Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Hardwood, birthday prep, smoking

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Pictures! Hardwood! Don’t worry, they are G-rated.


My husband also painted that lovely burnt orange colour this weekend.


The remainder of the house has yet to be painted – and I’m anxious to get the kitchen painted, as its current yellow clashes weirdly with the orange – and baseboards have yet to be repainted and attached, but the home renovation is coming along nicely, with my sanity mainly intact. Of course, I’ve turned into Lady Macbeth, except with dust, but that was to be expected.

Other than dusting – and laundering my dusty panty drawer – I have been busy preparing for Jake’s birthday, which is two days from now. I feel like I should be nostalgically mooning around, remembering things like “Five years ago today I was waddling around like an obese penguin. Five years ago today I was bursting into tears about nothing. Five years ago today I consumed half a loaf of bread, toasted with Cheez Whiz.” For some reason I’m not doing that. I am, however, obsessing over goody bags to give his little friends. I have a problem with goody bags. For one thing, I don’t like all the typical goody bag crap that eventually ends up in the landfill, but I don’t want to NOT give goody bags. What I end up doing is filling them with one small toy – a bouncy ball – a sheet of stickers, and a whole bunch of mini chocolate bars. This gives me pause. I think it’s better to give something consumable, rather than something landfill-ish, but will the high sugar content render me unpopular with the parents? Warning: if you’re reading this and your child is coming to Jake’s party, you are going to have lots of chocolate to deal with.

In other news, I ran to the grocery today to pick up cake mix – don’t judge, I have a LOT of things to bake this week – and birthday candles, and at the checkout I asked the cashier if they sold lighters. “Lighters?” she asked “Like to light cigarettes?” No, I explained, to light birthday candles. She appeared not to hear me and then launched into this incredibly long and bitter monologue about not being able to sell cigarettes or smoking related paraphernalia in the grocery, because there is an anti-smoking conspiracy around and smokers – like her– were essentially pariahs in this society. I listened to this with a polite, nervous smile – fortunately there was no lineup behind me – and wondered where I COULD buy a lighter, or even a book of matches, but I didn’t want to ask because the cashier was getting really agitated by her own conversation. Finally I left with my one small bag and she called out after me, ominously, “We smokers pay a LOT of taxes.” On my way out a carry out guy tapped me on the shoulder to inform me that lighters were available at the gas station.

That’s what she said!

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So! The hardwood is in! The hardwood is in! Part one of our home renovation process is DONE, and thank god for that because a) it is extremely messy, dirty, and disruptive, and b) this past week I have turned into the World’s Least Interesting Person. My entire brain was concentrated on the hardwood installation. The kids are back to school? Whatever, we’re getting hardwood. I feel badly for any of the poor unsuspecting souls who had the grave misfortune of talking to me this week. The slightest greeting from their side resulted in the regaling of my hardwood tales. “Hi Nicole, how are you?” “We’re getting hardwood installed.” Cue long story about hardwood.

So, I apologize to everyone I talked to this week. Also I feel I must apologize for the plethora of really bad hardwood jokes that I felt must be made under the circumstances, of the “that’s what she said” variety. But, wow. Those jokes practically tell themselves. After the installation, the (very cute) installer warned about scratches and dents, saying “Hardwood is a bit of a misnomer. It’s not that hard. It’s more like medium wood.” And THAT, I felt, needed some kind of witty remark but to be honest, I was kind of high from all the glue fumes in the house and so any repartee would have made me sound like a delirious lunatic.

So now I am going to go spend some time putting the house back together – including throwing out some of the accumulated crap from the kids’ bedrooms, sssh, don’t tell them – and enjoying the feeling that I have a brand new house, in the convenient location of my old house. Pictures to follow once I have things back in order, although, alas, I do not have any pictures of the installation itself. I was tempted, on the suggestion of a friend, to photograph the cute installers under the guise of “recording the progress”, but I felt too weird and cougar-ish to actually go through with it. Plus, I was feeling kind of strange since in moving my dresser they removed the drawers and my panty drawer was on full view for the entire installation. Did they need to see my panties in order to put in the hardwood? I suppose so. See? Hardwood installation is a WEALTH of comic material. Of course, now my panty drawer is very dusty, which seems like a euphemism but isn’t.

On that note, I’m off to clean! Happy Friday, everyone.

P.S. In the comments, Tonggu Momma asked if I wanted to pet the floors. I do. I do want to pet them. They are so nice. I think maybe I should open the windows to let the fumes out, what think?

It’s quiet. A little TOO quiet.

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Today was the big day. Not back to school – that was last week. Today was the day we were slated to get the hardwood installed. It was no mean feat getting ready for the installation, given that we were out of town for the long weekend. All moveable items were moved, all clothing, toys, and breakable items stashed in the basement. Then this morning we got the phone call that they were delayed and wouldn’t start until tomorrow.

Sigh.

I was under the expectation that I would drop the boys off – Jake’s first full morning of kindergarten after last week’s frantic pace of staggered entry – and then I would come home to chaos and noise and instead it is so very quiet. Even the dog is still at the kennel. I’m lonely. And I’m also unable to find anything, and I keep bumping into things.

This is the view of my office right now. Halp.


We were in Saskatchewan this weekend, visiting with my grandparents. My grandfather turned 96 on Saturday, which is quite a feat, I think. Last year there was a huge family reunion for his 95th birthday, which was initially supposed to be somewhat of a surprise party, much to my strong disapproval. Who thinks that a surprise party is a good idea for a 95 year old man? NOT ME. Anyway, at the reunion last year I had the sad feeling that it would be the last time I would see my grandfather – he was not doing particularly well and, in any case, he was 95. One does not buy green bananas when one is 95. But here he is! He looked great and was in good spirits and I was very happy we had made the trip. Plus my grandma made a scrumptious lemon poppyseed chiffon cake, of which I ate slice after slice.

One thing about travelling with kids is that it can be exhausting. We stayed in a hotel and so the kids were WIRED and no one was sleeping particularly well, with the obvious result that we were all a bit crabby when we started the two hour drive to the airport yesterday morning. A mere ten minutes into the drive, Jake morphed into a surly little goblin, “This is taking FOREVER. When are we going to be HOME? I’M NOT TIRED. I JUST WANT TO GO HOME. THIS CAR IS MAKING ME HOMESICK.” We listened to this diatribe many, many times. I stared out the window at the unvarying landscape of flooded fields and pumpjacks, all the while thinking “I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles.”

So how was your long weekend? I’m feeling kind of blah today, tell me something good?

NOT crazy. Just hormonally deranged.

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The first day of school went great, so I will not bore you with the details. Instead, allow me to tell you what happened on the last day of summer vacation.

It was cold and rainy. I thought a fun activity would be to print out invitations for Jake’s birthday and then have the kids decorate them, which was quite inspired except that the printer was not working. After an hour of online troubleshooting I had to make a decision: just let it go and get on with life or call the technical assistance line. I made the phone call.

Just to interrupt the narrative, it is imperative that you understand – if you do not already know this about me – that I am a crier. I cry for most emotions but especially for frustration and anger. The reader can well imagine how poorly suited I was to working in an open area trade floor, an environment in which I would frequently be sworn at (“This fucking model you made is a piece of shit. It doesn’t fucking update.” “Did you press the update button?” “I shouldn’t have to press a fucking BUTTON. It should just fucking update automatically! FUCK!” Cue crying.) After searching for printer related answers and then being transferred three times, I was very frustrated.

So by the time the final technical support person answered, I was sobbing hysterically. This may seem like an overreaction to the matter at hand and so it was. Perhaps was I a) expressing repressed emotions at the end of school, b) going crazy at last, or c) getting my period? If you answered c), ding ding ding!

I was, at this point, crying so hard I couldn’t speak, but instead was gasping out my printing issues. The technical support person was very soothing. “Ma’am, I will stay on the line if you need a moment to collect yourself. Ma’am, perhaps you would like a drink of water? Ma’am, you just relax now. I am going to take care of everything.” Poor guy. I mean, his job must pretty much suck. He’s a technical support person at a call centre. Probably the premenstrually deranged lunatic was the best call he’d had all day. Probably he deals mostly with irate people demanding to know why their screens were blank, when in fact they hadn’t turned their monitors on, or people screaming about their crappy printers, when in fact their printers weren’t plugged in. At least I was polite, if unintelligible.

My technical support person and I spent one hundred and five minutes on the phone before he came to the conclusion that my printer issue was strange enough to warrant a brand new printer, which actually arrived today, to which I say that is some good customer service. I wonder if crying had anything to do with it. It has never helped me in getting out of speeding tickets, probably because I could win an award for Least Attractive Crier: blotchy, red, and swollen. In any case, I was completely astonished by the result and thanked him many, many times. “You are welcome. Again. All right now, ma’am. Ma’am? Yes, you are welcome. All right, now you have a nice day!”

The rest of the day I felt like I had a hangover, from crying so much. With that stunning denouement to the summer, I was all ready for school today.


Too cool for school. Only after they chose their outfits and I had taken the picture and dropped them at school did I realize that they wore those exact same shirts on the first day of school last year. MOM FAIL.

Home Renos Part One: I do not do well with chaos.

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Look what was delivered to my living room on Friday!

Not a six year old. Not a dog. It’s 3200 pounds of hardwood!


I’m very, very pleased to be replacing our carpet. No matter how many times the carpet had been cleaned, it still looked pretty gross, given the abuse it has taken; two kids and a dog will do that. There was that time the dog ate potting soil and then barfed all over it, the times the kids had the stomach flu and were too small to make it to the bathroom in time, the many, many potty accidents from both dog AND children…not to mention the amount of dirt and dust tracked in constantly.

However, our house is resembling a disaster zone right now, and the installers have not even begun, and will not begin for another nine days. My husband, as I write this, is painting the walls behind the piano, which will be inaccessible once the hardwood is in and the piano moved. This is what the living room looks like.


And the front hall:


Notice that there is no room to move? This does not bode well for my long-suffering baby toe.

Friday morning was the expected delivery time for the wood, and so I rushed through my shower/getting ready routine, having already had the less than optimal experience of having delivery people arrive early. I have, unfortunately, answered the door a number of times in my robe and with wet hair, which is somewhat awkward and gives me the creepy feeling of being a specific type of bored housewife in a specific type of adult movie. Wanting to avoid that I was out of the shower and dressed much earlier than usual, and then of course the delivery guy was running late and showed up after lunch.

He was in his early twenties, and I would consider him attractive if I actually found guys in their twenties attractive – which I do not, I prefer men who are a bit aged, like my very handsome and beloved husband. However, I still felt a bit on the creepy side because the boys were somewhat fascinated by him carrying in forty boxes that were six feet long and about eighty pounds each. He carried them in, one by one, on his shoulder, bounding up our front steps. It was a bit amazing, really, and Mark commented on his evident strength, to which he answered, “Well, it saves me on a gym membership” and winked at me. Awkward. Maybe I am giving off some kind of bored housewife vibe? I HOPE not.
I can’t wait to have the house back to normal. Of course, with all the flooring, then the painting, and baseboards, and trim, we have a goal to be finished before Christmas. Christmas! I’m just going to be happy to be able to move around the living room without dislocating my toe. Again.

What are they going to arrest me for, being awesome?

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Because I’m always striving to be a fun – yet educational – mother, I decided to step up the science experiments and make a rocket out of vinegar, baking soda, and a film canister. I will admit I wasn’t totally prepared for the kind of rocketing explosion that followed and ended with the film canister on my neighbour’s roof. Fortunately no one lost an eye, since my safety precautions consisted of me saying “Everyone stand back!” Maybe I should give them one of those chemistry kits from the 70s, they could blow the house up or something. That would be very educational. Explaining to my slightly deaf neighbour that she had a film canister on her roof was a bit awkward, filled with suspicious looks and a lot of “What?” questions. Then she finished with the question everyone I have told this story to has asked, “Where did you get a film canister from?”

Next time I’m going to try this in a soccer field or something. If I ever get another film canister.

Also on the awesome front, I have stubbed my baby toe violently approximately a dozen times in the past two weeks, and I am just about ready to END IT ALL. MY WORD PEOPLE, my baby toe is suffering. I now fear walking through the kitchen, as if the chair is suddenly going to attack me again. Maybe I have post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m starting to fantasize about taking an axe to the offending chair and then burning the whole thing. Then I – and my poor, poor baby toe – will dance around the fire, singing maniacally.

Speaking of singing, I cannot get the song Empire State of Mind out of my head. I keep singing the chorus with as much heart as Alicia Keys, but with much, much less talent. I sound like someone auditioning for American Idol, the type of contestant hopeful that leaves the audition room huffily saying things along the lines of I’m going to be a star, and you missed out, so take a good look at my face, I’m going to be famous, bitches, while the judges smirk and stifle hysterical laughter.

Just to add to this randomness, I can tell you with perfect authority that the two worst places to have mosquito bites are on a) the arch of the foot, and b) the butt. I have both right now and while I can figure out how I got a) – I have been wearing sandals – I cannot figure out b). Did someone slip me an Ambien and then did I sit nudely in the grass after dark? I don’t THINK so. However, between my mosquito bites and my sad, sad baby toe, and my sleep deprivation – did I mention that Mark’s been a bit anxious about full-day school and so has been somewhat of an insomniac? – I’m pretty much ready to call it a day.

So I’m going to blame sleep deprivation for this completely random and possibly TMI post. Zzzzzz.