Category Archives: Birthdays

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It’s My Birthday Month!” Edition

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How was your weekend? Mine was filled with birthday festivities, not all of them mine. In fact, the only birthday festivity that was mine was a birthday lunch with my dearest friend, who I don’t see often enough but we always catch up on our birthdays, and pick up exactly where we left off. Don’t you love friends like that?

Friday night my older son went to one of his best friend’s sleepover birthday – this friend shares his actual birthday, which was a month earlier. Then, Saturday, we were hosting my son’s birthday party at a trampoline/ obstacle course park. I had wanted to have his party closer to his actual birthday, but one of his friends, who is very athletic and competes frequently, could only make it this Saturday. Unfortunately, that friend ended up being stranded out of town and couldn’t make it, because we had the craziest blizzard you can imagine. In fact, we had to cancel the party at the obstacle course because the roads were so incredibly dangerous and visibility was zero. We ended up having ten teen boys at our house, since they all live in the neighbourhood and I didn’t have to worry about their parents dying in fiery crashes on the highway. Or, as my mom always says, dead in a ditch. As it was, one of the moms told me it took her thirty minutes to drive from her house, pick up another friend, and come to my house, a trip that normally would take no more than eight minutes at worst.

The view from my front window, while waiting for guests to arrive.

As you know I am a woman with a plan, and spontaneity is NOT my strong point. I was not in the least prepared to have an impromptu gathering at my house but it all turned out rather well. There is a pizza place a block away, which was handy, and I had already had an ice-cream cake custom made by a woman who specializes in nut-free items, since one of the friends is severely allergic. It turned out great, and even though very few of my son’s friends actually watch Seinfeld, they were all familiar with the quote, which my son repeats several times a day:

The noise level did escalate a lot, but in a good way, since we now have a full drum set and an electric guitar. One of the guests is extremely musical and treated us all to a very good rendition of Crazy Train – which really spoke to me, given the situation – and Stairway to Heaven.

When the kids were eating cake, I listened in on their conversation, which revolved around the earth being flat, of all things. “Obviously the earth is flat because maps are flat,” one kid said, as everyone responded with much hilarity. “What’s a globe anyway?”

Normally I would be partaking in wine with so much noise and activity, but I had scheduled blood work for the following morning, and so I embraced the noise with complete sobriety.

I’ve always loved the month of April, and not TOTALLY because it’s my birthday month. Related: don’t you think we should all celebrate our birthdays the whole month long? One day just doesn’t seem sufficient. I love April because – massive blizzard notwithstanding – spring is in the air! Even the coldest, snowiest Aprils have my daylilies and yarrow popping up, and leaves budding on the shrubs and trees, and just the feeling that winter, real winter, is over. Yes, there is a foot of fresh snow, drifted everywhere with ice underneath it leading to perilous road conditions and flattened tulips, but it will melt!

Therefore, it is time for…

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It’s My Birthday Month” Edition

The Watch

Well, I think I have probably written about this enough , but I really am enjoying my Garmin watch. One of the things I like best about it is that it’s pretty. I know! It’s not all about esthetics, and beauty is found within, etcetera, but I like pretty things. It doesn’t look like an unattractive fitness tracker – to me, anyway – and I will maintain that it is very satisfying to see steps taken/ stair flights climbed when bringing home and putting away groceries. No wonder I feel exhausted after a Costco trip – there are many, many steps and flights involved!

Don’t you love those bracelets? They were all gifts from former yoga teacher apprentices of mine. Pretty things. 

Pandora Charms

Speaking of bracelets, I have a number of Pandora charm bracelets and for my birthday, my parents often give me a new charm. The little pink flower is what they gave me this year, and I love it!

Things That Are Pink

Speaking of pink things, there are not many in the Boyhouse, so I enjoy the ones that I do have. As I mentioned before, my mom makes me a pink cake for every birthday, I have a lot of pink flowers in my garden (none of which are clearly blooming, thankfully; see above photo of the yard for details), and every once in a while I bust out these pink pants:

I have to be in the right mood for them; whenever I wear colour that is not black or grey, I feel a bit showy, like a male peacock doing a mating ritual. Look at me, I’m a peacock. I think extreme weather in the spring is the perfect time to put on the pink pants. I’ve got my pink pants…I’ve got my pink pants on…

My Back Yard

This is not a euphemism, although it could be; we should all be happy with ourselves the way we are, including our “back yards.” But I am specifically referring to my literal back yard, which is currently – as shown – snow covered. On my birthday, though, it was not.

Once this snow melts, things will be lovely and green, and hopefully not too smushed from the weight of the ice and snow. Speaking of which, it feels appropriate that Game of Thrones is on tonight, although I won’t be able to watch it in real time, as that will take me way past my bedtime.

Enjoy what’s left of April, my friends. xo

I welcome my new overlord

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For my birthday, the guys gave me a Garmin watch; it has been four days and already it has taken over my life. I’m full-on David Sedaris. I welcome my new watch overlord.

I used to figuratively roll my eyes when I would hear various friends complain that their fitness tracker didn’t properly count steps or heart rates, or that they forgot to enter their workout into their app. I would think, Does it matter? You still DID the exercise, does it MATTER if it’s not recorded on your device? Well. Just like everything I’ve ever silently judged in my life, it has come back to haunt me. I am now completely obsessed and also have turned into one of Today’s Children who get all sorts of accolades and praise for participation. Yesterday I went for a run and, while I consider myself to be a very self-motivated person, I couldn’t help but be thrilled every time my watch buzzed when I unlocked a new achievement. Step counts? More than 5km run? Elevation gains? Heart rate intensity minutes? Every time I got a new Badge, I felt like I did when I was a Brownie and my mom sewed a physical badge to my sash. Check THIS out. 

The Watch is pretty bossy, though. I said this to my husband and he replied that it was just like its owner, which, well. I’m sure there is some way to change this setting, but it seems like being stationary for fifteen minutes at a time triggers it into a bossy frenzy; it doesn’t even gently or politely suggest movement, it buzzes and in all capitals and punctuated with an exclamation mark says MOVE! on the screen. I was at the hair salon yesterday when this happened; my colour was processing and I had, obviously, been seated for this procedure.

Me, silently: Don’t boss me!

Also me: *gets up and pretends to use the washroom just to clear the move bar*

It doesn’t seem to take any other activity into account before virtually shouting at me to MOVE!, as proven last night. Yesterday I had a) practiced yoga, gone for a run and a dog walk, AND grocery shopped at Superstore, with all its accompanying steps and stairs to put the groceries away, b) doubled my step goal AND my stair-flight-climbing goal, and c) got in half of the week’s worth of “intensity minutes.” And yet, I curled up in my chair after dinner to read, and the Watch began buzzing at me.

Me: You’re not the boss of me!

Also me: *waits five minutes before getting up to use the bathroom*

The book I’m reading is The Rosie Effect. I read and enjoyed The Rosie Project years ago, and I am enjoying this book just as much, if not more. However, it was a little unsettling to realize that Don Tillman’s Standardised Meal System is not dissimilar to my own Weekly Meal Plan, as far as efficiency, ingredient inventory, shopping, and zero food wastage goes. It’s always a little startling to see aspects of one’s own personality in a fictional character, particularly when that fictional character is Don Tillman.

Speaking of the Weekly Meal Plan, while I was making Thai curry on Tuessday, I realized something: the Watch has changed my household behaviour. I have become extremely inefficient when it comes to moving between floors of the house. The kitchen is on the main floor, but the pantry is downstairs, and normally I am extremely efficient at Bringing Stuff Upstairs – except, of course, when I forget what I went down to the pantry for. In Life Before The Watch, I would bring up broccoli from the basement fridge, snip some cilantro, and bring up the peanuts all in one trip. Tuesday, however, I took three trips to do this, plus a fourth to bring up the laundry, as the dryer finished while I was prepping dinner. My morning ritual, in Life Before The Watch, involves putting in a load of laundry at the same time I do my hair, my hair products and appliances being housed in the bathroom adjacent to the laundry room. In Life Before The Watch I would carry a laundry basket – with bathroom cleaner and gloves perched on top – on one hip and a coffee cup and hair accessories in the other hand, in order to minimize the number of times I would go up and down the stairs. Now, Post-Watch, I’m going downstairs to put the laundry in, going back upstairs for hair accessories, and after that, going up and down the stairs to get the cleaning products with which to tidy the bathroom.

Frankly, it’s probably safer this way, if slightly more insane. It was only a matter of time before I Emily Starr-ed and tumbled down the stairs while carrying all those items.

Slight digression for those of you who spent years of your childhood obsessed by the Emily books: did you ever feel sorry for Dean Priest? I sure did, even though he was possessive and a little bit creepy. I always thought Teddy was too smarmy. But then, I guess this is what happened back then when one lived in a small community: if you were a woman, and there was a man in your general age bracket, then it was likely that you would get married. It would only be a matter of time. Ah, romance.

But back to the Watch: memories of life before it are becoming faded and distant. It’s like trying to remember what you did before you had a smart phone. How did we interact with people? Did I call them? Email them? I have no idea. And now I have no idea what I did without counting my steps like a crazy person. This way lies madness.

To quote from David Sedaris: Why is it some people can manage a thing like a Fitbit, while others go off the rails and allow it to rule, and perhaps even ruin, their lives? Well, we all knew in which category I would fall. It’s not like I didn’t know this would happen. Give me any kind of goal – number of books to read in a year, number of kilometers to run in an hour, number of steps in a day – and I immediately want to crush it. Add in there a spreadsheet or an app and suddenly I become a monster. The saddest thing is that the only person I am competing with is myself. I thought briefly about joining one of those friendly competition groups, and instantly quashed that idea. I don’t need to be marching in place while reading at night just to get a first-place badge. Or do I?

Look to the cookie.

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Last week I felt foggy and sleepy all week; even accounting for time change, it was ridiculous. “Good morning!” I said cheerfully and loudly to the desk staff at the fitness club one day, at three in the afternoon. I went to Costco and only after unloading everything did I realize that I now have TWO giant conditioners in backup, and zero shampoo. I sat and stared at the shelf for a solid three minutes before trundling upstairs to start a new Costco list with one item on it: shampoo. A few times I went to type a text and when I hit the wrong key, I tried to backspace, but instead hit the “m” key, resulting in a text that looked like “do they need snow panrmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” I poured a smoothie into a glass and seemed to not understand volumetric relations, as the smoothie overflowed and poured down the glass, with me still pouring.

I complained to my husband about being tired. Why, why, why am I so tired? I asked. It doesn’t make sense! I am getting exactly the same amount of sleep I normally would. He gently reminded me that I have these extensively-exhausted periods every five to eight weeks, and they tend to be the harbinger for my Ladies’ Holidays, and suggested that perhaps that would explain it?

Well, it would certainly explain the feelings of existential despair.

Lately I’ve been feeling despair about the state of my hair. My hair therapist has done an amazing job with Project Grow Out My Layers, and I will say that my hair looks and feels the best it ever has. She has done an amazing job making this Growing Out Stage completely painless and non-awkward. However, I am feeling great despair about my natural colour, my natural colour being grey.

Me, three weeks into my hair colour cycle and…

Me, five weeks into my colour cycle. Despair! Despair over my hair!

I’ve been using the kind of shampoo and conditioners that are meant for fast hair growth, and they seem to be working. They help with hair breakage – my main issue, given my colouring and heat styling – but also contain caffeine which feels like it might stimulate my scalp. Which is great! I want to grow my hair out! But hair growth starts at the roots, and three and a half weeks into my five week colour cycle, all is ashes. Literally, my roots are the colour of ashes. I’m torn between wanting long and lush hair, and also wanting it to not grow so I don’t have a root situation every three and a half weeks. By the time we get to week five, I feel like a redheaded Bride of Frankenstein, which really should be the Bride of Frankenstein’s MONSTER but you know, semantics.

At what point do I just give up the ghost and embrace my life as a Silver Fox? I’m not at that point yet, and I always thought I never would be. I always imagined myself as one of those ladies in the Home with bright orange hair and lipstick bleeding into my mouth wrinkles, but perhaps not. I mean, the lipstick is always going to be there. I always feel Ready To Face The Day when I put my lipstick on. But as for hair colour, well. Like I said I’m not there yet, and it feels like a Massive Undertaking, even more massive than growing out layers. But at some point I would like to not feel despair over my roots.

Well, we must suffer to be beautiful, I guess. Or, I do. Sometimes I look around me in amazement at all the beautiful women in my life, all apparently effortlessly beautiful. I have friends with glowing, perfect, makeup-free complexions and long, lush, mascara-less lashes and I wonder: what would that be like? Well, I’ll never know. One of my dear friends popped by for coffee one day after her morning swim (HI FLORENCE) with her hair still wet from the pool and shower. During the length of the visit, her hair dried to an absolutely perfect, thick, wavy bob with absolutely ZERO effort on her part. ZERO EFFORT. It just dried that way. I was alerted to the fact that yes, some people DO really “wake up this way.” At five in the morning I see many beautiful women at the yoga studio who all, just like me, rolled out of bed and rolled out their mats, and honestly, it amazes me how good they all look. They do not look like they would frighten small children or, possibly, make people wonder about illness, which is how I look at five in the morning. But back to my friend’s effortlessly perfect hair: it was honestly one of the most impressive things I had ever seen. To get hair that perfect I would need a team of hairdressers or, alternately, a wig.

Life, as we all know, is not always fair. As the late, great Nora Ephron said, “Sometimes I think not having to worry about your hair anymore is the secret upside to death.”

In terms of energy, this week is much, much better – and without Ladies’ Holidays, so perhaps it WAS all due to the time change. Or, perhaps my energy is related to the sudden change in weather; the sun is shining, temperatures are mild, and the snow is melting and water running everywhere. It is very invigorating to me; the lilac leaves are starting to push and I’m excited at the thought of gardening and yard work. Well, after the disaster that is a dog yard post-snow-melt is cleaned up. In any case I am full of boundless energy and in a “get ‘er done” kind of mood, which I used Monday to spend hours – HOURS – laundering all the non-flannel bed linens and all the duvet covers and blankets. Mysteriously, one of the flannel pillowcases seems to be missing – but how? How did it disappear from the time I took it off a pillow to the time I took it to the laundry room? It’s just a pillowcase and yet, it’s making me feel like I’m losing my mind. Maybe that pillowcase is gaslighting me, and it will turn up in a completely normal place. If this had happened during Exhausting Last Week I would have probably had a nervous breakdown over it; as it is I’m just obsessively puzzled.

Once I lost the small lid to my ice cream maker and I thought I was also going to lose my mind; it turned up weeks later, inexplicably perfectly clean in a small, rarely used saucepan. So I have hope for the wayward pillowcase.

It’s been a busy week with lots of fun and interesting activities. Last night the boys and I went to the school play: it was The Lion King, and very well done. I expressed an opinion about the character of Mufasa, and my son told me that the actor was the backup; the original Mufasa had suddenly left to be homeschooled. Oh! It was all very impressive and enjoyable. On the weekend we had an early birthday celebration for my older, Seinfeld-obsessed son. I baked this cake, which he was delighted with:

For peace and harmony, let’s look to the cookie, people. Look to the cookie. xo

Let them eat really pretty cake

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In case you were waiting on the edge of your seat, yes, I did survive the seven-hour-ten-teen-boys birthday party on Saturday. More than that, it was probably the lowest-maintenance and most-enjoyable birthday party ever given in my house. Literally all I did was provide food; the boys entertained themselves very easily. What they did I do not know exactly; there was some trampolining, there was some extremely loud noise-making, there was a LOT of eating. At one point it was so quiet I was a bit concerned, but when I peeked downstairs they were all busily playing a card game, which was very unexpected. The sole downside was that all the adults who came to pick up, and I myself, were kept up way past our bedtimes, and we all looked like zombies at 11 pm.

However, a great time was had by all and the cake I had made turned out really nicely:

The birthday boy decorated it with Rolos just in case there wasn’t enough sugar in the caramel frosting and drizzle.

I recently purchased new, somewhat pricey, 9 inch round cake pans to replace the lowest-cost-possible-off-brand 8 inch ones I bought about twenty years ago. The latter are shallow little things that would result in very strange looking layer cakes. Twenty years of strange-looking layer cakes, people, and let me tell you, these new pans are amazing! I am reminded yet again that one gets what one pays for, particularly when it comes to kitchenware. Saturday morning I took the pans out of the oven and marvelled at the absolutely perfect layers. I forced everyone to come into the kitchen and admire them. Why didn’t I buy these pans before? I asked rhetorically, to which all three guys answered in unison, Because you’re cheap!

Well. Cheap is a harsh word; I’ve always been loathe to replace something that is Working Perfectly Well, even though Working Perfectly Well does not equal Working Optimally, as we all know. May I remind you of the life-changing effects of finally, after many, many years, obtaining a really good garlic press, vegetable peeler, and spatula? After Kondo-ing the house and my life I have been especially cognizant about bringing excess Stuff into the house. We don’t need more STUFF! I will say sternly to anyone who will listen. I think of this as virtuous but as you can see, it can also be construed as a character flaw that can only end in sub-optimal food preparation and results.

The econometrician in me desperately wants to do a cost-benefit analysis of this phenomenon, including the economic term “utility.”

This week has been busy with yoga teaching and grocery shopping, my dual loves. I am not even saying that ironically, I love yoga teaching and, in a very different way, I love grocery shopping. Mostly. I was at Costco and was shocked, absolutely shocked, at the state of the parking lot. I know what you’re thinking! Nicole, we have really heard enough about errant Costco carts and how people who don’t return them are the Worst People In The World. Well, surprise! I wasn’t going to talk about carts, although yes, those people are the Worst People In The World and I fervently wish Bad Costco Karma on them all; Bad Costco Karma consisting mostly of Long Lineups, Blocked Aisles, and The Discontinuation Of That One Product You Came To Costco For.

Moving on, it wasn’t the cart situation that shocked me yesterday; for one thing, I’m becoming deadened to it, for another, there were many errant carts but the situation wasn’t as bad as it often is. No, what was shocking was the multiple lineups of cars trying to access the gas station. Apparently the gas station is going through some refurbishment, although I am unclear as to what this entails. Perhaps there are fewer pumps available? I don’t know, all I know is that there were bumper-to-bumper lineups in all possible directions, all ending at the gas station. I am not exaggerating when I say there must have been fifty cars lined up to get gas. It looked like a photograph from the gasoline shortages of the 1970s, but with fewer Oldsmobiles.

Why would anyone spend thirty minutes of pure aggravation, idling their cars and eating up the very energy that one seeks at a gas station? Well, according to a lady I chatted with in the parking lot, the price of gasoline was a solid ten cents lower than anywhere else in the city. Ten cents is a pretty good savings, but when we do the math, it works out to – on average, assuming that everyone’s tank is about the same as mine – a $5 or $6 difference. Now, I am a frugal person, although you might not be able to tell from my extensive Lululemon wardrobe. I regularly price compare and calculate per-unit costs of household goods, I shop at different stores for different deals and I am absolutely obsessed with collecting and redeeming PC Optimum points. I KEEP SUB-OPTIMAL CAKE PANS FOR TWENTY YEARS BECAUSE I DO NOT WANT TO SPEND $20 TO REPLACE THEM. I tell you this: there is no way that I would undergo such an endeavour to save $5 or $6. Hey, I’m not judging! Maybe it’s worthwhile to the fifty cars idling away, blocking the parking lot exits. But, as I nosily peered at the people in the cars, they all looked as agitated and irritated as one might imagine.

Speaking of cars, I was driving to the yoga studio behind a car with a vanity license plate. The plate read “NIX TOY” which I took to mean, Nick’s Toy. Now, when you think of a car that would be construed as a Toy, what do you imagine? I think of a hot-looking sporty convertible or perhaps a refurbished muscle car. Something shiny and fast, in a sexy colour like red. What I don’t generally picture is a white four-door Buick sedan, which this car was.

Well, I will withhold judgement on that one. Maybe the owner went from a minivan like mine to a sedan, which might seem Toy-Like in comparison. Who is to say, really. At the moment I feel like my new cake pans have effectively changed my life for the better; perhaps a sedan revolutionized Nick’s life too.

It’s Apple Season! And Snowman Season!

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Ah, fall. The season of colourful leaves, crisp air, apples, and this:

Snow!

Well, to look on the bright side, it’s just a dusting.

I feel like the world is divided into two kinds of people: those who love and embrace summer with all their hearts and souls, and those who do not. People in the latter category, please enjoy your season for the next 8-9 months, and meanwhile, I will be busy putting on legwarmers, scarves, and other layers for eternity. It seems like a very unfair distribution, but what can you do? Complain to the management? Because I don’t feel God will suddenly decide to make Calgary a climate of beauty, just because I complain.

I might complain just a little though, as tomorrow a certain young man is turning thirteen, and there will be a total of ten teen boys in my house for SEVEN HOURS. Why or how this was arranged I do not know, but I was counting on a few hours of let’s go play war with Nerf guns at the playground and so the forecast is, shall we say, disappointing. I am sure none of the parents will judge me for indulging in a glass of wine or two whilst the Festivities Are In Full Swing. My non-drinking husband will be there in case someone loses an eye to a Nerf bullet or, more likely, falls into a sugar coma from the requested Chocolate Layer Cake With Caramel Frosting And Rolos On Top. I think I fell into a sugar coma just writing that. To counterbalance, I have a lot of vegetables to make a veggie plate, to go along with the pizza, star-shaped frosted sugar cookies, and three giant “family-sized” bags of chips. If there’s one thing I know about teen boys, it’s that they are a hungry people.

Now that I have two of them, if anyone needs me, I’ll be grocery shopping. Again.

The happy news about grocery shopping – and about fall in general – is that it is officially Apple Season! Apples are, in my humble opinion, the very best thing about fall, followed closely by pretty leaves and the return of thick black sweaters and tall black boots. I am pretty particular about the type of apples I eat; I am strongly Team Macintosh. We are all, as I tell my children and yoga students constantly, different, and I’m sure that many of you will disagree, but I firmly stand by my opinion that Macs are the Superior Apple. They are the perfect flavour and texture, and I essentially binge eat Macintosh apples the second they hit the produce aisle until they are no longer available. I also like the Scottish name; it is as if the Macs and I are namaste-ing each other in a Scottish way. The Scottish way to namaste is probably Aye Lassie It’s A Broad Bricht Moonlit Nicht Tonich or something similar.

Again, we are all different and the world is a rich tapestry and variety is the spice of life, but when I get excited about Apple Season and someone becomes similarly excited about apple pie, my response is this:

I will not judge you, you lovers of apple pie and apple sauce and apple crisps and other mushy abominations, but I will never understand you. This is the same way I feel when I hear of people making jams and muffins with fresh fruit and berries. Such things are so precious to me that I would never do anything but eat them raw. Muffins and jams, in this house, will always be made with frozen fruit, and I stand by that decision, at least while I live in this godforsaken snowy hellhole.

Oh! But I wasn’t going to complain! Perhaps I shall just go eat an apple and finish frosting all the cookies, and dream about warmer climates instead. Have a wonderful weekend, everyone! Please spare a thought for me tomorrow night. xo

Royal Birthdays

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My goodness, I have so much to say, and I haven’t had any time to say it! First of all – Royal Baby! I was on Royal Baby Watch for exactly fifteen minutes. I was in my car coming home from yoga at 6:05 am, and I heard that we were Officially On Royal Baby Watch. I showered and when my husband came into the bathroom at 6:20 I excitedly reported the news.

Husband: She had a boy.

Me: What? No, that was George. She’s in the hospital now!

Husband: I just heard it on the radio. She had a boy.

Me: Oh.

As an aside, I’ve seen a lot of posts discussing the Duchess’ appearance mere hours after the birth of little Louis, and frankly, most of them are off-putting. The posts start out like this: can you even believe what she looks like? Then they move to this: you would look that good too if you had a staff. If this was a decision tree, one branch would then go to well, she looks amazing and the other would devolve into a bitter tirade against her life and the fact of her being photographed for all the world to see so soon after giving birth.

You guys, we talk so much about toxic masculinity and the patriarchy, and for good reason, but let us please remember that we should be lifting each other up, not tearing each other down, and in that spirit, LAY OFF KATE AND STOP JUDGING WOMEN ON THEIR APPEARANCES.

Of course I know none of us look like the Duchess immediately following birth, just like none of us have a staff of many to help us be photographed in a beautiful outfit complete with heels. But that doesn’t make our birth experiences any less valid or wonderful; we are all uniquely beautiful and special and this is a good time to be reminded of that.

This is what I looked like in the twelve hours following the births of my children:

None of us are married to the heir to the British throne, and our jobs are not to birth other heirs to the British throne. My job requires me to wear yoga pants and to obtain and prepare an obscene amount of food every day, but if it required me to put on a pretty dress and take my baby outside for photographs, I too would get my staff to make sure I looked good for those photos. Instead of focusing on how we all left the hospital in our weird hospital-issue mesh underwear and industrial strength sanitary napkins, with our mushy post-partum bellies sagging over the waistband of our maternity jeans, and our giant swelling breasts barely contained within our super-ugly nursing bras, let’s just enjoy those beautiful photos and take a break from all the gross lunacy in the world, and be happy that there is a baby in the news instead.

Speaking of the British throne, last Saturday was my birthday, which I share with none other than QEII herself. It was such a glorious weekend. For one thing, it appears that spring has finally arrived and the glacier in my back yard has receded to a mere blip of ice; the past week has seen me frantically cleaning up the gardens that are finally thawed and dry enough to work in, and the sun, my god, the sun. The sun is shining and I have been leaving the house in sweaters and light jackets. Yesterday when I went to teach a class I wore capri length yoga pants and shoes, SHOES. So all is sunshine and happiness around here; the birthday weekend was filled with good food, cake, wine, and lovely presents.

Including this gigantic wine glass from my parents. I love a wine glass that is nearly the size of my face, like oh, I’ll just have ONE glass of wine tonight. In case you can’t read it, it says “Queen of Everything” which is a very fitting way to end this royal post.

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.