Category Archives: Birthdays

Nostalgia and almost-birthdays.

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I know this past weekend was a tough one for many of you, and so please accept my virtual hugs and kisses.  I did not watch the news all weekend, and I largely steered clear of the Internet, but I did think about those of you for whom this past weekend was very, very difficult.

The past few weeks have been unseasonably – I mean, really, truly, unseasonably – hot, and I’ve been loving every second of it.  Tank tops in September?  Who knew that such a phenomenon was possible?  It all came to a crashing halt today, which is fine because I’m gearing up for a busy week.  I have no time for such mundane things as enjoying the weather.  My husband is heading out of town, I have the first school council/ parent association meeting of the year, it’s Jake’s birthday, and I must procure many, many items of a baked goods nature.

This time of the year always seems very busy.  I have no time for reminiscing about Jake’s birthday, it seems.  Six years ago today, I was wallowing around like a giant panda.  Six years ago today I was eating such quality foodstuffs as Cheez Whiz on toast several times a day.  Six years ago today I felt as if the baby’s head might actually pop right out of my vagina if I walked too quickly.  Six years ago today I wondered why everyone in the world was so annoying, and why they were all out to get me with their annoying voices and mannerisms.

It’s probably better NOT to reminisce too much.  Who wants to live in the past, anyway?

I did see a woman in the grocery store today with a small girl, perhaps she was three years old.  The little girl was adorable, shrieking with excitement in the produce section: “Carrots, Mama, we’re getting carrots!  They’re orange!  Carrots!  Peppers!  I have little tomatoes!”  I was reminded of my days of grocery shopping with Jake.  I spent the rest of my trip awash in nostalgia until we got to the lineup.  The lineup that had a trifecta of incredibly slow and inefficient people: the cashier, the bagger, and the little old lady with what appeared to be several hundred coupons and who wanted to pay with every single penny she had in her little vinyl purse.  I took the opportunity to read US magazine and catch up on all those people who I have no idea a) who they are or b) why they are famous.  The little girl and her mother were in front of me, and the little girl was restless.  She asked to get out of the cart, she tried to help put groceries on the conveyor, she lay down on the floor, she got accidentally stepped on by her mother, she started sobbing for all of humanity.  I smiled at her mother, who looked frazzled and tired, I tried to make up for the crabby comments I could hear from the woman behind me. 

And just like that, my nostalgic feelings dissipated and I went to pick my big, big boys up from school for lunch.

If I have to, I can face anything! I am woman!

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I unclogged the gutters today!  I know I’ve written about this before, but every time I perform a job like that, I feel like raising my fist in the air and singing “I am strong – STRONG – I am invincible – INVINCIBLE – I am WOMAN.”  Hear me roar, I unclogged the gutters!

I unclogged the gutters because it’s been steady rain for days now, and I have the overwhelming urge to elbow everyone I see and say something like “Wet enough for you?” or perhaps “Anyone else feel like a duck?”, followed by a grim, humourless laugh.  Fortunately for everyone in my neighbourhood, the rain is slated to stop tonight, saving everyone from my idiocy.

My fierceness in gutter work is in sharp contrast to the other jobs I have done today, which include but are not limited to three loads of laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and baking cupcakes.  Why was I baking cupcakes, one might ask?  It is for a birthday – the DOG’s birthday; because every birthday must be celebrated with cake, even if that cake is non-consumable by the birthday boy.

I also took the kids to get their hair cut at the neighbourhood Beaners, and after a long appointment with some junior, still-in-training stylists, I allowed them to play in the ballpit.  I try very hard to behave like a normal person when my kids play in one of those ballpits; I try not to squirt them with sanitizer every few seconds and I breathe deeply, consciously thinking of other things and not the squeamy little germs covering each and every ball.  I try not to think about Jake’s recent cold and Mark’s recent recovery from pneumonia; I try to let them enjoy this innocent, if gross, childhood pleasure.  Then, as I was at the counter paying for the haircuts, I noticed a woman at the ballpit, speaking very sharply.  I wondered if my kids were involved in whatever the issue was and walked over.  The boys stood in the ballpit, looking alarmed.  The woman was doing that counting thing you do with small children: “Come here Right Now.  One.  Two.  Three.  COME HERE.  HERE!  One.  Two.  Three.  COME HERE NOW.”  Finally she removed her own boots and stepped into the ballpit to extract the small girl.  She turned to the receptionist, who was trying to flag her down to tell her that her children were up for their appointments, and said that she was very sorry, but she had to leave, as her daughter had peed in the ballpit. 

Now, I did feel very sorry for this woman as she hauled her now-screaming daughter out of there.  I smiled sympathetically at her, unsure if I should make a reassuring comment or not, eventually opting for not.  As soon as she turned around I gestured to the boys to exit, discovering on doing so that their socks were soaked.  While I did feel a lot of sympathy about this, I also felt nauseated.  My kids were standing in someone else’s urine.

We went home and the boys changed their clothes and washed their hands and I ate a cupcake and drank some wine and IT DIDN’T HELP.  My kids were playing in a pee pit.  Maybe I need some more wine.  What do you think?

Mayday! Mayday!

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After watching The Wedding on Friday, I sank into what can only be described as a state of complete obsession and sloth.  I performed the absolute minimum in terms of child maintenance, instead staring at the television, watching and re-watching the highlights, pausing only to trade wedding-related analysis with my mother and grandmother over the phone about everything from the hats to Camilla Parker-Bowles to the Archbishop’s eyebrows.  This non-stop television watching continued somewhat into the weekend, to the point that Jake came into the room and, seeing the couple walk down the aisle, said “Oh, this is a good part!  They’re going to get into the carriage.”  I was starting to wonder if I needed to seek some sort of support group or maybe enter rehab, since not only was I completely obsessed with wedding coverage, but I was also completely obsessed with consuming the gigantic bags of Mini-Eggs in my cupboard. 
Fortunately my addictions seem to be subsiding.
Consuming my body weight in chocolate and rewinding the vows over and over were not the only things I did this weekend.  I also had lunch with my very dearest friend, which was lovely.  We met at a restaurant at the mall, where I took the opportunity to purchase a gift for a birthday party that Jake is attending next weekend.  This is the sort of errand that fills me with anxiety, even if the birthday kid is a boy with similar interests to my own boys.  As it is, the birthday kid is a girl, and not one I particularly know well.  I walked through the bright pink aisles and felt completely overwhelmed and bitter, about having to choose a gift and also about the strange amount of pressure I was putting on myself about choosing a gift.  I mean, it’s a gift, and as a general rule children like anything so long as it is gift wrapped, within reason; unless I chose something completely obviously wrong like a toy rifle or a set of little army men the birthday girl will most likely be happy.  Still, I stared hopelessly at the aisles of Barbies and Zhu Zhu Pets and baby dolls, making my way through the pretend food and dress-up shoes, until I found a box of mosaic sticker artwork with the promising caption “Posh Puppies”.  Fortunately my friend, whom I met after this purchase, assured me that her girls – of similar age – would love it, filling me with relief.
Am I the only one who feels this way?  I’ve spent much time trolling the toy aisles only to choose something that the birthday kid already had, sometimes in duplicate, making me feel like I could have just as well given a card full of cash and skipped the middleman.
The weather has finally turned springlike, and only the tiniest patch of snow remains in our backyard, with the result that my husband’s golf course is now open for the season.  Ergo, I am now golf-widowed.  It’s not a bad thing.  He’s happy and I am going to be able to watch my recorded wedding coverage without anyone saying “Why are you watching that again?”  Because it’s all about happiness, dammit.  I was also extra emotional this weekend, in a very special feminine way, swinging that lovely pendulum between irritable bitchiness and weeping.  I love this goddamn wedding.  Everyone is so happy.  Bring on the chocolate eggs.
*****
Speaking of spring, over at the cooking blog I have a recipe for oven-roasted asparagus, the ultimate spring vegetable! 

Birthdays, Mommy Makeovers, Easter, and Earth Day

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It was my birthday yesterday, just in case you missed the announcements and my not-so-shy reminders from the rooftops.  I love birthdays.  I think everyone should be celebrated on their birthdays with an outpouring of love and affection and maybe even some cake.  I was the happy recipient of an ice-cream cake, two new yoga tops, and several bottles of body lotion, not to mention a sticker proclaiming my status as “Number One Mom”.  My husband even unloaded the dishwasher, and you know what that means!

My lovely friend brought me those; aren’t they pretty?  Another wonderful friend lent me her daughter’s tiara for the day, which is to say she really knows me well.
A nice upside to a spring birthday is, depending on when Easter falls, the plethora of good chocolates around.  My in-laws sent the boys a big box full of treats and I have been surreptitiously absconding with some.
From the vantage point of t + 1, I think that 36 feels pretty good.  I’m happily sliding towards 40.  I know that aging bothers many – most? – people, but really, it’s better than dying.  I mean, sure, it’s disconcerting to see one’s breasts droop bralessly towards one’s navel, or to realize that one’s forehead has deep horizontal lines permanently etched into it, but it is not the end of the world.  I’ve been completely grey for years – thanks Dad, for those fabulous genes – but why else was hair colour invented?  I know a man who was so upset about turning 40 that he and his wife got into a divorce-worthy fight when she jokingly referred to him as “old”.  He admitted that he wished he was still 22.  This was years ago and yet I still find that strange.  In no way would I want to be 22 again.  I don’t know what you were doing when you were 22, but I spent my time dating idiots and having self-esteem crises every other day.  I’ll take the slide into cougarville any day over that.  In fact, today I’m wearing Seven jeans.  Cougar-licious!
Yesterday it was brought to my attention that there is a children’s book dealing with plastic surgery, entitled “My Beautiful Mommy“.  I looked at the website and felt fairly soiled for the rest of the day.  Plastic surgery in general makes me feel squeamish, but I find those “Mommy Makeovers” are especially vile.  Clearly there is a large market for that, and I suppose that if one is getting physically altered and recovering from the process one should really prepare one’s children for it.  Nonetheless I do find it sad that our society is so focused on appearances that we cannot celebrate our bodies which have been irrevocably changed by motherhood.  Not that I want to proudly display my muffin top with a crop top and Daisy Dukes, but there is something to be said about gracefully aging.  There is something to be said about a face with smile lines and a body that has borne, nurtured, and snuggled children.  Aging does not have to mean a decline in all of one’s body’s functions and a complete erasure of any physical beauty until one is saved by the sweet release of death. 
Which is not to say I didn’t find some humour in the beautiful mommy website.  “No, honey, Mommy IS happy.  Mommy just can’t smile big anymore!  Remember Mommy’s operation?” or “Mommy just can’t close her eyes anymore.  Can you find Mommy’s eyedrops?”.  “Careful, honey, Mommy’s new boobies are a little bit sore.  But remember when we go to Florida this summer, Mommy will be able to float really well!”
So I’m feeling good about my birthdays, many more to come I hope, bringing to me to my eventual goal of becoming Blanche Deveareau and/or a sweet old lady carrying her five pound dog in a handbag, and/or a backbending yogi grandma.
Have a lovely long weekend, everyone!
PS In honour of Earth Day, I have a post up at Yummy Mummy Club.  To be honest, it’s not my favourite thing I’ve ever written.  Environmentalism is a noble, but somewhat dull topic, in my mind.  Evidently I much prefer to write about how to make over the bad boys of movies, or about the evils of skinny jeans, than the environment.  It’s hard not to sound like a preachy zealot or, alternatively, like a giant carbon footprint moron.  Wow, I’m really selling this post, aren’t I! 
PPS I have a new post up at the cooking blog!  It’s all about berry crisp and how I am an awesome wife.

All the cool kids are doing it!

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And so will I – a Year in Review.  Yes, I know it is the sixth of January and most year in reviews have already been posted, but I was far too busy writing about people who eat toilet paper and watching When Harry Met Sally.

So what happened in 2010 over at the Boy House?

January

I made a resolution to learn how to bake bread, and did so immediately, learning two important things: a) baking bread is not as hard as I thought it would be, and b) the key to New Year Resolution Success is to aim low.

I also ranted about the weird things people say to pregnant women and posted a picture of me with an extra seventy pounds to love.

Yowza.  I still had seven weeks to go at that point.  SEVEN WEEKS.
February
We got really, really excited about the Olympics.  We also went on our first ever winter vacation and became a parody of Canadians as the kids got off the plane wearing t-shirts emblazoned with Team Canada logos, and instantly started running around shrieking in amazement, “Mom, look!  There are FLOWERS!  And they’re REAL!  And the grass is GREEN!  And there’s no SNOW!”
March
Mark turned six!  I had my usual crises with regards to birthday party planning and Daylight Savings Time.  I cleaned out the office and found a whole box of mix tapes, some labeled “Party Mix” and one that was made for my husband from one of his old girlfriends that included songs from Richard Marx.  Hee.

April

I turned 35!  I celebrated by chaperoning on a field trip to the firehall, and cemented my cougar-like status by volunteering to try on the firefighter outfit, discovering just how heavy said outfit is, and actually saying to the young and attractive firefighter “Wow, you guys must be in great shape.”  Coo-coo-coo-choo, Mrs. Robinson.  It also snowed a lot and I wrote about attractive movie characters who would be terrible to be married to, i.e., Ralph Fiennes in the English Patient.


My friend lent me a tiara for my birthday, fulfilling my lifelong dream of birthday crown-wearing.

May
Jake’s pre-Kindergarten class had a Mother’s Day tea in which they sang a song that went “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me”, and I still tear up thinking about it.  I also cried a lot thinking about this Tim Horton’s commercial and I got way too excited about the woman with the MBA with a concentration in economics winning Miss USA.  Clearly May is an emotional roller-coaster of a month for me.
It was still snowing in May.
June
It was really cold.  On Father’s Day weekend – and Super Soccer Saturday weekend – I attended a yoga weekend workshop.  Happy Father’s Day!  Now take care of the kids all weekend.  The kids finished school and my husband came up with a plan in case my kids ever decide to be protesters at a G-20 Summit. 
My two favourite pictures of Mark ever taken.  He’s getting his groove on at the end-of-school-Stampede-breakfast.  Note that it is June and Jake is wearing his fleece jacket.
July
It was raining and cold and I decided to make yarn octopuses, which turned out as well as any craft I make does.  Terribly.  We went to the Okanagan for some sunshine.  The cold and rain made me become Miss Carpe Diem, and so any day with slightly above average temperatures had me running the kids to the pool.
The yarn octopuses, Moppy and Bum, doing a duet of Heart and Soul.
August
It was still cold and rainy.  I wrote a lot about fashion, especially the jeans with zippered ankles that came out that made me feel like I was wearing turquoise slacks and a coordinating blouse, hobbling around with my walker and my Scotch mints, with a tissue in my sleeve.  Also – and my friend just reminded me of this yesterday – I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said “Vagitarian”.  I still laugh evilly thinking about it.  Vagitarian.  Says the guy who lives in his mom’s basement.
September
Mark started Grade One and Jake started Kindergarten.  We got hardwood installed by two attractive young whipper-snappers which led to many “hardwood” jokes.  Also I came home to find that they had taken out my drawers to move my dresser with ease, and my panty drawer was proudly on display for all to see.  So I had to show my panties to get hardwood.  Hee.  Also, Jake turned five!
Too cool for school!  Note the boxes of hardwood at right.
October
In typical October fashion we seemed to have a lot of viruses, dead squirrels, and excitement about Halloween.  Also I went on a two-night vacation with my husband and no kids!  And we all survived!  Actually the boys had the time of their lives and still talk about how awesome it was that Grandma picked them up at school.
Boo, I’m a scary witch!  For real.
November
It snowed a lot, I got ready for Christmas, I ran the Scholastic Book Fair, Mark barfed.  That pretty much sums up November.
A foam finger!  It says “We’re #1 – bp”.
December
I blogged almost exclusively about Christmas, Christmas songs, Christmas baking, and my new awesome sexy bitch boots.

Whew!  If you’re still reading this, thank you!!!  So 2010 was a great year, and here’s to a wondeful 2011 for all of us.

Too Much Stuff! Or, why you should consider a charity birthday party.

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A little while ago, my best friend mentioned that her daughter had attended a “charity” birthday party, in which the birthday child had requested donations to a charity in lieu of gifts. This struck me as brilliant. I’ve always wanted to have a big birthday party with lots of guests, but I didn’t want to get the corresponding number of gifts, both from a think-of-the-earth-and-all-those-plastic-toys point of view and also a my-kid-already-has-too-much-stuff-the-spoiled-bastard point of view.

Then a very good friend of mine told me her daughters have birthday parties in which guests bring food bank donations in lieu of gifts and I was completely inspired. (Note: I am also completely inspired by her phenomenal cake-making skills, although my arrangement of miniature plastic animals on green frosting and calling it an African savannah is was somewhat less impressive than her cake that looked exactly like a bag of movie popcorn, or the one that looked like a swimming pool, or the perfect cake-replica of Elmo.)


Seriously, she MADE these. Kind of makes my efforts look a little, um, weak?
Anyway, for Jake’s birthday, we requested guests bring food bank donations, which they did most generously. The key to a successful charity birthday party is to get agreement from your child beforehand, unless you want a resentful little birthday kid. From a young age we have instilled in the boys the idea that they are very lucky, and that there are some children who are not so lucky, and some of those children do not even have enough to eat. Telling Jake that his party would help some of those hungry children was a real selling point for him. We also assured him that he would be receiving gifts – from us, his grandparents, aunts and uncles – just not from his friends. Then we made sure to give him a few things that he really wished for – a certain Bakugan, a Ben 10 Alien, the book The Great Pie Robbery, the latter of which sent my mother on a wild goose chase to a number of book stores. He didn’t miss the gifts at all, and was excited just to have cards that were thoughtfully chosen or made.

There are so many good reasons to have a charity birthday party. Obviously, the charity benefits, but so does the child. In our society, children often have so much that they really can’t appreciate all they have – my children included. From a more selfish point of view, it is MUCH easier on the parents. How many times have you trolled the toy store aisles, wondering what an appropriate gift would be, wondering which book/Barbie/Polly Pocket/superhero/ Star Wars figurine the birthday kid does not already have, only to find out later that the birthday kid already received that exact gift but you forgot to attach a gift receipt so they can’t exchange it? Or maybe that’s just me. Buying some extra groceries is just so much easier. No gift wrap, no waste – it’s perfect.

Look at all the donations! Thank you to Jake’s friends for their wonderful generosity.