Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

The Sun Came Out!

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This was the view from my back door yesterday morning:

Spring!

It’s mostly melted now, but it was snowing and grey for most of the day until about 6:00 pm, when the sun festively came out. Jake’s mystery illness presented itself as a nasty headcold, and I just could not face bundling him up, running through the snow and howling winds, dropping Mark at school, and doing it all over again two and a half hours later, so I decided to keep Mark home yesterday. “If I let you stay home, we need to do some schoolwork”, I said sternly, to which Mark replied, “Oh boy! Okay! What’s my first assignment? This is going to be great!” So evidently my nerdy and bookwormish tendencies have been passed on to the next generation. In fact, the entire day was spent pretending our house was a school. Mark kept asking which “centres” he could play at. “Is the writing centre open? Is the dinosaur centre open? I’m going to set this book aside for the reading centre. Okay? Okay Mom? Okay?”

The other night I was premenstrually sobbing to my husband about the passage of time and how the boys are not going to want to spend time with me as they grow and how I’m just going to be the horrible bitchy mother-in-law everyone complains about and in a couple of years Jake is NOT going to want to grocery shop with me and woe is me, I’m sad. My husband replied cheerily that, not to worry, Mark will likely always want to do math puzzles and crosswords with me, which seems apt, after yesterday’s events. (“Is the science centre open?”).

Ah, it’s all good. Of all the characters in The Breakfast Club, I have always secretly identified with the character played by Anthony Michael Hall – “In the physics club, we talk about physics, properties of physics” – although I had a huge crush on the Judd Nelson character. Ooh, the bad boy. It’s funny how all of the most attractive movie characters are also the ones who would be the worst to be in a relationship with. Take the Ralph Fiennes character from The English Patient, for example. Ralph Fiennes, so yummy, so intense, and yet, imagine being married to the guy. It would be terrible! The guy hardly ever smiles, and forget about lighthearted conversation. “What do you want for dinner, honey?” “I HAVE BEEN WALKING. FOR THREE DAYS.” I know this is controversial, but it would be much more amiable to be married to the jovial Colin Firth character than the sexy Ralph Fiennes character. At least he remembered their anniversary.

Huh. I meant only to write today about the snow, and my bookworm of an older child, and Jake’s miraculous recovery today and how I have a very! exciting! weekend! ahead of me, but somehow I got on the topic of attractive movie characters who would be hell to be married to. So, that sounds like a great game for a Friday! What movie character do you find terribly attractive and yet, you know would not be good relationship material? Ooh, just thought of another one: John Cusack in Say Anything. I know. I know. Controversial. But really, wouldn’t that lack of ambition get to you after a while? Okay, weigh in, this should be fun!

Bitch, we’re coming for you.

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Mark has largely recovered from his recent mysterious illness, but, in an incredible twist of misfortune, my husband is now ill. Let us all take a moment of silence on receiving that information. Not only that, but Jake – who was fine when I dropped him at school this morning – was runny nosed and headachy and exceedingly irritable when I picked him up a mere 150 minutes later. I can almost see the mystery illness pointing its slimy, germy fingers at me. “Bitch, we’re coming for you.” I am tired although I’m trying to convince myself that I’m tired simply because of all the sick people in my house keeping me awake at night.

Speaking of visualizing the mystery illness, I had a very disturbing conversation with friends who told me that a) seatbelts on airplanes have very high levels of fecal matter on their buckles, and b) headrests on airplane seats squeam them out because of the possibility of lice transfers. The next time I fly I am going to have to explain away the plastic bubble that I will have encased myself in. That, and the disinfectant that I will be using to clean all touchable surfaces.

Also? That commercial for automatic liquid soap dispensers that shows all the viruses and germs on the pump of a regular liquid soap dispenser should be outlawed. That is information I did not need, nor did I need to see it so clearly.

In other, non-freakishly-germ-phobic news, I volunteered in Mark’s class today, which I love. “Mark’s mom is here!” one of his classmates exclaimed upon seeing me. I almost corrected him with my actual name, which is MarkandJake’s mom. But I do love going to the kindergarten; the kids are so cute and enthusiastic, and I know the day will come when Mark will not happily tolerate my blowing him kisses and waving to him while he rotates through various class centres. I was helping to make bird houses out of milk containers, and in a fascinating turn of safety violation events, I sliced first one finger, then another, on the scissors while cutting out perching holes. Kids, be careful with the scissors, she says whilst holding her dripping finger and darting for the medical supplies.

So my sore fingers and my overwhelming tiredness are not being helped by the current weather conditions: a festive spring snowstorm. It is, as I write this, snowing sideways. Well, we need the moisture, as my cheery elderly neighbour says. The upside to this is that perhaps, just perhaps, soccer will be cancelled tomorrow night. Which will be fortunate if I succumb to mystery illness. Which I’m not going to. But just in case.

I’m in a bad mood!

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Mark, after a weekend of seasonal allergy-related coughing, woke up this morning pale and listless, brushed his teeth, and promptly threw up. Poor guy. By mid-morning he seemed to recover, and as I write this he is playing a loud game with his brother, one of their favourites in which they are brainstorming different and exotic ways to destroy their arch-enemy, Mickey Mouse.

Fortunately we are not planning a trip to Disneyland anytime soon.

It was a tough weekend for Mark. We had Visitors, and one Visitor made it perfectly clear that, how shall I say this delicately, this Visitor has a strong preference for one of my children, and that preferred child was emphatically not Mark. It’s hard to see your child dissolve into a puddle of hurt feelings, especially when the hurt feelings are caused by a person who should, I think, not have such strong preferences.

So I was stewing about this, and I’ve come to the following conclusions:

a) Much as I would like to, I cannot control other’s behaviour, I can only control my own;

b) I also cannot control how other people feel and force them to behave more equitably;

c) If I was actually to bring this up to said person, the situation would not change perceptibly but then there would be awkwardness and emotional outbursts added to the equation;

d) I had better just blog about it rather than bring it up, which has limited upside as far as I can see.

Very, very unsatisfactory conclusion.

In other news, I received a flyer for a nearby estate sale. One of the treasures, as advertised in the flyer, is an antique cookie jar in the shape of Mammy from Gone With The Wind. Hoo boy! If that is one of the highlights, I just can’t wait to get to that estate sale! That would go so great with all my other completely inappropriate and racially-offensive cookie jar related items.

Sigh. That failed to cheer me. Anyone want to share their stories about children being treated inequitably by a “Visitor”? Or a good story about a cookie jar? Either way I need cheering up.

The More Than 100 Mile Diet

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The boys have been reminding me, in a very earnest way, to reduce, reuse, and recycle, in keeping with their various school-related Earth Day activities. I think we do a fairly decent job of that in our house: we recycle everything we can, we use steel water bottles and reusable shopping bags, we try to keep our house from overflowing with plastic consumables, although this is fairly relative. The boys do have plastic toys, we did – due to Jake’s incessant talking about it – receive a landfill-destined Slap Chop for Christmas. The Slap Chop: thousands of years from now landfills will be studded with those monstrosities, possibly the best-marketed piece of junk ever invented. Vince, you liar. The Sham-Wow was a useful addition to our household, but the Slap Chop? Jake talked ceaselessly about it to his indulgent grandma and was thrilled when she gave it to us, and then was subsequently saddened when it became apparent that no, kids cannot use the Slap Chop and no, the Slap Chop doesn’t actually work. Don’t even get me started on the Graty.

Terrible plastic gimmicks and toys notwithstanding, we do try to minimize our environmental impact. However, there are many things I don’t do which I could do – I could walk the boys to school instead of drive, for example, I could xeriscape more and take shorter showers, I could use one of those Diva Cups if the thought didn’t make me totally squeamish.

It’s popular now to be a locavore, thank you “100 Mile Diet”. A friend and I were discussing the fact that people who you think should be compassionate and open minded are generally the opposite of that when it comes to food. Generally anyone who refers to their diet using the word “purist” is a zealot about it; however, I would probably be the world’s smuggest locavore if I lived in a different climate. I do purchase locally grown product when it is available, although I do not think that environmentally there is much difference between vegetables trucked from another province and ones that are grown in a hothouse in Alberta in the winter. For most of the year, if I was to eat only food produced within a 100 mile radius, I would be eating a lot of beef, pork, potatoes, wheat, and corn. My fruit choices would be Saskatoon berries and crabapples. Not to mention the fact that there are no nearby vineyards or locally grown coffee beans. So I think I will stick with my non-eco-friendly-more-than-100-mile-diet, with a side order of vague guilt.

What do you do that causes environmentally-related guilt?

Halfway to 70, or Taking the A Train to Cougarville

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Tomorrow is my birthday! I am not at all shy about telling people it is my birthday. If it didn’t make me look like I have a mental illness, I would walk around with a tiara and a “Birthday Girl” button, or possibly even a sandwich board. I love my birthday. I don’t mind the whole “getting older” part because hey, who wants to be dead? Not me. So here I am, a day away from being halfway to 70, which is pretty much taking the A Train to Cougarville.

Obviously I am on that train because yesterday I was a volunteer with Jake’s class for their field trip to the firehall! The firehall! Nicole likes firefighters! A friend was telling me about her daughter’s field trip and how great it was with the female firefighter leading the tour; inwardly I was like I am going to be so ripped off if the tour is led by a female firefighter. I mean, girl power and everything, but come on. And what do you know? The firefighters were all male and attractive, which makes for a happy field trip. Also I got to live out my lifelong fantasy of putting on the outfit – is it called an outfit? I don’t know. The boots and pants and coat and things. You know what I’m saying. – plus the oxygen tank, all of which gave me even more respect for the firefighters, male and female, because that gear is HEAVY. I could not take five steps in all that gear let alone RESCUE PEOPLE and carry those heavy hoses and whatnot. I actually said, yes I did, that the firefighters must be in good shape. I said this out loud to a firefighter, which really puts me on Destination Cougarville.

It’s a good thing my loving husband is such a confident man, to withstand my chatter about the firehall. For the record, he is way more attractive than a thousand firefighters put together, firefighting gear notwithstanding. I’m a lucky girl. Or lucky middle aged woman, whichever.

Oh yes, and the kids learned about fire safety.

Ah, but for every high there must be a come down, and so after the firehall visit I had a dentist appointment. A friend posted a poll recently: what would you rather do, have a pap test or go to the dentist. I will tell you, people, I would much rather put my feet in the stirrups with one of those awkward paper gowns on than have my teeth scraped for thirty minutes. Yikes! My very sweet hygienist said, at one point, “You really love that red wine, don’t you?” Yes. I do.

So, it’s a busy busy week, what with MY BIRTHDAY, and a firehall visit, and the dentist, and now tonight is the start of soccer season! It’s actually warm and sunny which feels strange – where is the snow? Where are the gale force winds? So I had better look out my turquoise windbreaker track suit and hop on the train to Soccer Mom Town. I have a lot of cheering to do.

It’s a good thing

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It’s Saturday morning, and the house is so peaceful – it’s just me and the dog; the kids are at swimming lessons, the house is filled with the scents of bread and chocolate chip cookies. Someone recently referred to me as a “Martha Stewart” and I didn’t respond right away because I needed to figure out if that person was being sarcastic or not. Apparently she was not being sarcastic but was referring to my love of baking things; clearly she was not referring to my complete inability to perform any task that requires artistic or decorative skills. Because I’m pretty sure if Martha tried to decorate cupcakes, they would look more like edible art and less like someone visually impaired and with only one hand attacked them with frosting and sprinkles.

Also I think Martha would have a much better craft supply storage solution than put everything on top of the fridge and hope that an avalanche does not occur while cooking.


Notice the various crafts and colouring pages.


The fridge is generally covered with three or four layers of paper at any given time.


As should be obvious by this point, I have one child who is really into crafts and colouring, and one who is sort of into crafts and colouring, with the result that the house is overflowing with art. So here’s my question: what does one do with it all? I have two giant containers in the basement where I keep a LOT of it, but eventually I smuggle piles out to the recycle bin. So what do you do with all of your children’s art, and how do you decide what to keep? While I’m at it, how do you deal with clutter?

I’m a baskets sort of person. Note the Bakugan stuck on the metal part of the fireplace. Classy touch.

But this is what it looks like under one of my living room end tables. NOT SO GOOD. I think the Hungry Hungry Hippos got so hungry they detached themselves from the game and died a slow death. I actually think that having an Attractively Decorated Home is incompatible with children. Or maybe it’s just me and my filled-to-overflowing-with-children’s-art-and-toys home.

Awww! So cute. This has nothing to do with clutter, but I think he’s looking for a walk. Enjoy the weekend!