Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Peace, Love, and Happiness

Posted on by

Last week the 1973 version of Jesus Christ Superstar was on television, which I watched with interest as I saw Tim Neeley reprise his role on the last tour of the play, a few years back. Almost immediately, I had the song “What’s the Buzz (Tell Me What’s Happening)” stuck in my head, and it stayed there for several days. After a few days of this I started to consider various hippie slang that should – by all rights – make a comeback: What’s the Buzz, of course, along with its counterpart Don’t Be Such a Buzzkill, as well as the ultimate complimentary term, Far Out! As I was watching, Tim Neeley hit a very high note, and I realized that Adam Lambert’s style is completely imitative.

Is nothing original anymore?

Clearly that is true about style, given that I have noticed, disconcertingly, that it seems to be fashionable to tightly roll up your pants. Tightly rolling up your pants! I was someone who tightly folded, then carefully rolled, my acid wash jeans back in the late eighties, and the thought of that particular style coming back to the forefront is distressing to say the least. It wasn’t a flattering style then. It is even less so now. Youth of today, take a stand against this, for the good of the nation.

Back when I was an angst-ridden teenager, around the time of the rolled jeans, I thought that it would be amazing – far out, even – to come of age in the late 60’s, early 70’s; all that revolutionary thought, the electricity of change. They sure did know how to make a good rock opera back then: all the hippie singers and dancers arriving on that decrepit bus, the funky music, the obviously high and very sweaty cast. What a time to be alive, I used to think, with my rose coloured outlook and my youth and my idealism.

As an adult, however, I now look back on that time with revulsion: the promiscuity, the venereal disease, the hallucinogens, the lack of hygiene. Maybe because it’s my birthday next week, and I am officially entering what used to be known as middle age, and back then in the era of peace, love, and happiness, I would be someone who would not have been trusted, a total square, despite my very strong dedication to a life of peace, love and happiness. Maybe I’m just being a buzzkill.

Mmm…George Clooney

Posted on by

Have you seen the movie Up in the Air? If not, I recommend you do so; it is an excellent movie. I say this with authority because I actually stayed awake through the entire film. This is notable because I’m famous – in my own small circle, anyway – for falling asleep and missing the ending of the majority of movies I see. Last weekend we watched Sherlock Holmes and I found the plot not at all engaging, and although I think Robert Downey Jr. is QUITE attractive, I fell asleep an hour before it ended. I have seen the beginning of many, many movies but I’m generally quite fuzzy on how they end, due to my movie-induced narcolepsy. Action movies are the worst. Car chases! Explosions! Special effects! They all result in me passed out on the couch.

The last movie I saw in an actual movie theatre was – hang on to your hats! – Pirates of the Caribbean Part Two, and, of course, I fell asleep probably ten minutes into the movie, waking up intermittently to scenes of scary looking pirate-y things with the arm of the seat jammed uncomfortably in my side. A friend recently asked why I didn’t go to the movie theatre more often – don’t I have babysitters – and really, my reasoning is that my couch is a much less expensive and much more comfortable place to fall asleep.

So that was a highlight of the weekend, me watching a movie from start to finish. Also happening around my house: the Masters. Do you live with a golfer? Or a golf fan? I seem to have married someone who is both of those and the Masters takes on importance even greater than the US Open. He has been following it this weekend, simultaneously wishing he himself was on the golf course – icy winds and melting snow keeping him from doing so – and frequently calling me to the television to watch a particularly good shot. Are they called shots? I’m not sure. Paying attention to the Masters, and other sporting events, is something I do to keep my marriage vital. That is my Public Service Announcement for the day: for a strong marriage, at least feign interest in sporting events. My husband’s related PSA would likely have something to do with providing crazy wife with all the wine she wants, which probably explains why the Scouts looked so excited when they arrived at our house for their bottle drive this weekend. Hooray, our camping trip is funded! A very amusing part of the Masters has been my husband repeatedly muttering expletives about Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods: spokesperson for skankiness everywhere. Speaking of which: have you seen that Nike commercial? Ew. That is all I have to say. Ew, ew, ew.

On that note, I will sign off. Here’s to a positive and happy week! Hope you all had a lovely weekend.

Gone With The April Snowstorm Wind

Posted on by

Right now it’s snowing, big thick flakes; our entire yard is blanketed, the whitened trees swaying violently in the wind. After dinner the boys went outside with umbrellas and snow boots, running and screaming with joy in the wind. Wouldn’t it be nice to view an April snowstorm like that, like an unlooked-for and unexpected gift? Instead of a big giant soggy-dog puddles-in-the-mudroom power-threatening-to-go-out pain in the ass?

The boys finally came in, soaked and frozen, after the bizarre thunder and lightning started to accompany the snow, and I felt more like my normal self. All day I had been rehearsing for the starring role of Bitchy Mummy, and I think I was doing quite well at it, if I do say so myself. The problem lies within. My personal philosophy is that if you are a person like me – a stay-at-home mom with no babies or toddlers to look after – then you really should pull more than your weight in the volunteer department. My best friend, who has four children ranging in age from eight months to almost seven, is someone who I think should never be asked to volunteer ever. She is one busy woman. Someone like me…well, I’m not living a particularly hectic life, and so I think I should take on the lion’s share of volunteer work. Which is why I am rocking the role of Bitchy Mummy today.

Evidently I should say no more often. The past few days have seen me baking like a fiend and also, cruelly, refusing to allow the children to eat more than one brownie each. “Can you make brownies again someday?” Mark asked pathetically, like the Dickensian character he suddenly is, given his mother has become suddenly negligent and unreachable. I have been spending hours – HOURS – creating the community soccer schedule and I have been spending much time feeling utterly defeated with my forehead in my hand wondering if that many games can be fielded at one time or do I need to CHANGE IT AGAIN. This is my second year of taking on this job and if my husband has any say in the matter there will not be a third because my normal, fairly cheery personality is gone, people, gone with the April snowstorm wind. I initially volunteered for this job because hey, I used to create linear programs and other mathematical models, how hard could a soccer schedule be? This is called hubris. The soccer schedule is an evil, evil thing. I am having disturbing dreams about the soccer schedule. I am living and breathing the soccer schedule. And the children, the children with their Insatiable Curiosity and Natural Inquisitiveness, the children with their Need for Maternal Attention and their Nutritional Requirements, the children, they are driving me crazy.

So I’m going to go out on a limb here and incur the wrath of my neighbours and say that the snowstorm, while it is a giant pain, is also a blessing, a blessing that saw the children outside and absurdly happy, and that reminded me what it’s like to be a kid who sees excitement and fun in an unexpected snowy curveball. It took the Bitchy Mummy right out of me.

Happy Easter!

Posted on by

“I know that Santa is not real,” Mark said ponderously, “But what about the Easter Bunny?”

I considered for a moment before replying, “What do you think, honey? Do you think a bunny will hop into our house with a basket of treats?”

Mark thought for a moment. “No. That doesn’t really make sense. How would a bunny open the door?”

Is this where I’m supposed to answer “MAGIC”?

Anyway, we have been busy, people, with various egg-colouring projects and other spring-related crafts.

We’re a talented family, no?

I took a cue from a much more imaginative friend and filled little plastic eggs with written clues about where various Easter treats were hidden in the house. My husband was puzzled by this method – “can’t they just look for the treats?” – but I was adamant about it being FUN and not only that, Mark could practice his reading. He looked at me like I just taped a Kick Me sign on my own back. There’s nothing like incorporating educational value into an Easter egg hunt. Nonetheless, the boys really did enjoy the hunt because that crazy bunny hid treats everywhere from the dryer to Jake’s underwear drawer. Fun!


Little bunny footprints leading to the basket o’ clues.

We had Easter dinner at my parents’ yesterday, with my brothers and sisters-in-law and all my nieces and nephews. My mother made ham AND turkey, so Jake was happy, and we were combining this family gathering with Mark’s birthday so our contribution to the dinner was this:

Yes, the good people at Dairy Queen made us a giant Muk-Muk cake, which was a little too much for fifteen people and so I ate a very large leftover piece this morning, which left me feeling somewhat nauseous for the rest of the day, but oh so worth it. The remainder of the day has been spent in a rather leisurely fashion, with Mark and his dad raking the lawn and Jake surreptitiously playing with Mark’s new Star Wars action figures obtained only yesterday, and then later an outdoor hard-boiled egg hunt that fortunately did not conclude with the dog consuming said eggs.

I hope that, whether or not you celebrate Easter, you have had a beautiful weekend, this lovely first weekend of April.

I don’t go out much

Posted on by

You know how, when you are looking forward to going to your very favourite restaurant for weeks, and you pore over the online menu and decide what you are going to order, in extreme detail, and you think about that amazing meal and you think about it and – after all you go out for dinner only a few times a year – you obsess over it and then the day is finally here and you dress up in an actual dress, the very one you bought for your husband’s company Christmas party that you sadly did not attend and you get to the restaurant, starving and drooling a little, practically crazed with anticipation, you open the actual non-online menu and the item you have been dreaming about is no longer available? And for a few minutes you just feel completely bereft, like there are no more important issues in the world than the fact that you cannot order linguine with sundried tomatoes and olives?

But then you find that, regardless of the printed menu, the chef can accommodate you and you get exactly what you want?

It’s wonderful.

All of which is to say that our anniversary dinner was a lovely success. “Can you believe we’ve been married eight years?” I said dreamily, sipping my second cosmopolitan. “It seems longer” my husband replied somewhat less romantically. “But in a good way” he amended.

When you’ve been married a while, it’s easy to take certain things for granted: like who is going to take out the recycling or who is going to wash the dishes. When you have babies or small children your relationship can be not unlike that of fellow zookeepers or perhaps roommates with particularly difficult pets, where you cease to talk about anything not related to your shared responsibilities and their food and toileting preferences. Another thing about being married for a while is that you become predictable to each other. I can, for example, predict perfectly the two things my husband finds most irritating about me: my fondness for going to sleep before 9:30 pm, and my eating preferences. “It’s a pain in the ass being married to a vegetarian,” he mutters semi-weekly. He probably also is irritated by my baby-talking to the dog, but whatever. I can also predict that, now that golf season has begun, I will see a whole lot less of him; but on the upside, I will be able to watch NYPD Blue reruns without interference.

The beautiful thing about being married a while, the beauty of predictability, is that when you come back to the table from the ladies’ room you find your husband has talked to the waitress and ordered you a contraband linguine with sundried tomatoes and olives, plus a gorgeous glass of cabernet, and you can only smile at his probable conversation with her, “It’s a pain she’s a vegetarian,” he’d say, “I’ll have the New York striploin.” It’s just what I might have predicted.

Girls! Gone! Wild!

Posted on by
Today is a full moon and I follow with yogic tradition to not practice but take rest on moon days, which means that I slept a full hour and a half later than normal. Pure luxury! Since it is Spring! Break! and we had nowhere in particular to be today, I fulfilled my dream of leisurely coffee drinking; sipping eight – eight! – cups while watching Breakfast Television, or what I like to refer to ironically and with air quotes as “the news”.

Digression: while in university I was friends with a girl who referred to Entertainment Tonight as “the news”.

Speaking of Entertainment Tonight masquerading as the news, remember the OJ Simpson trial? I…don’t really, at the time I was much too absorbed in the fascinating dual worlds of the history of economic thought and step aerobics to pay much attention to it, but I do remember that beach bum houseguest Kato Kaelin, in all his dimwitted glory. I was startled to discover, many years later, the numerous careers that were launched due to a grisly murder trial. For example, Star Jones?

Digression to digression: how strange is it that OJ was acquitted at that time, yet the vast majority of the general population believes him to be a grisly murderer?

Wow, how did I get there? Eight cups of coffee is too much, people, especially when coupled with ninety extra minutes of sleep.

So, spring break good news and bad news.

Good news: The zoo was fantastic yesterday, we had an incredible day. It was the kind of day that I don’t trust myself to talk to people because I would surely boast about my amazing kids and their fantastic personalities and how wonderful they are. I even said to my husband that I felt sorry for him that he is not the stay at home parent.

Bad news: Karma. Today the boys have been fidgety, quarrelsome, and moody. They are DRIVING ME CRAZY. Crazier than normal.

Good news: We made caterpillars out of egg cartons!

Bad news: The groomer was sick and Barkley still stinks.

Good news: The weather was decent enough to send Mark outside to play, which improved his mood immensely. I watched him run around the yard with several garden implements, pretending to shoot and destroy various imaginary aliens.

Bad news: He accidentally hit himself in the head with a garden implement and had to come inside, where he and Jake played for all of five minutes before the game dissolved into an angry argument.

Good news: I baked a yummy looking loaf of bread and a banana loaf.

Bad news: I am not enjoying playing endless games of dinosaurs and killings that the boys are requesting of me, but yet I am acutely aware that they will not want to play with their mother much longer. Melancholy.

Good news: We still have seven days left of spring break, and it is a full moon, and I am focusing all my positive energy on tomorrow; tomorrow is another day.

Good news: We are having a great time!

Bad news: You can’t tell from the picture that this is a parasauralophus.