Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Favourite Outfits of My Teen Years

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It’s no secret I love clothes and fashion, and I always have. Every day is an opportunity to play dress-up, in my opinion, or at least to wear something pretty. Some of you may remember when I Kondo’d my house (and life), I discovered something important about myself: clothing sparks joy for me. I love my entire wardrobe; I love every last one of my twenty-plus black sweaters, my dozens of black tops, my twelve black bikinis, and my two shelves full of tightly rolled up yoga clothing, in varying hues. My friend Lyndsey (HI LYNDSEY) is a professional organizer, and I’m pretty sure she would faint if she saw my stuffed-to-the-brim closet. BUT I LOVE AND WEAR THEM ALL, LYNDSEY.

I’m at the point in my life where I am very comfortable with my own sense of style. True, I do like to keep up with current fashions, but I don’t feel the need to adopt them unconditionally. For example, I’m not a person who is flattered by peasant blouses or white jeans, and I’m literally too cold to wear the cold shoulder look. I’ve already done my time in pleated shorts and cut-off jeans, and so I shall leave the youth fashion to the youth for whom it is intended.

And yet, it is very fun to look back at the fashion I adopted when I myself was a youth. Last week, my friend Swistle (HI SWISTLE) wrote about favourite outfits in high school, and I have been thinking about it almost non-stop since then. I’ve been riding a wave of nostalgia for the late 80s/ early 90s, and the accompanying terrible fashions. I was at my parents’ place on the weekend and I thumbed quickly through a few photo albums. HOO BOY. Those were the days, my friends.

My own personal style really changed a lot from junior high to senior high, and it also changed a lot from year to year. I feel that the summers were a time of renewal and reflection about our own personal fashion, and that September was a time of new beginnings, clothing-wise. It was the time where we all decided what we wanted our look to be, for better or worse.

Grade Seven, 1987-88

My very favourite outfit was one that I have photographic evidence of, since I wore it on the first day of school. It was a long, full skirt that was meant to look like denim but was actually cotton. I paired it with knockoff white Keds, a white tank top, and a blue-and-white striped blouse that I tied in front.

I also had a denim slouch bag! And, if you look closely, light-blue nylons. I wore a lot of skirts in the beginning of grade seven; notably a light-blue bubble skirt, a beige ruffled skirt that I paired with an enormous white t-shirt, tucked in, and a pale pink skirt that I wore with a pale pink sweater and pale pink ankle boots. I was a sight in pastel, apparently. I wore skirts until I figured out that junior high boys were terrible and that they always tried to look up skirts when walking up the stairs, or flip them up when you were innocently standing at your locker.

Grade Eight – 1988-89

Once I figured out the terrible truth, I lived in jeans and gigantic sweaters. I had a few cable-knit sweaters that I begged for – and received – at Christmas. They were ENORMOUS. I wore acid-wash and other light-wash jeans, Levi’s with the red tab, rolled up at the ankles. Nothing is so terribly unflattering as baggy, high-waist jeans rolled at the ankles with a gigantically baggy, tucked-in t-shirt. But such was the fashion back then. I found this gem at my parents’ house and it cracks me up uncontrollably.

Ah, nothing says excitement like being fourteen years old and getting your photo taken for the no-cavity club at the dentist. Just look at the size of the t-shirt, with polka dots, no less. Look at the knockoff Swatch watch. LOOK AT MY HAIR.

A store had just recently opened up, in the spring of 1989, a store that was, to me, life-changing. It was called Freedom, and it sold many items like jeans and t-shirts embellished with peace signs. Oh, how I loved that store.

Grade Nine – 1989-90

Grade Nine was my year of predominantly black sweaters – a trend I have kept for a lifetime since – a ton of jewelry – ditto – and ripped jeans or long, multicoloured broom skirts. I also embraced band t-shirts from long-since-unbanded-and-usually-dead musical acts, such as The Doors.

Another dentist photo! I guess I’ve always been good at brushing my teeth. It is very hard to tell in this photo, but I have – in addition to a LOT of necklaces and my dad’s old watch, a long fake-silk scarf used as a belt in my jeans. My jeans would have, of course, been Levi’s 501s, and they would have been frayed at the bottom and, rather than rolled, pinned tightly at the ankles.

Grade Ten – 1990-91

Grade Ten was the year I fully embraced the dichotomous look of either ripped jeans or dresses. There was no in-between. I loved babydoll dresses, particularly crushed velvet ones, worn with tights, army-style boots, and a trench coat. It was the look of the early nineties, along with long, permed hair. Sadly, I have no photographic evidence of this in my possession, but I do have this lovely one with a classic Sulky Teen look.

Long, silver chains with crosses were my jam, along with silver hoop earrings and a mood ring. My mood ring was stuck on black, however, because even then I had terrible circulation and my hands and feet were always freezing. In fact, I remember a boyfriend I had around age 16, who looked at my bare feet and asked, alarmed, how I bruised them so completely. They were just purple from my lack of circulation, and were totally normal for me.

Grade Eleven – 1991-92

My very favourite outfit I remember so well, but I cannot find a photo of it. I wore it on my first day at my new high school, and it was red plaid HOT PANTS paired with thick black tights, a black mock turtleneck, and a black blazer. I also wore black loafers. God, I loved that outfit. Jeans, loafers, and blazers were very stylish at my school at the time, and I wore them all the time. Jeans were, thankfully, no longer pinned or rolled, but they were high-waisted and straight-legged, and t-shirts were oversized and tucked in. I found this treasure from my high school Europe trip, in which I’m wearing one of my favourite outfits, complete with Revlon’s Love That Red lipstick.

Also from that trip: my beloved leather bomber jacket, which I bought in a Florence market, paired with pink striped shorts and gladiator sandals.

Vogueing was popular back then.

I also had this outfit, which I absolutely loved and I would still probably wear today, mutton dressed as lamb be damned. I bought it at Le Chateau, and it was a short black skirt embellished with fabric daisies, and a swingy matching top. Oh, how I loved it. Note also my exclusive use of Love That Red.

Grade Twelve – 1992-93

Sadly, I cannot find ANY of my casual photos from grade twelve. I’m sure there are some in existence, but I cannot locate them at this time. Suffice it to say that by Grade Twelve, I had gone full-on Princess in my clothing choices. Kilts and turtleneck sweaters were my signature look, with my long, hot-rollered hair and Love That Red lipstick. I also seemed to have a lot of coloured jeans – high waisted and belted, naturally – and silk blouses. SILK BLOUSES, PEOPLE. It goes without saying that those blouses were also ridiculously oversized, as was everything back then. Although I don’t have any photos of these terrific outfits, I do have one on my graduation day of my hot-rollered hair:

That took SOME effort, let me tell you.

So now it is your turn – what were your favourite outfits in your teen years? Were your favourite clothes a sign of the times?

Small side note: I just realized that the song, Sign of the Times, is by Harry Styles. Guys, I like something by Harry Styles! I’m a modern girl! Proof positive that my husband is WRONG when he says I’m stuck in the past, in terms of music. Although it is true that my favourite genres are Motown, 70s soft rock, and “Fat” Elvis. Is that a genre? I don’t really know, but Kentucky Rain is my jam. xoxo

A very long confessional post about bathroom cleansers.

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Something very momentous happened this week, an event that is quality-of-life altering for me.

Before I get to that, a little background information. Most of you who have known me for a while know that my go-to cleaning solution is white vinegar. I am, you might say, a white vinegar fiend. At any given time my house smells like an odd cross between a bakery and a pickling factory. There is, in my humble opinion, no better nor more cost-effective cleaner than white vinegar. Occasionally I will mix it up by using a hippie essential-oil based cleaner, but for the most part, it’s all white vinegar all the time.

Well, most of the time. There is an exception to this rule, and that is the bathroom sinks and toilets. When it comes to that, I go all out; I like the kind of cleaners that boast of killing off 99.9% of germs, the old-school, scrub-free disinfectants. When it comes to the bathroom sinks and toilets, the harsher the cleanser the better, in my opinion. I feel fine about this because, as I mentioned, I only use these cleansers for relatively small area, and so one bottle of cleanser can last…well, I don’t really know how long it can last. Months, I suppose.

So it was several months ago that I impulsively bought a different cleanser; it was on a price rollback, it promised to kill off 99.9% of germs – including staph bacteria, which is not something I had thought of before but sure am thinking of now – and it advertised a “spring-fresh scent.” Now, I am not the kind of person who actually sniffs cleansers in the Walmart cleaning solution aisle, because a) I don’t want to look like a weirdo, b) who sniffs cleansers anyway? Certainly not me, and c) it doesn’t seem like too big of a deal what your bathroom cleaning solution smells like.

Oh, the naivete. It turns out that it DOES matter, it matters a lot, because this cleaning solution was, while effective at its job, terrible in the scent department. It smelled like a chemical factory mixed with formaldehyde, which is not a scent I enjoy, nor is it one that I associate with “spring-fresh.”

And yet, I kept on.

I continued to use the abhorrent-smelling-but-effective cleanser, and every time I did – three times a week, because that is how often I clean my bathrooms – I would hate it. The bathroom would smell like a chemical factory with formaldehyde for hours afterwards, THREE TIMES A WEEK. So for a large part of the week, I basically hated my ill-scented bathroom and everything else around it.

Now, at this point, you might be saying, But Nicole, when you Kondo’d your life, you realized that saying goodbye to things that do not spark joy is the key to happiness and tidiness. Why did you not just get rid of the bathroom cleanser and buy another one, in a non-offensive scent?

Why indeed? Well, as it turns out, I can get rid of lipglosses that do not suit me after only one use, I can get rid of ill-fitting clothes that originally cost a tidy sum of money, I can donate an entire lifetime’s worth of compact discs because of Spotify, but I cannot get rid of any kind of household cleanser. I know! It was $2.99 worth of cleanser, that I used for MONTHS AND MONTHS, and yet I continued to use it until the bitter end.

Sure, I could have poured it down the sink, and although eventually that is where the cleanser all goes, for some reason I felt like that was environmentally unsound to do so all in one shot. Ultimately, though, it is probably to do with my Scottish ancestry. I also keep using hand soap until the soap itself is a centimetre long and a millimetre thick, and my long-suffering husband throws it out. I flatten toothpaste tubes until not another drop can be extracted, I keep shampoo and conditioner bottles upside down, probably using a ton more water in the shower as I violently shake out the last drops.

Once, I was watching a Shark Tank episode with my kids, who love that show. On it was a woman who had invented something called the Spaddy Daddy. It was a long, thin spatula that could be used to scrape out every last ounce of body wash, conditioner, or liquid soap out of a bottle, and all I could think was Brilliant. This woman is a goddamn genius. She is my people. I do no think the Spaddy Daddy is available in Canada, but it is clearly the greatest idea of our generation.

Side note: why has no one ever invented a nail polish in which the brush goes all the way to the bottom? It is impossible, not to mention eminently frustrating, to get any nail polish out of the bottle once it is less than 1/3 full. What a waste. Someone told me that this could be solved by putting nail polish remover in the bottle to get the last bit out, but that seems to me that it would compromise the integrity of the nail polish, and so I have never tried. Instead I throw the bottle in the trash, 1/3 full, a little harder than is necessary.

All of which is to say that I could not, and would not, throw out the gross-smelling bathroom cleanser, but this week, I FINISHED IT. I have started on a new, citrus-scented one, and my quality of life has improved immensely.

Who’s a good doggy?

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Yesterday I was in my front yard, happily watering my gardens, when my across-the-street pulled up. I chatted with him for a few moments about the gorgeous, sunny weather and his beautifully blooming double-flowering ornamental plum tree. As he turned to go, he stopped. He had forgotten to mention, he said, that there was a coyote hanging out in our front lawn the other evening, right underneath our Mayday tree. Just thought I’d let you know! Maybe keep an eye out! he said as I stood there, stunned. There have been a lot of coyote problems lately in the city and in some of the natural, off-leash parks, but not really on my street.

Haven’t you noticed the rabbit population has gone way down lately? he asked cheerfully and, now that he mentioned it, I HAVE noticed it. Normally when I would drive to yoga at five in the morning, a number of wild rabbits would run out of the way of my car and into the small green space behind my house. Now that I think about it, that hasn’t happened in over a week.

Gah.

I’m pretty sure a lone coyote wouldn’t hop our fence to eat fat, fluffy Barkley, especially when there are any number of rabbits and, sadly and regrettably, outdoor cats around. But still. One never knows. In any case, Barkley tends to be in bed for the night around eight pm, and so he is PROBABLY fine. I looked around carefully before going outside this morning though.

Speaking of Mr Fuzzy, it’s his ninth birthday today! To his great excitement and confusion, we sang Happy Birthday to him this morning and then gave him some freeze-dried chicken, one of his favourite treats. Well, pretty much any food is his favourite treat, but I think he likes this best of all.

Who’s a good doggy? YOU’RE A GOOD DOGGY.

I’m feeling a little emotional about him being NINE, because that means a) he is heading into his Golden Years, so to speak, and b) my children have grown up with him. I always say that I could never have another dog, because Barkley is so perfect, to which my husband always responds “Never say never!” accompanied by an incredibly cute puppy picture.

Anyway. Let’s just all enjoy the time we have with our wonderful pets and NOT THINK FOR A MOMENT ABOUT THE INEVITABLE.

As mentioned earlier, we have been having absolutely beautiful weather, save for a giant wind/ rain/ and snowstorm last Wednesday. I was teaching a restorative yoga class and during breaks in the calm music, there would be the wild howl of the wind and the whipping of rain onto the windows; it was both calming to be in the warm, lovely studio, and agitating to hear the gusts. But that day seemed to be a blip, and the weekend was incredibly warm and perfect for gardening, which is what we did.

My husband, after I described to him the addition that I thought we needed to one of the front gardens, encouraged me to go out and buy plants on Saturday, and then after he trimmed the spirea in the back, he encouraged me to go out again on Sunday. Needless to say I jumped at the (unneeded) encouragement and the weekend was spent very happily digging up lawn to make room for more plants. I also finished digging out all the useless, disappointing tulip bulbs and wondered if the coyote population would perhaps help out with the squirrel population. Is that wrong? If it’s wrong, frankly, my plants and I don’t want to be right. What? It’s the Circle of Life.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

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Today just seemed like an ordinary day, but apparently the apocalypse is upon us. How else to explain a lineup at Costco that looked like this, at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning?

There was really no other explanation. It couldn’t have been the garden centre; May long weekend is done, and in any case there were only a few carts in the long lineups snaking down the aisles that contained plants. Getting into the chilled produce section was like marrying into the mafia; there was no getting out, once you were in. Carts were jammed in the aisles with no sample tables to be blamed; it was too early for the single servings of crackers and pepperoni to be handed out. When I finally made it through the lineup, the parking lot was a whole other adventure. It was like a cross between Frogger and Grand Theft Auto, what with cart-pushing people dodging the road raging vehicles, while the rain started and the wind picked up, in accordance with the giant storm brewing.

Maybe it IS the apocalypse.

Costco shopping is the one time that I really, really wish I had a Fitbit. I would love to know if pushing a giant, heavy cart and then unloading it and climbing up and down the stairs dozens of times to put the groceries away counts as “active minutes” and if so, how many calories are burned? I’m guessing enough to enjoy a whole bottle of wine, so it’s a good thing I don’t drink on weekdays.

I recently read something about women taking on the “mental load” in the house when it comes to housework and child-care-related chores and I would say that this is true in my house. Health and Welfare is definitely my department, and I am the one who has mental lists about what kinds of things need to be done to keep the house running smoothly. This is not to say that my husband is a neanderthal-type person who does nothing; quite the opposite, really. I would say that he takes on the mental load for things that I don’t even think about and don’t care to, so I would say that domestic/ financial/ health-related/ child-related/ vehicle chores are pretty well divided. Within reason, of course, since I work part-time, and part of that part-time is from home, so naturally there are many more domestic things that fall on my plate – epic trips to Costco, for example – than on his.

One of these things is, god help me, packing for vacations. Now, this is something that is less “falls on my plate” and more “I grab the plate and run with it because I trust no one to make correct decisions.” I know! It’s terrible. It’s also terrible for me to complain that no one helps me with packing when I actively discourage people to help me with packing. What can I say, I have a system, and regrettably it is a system that I refuse to let anyone else into. I’m a dream to be married to, you better believe it.

Actually, I personally think that I AM a dream to be married to, but maybe not when it comes to being aggressively territorial with packing and then resentful about it.

Where was I going with this? We spent the weekend road-tripping to visit with my mother-in-law. The weather was beautiful, which was probably the first May long weekend in history in which that was the case. We also had a lovely dinner with friends and that, as Forrest Gump says, is all I have to say about that.

Coming to terms with the tulips.

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Today, my normally-vigorous morning yoga practice consisted of the following: four sun salutations, a few restorative poses, and a very long savasana in which I fell asleep. I don’t know what was going on with my body this morning but I listened to it, and that is what it said to do. Who am I to argue? I always feel great after my yoga practice and today was no exception, but I obviously felt more rested than normal.

My husband reminded me that I always feel a bit overwhelmed at this time of year, and he’s right. Part of it is my innate desire to DO EVERYTHING, but at this time of year I need to add to that my innate desire to DO ALL THE GARDENING. Alas, there are only so many hours in a day. I am itching to plant things today but there is snow in tomorrow’s forecast, alas, alas, and also I have actual work to do that does not involve the flower beds.

I currently have fifty – soon to be increased to sixty-six – annuals on my deck to be planted, and I suppose my husband was correct in saying that I used the spring plant fundraiser as an excuse to buy an excessive amount of flowers, but how could I resist? I’m giving the grass the side-eye, and in the meantime, this weekend my husband and I actually did dig up a bunch of tulips to make room for new daylilies.

The flowers awaiting planting, plus a bonus shot of my husband’s many barbeques.

The tulip thing is a real drag, and I am trying not to covet my neighbours’ bulbs, but a jaunt around the neighbourhood shows nothing but gorgeous, blooming, colourful tulips with healthy, uneaten foliage. Here are what some of the remaining tulips look like:

Missing from the photo are all the holes where the squirrels have dug up the rest of the bulbs. My friend (HI NICOLE) suggested cayenne pepper, but I have heard that squirrels can transfer the pepper from the paws to the eyes and end up clawing their own eyes out. Whether or not that is true, I don’t want to chance being responsible for a scurry of eyeless squirrels. I am pretty sure the sightless squirrels would haunt me, and I don’t want that kind of bad karma.

I also would worry about Barkley getting into the cayenne, and though you would think such a smart dog (Labradoodles being one of the brightest, most trainable dogs, and that is not just me saying that, it’s fact) would avoid cayenne pepper, as he begins to gracefully enter his senior years, he has been doing a few strange things. One of those things is eating the broadleaf weeds that poke through my neighbour’s fence and on the one hand, less weeds, but on the other, regurgitated weeds on the lawn. So I just don’t want to tempt fate and end up with a spicy pup.

But I am practicing non-attachment and will likely dig out the remainder of the tulips, and the next time I find myself in Costco tempted to purchase one hundred and thirty bulbs – which is how I found myself in this mess in the first place – will one of you remind me of the repeated catastrophe that is my yard and tulips? Please?

In the meantime everything else is coming along nicely – with the exception of my clematis, which is either late or dead, I’m not sure which. I’m HOPING it’s just late because last year it was a riot of purple, but we shall see.

So I will no longer fret over the tulips. I have bigger fish to fry! Like proving my husband wrong, in that there IS room for sixty-six more annuals in our perennial-heavy, kind of crowded flower beds.

Note to self: start digging out the lawn NOW.

Swimming in a sea of flowers.

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I just finished taking care of a fundraiser for next fall’s Grade Eight Quebec trip. Is my thirteen-year-old really going across the country without me for a week, with no contact whatsoever? Yes, he is. No phones are allowed and so I will not even have TEXTS from him. It’s like we are back in the Nineties! What’s next? Overalls and flannel? Oh, wait.

 

Images from Forever 21.

Deep breathing.

Small digression: it’s funny how the least-flattering clothing can come back into style, like we have learned nothing from the past. History is doomed to repeat itself, etcetera. The other day my husband was watching Jimmy Fallon and Giselle Bundchen was the guest, wearing very high waisted cropped pleated pants with a tucked in blouse and high heels, and even SHE didn’t look great in it. People, if Giselle doesn’t look good in an outfit, it should NOT be in mainstream fashion, because what chance do the rest of us have? But saying that, I remember clearly – from my own high school trip to Europe – wearing a very similar outfit, minus the heels. HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF.

Anyway, back to the fundraiser. It involved selling (and in my case, buying copiously) spring plants, and thank you so much to all my beautiful friends who supported it. This is, I kid you not, the first time ever I had a fundraiser in which I had to ask my friends to buy something from me. How did I make it this long without having to sell chocolates or raffle tickets or what have you? I don’t know. I do know that I was relieved to be actually selling things that people (and myself) actually wanted and could use.

I went to pick up the plants to deliver them all around the city on Wednesday, and was distressed to hear that there was an issue with the fundraising company, in that the petunias and geraniums did not arrive. I had six flats of petunias and geraniums on order, but have been assured that they will arrive on Monday.

I was quite put out at the thought of having to come back for the missing plants but in retrospect, it was quite fortuitous that they were late. As it was, my friend who was helping me take the plants to the car looked at me and asked if I was sure I was going to be able to fit them all in. My minivan was full, absolutely full, with planters and flats of vegetables and herbs. I had every square inch covered with plants, including the seats. Had the other flowers arrived, I would have had to, I don’t know, make a second trip. Quelle disaster!

So begins gardening season. My tulips might be a raggedy hot mess, but everything else is popping out of the ground, filling me with that beautiful feeling of springtime hope. Every few hours I am sending my husband all-caps texts such as THE HOSTAS ARE UP and I THINK THE CLEMATIS IS STARTING and THE MAYDAY IS IN BLOOM. The Mayday has gone from leafing out to being in full bloom within the span of a week, god help those with seasonal allergies, but I am enjoying it. The lawn needs to be mowed and I am preparing to edge the gardens, cutting out my customary extra few inches in the quest to eventually have more garden than lawn.

Side note: my husband asked how much lawn I was going to cut out this year, to which I replied austerely that as grass grows, so it needs to be trimmed back, and my annual garden edging is merely maintaining the status quo, to which he replied that I might lie to myself, but I shouldn’t lie to him.

My husband, in Betty Draper form.

I can think of no better way to spend Mother’s Day weekend than planting – and possibly tearing out more lawn to make way for omg-how-many-plants-did-I-buy number of flowers. Have a wonderful weekend everyone, and Happy Mother’s Day to all you mamas, step-mamas, aunties, and lovely women. May you celebrate however you like best! xo

In my opinion, the squirrels are evil.

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It appears that spring has sprung, although in Calgary, that means that there will be snow flurries and freezing temperatures interspersed with beautiful, sunny days, so take advantage and carpe diem, people. Carpe diem.

Everything in my garden, except for the notoriously late hostas and the slow-moving clematis are popping their little green heads above ground. Heads? Maybe not heads. They are popping their little green SPROUTS above ground, there we go. It is immensely cheering and satisfying to see a small sea of green, and even a few purple primulas popping up. Less cheering and satisfying is the sad state of affairs that are my tulips. Between the squirrels digging up and eating the bulbs, leaving holes in the garden and broken greenery in their wake, and the rabbits chewing down the foliage, I am reminded why I once tearfully got my husband to dig out every last one of my tulips.

Many years ago, when I was a starry-eyed newlywed, I bought tons of tulip bulbs and planted them in the fall. All sorts of colours; Queen of the Night purple, creamsicle orange and white variegated, apricot, you name it, I planted it. And the lone tulips that survived squirrel digging and rabbit chewing were eventually squashed by heavy late-May snowfalls. This went on for a few years until I couldn’t take the disappointment anymore and my husband headed out with a spade, for a mass tulip opposite-of-burial.

I seemed to have forgotten all about that when I cheerfully planted more bulbs, and then was reminded last spring when the squirrels dug out and ate every single one of my crocus bulbs. Practice non-attachment, love all earth’s creatures, but goddammit, seeing yet another hole where once there was a tulip has me this close to being the kind of person who sits in a rocking chair on the deck and throws rocks and/ or shoes at the squirrels. Well, my aim is pretty poor so that may or may not be a deterrent. Perhaps I shouldn’t stop Barkley the next time he catches a squirrel and leave the body as a cautionary tale to all the squirrels, but then I would probably have a yard full of crows and magpies and hence would be too terrified to leave the house.

Living in peace with all our fellow creatures can be CHALLENGING sometimes.

Speaking of living in peace with fellow creatures, I saw the new Guardians of the Galaxy on the weekend, and it was excellent. Better than the first, in my opinion.

Side note: any time anyone in my house says “In my opinion,” someone else will immediately say “The Jedi are evil!” This, of course, comes from the worst line of dialogue ever in a movie: Revenge of the Sith, one of the scenes just before – spoiler alert, in case you have been living in a galaxy far, far away – Anakin Skywalker becomes Bob, the legless, armless, burned up man.

I just went to find that clip, and I have found, to my extreme distress, that the line is actually, “From my point of view, the Jedi are evil.” People, I am crushed. I feel like I should keep this information to myself. CAN I keep such important information to myself? CAN I just keep on keeping on?

Anyway. The movie was great; usually I fall asleep or daydream during movies that I go to with the boys, and end up missing major plot points or just becoming overwhelmingly bored, but this was not the case. It was very funny but as a warning, there is a lot of what I would call “teen boy humour” along with some bad language, so keep that in mind. For example, there is some talk of impregnation, and also “my nether regions are becoming engorged” type of commentary. You’ve been warned!

Along with the movie, my mother and I had our annual Mother’s Day pedicures, which was lovely, and then we visited with my parents this weekend. It was warm enough to take out the bikes for the first time this season, and in fact, I was wearing a t-shirt. Later my husband and I were walking the dog and I said to him, “It’s so beautiful, there’s not even any wind!” and I bet you can guess what happened after that. It was kind of educational though, as we watched the wind blow the ice down the lake. The next day was freezing and windy but as I said, it’s spring! At least it didn’t snow!

I know, I know, now I’m bracing for snow.