Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Where the hell is my invincible summer?

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“Mom!  It’s going to be hot outside!” Jake shrieked from the living room this morning, where the seven-day weather forecast was being shown on the “news”.  “Look!  It says it’s going to be sunny!”  I had to explain the difference between sunny and actual heat, but the conversation didn’t really take and I have to admit that my children are dyed-in-the-wool Calgarians and will one day be possibly jogging in shorts in sub-zero temperatures.  But it’s sunny!  So what if my legs are purple and my knees are shot?  The SUN IS SHINING!
I will admit the blue sky does look pretty.
This week is a typical one for January in Calgary, frigidly cold and windy.  I seem to be spiraling into the true definition of insanity as I keep checking the online weather forecast, only to find that it is exactly the same as when I last checked it thirty minutes ago.  Evidently I think that if I just refresh that forecast enough times, eventually it will be different.  Meanwhile I’m constantly wearing a coat that looks like a comforter with a belt and a hood, and I actually ordered – get this – SOREL BOOTS.  They’re cute Sorel boots, but still.  I can’t wait for their arrival as my current winter boots are just not getting the job done.  It’s fricking freezing , Mr. Bigglesworth. 
In other news, Mark asked me last night what the word “sperm” meant.  I’m glad I took a moment to reflect and ask him why he was asking, since the word was being used in conjunction with “whale”.  That was close.  Can you imagine the trauma?  One minute he’s talking about his new favourite animal, and the next minute his mother is talking about reproductive systems?  “And then when a mommy and daddy love each other very much…” “Gross!  What does that have to do with whales?”   
I’m not sure what’s going on, but since school started last week Mark has been permanently stuck on “chatter”.  The child will not stop talking.  Every single sentence starts with “Hey Mom!” and unfortunately that is repeated until I respond.  “Hey Mom hey Mom hey Mom hey Mom”.  Finally I will respond, remembering to be very kind in my voice and not at all show irritation because he is trying to communicate with me and I want to be a very good mother, even though he will not stop talking, and he will spew out a fact about whales, eagles, his toy tiger named Tigie and his imaginary trip around the globe, or Bakugan.  Alternately he will completely forget what he was going to say, only to start over again in sixty seconds or less.  It’s a bit tiring. 
But it’s nice too.  It’s nice that there is so much he wants to share with me, and I’m trying to remember to be present in the moment, even if the moment is filled with “Fun Facts” and pulling on layer after layer of winter clothing, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my Sorel boots.
Fun Fact: Did you know that killer whales are part of the dolphin family?  I did.

Makeup, Wine, and Say Anything

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I live in a neighbourhood with a lot of senior citizens, so I’m pretty used to opening my mailbox to find flyers from McInnis and Holloway about planning my own funeral so that things will go just the way I imagine.  Not that I imagine my funeral much, but it’s nice to know that the funeral people are so accommodating. 
These flyers unnerve me a bit, but on Thursday I opened my mail to find something much more disturbing: an envelope addressed specifically to me, containing a subscription card to a magazine catering and celebrating “older women.”  Ahem.  I have a feeling this has something to do with my recently purchased subscription to Chatelaine, which confirms my status as a suburban Canadian mom.  I’m reading the recipes and beauty hints, people.  I actually considered making red velvet cupcakes with beets – a superfood! – but then remembered that cupcakes are sacred and that vegetables should not be pureed into them.  Especially beets.
But back to celebrating older women.  I like older women.  I think that there are few things more beautiful than a face with smile lines and happy wrinkles.  I truly think that inner beauty starts to show externally as we age.  However, I don’t consider myself an older woman just yet.  Give me a few years, magazine people!

I have been feeling fairly youthful this week – despite a conversation with some friends with regards to fruitily-scented makeup phenomenons of our early years.  Does anyone remember Kissing Potion?  Ah, you couldn’t really say you had arrived until you smeared your lips with that gooey, chemical strawberry-flavoured liquid.  It’s been probably twenty-five years since my Kissing Potion days, although I have remained a lipgloss and lipstick junkie to this day. 

Are you a makeup person?  I most definitely am.  I am such a makeup person that I’m surprised that not everyone else is.  One of my good friends, who is lovely, almost never wears makeup and I was shocked to discover this.  I just assumed, because she is so pretty, that she wore makeup, but on close examination and questioning, I discovered she doesn’t.  Then I discovered that many, many women, whose lovely faces I admire, never wear makeup!  It was honestly a shocking discovery.  Before you think that I am being crazy and vain and obviously my own insecurities are driving my makeup addiction, let me tell you what happened the one time I showed up at school drop-off makeup free and with my hair in a ponytail.  Five – FIVE – people came up to me and asked if I was okay.  Wow, you look tired today!  That’s something no woman wants to hear.

But there is a reason I’m feeling youthful, and if you know me at all, you may be shocked to learn that I have given up drinking wine on weekdays.  I know!  I’m saving all my love, for yooouuuu, and by you I mean the weekend, and by love, I mean wine.  I have to say, I had a lot more energy this week and I’m attributing it to that.  My husband suggested that I drink a week’s worth of wine in one night and then live-blog.  Despite the entertainment value that such a scheme would possess, I just don’t think I’m up to drinking eight glasses in one sitting. 

Apropos of nothing, “Saving All My Love For You” has reminded me of that great Whitney classic “Greatest Love of All.”  One of my favourite movie moments ever: in Say Anything, the graduation scene where the guy is singing that song?  “They can’t take away MY DIGNITY.”  Alas, my dignity was gone with this post when I brought up Kissing Potion.

*EDITED TO ADD*
I was just voted Site of the Week over at Canadian Moms!  I’m so excited!  Thanks, everyone over at that fabulous site!  Love you guys!

All the cool kids are doing it!

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And so will I – a Year in Review.  Yes, I know it is the sixth of January and most year in reviews have already been posted, but I was far too busy writing about people who eat toilet paper and watching When Harry Met Sally.

So what happened in 2010 over at the Boy House?

January

I made a resolution to learn how to bake bread, and did so immediately, learning two important things: a) baking bread is not as hard as I thought it would be, and b) the key to New Year Resolution Success is to aim low.

I also ranted about the weird things people say to pregnant women and posted a picture of me with an extra seventy pounds to love.

Yowza.  I still had seven weeks to go at that point.  SEVEN WEEKS.
February
We got really, really excited about the Olympics.  We also went on our first ever winter vacation and became a parody of Canadians as the kids got off the plane wearing t-shirts emblazoned with Team Canada logos, and instantly started running around shrieking in amazement, “Mom, look!  There are FLOWERS!  And they’re REAL!  And the grass is GREEN!  And there’s no SNOW!”
March
Mark turned six!  I had my usual crises with regards to birthday party planning and Daylight Savings Time.  I cleaned out the office and found a whole box of mix tapes, some labeled “Party Mix” and one that was made for my husband from one of his old girlfriends that included songs from Richard Marx.  Hee.

April

I turned 35!  I celebrated by chaperoning on a field trip to the firehall, and cemented my cougar-like status by volunteering to try on the firefighter outfit, discovering just how heavy said outfit is, and actually saying to the young and attractive firefighter “Wow, you guys must be in great shape.”  Coo-coo-coo-choo, Mrs. Robinson.  It also snowed a lot and I wrote about attractive movie characters who would be terrible to be married to, i.e., Ralph Fiennes in the English Patient.


My friend lent me a tiara for my birthday, fulfilling my lifelong dream of birthday crown-wearing.

May
Jake’s pre-Kindergarten class had a Mother’s Day tea in which they sang a song that went “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me”, and I still tear up thinking about it.  I also cried a lot thinking about this Tim Horton’s commercial and I got way too excited about the woman with the MBA with a concentration in economics winning Miss USA.  Clearly May is an emotional roller-coaster of a month for me.
It was still snowing in May.
June
It was really cold.  On Father’s Day weekend – and Super Soccer Saturday weekend – I attended a yoga weekend workshop.  Happy Father’s Day!  Now take care of the kids all weekend.  The kids finished school and my husband came up with a plan in case my kids ever decide to be protesters at a G-20 Summit. 
My two favourite pictures of Mark ever taken.  He’s getting his groove on at the end-of-school-Stampede-breakfast.  Note that it is June and Jake is wearing his fleece jacket.
July
It was raining and cold and I decided to make yarn octopuses, which turned out as well as any craft I make does.  Terribly.  We went to the Okanagan for some sunshine.  The cold and rain made me become Miss Carpe Diem, and so any day with slightly above average temperatures had me running the kids to the pool.
The yarn octopuses, Moppy and Bum, doing a duet of Heart and Soul.
August
It was still cold and rainy.  I wrote a lot about fashion, especially the jeans with zippered ankles that came out that made me feel like I was wearing turquoise slacks and a coordinating blouse, hobbling around with my walker and my Scotch mints, with a tissue in my sleeve.  Also – and my friend just reminded me of this yesterday – I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said “Vagitarian”.  I still laugh evilly thinking about it.  Vagitarian.  Says the guy who lives in his mom’s basement.
September
Mark started Grade One and Jake started Kindergarten.  We got hardwood installed by two attractive young whipper-snappers which led to many “hardwood” jokes.  Also I came home to find that they had taken out my drawers to move my dresser with ease, and my panty drawer was proudly on display for all to see.  So I had to show my panties to get hardwood.  Hee.  Also, Jake turned five!
Too cool for school!  Note the boxes of hardwood at right.
October
In typical October fashion we seemed to have a lot of viruses, dead squirrels, and excitement about Halloween.  Also I went on a two-night vacation with my husband and no kids!  And we all survived!  Actually the boys had the time of their lives and still talk about how awesome it was that Grandma picked them up at school.
Boo, I’m a scary witch!  For real.
November
It snowed a lot, I got ready for Christmas, I ran the Scholastic Book Fair, Mark barfed.  That pretty much sums up November.
A foam finger!  It says “We’re #1 – bp”.
December
I blogged almost exclusively about Christmas, Christmas songs, Christmas baking, and my new awesome sexy bitch boots.

Whew!  If you’re still reading this, thank you!!!  So 2010 was a great year, and here’s to a wondeful 2011 for all of us.

Reality TV, or Signs of the Apocalypse

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I frequently think that nothing is more indicative to the downfall of society as reality television.  I’m always, always startled to think that these shows are being watched by someone.  For example, it has come to my attention that there is a new show coming out featuring people who, among other things, like to eat toilet paper and taste dish soap.  Really.  Wasn’t the concept of putting people in a house together to fight and hot tub and copulate and compete for a spouse who would never actually turn out to be a spouse bad enough?  Now there are shows about people with dramatically peculiar eating habits?  This is the reason I like Jeopardy.  Virtually everything else on television is a scary indictor of the apocalypse.  Plus I like to fantasize that I’m actually on Jeopardy.  I like to think about what I would wear if I was a contestant (probably a black sweater).  I like to imagine myself saying “I’m going to make this a true Daily Double, Alex.”  Alas, I would probably never win at Jeopardy given my poor knowledge of US history and presidents. 
Another indication that the four horses are going to come riding in at any minute is the proliferation of drivel-like magazines lining the checkout counter at Wal-Mart.  Yesterday the kids were back at school and so I dropped them off to go pick up light bulbs, Kleenex, and dish soap (that I am not tempted to taste in the least.  Who are these people, anyway?).  Hilariously, I ran into several other moms who were shopping for similar items, proving once again that we stay-at-home moms are a glamourous people, we who upon shaking off the shackles of child care immediately head towards the allure of the roll-back.  In the lineup, I saw the following headlines: 1) Someone named Heidi is having more plastic surgery, 2) Dr. Oz has a “#1 Fat Cure”, and 3) No matter what they say, Oprah and Gayle are totally lesbians.  My reaction?  1) Who is this Heidi?, 2) “Fat CURE”?  Does the word “cure” seem strange to anyone else?  3) Why is it relevant in any way to anyone if Oprah and Gayle are, in fact, lovers?  WHO CARES? 
So I stood there in line feeling like my brain cells were rapidly disintegrating, a feeling that seemed to be confirmed soon after when I smiled to myself at the abandoned items that were grouped together at the next till.  Really, one should not laugh, but I found myself laughing on the inside at the still-life grouping of a Heavy Duty Rubber Sheet, a box of Extra-Large Depends, and a gigantic container of Sour Patch Kids. 
Maybe I need my own reality show.  Real Housewives of Calgary Who Like Jeopardy and Laugh at Stupid Things at Wal-Mart.

I hate you, Harry. I really hate you.

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Happy New Year!  How did you spend New Year’s Eve?  After taking the kids out for a very early dinner and putting them to bed at the regular time my husband, in what can only be described as an overwhelming display of love and affection, watched When Harry Met Sally with me, while I, in an overwhelming display of self-restraint, did not repeat the dialogue word for word.  Then I went to bed at the wild hour of 10:30.
Today has been a very pleasant day, started with a nice Bailey’s and coffee, and filled with doing small but satisfying jobs of organization.  Yesterday I left my chaotic and slightly cabin-fevered household to go to the mall and I was faced with the amazing phenomenon that is Boxing Week.  Christmas cards 75% off!  Lingerie and sleepwear 70% off!  Jacob – 50% off the entire store!  I’ve mentioned before that I’m neither a Handbag nor a Shoe Person, but I am a Sweater Person and so I spent some time clearing my dresser of various ill-fitting and worn out items to make room for my new purchases, despite my husband’s assertion that I probably did not need any more black sweaters.  There is no such thing as Too Many Black Sweaters, I say. 
I also performed a job that I was not relishing but needed to be done: clearing the artwork off the refrigerator.  I kid you not; I took 112 pieces of artwork off the fridge.  One hundred and twelve.  Then I became instantly emotional at the sight of my actual fridge and put 32 back on.  I feel for those people who are hoarders.  Mark may have drawn 25 pictures of Muk Muk and his (fictional) little brother Muk Mike, but every single one of them is adorable to me.  And Jake’s drawing of a Thanksgiving turkey alongside his depictions of alien invasions?  Priceless.  I know that eventually some of them will need to live out their lives in our recycling bin, but I’m not ready for that job.
I know I already stated my New Year’s resolution – to enjoy my friendships, socialize, and drink more wine (with friends), but then I heard of a friend of my husband’s, whose resolution was to make one person happy every day and then by the time ten years passed, she will have made the population of a small town happy!  Beautiful, right?  I immediately resolved to do that as well but then started overanalyzing: would it count if you made the same people happy over and over?  Do you have to make a different person happy every day?  What if you don’t make it out of the house one day and you see no one?  Do you need to make two people happy the next day?  My mind started spinning out of control, making this lovely notion into a complex obligation.  However, I still think it’s a beautiful idea, and I’m going to try to spread much happiness in 2011. Also perhaps I will attempt to not buy any more black sweaters.  Scratch that last one – never going to happen.

Be Kind Resolution, or How I Resolved to Drink More Wine

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In the height of holiday overindulgence last week, a good friend said “I didn’t want to make New Year’s resolutions, but at this point it’s impossible not to.”  I understood.  I’m not generally one for traditional New Year’s resolutions, although I am feeling kind of bloated and sugar high from my own indulgences.  But, as a jovial older colleague used to say “It’s not what you eat between Christmas and New Year’s, it’s what you eat between New Year’s and Christmas”, which is, I think, very astute.  Unless of course your regular diet consists exclusively of Double Downs, Coke, and Sour Patch Kids, in which case a change just may be required.
In other words, I am looking forward to getting back into regular routine next week, one that will contain much less mint chocolate, given that it is quickly disappearing from my kitchen. 
I do have a New Year’s resolution this year, and that is to entertain more, go on more coffee dates, and enjoy wine with friends more.  As opposed to enjoying wine while sitting on my couch in pajamas watching Jeopardy and stating answers in the form of questions, which I’m still going to do.  One cannot make drastic changes overnight.
That’s the thing about resolutions and their high percentage of failure – the rate of which I don’t know exactly, but I would hypothesize it to be 99%.  I mean, who really keeps resolutions?  Well, I did last year but that is because my resolution was to learn how to bake bread, which I did by mid-January, with the assistance of the best cookbook ever, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, which I recommend and wish I was getting a marketing fee for the number of times I mention it to people.  Artisan Bread people, are you listening?
Where was I going with this?  Oh yes.  Keeping resolutions.
A little while ago I went to a workshop with this lovely woman, who spoke about compassion.  If you wish to be a truly compassionate person, she said, you need to start with yourself.  It’s true, isn’t it?  Aren’t we our own worst critics?  Nowhere is that more apparent than when you are in a room with people making New Year’s resolutions.  I don’t think that there is anything wrong with wanting to change bad behaviours, or trying to achieve a goal, but can we agree to do it in a more compassionate, more loving way?  Perhaps try to walk more or eat healthier in order to feel better, rather than the standard lose-weight-exercise-more-I-am-a-big-fat-whore?  Self loathing is very destructive, and this is why I think most resolutions are never kept – they are based in unkindness towards oneself.  If changes are needed, implement them with kindness and compassion and joy, rather than punitively.
This is why my resolution is to be with and enjoy my friends’ company more.  My prediction is that 2011 will be a very good year.
Are you making resolutions this year?  If so, what are they?  (Remember: be kind to yourself!)

This is the end, Christmassy friend.

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It’s all over, people.  I know some people leave their tree and decorations up until the New Year, some people leave them up until Epiphany, but my festive spirit and accompanying décor had been up for over a month and it was high time to reclaim the living room.
Yesterday I looked around me and saw a million Lego pieces scattered on the floor, along with Playmobil animals and Egyptian artifacts, puzzle pieces, and board games.  The Zen thought about not being able to control others, only yourself floated through my mind.  I wanted to dismantle all holiday decorations but my husband was ill, god help me, I didn’t think I could take down the seven foot tree on my own.  I drummed my fingers on the table for a while, looking around at the chaos, and then started hauling all the boxes up from the storage room.  Remember the one time I fixed the gutters?  I am invincible, I am woman, I could take down the tree. 
There were some minor protests from the kids when I started taking down all the decorations, to no avail.  Mark, realizing he and Jake were powerless to stop me, started to help.  Soon I had everything down but the tree, and I was ready to take it on, but at the eleventh hour my husband rallied and did it for me.  Possibly he was alarmed by my fervor, although he should be used to it by now, seeing as we have spent twelve Christmases together.  The living room, like the Grinch’s heart, seems to have grown three sizes in the absence of the holiday décor.
I feel decluttered.  Unfortunately there is one area in the house that is not decluttered, and that is the kitchen.  There are no fewer than fourteen boxes of chocolates of various varieties in there.  Some, like the giant box of peppermint Lindor, are exclusively mine.  I am now faced with a decision.  Should I freeze some, should I aim to eat a reasonable daily amount over the next few weeks, or should I consume them all, immediately, in order to destroy them so they will not tempt me with their minty goodness?  The former two seem to be the wiser, if less exalted, solutions. 
How was your Christmas?  I was the happy recipient of many lovely gifts, including several books from my in-laws that I had requested.  I wrote up a list so long ago I actually forgot what I had on it, so opening them was like being a pleasantly surprised and cheerful amnesiac.  The one I started reading first was a biography of Louisa May Alcott.  Let me tell you, if you want to feel good about the miracles of modern medicine, read about the life of a nineteenth-century woman.  Talk about women’s issues: practically every woman in the book so far has suffered through numerous pregnancies, miscarriages, stillbirths, deaths of their children, and – unsurprisingly – many of them subsequently die in childbirth.  Not exactly cheerful but it does make one thankful for what we have.  Which is what the holidays should be about, really.  Thankfulness and joy.
And I have a lot to be thankful for.  I also have a lot of mint chocolate, some of which is going to be consumed imminently.  Tell me about your Christmas – was it lovely?  I hope so.