Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Yeah, me too.

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Jake, in the car today: “It’s a good thing Tiger Woods is not MY dad.”

Me: silence, trying to digest this comment while simultaneously wondering if watching the news around the children is damaging their psyches in some deep and troubling way.

Jake: “Mom? Mom? I’m happy Tiger Woods is not MY dad.”

Me, realizing silent thoughts are not an appropriate response, and also recalling that it would be wrong and appalling to insert a ribald joke while talking to a four-year-old: “What do you mean, honey?”

Jake: “Mom? I don’t think Tiger Woods plays much with his kids. I don’t really think that’s very nice.”

Me: “I think you’re probably right.”

Random Weekend Thoughts

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I’m the opposite of sharp and witty today. I think I’m going to blame the fact that in five days I’ve been to four different places to buy groceries (the grocery shopping has been epic this week) and the fact that my brain is filled with so much useless knowledge such as where, exactly, the Playmobil farm animals are kept in relation to the dinosaur drawer, exactly how many containers of pasta sauce and of ripe bananas are left in the freezer, and the entire lyrics to Parents Just Don’t Understand. Oh, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, your 1987 ditty haunts me.

So, a few random and disjointed thoughts:

1) Now that the torch relay is long over, the kids have a new Olympic-related game: pretending to be short track speed skaters, which manifests itself in noisily running around the house at top speeds and surreptitiously toppling each other over to get in the lead. I’m kind of looking forward to the closing ceremonies.

2) I’ve been one giant sunbeam of optimism since coming home from vacation, and I feel a bit like I’m irritating everyone I run into with my positive outlook on life. Nothing is bothering me, because I’ve just been on! vacation!

3) NEXT WEEKEND IS THE END OF FEBRUARY. This means that Mark’s birthday is fast approaching and I need to start thinking about his birthday party. Children’s birthday parties are the bane of my existence. Last year I planned a superhero-themed party complete with bat crafts, Mr. Freeze dancing, and a basement obstacle course, and I feel that was the pinnacle of my party-planning career. It’s all downhill from here, people.

T = Valentine’s + Four

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Since we were on! vacation! last week, the boys missed their class Valentine parties, and so came home yesterday bearing their “mailboxes” stuffed with cards and candies and miniature Play-Doh’s, causing me a little anxiety for only sending plain old Spiderman Valentines. Remember when there were no rules regarding the handing out of Valentines, and the class party would result in a ruthless popularity contest, what with the obsessive counting of cards received and from whom, and the select group of children who would be dejectedly looking at empty mailboxes, save for those given by children forced by their mothers to address cards for the entire class? That kind of sucked.

Also, there wasn’t quite the Valentine selection back then as there is now, with the wide variety of Disney/ Marvel Comic/ Nick Jr. cards, as well as all the add-ons of stickers, tattoos, and individually wrapped chocolate hearts. Although I will admit that the ultimate Valentine’s gift for me would be one of those retro cards stating “Let’s BEE Friends” complete with a picture of a bumblebee.

From the above statement, it is probably obvious that I’m not a person who really celebrates Valentine’s, in the romantic way anyway, since I love making heart-shaped sugar cookies and eating chocolate kisses. Also, this is the first year that one of my children (JAKE) actually made me a Valentine of his own volition, making it a very special day indeed. But normally I am not a Valentine’s person. In earlier years I would have probably railed against it as some kind of commercial made-up holiday, or some such other completely unique and original idea. Mostly I could just care less about it, maybe because I’m not interested in diamonds or a bouquet of roses, and if I received a giant heart-shaped box of chocolates I would probably down it in one sitting, so it’s best to just leave Valentine’s to the Valentine’s people.

But I did do something special this year. This year I was on! vacation! and I decided that day to go shopping to stores that are not available at home.

As an aside, for all you Canadian readers, remember when it was a huge deal to go shopping in the States, and you could get all sorts of strange and wonderful items not available in Canada? I remember the first time I had a Twinkie. It was gross and weird and highly over-rated, but still I enjoyed it because I couldn’t get them in Canada.

Back to the shopping. I decided, on Valentine’s Day of all days, to go to Victoria’s Secret. People, if you are looking for entertainment, go to Victoria’s Secret on Valentine’s Day. It was packed with men who had evidently forgotten the importance of the date or who just, disastrously, left things to the last minute. They ranged in lingerie-temperament from those who rifled furiously through the various racks to those who just stood staring, clearly overwhelmed with the whole undertaking. Some of the more self-aware approached the counter to announce that they had no idea what to look for, so maybe a gift certificate would be in order?

For any men who may be reading this, I am going to go out on a limb here and say that lingerie is possibly the most deadly, land-mine like gift you can give a woman. Size is the first issue: what man really knows what size his wife or girlfriend is? It’s a tricky one; if you go too small, then the item will be horribly uncomfortable and it will be an awkward exchange. If you go too large, then your wife or girlfriend will be tremendously offended that you thought THAT was her size. Also, and this may be a generalization, but I believe that most men have different lingerie tastes than women do. Otherwise, how to explain the proliferation of tacky red-and-black numbers with feathers and fake fur and matching mule slippers? I can only guess that it is for the desperately-seeking-a-Valentine-gift market.

What do you think? Are you a Valentine’s person? An anti-Valentine’s person? Or are you like me, someone who enjoys Valentine-related treats, but not much else about the holiday?

Here’s me, a few hours after my V-Day shopping spree, with 2/3 of my Valentines.

The flight

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As I mentioned earlier, I am just back from a warm vacation, notable because it was the first big vacation with the kids. Generally we are the road-trippers to see in-laws, or short-flighters to see my grandparents. I have to admit that the reason we haven’t had any big vacations with the kids prior to now was due to my extreme reluctance to take small children on flights with a greater than one hour duration, as well as my extreme exhaustion at the idea of caring for and entertaining small children in unfamiliar surroundings. However, they are older now and I thought that this would be the year to start, and it turns out, I was right. Don’t you love when that happens?

Traveling with a four and five year old is not bad at all, and I’m not just saying that because, on the airplane, my husband sat in the middle seat between them while I lounged in lonely bliss across the aisle. It pays to be the uncool parent that no one wants to sit beside. The flight was significantly easier on the way home, given that the Palm Springs airport has a separate express security line for passengers traveling with children. A more brilliant idea would, in my opinion, be difficult to come across.

This is not to say that the flight down was difficult. We actually arrived at the airport twenty minutes before the rush, so we sailed through customs and security. The super friendly security guy chatted with me as he went through my carryon which contained the eclectic mom-like combination of peanut butter sandwiches, camera, makeup, and a potty seat. He even mentioned that the flight we would be on would have the Teletoon channel, which caused a great deal of excitement and conjectures with regards to what programs would be on at this time of day, only to end in disappointment at the discovery that the brand new plane we boarded had yet to be equipped with televisions. Oh, the humanity! We were seated at the front of the plane and each and every passenger commented on this travesty as they filed past us.

The flight itself went great, despite having to rely on archaic forms of entertainment such as books and markers, and also in spite of it being delayed 50 minutes while waiting for connecting passengers to go through security. Heavy fog had delayed a connecting flight from Edmonton, and the latecomers had to endure the withering stares and extraneous mutterings of “Oilers suck!” from the other passengers as they sheepishly boarded.

But then we landed! In another country! And the boys were thrilled every second to be somewhere different, and every difference was noted, no matter how small (Scooby Doo gummies have different packaging than in Canada) or large (palm trees). Here is their reaction upon seeing flowers at the airport upon arrival:

I’m Baaaacccckkkk!

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I’m back from six days in Palm Desert, CA, and it was such a great trip: warmth and sunshine, and copious eating, drinking, and being merry. I have many fun stories but mostly I just want to say that this was our first big trip with the kids and it was a happy success. The best thing about travelling with kids is watching their world vision expand. After getting off the plane, the boys were absolutely fascinated that there were flowers! Growing! And they were wearing t-shirts! And there was grass! And palm trees! And I have many things to say and I want to visit all of your blogs but the siren song of laundry and unpacking is calling me….so a longer post is coming after I have waded through those duties.

No. I don’t like Pina Coladas.

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Music. It speaks to us. It’s like when you fall in love for the first time and you listen to “What a Wonderful World” and you identify with every single lyric – I DO see trees of green AND red roses! – and then maybe you break up with that love and you hear “Against All Odds” and the lyrics are like purposeful daggers to your broken heart. How can he just walk away, when I stand here taking every breath for him? Sob.

Or maybe you go Mexico and you hear “Margaritaville” and it captures the foggy, unfocused essence of your vacation, or you’re having a night out with your girlfriends and you hear “We are Family” and it’s like the soundtrack of your life is playing?

Sometimes, however, a song comes along that you cannot identify with in the least. I’ve mentioned before that I am the exact opposite of the desired person in Rupert Holmes’ song “Escape”. “Escape”, for those who don’t know, is actually the Pina Colada song. Who knew? I certainly didn’t; I always thought that its proper name was the Pina Colada song.

The 1970’s must have been a strange time to be on the dating scene, no? I mean, there was all that casual/ anonymous/ unprotected sex, and the penchant for mustaches and chest hair, and those truckers who had bumper stickers that said “Grass, Gas, or Ass: Nobody Rides for Free”, and the obsessions with zodiac signs (which I kind of get, I mean, I’m superstitious that way). The fact that long-haul truckers practically had a cult following says something about that era. Strange times to be dating, I imagine.

And so the Pina Colada song made it onto the charts. Did it top the charts? I have no idea. I do know that it is one of the most sing-able songs ever written, and also it has a very weird theme: a guy is bored with his “lady” and answers a personal ad, and it turns out his “lady” was bored of him, because she placed said personal ad. Clearly, communication was not a big thing back then.

Reasons why I would be un-dateable in the ‘70s, according to desirable qualities as stated in the Pina Colada song, and separate from my dislike for chest hair, mustaches, bumper stickers, and obviously, the whole casual/ anonymous/ unprotected sex thing (thanks to My Mom the Style Icon for the topic idea. If I was sure that my mom wouldn’t find out and murder me, I would totally send you a picture of her in a 12 inch mini dress.)

Do you like Pina Coladas? No. I dislike anything with coconut flavour. Actually, I dislike anything coconut related. Shredded coconut, to me, has the consistency of dried out dental floss and if there is one way to ruin a good cookie or dessert, it’s by adding shredded coconut to it.

Getting caught in the rain? No. I have very fine hair that goes completely limp in humidity. So you can imagine what I look like after being caught in the rain. Also, I don’t like walking around in wet clothes. Two kids = deflated bosoms = very depressing wet t-shirt contest.

If you’re not into yoga? I practice 5-6 times a week. I get up at five in the morning to practice yoga, so I guess you could say that I’m “into it”.

If you have half a brain? I have a whole brain. Unfortunately a large portion of it is taken up by useless information, like the lyrics to this song.

I’m not much into health food. This one makes me laugh. Yes, I like health food. This is not the ‘70s anymore wherein people who enjoy health food are walking around with unshaven underarms, hemp ponchos, and Birkenstocks, munching on mung beans and wheat germ. Normal people can like health food.

I am into champagne. I’m a red wine girl, myself.

If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape. Okay, stop it right there. I’m not even addressing dunes of the cape. I’m addressing making love at midnight. It’s a miracle if I’m up past nine thirty, let alone getting jiggy with it at midnight. Seriously, my husband is sexy, very much so, but if he woke me up at midnight he would be facing my groggy and somewhat comatose rage. He would not, as they say, be tapping that.