I realize it was only a few short days ago when I was waxing melancholic about the end of summer, and how much I was going to miss the boys, and while that is still true in theory, the reality is that suddenly the children seem ready to go back to school.  Suddenly I am ready for the children to go back to school.  We have ten days left, and I plan on enjoying all of those days, but for the love of god, I am now ready for the regular school routine.  THE MAGIC IS GONE, people.  This may or may not have anything to do with my children suddenly becoming the world’s neediest children ever.  Mom, look, Mom, Mom, Mom, I drew a picture, Mom, Mom, it’s a picture of a roller coaster, Mom, Mom, Mom, do you like it?  Mom?  Mom?  Do you wish you could GO on that roller coaster?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I have a snack?  Can I have a treat?  Can I have a juice?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I play Starfall?  Can we play Go Fish?  Can we go bike riding?  Right now?  Mom?  Mom?  Are yetis and bigfoots the same exact thing?  I don’t think they are.  Do you think they are?  Mom?

Speaking of back to school, I bought the boys’ school shoes on the weekend.  Back to school shopping isn’t a big deal for me; in general I only really need to purchase shoes and pants with intact knees.  Although it’s August, and it has been an absolutely lovely summer – the best weather we’ve had for years – it is also the season to start thinking about snow pants and winter boots.  I do not like to be too far into September without snow pants and winter boots, just in case.  To that end, I have been browsing Sears online, as they have excellent snow pants and winter boots.  They also supply hours of amusement.  Did you know you can purchase machine washable bathroom carpeting?

Image from Sears.ca

Does the carpet match the (shower) curtains?  Why, yes, it does.

You can also purchase something called a Vibration Platform.

Image from Sears.ca

I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure it’s something great!

While browsing the fitness section, I discovered this:

Image from Sears.ca

I think this means the apocalypse is upon us.

Incredibly, there is an entire subsection in the women’s clothing section devoted to tunics.  Tunics, it seems, deserve a category all to themselves.  Thinking about this, it seems self-evident: a tunic, after all, is more than just a shirt.  It’s not a dress.  It’s nothing but a…tunic.  Still, does it or does it not seem amusing that there are so many tunics available for sale that they comprise an entire clothing category?

Speaking of Sears, my friend at Hodgepodge and Strawberries wrote about the Sears Wish Book.  If it seems early to be thinking about snow pants and winter boots, then it seems REALLY early to be thinking about Christmas, but her post filled me with nostalgia and happiness only obtainable through the Wish Book.  Sno-cone machines!  Gifts under $10!  Pajamas with matching slippers! 

I just wish I had a Wish Book.  Failing that, check out these images from the Wish Book published the year I was born:

This guy is bringing sexy back.  I think he grew that moustache specifically to tickle the ladies, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
Never underestimate the fashion influence that was Little House on the Prairie. 
The caption alone on this makes me feel a little insecure in my womanhood.  Sophisticated nightdressing?  I’m writing this wearing yellow pajamas with pink flowers on them.  I think I need some sophisticated nightdressing.  I think it would make me irresistable, in the sophisticated bedroom.  Perhaps I would also need a satin-like bedcover to go with the nylon nightdresses, in which case I had better do some shopping!