Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Travelled down that road and back again

Posted on by

So I’ve been feeling blue and gloomy and then I realized this morning that in four weeks the kids are back at school, and a cursory glance at their dressers indicates that every single pair of pants they own have no knees. I’m not saying they have small rips, either, I mean that when they are kneeling on the ground large amounts of their legs are exposed. So I took my blue and gloomy self to the mall today, where I was immediately faced with the Gap, advertising – girls of the 80’s, are you ready for this? – jeans with zippered ankles. Zippered ankles! I stood and stared until it got weird, then I snapped out of my reverie to notice the mall was filled with young girls, all wearing jeans tight at the ankles with big, blousy tops and pointy-toed flats. What’s next? Acid wash denim? Bubble skirts? Going through a can of Salon Selectives hairspray every week to obtain rock hard four inch vertical bangs? Because I honestly don’t think the environment can withstand that kind of abuse.

If that wasn’t enough, I walked past the Apple store and the hundreds of people waiting for the new iPhone. There’s a new iPhone? My cell phone doesn’t even have voice mail. I feel like maybe tomorrow I would be shuffling around with a walker, wearing turquoise slacks and a floral blouse, with matching plastic jewellery and a gigantic purse containing a change purse and a roll of Scotch mints.

Then – I know! There’s more! – I walked by American Apparel and it reminded me of this article about the company’s sketchy hiring practices and the ensuing boycotts. Of course, that affects me not at all since American Apparel is not one of the two stores that I actually purchase clothing from, given my great dislike for going into different stores with different sizing methods and different clothing qualities.

When I was in university, I waitressed at a chain restaurant that had similar hiring practices. If a person was to drop off a job application, one was supposed to put a mark on it indicating that person’s “bar appeal”. If that person sat next to you in a bar, my manager explained to me, would you start up a conversation? If not, perhaps there was a position for that person in the kitchen. American Apparel’s hiring practices are not exactly unique, but they are distasteful. In a weird way, it made me think of that Seinfeld episode where George hires a secretary, passing up all the gorgeous, sexy women for the plain and hyper-organized and efficient one. Then – of course – he becomes insanely attracted to her efficacy on the job and they end up having an affair. The point, I guess, is that one should not judge a book by its cover? Or maybe that being a Type A is really really hot? I don’t even know what my point is, except that in writing this, I’m not so blue and gloomy. Even though I feel a bit like I’m one step away from getting a once-a-week hairdo at the local beauty parlour and finding a secondary use for bread bags.

Giselle Bundchen must be an awesome mother, because she breastfeeds.

Posted on by

I’m not sure what I would do without a supermodel’s parenting advice. Surely I would not be able to be a truly effective parent without it. Especially advice from the lovely mouth of one Giselle Bundchen. First, Giselle has advised me that my pregnancy weight gain was a direct result of my gestational evolution into a human garbage disposal, which is very helpful advice for anyone attempting to lose the baby weight. Now, it appears that Giselle is advising that there should be an international law stating that every woman should breastfeed for at least six months. Breastfeeding is best, and evidently, what is ultimately a personal choice should be made mandatory.

Well, lawdy, Miss Clawdy.

Is there anyone out there, in our generation, who does not believe that breast milk is the optimal choice for a baby? Of course it is. Does that mean that we should make mothers who do not breastfeed feel like inferior mothers? Here is my story.

My firstborn, Mark, was jaundiced at birth and was an indifferent feeder. He was not a strong nurser and matters were not helped by the fact that it took five days for my milk to come in. I supplemented with formula. When my milk did come in, I nursed him constantly. “Cluster feeding” was the term used by the public health nurses. When I stumbled on my nursing log years later, I started to cry, remembering the feeling of waking up every half hour to feed my baby who would fall asleep twenty minutes into feeding. He lost weight. My doctor sent me to the breastfeeding clinic, where I learned to nurse him for an hour, then give him a few ounces of supplemental formula, a ninety minute process that would start over again in an hour, twenty four hours a day. I rented a scary, hospital grade breast pump to increase production. I went on drugs to increase production. I started to lose perspective and began believing that life would always be like this, I would always be exhausted and sore and my life would revolve around feeding and recording diaper changes and worrying about infant weight gain.

I went to the public health clinic. I can see myself perfectly: hair in ponytail, bags under eyes, carrying forty extra pounds and wearing maternity jeans and a DDD nursing bra stuffed with bloody nursing pads from my cracked nipples. I stood next to another new mother at the change station, while we changed our babies’ diapers. She glanced at my diaper bag and the little bottle poking out of it, and started up a conversation. Boy, was she tired! She nursed her baby every hour. The public health nurses, they were amazed at her stamina. They couldn’t believe she could keep up! But she did. She did keep up because her baby needed her and that’s all that mattered, didn’t it. She turned to her baby and cooed, “You just LOVE mommy’s milk, don’t you? Don’t you? You love it!” Then she turned to me with a smile and said, “Remember, any woman can breastfeed. Maybe you just need to try harder.”

I smiled shakily and nodded, my eyes filled with tears. She was right. She must be. I wasn’t trying hard enough. I got a 4.0 in grad school, surely I could breastfeed. I just wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t a good enough mother.

What I didn’t know then was that breastfeeding does not make a good mother. I didn’t know that breastfeeding is just a blip on the map. I stood there and I let that woman, that woman who didn’t know me or anything about me, make a judgement on my ability to mother. I let her make me feel like I was a second class mother. So fuck you, Giselle. Fuck you and your judgements. Fuck you and your attempt at making millions of mothers, whatever their story, feel inferior. Go back to the catwalk and keep your comments to yourself.

Are we there yet…are we there yet…are we there yet…

Posted on by

I spent nine and a half hours in the minivan today! We’ve been on vacation for the past week, and this morning we left at six to get a nice early start. After less than four hours of driving, we pulled into Golden BC, which is approximately three hours from home. Wow, we said to each other, this is a record! Less than four hours to Golden! We’ll be home so early!

Immediately after that we came across a tragic, horrific accident that subsequently shut the highway down for over two hours. This is where my number one piece of parenting advice becomes relevant in the extreme: ALWAYS HAVE EXTRA SNACKS.

So, nine and a half hours. What is it about car travel? It’s not strenuous. I spent the time sitting, basically, and alternating between doling out sandwiches, changing DVD’s, and occasionally stretching around the back seat to retrieve errant Bakugan balls. It’s not that challenging. However, I look like I spent the day pulling a rickshaw containing an entire family in the middle of the rainforest: tendrils of hair wildly escaping the ponytail, harassed and exhausted expression on face, clothing inexplicably stained. I looked in a mirror and gasped a little, startled. Plus, there’s the little matter of the pimple.

On my (very lovely) vacation I developed a pimple on my jawline. Big deal, right? I would not have cared, really, except that Someone Who Shall Remain Nameless pointed it out to me. “What IS that horrible blemish on your face?” I don’t know about you, but if I notice a pimple on someone’s face, I most certainly don’t comment on it. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me. Then, in a misguided attempt to soften the blow, the comment after that was something to the effect that I have a lovely complexion, really, except for the horrible blemish. Like instead of a pimple I contracted a particularly horrible strain of leprosy and was suddenly missing my nose.

Anyway, my vacation was lovely with the exception of the pimple and my irrevocably damaged self esteem. There was much sunshine and beach time and enough delicious food and beer to make me think that perhaps I should go on a cleanse to counteract all this eating, drinking, and being merry. I shall tell you all about it but for now I am going to relax with a glass of wine. Perhaps I will start that cleanse tomorrow.

Interview with Nicole

Posted on by

I’m doing a meme from Marilyn over at A Lot of Loves. Fun!

I should probably warn you that I’m feeling PRETTY giddy and silly today because it’s sunny and beautiful and I spent the morning at a pool party! In Calgary! And it was warm! In Calgary! I feel like I won the Saturday morning jackpot. Plus there are sunny days to come this week. Evidently I should have been a California girl. Or gurl. Except that there is NO WAY I would ever wear Daisy Dukes. I don’t even wear regular shorts, for goodness’ sake. Also my husband is currently at the golf course so I’m going to watch NYPD Blue reruns and the thought of it is filling me with joy. “You tell him JOHN KELLY is looking for him. JOHN KELLY.” Oh David Caruso, and your angsty hunkiness.

So! Here goes with the meme. I haven’t done one of these for ages.

What experience has most shaped you, and why?

I have very fine hair with a lot of cowlicks. When I was a kid, my mother always told me I had “terrible hair” and I spent my childhood with either a) a super short haircut, or b) a HOME PERM and so ever since then I have had long hair, with the regrettable exception of the time in university that I had a “Rachel”. I always thought I had uniquely bad hair, but I now realize, with the power of hindsight, that I just had really bad short haircuts. And home perms.

If you had a whole day with no commitments, what would you do?

I’m overwhelmed with just that thought. I don’t even know. I think I would spiral right off the freaking planet with giddiness. I would definitely go out for a huge dinner and eat a lot of cheese, but other than that I HAVE NO IDEA.

What food or drink could you never give up.

Oh, that’s easy. Red wine and cheese. One of my favourite restaurants serves a baked goat cheese encrusted in pecans and it is truly one of the best things I have ever eaten.

If you could travel anywhere, where would it be and why?

A friend just returned from safari in Zambia and Namibia, and I am DYING of jealousy. I want to go! Why didn’t she take me? Maybe because it was her honeymoon?

Who do you have a crush on?

If you read this blog with any kind of regularity, you will know that I have many, many crushes. I may be 35 but I’m like some boy crazy tween. Of course, my husband is unbelievably hot so I am going to say I have a crush on him. Also Hugh Jackman. Yes, the lady would like two tickets to the gun show.

If you were the leader of the country, what would you do?

I would outlaw home perms.

Give me one savoury recipe that doesn’t include cheese.

I make a MEAN pan of kale chips with tahini sauce. It is delicious. Full disclosure: my husband tasted them and said it was the “worst thing he had ever put in his mouth.” So, I guess it depends who you ask.

What did you think you were going to be when you grew up?

Oh! Haha! I thought I was going to be either a) a concert pianist, or b) a great theatre actress. That sure panned out for me.

If you could spend just one day in the body of someone else, who would it be?

I would like to give a really intelligent answer to this one, but I’m drinking wine and watching Sex and the City, so erudition doesn’t really come into play in this situation. I’m going to say a Victoria’s Secret runway model, so I could wear those really big wings.

Which woman writer – living or dead – do you most admire and why?

I love so many woman writers. My favourites are Margaret Atwood, Jane Austen, LM Montgomery, LM Alcott, and Alice Munro. Alice Munro is probably my most admired from a literary standpoint, but my least admired from a personal standpoint.

What character trait inspires you the most?

I really admire positivity and joyfulness in people.

******************************************************************************

I’m supposed to tag other bloggers and add a question of my own. So, I’m tagging:

Happy Geek, who is as hilarious in person as she is on her blog
Valerie, who is my gorgeous friend and also has a brand new blog, which is beautiful and makes me think that I should really get her to show me how to take a decent photograph
Subspace Beacon, who constantly makes me laugh with her wit and erudition

But if you are reading this and want to answer a few of these questions, leave me a comment! It’s fun!

And the question I am going to add is:

Sweet or salty? Discuss.

Joy is an Inside Job

Posted on by

I heard that quote the other day and it made me smile. Happiness, despite current thought, is not some gift-wrapped package we can open after following the lead of that Eat, Pray, Love woman. It isn’t something we can depend on other people for, although other people can certainly add to our happiness. I read this article, which is all about the happiness, or otherwise, of parents. According to a number of studies, parents are much less happy than non-parents, indicating that having children has a statistically significant negative impact on one’s happiness.

I read that, and the little statistician that lives deep inside my heart refilled the lead in her mechanical pencil and sighed. Studies like this irritate me, and not just because of the implication that birthing and raising children is – surprise! – not all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. They irritate me because happiness is subjective. How does one measure happiness? On a scale from one to ten? Or are there numbers assigned to certain categories – Very Happy, Somewhat Happy, Neither Happy nor Unhappy, etc. How do you compare “happiness” among populations? It’s not like measuring your BMI or income, it’s a subjective factor that is skewed depending on the day.

I do, however, feel sympathy for people who feel they are much less happy than prior to having children. I’m not one of them, but I do understand how the drudgery of day to day life can overwhelm a person; the never ending laundry, the mess and chaos. The sheer number of hours a week I spend procuring food, preparing food, and cleaning up the kitchen is astounding. Nonetheless, I am much, much happier than prior to having kids. Of course, my pre-kid life consisted of days at which I would leave for the office at 6:30 in the morning and return home at 7 or 8 at night, spending my days at a desk in a stressful environment in which I would frequently hide in the bathroom to cry. The highlight of my week would be ordering #15 at Vietnamese Village and my dreams would be all about spreadsheets. If I had to do that now, in addition to having children, you can bet that I too would be much less happy. If my evenings were spent frantically picking up the kids and getting dinner on the table and trying, desperately, to spend some Quality Time with them before putting them to bed and starting all over again the next day, I would be a wreck.

A few days ago, I was in a waiting room with Jake. He sat on my lap, colouring a picture of a police dog while talking about elephants. Across the room was a woman with a baby, probably 6 or 7 months old. I couldn’t take my eyes off the baby, who was wiggling and flapping her arms and happily kicking her feet. She played with her mother’s purse strap, she pulled on it and chewed it and smiled a giant, gummy smile. When my boys were very small, I did miss things from my pre-kid life, notably the glamourous things like wearing nice clothes and high heels, having pricey lunches on my expense account, and using the bathroom without having a screaming, sobbing child at my feet. But the time goes so fast. It did not feel like that long ago that Jake was a wiggling, flapping baby on my tired lap, and now he sat on my lap with his feet reaching the middle of my calves, his head bumping my chin. I understand exhaustion and the frantic tedium of life with small children, but it really does go by so fast. I wanted to tell those unhappy mothers that maybe, just maybe, it’s a matter of time.

How did these guys



turn into these guys so quickly?

Talk me down, baby.

Posted on by

So it seems like a LOT of us like the Canadian boys! This is a point of national pride! Thanks for all the comments, I absolutely loved them. They reminded me of the many, many crushes I had in my long-vanquished youth: Judd Nelson, Michael Hutchence, Mark Wahlberg, Han Solo. Check, check, check, CHECK. Speaking of Michael Hutchence, in my days as an INXS fan, I would listen to Need You Tonight incessantly, and my mother was always completely repelled by it. “For God’s sake, Nicole,” she would say as I would rewind the cassette in the car, “What kind of PERSON says ‘You make me sweat’? That’s disgusting.” “Oh MOTHER” I would reply impatiently, “You just don’t GET IT.” This I would say while tightly rolling up my acid washed jeans and tossing my spiral permed hair, just to solidify my position as a sophisticated woman of the world.

So how was your weekend? Please tell me you did something exciting, because this was the highlight of mine: getting the carpets cleaned. Last week I was in despair about our filthy and disgusting carpet, and I just could not live another minute with our filthy and disgusting carpet, and so the carpet cleaner came and our carpet does not look significantly different, leaving me to the disheartening conclusion that our carpet’s life is at its end. We have lived in this house for ten years and have done many, many renovations. When we purchased this house it had a) a main floor that had been painted Pepto Bismol pink, which clashed jarringly with the rust coloured rock fireplace, b) trim and doors that had been painted a shiny, dark forest green, c) a kitchen with five different patterns of wallpaper and homemade cupboards that were constantly getting stuck and jammed, and d) a bathroom with dark brown fixtures. Classy! So we have done a lot of renovations, and now it looks like we are going to get rid of our carpet altogether and I am NOT looking forward to the upheaval. I become horribly crabby when the house is in more chaos than usual. I’m tense just thinking about it. I AM looking forward to not having filthy, disgusting carpet, however, so I’m trying to look at the big picture, rather than the (hopefully) 48 hour picture.

The filthy, disgusting carpet is not being helped by the fact that it’s raining and cold, again, and the dog is lending a lovely wet-dog aroma to the house in addition to his wet paw prints. Last January, when I was feeling particularly down, I came up with the brilliant idea to paint our living room blue! And the kitchen orange! Such happy colours, no one could be sad with a blue and orange house! My husband was fairly silent on the subject, cognizant of my distaste for chaos and confident that I would eventually come to the conclusion that I would rather live with taupe and butter yellow than tape up the cupboards, cover all the furniture, wash the walls, and paint. He was right. But with all the rain right now I’m starting to feel like blue might not be such a bad idea…no. NO. Someone talk me down off my rainy weather ledge, please, before I do something drastic. Like paint my kitchen orange.