Category Archives: Cute Kid Quotes

Summer Solstice; Sixty-Six Weeks In

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All By Myself, No More

As of Tuesday this week, the boys will be finished their final exams and this very strange school year will be in the rearview mirror. I am always pretty Landslide-y in June – another year gone, children get older, I’m getting older too – and even though it was been a very weird year, I am really feeling it. In fact, I might be feeling it more since these are my kids’ HIGH SCHOOL YEARS, they should be enjoying them to the fullest, and they are, but the “fullest” has different meanings during a global pandemic. Also, this time next year, my oldest will be 18 and have graduated, which fills me with ALL KINDS of feelings, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Speaking of my oldest and the high school experience, he mentioned that he met a girl at school, and she’s really funny and nice. He was talking about her quite a bit, and so I said in that Teasing Mom Voice we all have, Oooohhh, is she CUTE? He replied yes, with a smile, and then stopped. “I mean, I think so. I haven’t actually seen her whole face.”

So there’s that.

The final exams this year, like last year, were “non-jeopardy,” meaning that they can boost final marks, but they cannot lower them. Both of my boys were going into their finals with high marks, so you can imagine the level of motivation around here, knowing that no matter what happened on the exam, their transcript marks would remain high. I was trying to encourage them to give it their all, it’s good practice for the future, and who knows, maybe your mark will go up a percentage point or two, but you know what, I give up.

So the boys are home and my husband has been back working from home and will be for the next while, and my quiet house is quiet no more; we are back to Everybody Is Home All The Time.

What An Age We Live In

Fun fact about high school teachers: they have fewer in-class hours than teachers in younger grades, and so to satisfy that part of their union contract, the school institutes mandatory tutorials during the exam break, which was last week and this week. Final exams are taken in the mornings, each day a different subject, and then in the afternoon are these mandatory tutorials. The tutorials are mandatory even after the final exam in that subject has been written, and in classes in which there was no final exam, such as phys ed. It was widely acknowledged BY THE TEACHERS that no actual work would be done in class, no new learning, and one teacher even shook his head “no” as he told the students that tutorials were mandatory. I told the boys that of course they didn’t have to waste their time going to the tutorials, unless they needed extra help, just study at home – insofar as “studying” was required – and found out later that they were in the minority in their friend group. Almost all of their of their friends were forced by their parents to go. Oh well. I’m not a regular mom, I’m a cool mom.

I might not have been so cool had I known I would be inundated with messages from the school about their truancy. The very first day of exams, after one son had written his science final and the other spent several hours at home studying for math, my phone pinged with PowerSchool notifications that the boys were marked unexcused for their afternoon classes. Including, for my younger son, gym. Then both my husband and I received emails from the school and I even got a PHONE CALL on my landline to inform me of their absence. This continued throughout exam break and honestly, I understand that it is part of the job and attendance is important for optimal learning outcomes but my god.

I do genuinely believe that there is merit in forcing oneself to perform arbitrary functions, even when those arbitrary functions are ridiculous and meaningless, because we live in a society and occasionally such things are required of us. For example, sanitizing your hands upon entering a store in the mall, even though you JUST sanitized your hands three minutes ago upon entering a different store and have touched nothing since. It’s important to model good behaviour and signal your citizenship in society, even to the detriment of your skin and possibly your microbiome.

However. It’s June. The boys have been really, really great for this whole school year. They have been engaged in their classes, even when bouncing between online and in-class learning, they have not missed a single class, they have kept their marks higher than I could have even hoped for. I am going to stand by my possibly shoddy parenting decision and in any case, the tutorials are – I hope – wrapping up this week, which will cut down on the truancy notifications I receive. Also, I am really glad this technology did not exist when I was in high school.

The Same Nicole You Know And Love, Now With Superpowers

On Saturday I got my second Covid vaccine shot, and my superpowers are officially activated. If a certain section of the anti-vax people are correct, I am now magnetic, and will possibly be dead in two years! Well, I had a good run.

I am so grateful to be vaccinated, I am so grateful for all the hard-working people who have made this happen, and I am really hoping that we will never walk this path again. Mostly I am just looking forward to being my normal huggy self, without feeling like we are all vectors of disease.

For those who are interested, as per current recommendations I received the Pfizer vaccine, as a follow-up from my Astra Zenica. In terms of side effects, I was extremely tired and sleepy afterwards. I mean, I took a NAP on Saturday afternoon, which never happens, and then I went to bed at 8 and slept until 6:30. I wasn’t my usual peppy self the next day, but I was perfectly functional; this morning I have a bit of a sore arm and nothing else to report.

The Long March To Winter

Today is Summer Solstice! The great thing about getting up at four-something in the morning at this time of year is that I can still see the sunrise and by the time I start my yoga practice, it’s fully light outside. The sun sets at ten o’clock, and did you guys know there is a ten o’clock at night? I never see the sunset, is what I’m saying.

I knew a guy who would say on Summer Solstice that every day is getting shorter until we are back to winter again, and sir, that is a true statement but can we just enjoy the moment? I think about it every Summer Solstice. Well, we’ve started the Long March to Winter again! It cracks me up every time.

It’s been warm enough that I open the windows in the morning, to cool the house down and to listen to the birdsong as I practice yoga. There are magpies nesting in the neighbour’s tree, which means that there will be long stretches of musical chirping punctuated by the staccato cadence of magpies screaming. It’s quite unsettling, not unlike listening to classical piano music with sections of hard-core Eminem, complete with fake gunfire and many, many f-bombs. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy both classical piano music and hard-core Eminem, just not at the same time.

Outfit of the Week

Speaking of summer! We have had some really lovely weather and so I’m pulling out all my favourite lighter pieces that I have had for many years but don’t wear out because, let’s face it, summer is fleeting and these pieces do not get to see the light of day very often.

This is a teaching outfit; my teaching days are going to be non-existent this summer, sadly. Today is my last registered class at the community centre, to be continued in the fall, and my other class is on pause for the summer, and I’m unsure when that will continue. So a teaching outfit to celebrate the last teaching day for a few months! Pastels are usually a no-go for me, but I like myself in blue, and I like the darker blue tank underneath. My favourite mala goes perfectly with this outfit, and one of the best things about summer? No socks!

Pandemic Reading

Revival Season. This follows a young girl whose father is a revivalist evangelical preacher; during Revival Season the family travels around the southern US so he can save souls and heal people. The girl witnesses her father commit an act of violence, which has massive repercussions for the family and for her own faith. At the same time, she discovers she has healing powers. I enjoyed this book – didn’t LOVE it, but I enjoyed it – and it is written in present day, which is important. I have since discovered that the idea that women are inferior and subservient to men is still widely accepted in the evangelical community TODAY, which is disturbing, and is a major theme in this book.

Truths I Never Told You. Ugh, this book was NOT for me. It was my own fault, right on the cover the author is compared to two well-known authors whose writing I do not care for. I found the first-person narrative to be so overwrought, the dialogue stilted, the plot super-contrived. One of my pet peeves about writing that supposedly takes place in the past is the application of today’s views on yesterday’s beliefs. It feels very unrealistic to me, as did the journal entries that are used as a literary device to advance the plot – usually I like that device, but these journal entries were SO ridiculously over the top with drama. Anyway, not for me.

American Dirt. I was about a third of the way through this book when my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) alerted me to some troublesome controversy with regards to the author. It didn’t totally colour my reading experience, but it was certainly in the back of my mind while reading. Honestly, I don’t know what to think: the morality of writing a work of fiction about a culture and experience that is not the author’s is really beyond the scope of my blog. The author discusses her hesitations about writing the book in the afterword, and does mention that her own husband was an undocumented immigrant, hence her interest in Central American migrants.

Anyway, controversy and debate notwithstanding, this book is excellent. While I don’t think anyone who supported the 45th president and his anti-migrant views would read this and change their minds, I think this book humanizes the migrant experience. This incredible book sheds light on the horrors of the migrant experience, shows how desperation leads people to grasp at any chance, no matter how dangerous, to seek a new life. It is breathtaking, and heartbreaking, tragic and hopeful.

Happy Summer Solstice, friends! May you enjoy our ever-shortening days this week! xo

Until I saw your city lights, honey I was blind.

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I tend to avoid bragging about my kids; not that they are not braggable, but because I think it’s bad form. However, this all changes now. I am here to tell you that their knowledge of Elton John lyrics is second only to my own, which is to say, excellent. In point of fact, their knowledge was close to besting mine, as there was some involved discussion whether or not the line was I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife or life. It turns out that we were both right, as the line is “life” in the movie, but “wife” in the OG version, as the kids say.

I realized their lyrical knowledge had skyrocketed from Fine to Astonishing when we watched Rocketman on Saturday night. It was so much fun to watch with them; the three of us singing heartily throughout the movie. I’m not sure if my husband, the lone non-singer, found it quite as charming, but whatever. I can’t wait to watch Bohemian Rhapsody with them: I see a little silhouette-a of a man…

The sole issue from our fun singsong party-of-three is that I have had Honky Cat stuck in my head, on a loop, ever since. If I was to list my top ten Elton John songs, Honky Cat would not make the list. I don’t even think it would be in my top TWENTY. But here I am, nearly a week later, singing snippets of it all the livelong day. Get back, Honky Cat, better get back to the woods…at what point do I declare myself insane? Soon, I think. Living in the city ain’t where it’s at…

While I’m bragging, on Monday two unprecedented things happen. Now, before I go into those things, I will say that my boys are very helpful around the house; they have set chores and those chores are always done, they always are willing – usually cheerfully – to help out with any household/ yard/ snow shoveling task when asked, they keep the house and all the areas they inhabit in the house very tidy and clean. However, and I know every woman out there can relate to this, they often don’t See Things That Need To Be Done The Way I See Those Things, and I could get into a whole thing about Emotional Labour but I will not. Anyway, two things on Monday happened that have made me singing Looks Like We’ve Made It, interspersed with, of course, Honky Cat. I quit those days and my redneck ways… 

Monday morning I was writing at my desk and I could hear the clanking of dishes and silverware from the kitchen (YES IT IS WEEK THREE OF EXAM BREAK, LET US NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN). When I finished what I was doing, I realized that my older son (EXAM BREAK OMGGGG) had eaten his breakfast, realized that the dishwasher was finished its cycle, UNLOADED THE DISHWASHER and then PUT HIS OWN DISHES INTO IT. Yes, of course my kids always put their dishes in the dishwasher when they are finished with them, they are not barbarians, but to unload the dishwasher without being asked? UNPRECEDENTED.

Later, that very same day, my younger son changed the roll of toilet paper; this is nothing new, the guys always do this, it is unremarkable in and of itself. But he took the empty roll out of the bathroom and put it in the recycle bin, rather than leave it on the countertop in the bathroom. Also unprecedented! And just as astonishing!

So I am bragging about my wunderkinds; even if neither of those things ever happen again, well, we will always have Paris, so to speak.

Thank you all for your comments regarding gel pedicures; especial thank-you goes out to Samantha (HI SAMANTHA) for her comment about gel polish being bad for the nails. Long time readers will remember the time I got a manicure when I was stuck at the car dealership for many, many hours. That was a gel manicure and a few weeks after getting it, the polish peeled off, leaving my nails thin and weak. It took a long time for my nails to get back to normal; thank you, Samantha, for reminding me of this. I ended up cancelling my pedicure; I considered taking in my own polish, but that felt weird and overly controlling. I also considered getting no polish, but, to be honest, my feet are not, as my friend Taryn (HI TARYN) says, “manky,” so it felt like a waste of money just to get them soaked and scrubbed, which I can do at home. I figure I can Support Local Business in other ways. For example, waxing. A hirsute girl such as myself can well keep a business going.

Non-manky but Reynaud’s purple.

Oooh, maybe the next Favourite Things will be all about foot products. Sorry to keep you all on the edge of your seat! But you will have to wait.

I cannot believe tomorrow is February, this is the fastest moving January in all history, or at least in all of MY history. There are a few really good things I want to tell you about, to round the month off.

Sweater Discovery

I was rearranging the top shelf of my closet, where I keep things my gym sweatshirts and lesser-worn but much-loved items such as sweater dresses. Behold, underneath my pile of sweater dresses was this sweater:

It has pockets!

This is a significant discovery – the sweater, not the pockets – not only because I’ve had this sweater for many years and love it, but I completely forgot about its existence. When did I last wear it? Who knows! I LITERALLY forgot that I owned it. It was like finding something brand-new, although this sweater is the opposite of brand-new. What an exciting discovery. The very fact that I found something that a) I haven’t worn in years, and b) I love, made me think, once again, that my Sweater Situation is Ample.

Maybe I’ll do a February Challenge! Maybe I’ll try to wear a different outfit for each day in February, sweater-wise, at least. February is a short month, I should be able to do that. Obviously there will be some repeats in the form of jeans or black yoga pants – I have a number of those, too, but not enough to get me through the month without re-wearing.

Cilantro

I gave my little herb garden a break for a month or so, when I discovered fruit flies (fruit flies! In November!) that were infesting my cilantro. Or maybe they were aphids? I don’t know, but I did not want to eat infested cilantro. I don’t think that’s vegetarian. Also, gross. As you know, I cannot – CANNOT – go back to grocery store cilantro, so I have been doing without. I decided all was fine now, bug wise, so I planted some cilantro seeds, but it was just before the extreme cold snap. Even with the grow lights, it was too cold for the seeds to really sprout. Well, happily they are sprouted now and I am only a couple of weeks away from harvest. I can’t wait! The pleasure will be all the greater for the waiting, as old-timey suitors might have said about a reticent lady friend who finally agreed to an engagement.

Winter Fashion

It’s been so mild that on three occasions in the past ten days, I’ve worn my cute, stylish, flattering, lightweight winter coat. Don’t worry! I haven’t put away my sleeping-bag-with-sleeves, and in fact, I’m wearing it more often than not, but I have felt like a Winter Fashion Plate on those three occasions. I have paired my coat with a big blanket scarf and my tall, lace-up-but-with-a-zipper-on-the-side boots, and have felt like a Very Fancy Lady, one who lives in a much less harsh climate, who can look forward to “winter.” Or maybe one of those high class ladies down in New Orleans…

Photos courtesy of my older son who – have I mentioned this already? – has had NO CLASSES FOR THREE WEEKS THREE WEEKS PEOPLE. Cue up:

It’s like trying to drink whiskey from a bottle of wine…

It’s Friday, people! Let’s drink wine from a bottle of wine (or whiskey, I won’t judge) and enjoy the weekend. xo

Happy could have totally made that shot.

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I’m in that First-Week-Of-September-What-Is-With-This-Schedule mode right now, and it’s only Thursday. It’s only Thursday and I’ve had a light week, class-wise, which means that next week, with a full roster of classes should be very interesting. With everyone gone last week, I feel like I didn’t get enough closure on summer. The long weekend was dreadful, weather-wise, with actual thick fog and drizzle and cool temperatures, and so I would like an end-of-summer do-over, please. Is that too much to ask?

As an aside, the guys had The Greatest Time camping in the Yukon and Alaska, and my husband has gone so far as to describe to me “how much better campgrounds are now” which feels like he’s preparing to pop the question: will I go on a northern camping trip with him? There are showers and everything! You get to meet so many people! he said in a coaxing way and well. This is a thing that currently feels undesirable but life, as we say, is unpredictable. Who knows what the future may hold? Maybe in our golden years I will happily acquiesce to RV living, although this seems unlikely at this juncture.

The first couple days of school have gone really well; the boys are enjoying their classes so far, which bodes well for the semester. I was reminiscing with a friend about dropping the kids off on their first day of kindergarten. I remember the teacher reading The Kissing Hand to my older son’s class, and then all the children gave their parents (well, it was exclusively moms, as I recall) little pink construction paper hearts to keep for the day. I think I still have that little heart somewhere. My younger son’s kindergarten teacher was almost a parody of a kindergarten teacher, she was so wonderful and lovely with a crinoline-lined dress, long blonde hair, and a speaking voice that could only be described as “soprano.” She gave all the parents (moms) a little paper bag that had some cute things in it to symbolize the kindergarten year, but what those things were has disappeared from my memory. Ah, the kindergarten drop-off. So emotional.

Back then I was involved as involved could be, volunteering for every committee and to help cut pieces of milk cartons for bird houses and baking snacks for class celebrations. Comparatively, my younger son informed me that Meet the Teacher night is next Thursday, but “we don’t have to go.” Oh, thank GOD, I said, because honestly? I’ve done my time, listening to the principal talk about the importance of parental involvement in education and how to check your child’s progress online. I’m fine, thanks, I’ll talk to you at report card time. If then. How the mighty have fallen. And I only have two kids, one grade apart! Imagine how jaded I would be if I was my friend who is now entering her eleventh year at the elementary school with her youngest, with seven years still in front of her. I’m not sure I’d even slow the car down before allowing the kid to jump out.

Perhaps this is nature’s way of preparing me for their eventual flight from the nest?

Every year at Back to School time I get the song from Billy Madison stuck in my head for literally DAYS: Back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I’m no fool. It probably speaks volumes that my household got into a tense argument about which movie is more realistic: Billy Madison or Happy Gilmore. Usually we argue about which movie is BETTER, but for both questions my answer is Happy Gilmore. It’s just silly to think someone could go through a grade every two weeks, no matter what the stakes! Also that woman would never go out with such a loser, I said, to which my husband replied that no one could ever take a running leap and make that golf shot to win the tournament. Deadlock has been reached and as with any debate, no one’s mind has been opened or changed.

The thing I notice most about Back to School is that we go through much more food. School is hungry work, apparently, and adding that to the Growing Teen Boys thing that I have going on, my grocery needs have skyrocketed. Yesterday I spent hours going to both Costco and Superstore, and I can tell you that doing that is a very good way to get your steps in. Feel the burn, I thought to myself as I went up and down the stairs myriad times to put everything away. Maybe I should market this as a fitness program; it could be the next CrossFit or Legree! And lift! And turn! And push! And now return the cart, you lazy bastard!

That last one just slipped out. I swear. xo

Some of us are really, really sad about Back to School.

The apple that rolled away

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Last week I was startled to learn that Johnny Rotten is not only still alive, but he just turned 63. I grouped him in with aging rockers who have defied all odds by living past the Eighties, such as Billy Idol and, of course, Keith Richards. I was talking to a friend about this (HI TARYN), and she told me that Johnny Rotten is actually a person on the straight and narrow, which I did NOT know. I guess this is a cautionary tale for anyone jumping to conclusions about people based on their occupation, appearance, and, possibly, the company they keep. On further investigation, I discovered that Johnny Rotten tried heroin one time and then quit after it made him throw up, and also he was predisposed to not use based on the cautionary tale that is Sid Vicious. In addition, he got his stage name due to his total lack of oral hygiene, which led to rotting teeth which he had completely replaced in the early 2000s, not just because of vanity, but because the dental rot was affecting his health.

On that note, I have a dental cleaning tomorrow! I am “looking forward” to it as much as I “look forward” to getting a mammogram or Pap smear. I cannot wait for the hygienist to tell me again that my dental tape – which I use to floss every day, EVERY SINGLE DAY – is all wrong, and that I might as well be using nothing. I will refrain from mentioning that big, gross study that said that flossing in general is ineffective; you will tear my dental tape out of my cold, dead hands.

After a few months of fairly mild winter weather, we are suddenly living in a Planet Hoth Simulator; it is the kind of painful cold that makes it difficult to do anything at all. It’s difficult to get undressed to get into the shower, and then difficult to get out of the shower. It’s difficult to get dressed again and difficult to do regular things like get groceries or, you know, leave the house at all. The dog hasn’t been walked for days, although it’s “warming up” this afternoon so I might give it a go. Here is a sadly Canadian thing: this morning I chatted with a friend about how it “didn’t feel SO bad” this morning, at minus 24. It’s all relative, I guess. I’m trying not to complain.

Thankfully the cold weather, along with sleety snow and treacherous roads, hit the day AFTER my son got back from his Epic Winter Camping Overnight Adventure. He got off the bus, enthusing about how great the trip was. He Loved Every Minute Of It. The apple not only fell far from the tree, but it rolled several thousand metres away, ending up in an entirely different orchard, with entirely different fruit.

Well, not entirely. The one thing he admitted he didn’t love was the food. “There weren’t any vegetables!” he said indignantly, adding that the only fruit available was in the form of apple cinnamon instant oatmeal. It made me smile. Imagine hauling fresh produce on a 12 kilometre uphill ski! Although the teacher in charge, and one of the volunteer dads each hauled a Chariot with ski attachment full of supplies all the way, which made me appreciate their fitness levels.

We do eat a LOT of vegetables and fruit around here, to the point where strangers comment on my grocery cart contents. If you are looking for ways to eat more veggies, well, I’m your huckleberry.

Lately, inspired by the lovely Suzanne (HI SUZANNE), I’ve been toying with sharing my weekly meal plans, including school lunches. I recently read something that basically said people have lost the basic ability to cook, due in part to the really super detailed recipes on blogs and in cookbooks. Is that true? When I was learning to cook, I had a very simple step-by-step beginner’s cookbook, and I was completely paranoid to deviate from the recipe AT ALL. OMG, I used a teaspoon of oregano and it was only supposed to be half a teaspoon! But with practice, all is coming, as they say in the yoga world. I realized that, other than for baked goods, I rarely use a recipe for anything. Even when it comes to baked goods, I change and modify the recipe almost always, mostly to cut sugar or to make it vegan or what have you, depending on who in the house is going to be eating it. So I think in the coming weeks I will start sharing my meal plans – which are pretty much the same week after week, with some variations on a theme – as well as my “recipes” for those meals. The “recipes” are always inexact and approximate, which is what will make them fun. They also contain vast amounts of vegetables, which you have probably already guessed.

One thing that you likely already know, if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, is that my husband and kids eat meat and I do not. I do cook meat for them, and I do not make separate meals. Essentially, which you will find out when I start posting my meal plan, I make a veggie-centric dish six out of seven days a week, and most of those days I include meat on the side, so the guys can add it to their meal. The one day I do not do this is Sunday, but that’s a whole other post.

Today I saw a woman asking for advice for her picky eaters; a woman I know who wrote a book and is evidently a parenting educator, strongly advocated for not taking her children’s personal tastes into account when making dinner. Just make dinner, and if they don’t like it, they can go fuck themselves, was essentially the takeaway. Well. I have very strong feelings about this. I always cook dinners that I, personally, like. I think it’s the prerogative of the cook to make things that they themselves enjoy. However. Imagine what it would be like if someone cooked for you and discovered that you have an absolute hatred for celery, as I do. Imagine then that this person was like “Well, I love celery, so CELERY IN EVERYTHING! You don’t like it? THEN YOU MIGHT AS WELL STARVE.” I think there is maybe a middle ground to be found here.

One thing I pride myself in is having calm, pleasant dinners with my family, and I don’t think that atmosphere can be maintained with an attitude of I’m making whatever I want and I don’t care what you like. The kids are teens now and basically hoover up everything, but when they were small, I would make sure that they had at least SOMETHING they could eat at dinner. One meal, yes, but sometimes things can be added or subtracted from that meal. For example, for years one of my sons would eat taco shells with cheese and vegetables on taco night, but all separately. To this day, my son who loathes tomatoes will eat a pile of pasta, just buttered. He also is the son who eats all the roasted vegetables I serve with pasta, so I consider that very acceptable. Everyone leaves the table full, and happy, and they always thank me for a “great dinner” whether it was something I spent all afternoon on or something I threw together in twenty minutes.

Anyway. This has gotten fairly wordy so I shall close. I think it’s going to be a fun way to spend February, writing about the Meals of the Boyhouse. I mean, what else happens in February? Valentine’s Day and rage about Costco carts? Well, there might be some of that too. I’m only human. xo

Yard-work fashion on point

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I admit that I’m very surprised that several of you have tried growing your own cilantro with no success, for the reason that I have had very little success with other herbs, but for me cilantro grows like a weed. Is it the super-dry climate I live in? Is it my basement grow-op that is never warmer than twenty degrees, and is frequently as low as 14 degrees in the winter? Is it the extreme love I put into it? No, the latter can’t be true – I’m sure you all were beaming your hearts like Care Bears at your own cilantro seeds.

Honestly, I can’t explain it. The only other herb that I’ve had any success with – and “success” is very loosely defined here – is basil, and even that was finicky and difficult and never amounted to much. Cilantro though! Here is my current crop:

And here is the set-up, from a distance:

I have two sets, and one I allow to lay fallow, like I’m an actual farmer. Then when my cilantro plants are at the end of their little life spans, I plant the other set so that I can smoothly dovetail between old cilantro and new sprouts and so that I am never – save for this summer’s incident – without.

Anyone still here? I didn’t really come here to talk about cilantro, although I COULD. I could talk about cilantro all day long. I could also talk about how happy I am that the snow is melted and we are suddenly into FALL, like an actual autumnal season that people in normal climates have. Who knows how long it will last, and so carpe diem, carpe diem all damn day. I’m just thrilled not to be wading through the snow for a few weeks. I managed to rake up the still-soggy leaves and I had enough spring in my step to make my sole contribution to Halloween decorating:

Aren’t they the most perfect pumpkins? This weekend the house will be transformed into something haunted, but it won’t be me doing the work.

What I really wanted to talk about today is current fashion, specifically one facet of current fashion: ripped denim. About a month ago I was at the mall shopping for a birthday gift for my dad, which was notable in itself as this was well in advance of my dad’s actual birthday. For some reason, I am usually scrambling at the last minute, like my dad celebrates on a lunar calendar and it is not actually the same date year after year.

Small digression: my dad is fantastic to shop for. He is the kind of gift recipient who immediately incorporates the gift into his life to show his appreciation, which I in turn appreciate very much. His gifts from me are strictly in three categories: shirts, golf balls, and aftershave, and I cycle through those categories throughout the year.

Another small digression: the last time I bought him aftershave, the woman at the counter – despite my clearly stating that I was shopping for my father – kept trying to steer me towards all sorts of pheromone-type sexy aftershaves with names like SEXUAL and similar. Lady, I am shopping for my DAD. I will leave the pheromones to my mom, thank you very much.

Back to the story at hand. I was in the Bay – an excellent dad-place – and I noticed a clearance rack of ladies’ clothing. I am not made of steel, and so I took a peek. This is what I found:

Further down the aisle:

I would have LOVED those when I was the age my own kids are now.

“I hate milennials!” my 14-year-old said to me just yesterday, and when I reminded him that he himself would be considered such, he replied, “I know, but still, we are terrible.” I was laughing so much I didn’t even get the context in which this statement was made. Note: I do not share this opinion, mostly because I do not like making sweeping statements about entire groups of people. Also, to quote my dad, we shouldn’t HATE anyone.

However, kids these days do have a lot of things easier than we did, that’s for sure. For one thing, google. If you wanted to know the primary export of Argentina or the capital city of Ethiopia or Tom Cruise’s height or the calories in a Reece’s Pieces Blizzard, you had to either a) look it up in the Encyclopedia Brittanica, which your parents had purchased volume by volume, b) hope for a Tom Cruise expose while paging through your mom’s copy of Star magazine, c) buy one of those calorie counting books and hope for the best, or d) spend time in the reference section of the library.

When I was in university, I had an actual preference between microfilm and microfiche.

Now, all kids have to do is grab their phones and google things. They don’t know what a busy signal is, they can shop for literally anything they want online, and, these days, they can buy their denim pre-shredded.

Back in MY day, if you wanted ripped denim – and who didn’t? – you had to do it yourself. There was none of those artful tears and frays that are sold at a premium. Back in MY day, we took scissors to our jeans and spent hours fraying them so it looked natural, and we LIKED it that way. Goddammit.

I am not one to revisit my youth, particularly in terms of style – BEEN THERE, DONE THAT – but this week as I was raking leaves I considered my yard-work outfit: old Skechers that have flowers on them (my special garden shoes!), my old Goodnight Moon t-shirt that I bought for Blissdom 2013, and these:

Look! I’m on point, fashion wise! This is what happens when you have the same jeans for six years. I earned that! Kids these days, sheesh.

Kondo-ing My Life

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I consider myself to be a very self-aware person. I know that I can be very easy to live with, in some ways, but very difficult in others. I can recognize my faults along with my positive character traits. So I recognize that at the end of the summer, I become a bit of an emotional mess. Landslide, and all that.

My end-of-summer melancholy is always tempered by my excited-to-start-fresh-in-September attitude, so I’m not trying to say that I become a mopey, weeping person by mid-August. I’m just saying that in the past I’ve had to choke back tears all through Inside Out, which turned into full-blown sobbing about Bing Bong. The year Jake started kindergarten I cried so hard while on hold with the printer Help Desk that the gentlemen on the other side told me that maybe I should go get myself a drink of water, and he would take care of everything. Then he sent me a new printer. 

Anyway, I know myself. And Mark is starting Junior High and Jake is in his last year at our beloved elementary school, where we have spent the last eight years and where I have made a wonderful circle of friends and volunteered at extensively. I’ve been afraid of changing…because I built my life around youuuuuu…

But, as they say, Time Makes You Bolder and so I have taken charge and have redirected all my energies into a complete household reorganization.

I’ve had The Life-Changing Magic Of Tidying Up on my library hold list for a while, and last week it came in. I devoured it. I know, I know, it’s 2016, and KonMari/ Kondo-ing things is so last year. I may be a day late and a dollar short, but let me tell you, I love that book. IT IS LIFE CHANGING MAGIC, PEOPLE.

For those of you who haven’t read it – I can’t be the only one who hadn’t read it, right? – the premise of the book is simple: surround yourself with things that bring you joy and get rid of everything else. Ask yourself why you are holding on to certain things; if it is something that doesn’t bring you joy, then send it on its way, expressing gratitude for the role it has played in your life. For example, don’t feel badly throwing out that lipstick that doesn’t suit you. It taught you a lesson, and that was worth the price you paid for it. That sweater that you don’t like, someone else might love. Send it on its journey.

This, my friends, is exactly the kind of hippy-dippy, non-attachment, Let The Sunshine In kind of thing that I love. Bring in the good energy, block out the bad.

kevin

Now, let me be clear: my house is pretty clean. I am a very organized person by nature. I also live in a bungalow that – including basement and storage area – is 2200 square feet. I don’t really have the room to be a hoarder, and I don’t have a lot of clutter. If you were to stop by unexpectedly, I would not be worried about the state of my house, because the state of my house is always clean. Well, truly, if you were to stop by unexpectedly I’d never answer the door because I don’t want to be murdered by a random stranger, or, in the best case scenario, I don’t want to be solicited for money/ talked to by politicians/ offered lawn services by someone who is scary looking but is probably harmless.

But you take my meaning.

However, there are areas in the house that could definitely be improved on. I have kept so much of the kids’ schoolwork and art work that the bins I purchased for such items are overflowing. I have whole shelving units that were filled with stuff I didn’t know what to do with. The downstairs closets are a disaster, and my hall cupboard was so jammed with stuff that the doors didn’t always close. I have baskets and bins that have loose papers and magazines that I have yet to deal with.

And so I started to Kondo the house, and while it isn’t the very most satisfying thing I’ve done in my life, it is right up there. Every day I’ve been rampaging through the house, like a Kondo machine, bagging things and boxing things and reorganizing things all over the place. In fact, I’m planning to write about this whole experience, so lucky you, you will get to see photos of organized drawers and re-purposed shoe boxes.

It hasn’t all been rabid purging around here though; this week has been all about doctors and dentists and check ups and orthodontists…there was so much non-fun going on that I took a break from my frantic pace to take the kids to the local amusement park. It turned out to be the best day ever; the kids were chosen to be “park openers” which was a thrill in and of itself, and then they were second in line for the log ride. Tons of fun were had by all, but I think my favourite moment was when the park official was telling them what they needed to do, and asked “Are you brothers or friends?” “Both!” they answered, and I swear, I got a little teary.

I guess Kondo-ing everything doesn’t totally keep me from being a bit of an emotional mess. But my house sure is clean.

timbermills

Spoiled children and first seven jobs

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In my last post, I promised a photo of me looking disapproving at the amusement park, and today was supposed to be that day. Except that the sky is grey, again, and threatening to thunderstorm, AGAIN, and so I am just looking disapproving in my kitchen:

disapproval

The thought of packing up snacks, bug spray, and the children, and then driving twenty-five minutes, only to get rained on or electrocuted is disheartening to say the least, and so it looks like another somewhat indoorsy day.

I read a piece in the New Yorker called Spoiled Rotten, in which an anthropologist studied families in Los Angeles and in an Amazonian tribe, to see the difference in the role children played in the family structure. Predictably, the children in LA were complete spoiled brats who refused to tie their own shoes or fetch their own silverware from the drawer, whereas the Amazonian children were significantly contributing to the household, and society in general. In the natural order of things, of course, the LA children turn into thirtysomethings whose moms are still doing their laundry while they make YouTube videos in the basement, and the Amazonian children turn into functioning adults who go out in the world to seek their fortune, just like fairy tale heroes of yore.

It really made me think, being that it was a think-piece and all. Of course, for narrative purposes, the author would have chosen to write about the absolutely worst LA children and the most self-sufficient Amazonian tribe in order to get the starkest contrasts. However. It had me wondering if my kids could be doing more, if I expect too little of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel like I expect a lot. I expect excellent behaviour wherever we go. I expect them to get good grades and work very hard year-long, including summer worksheets and writing projects. I expect them to look people in the eye when they are speaking, to shake hands when meeting someone for the first time – and to put some meat into those handshakes, no dead fish hands please – I expect them to introduce themselves and say “Nice to meet you.” I expect them to make their beds, put away laundry, help with yard work and household chores, set the table, clear the table, load the dishwasher, and feed the dog. They often help chop vegetables and they help my husband put up and take down exterior decorations for Christmas and Halloween, Jake knows how to change a tire and jack up the car and Mark helps with the pre-winter maintenance of the air conditioner and shovels the sidewalk.

So they aren’t like the LA kids in the essay, and – PLEASE GOD – they won’t be living in my basement in 20 years. But there are a lot of things that I knew how to do at their age that they don’t. For example, I used to babysit a lot, and I would cook lunch for my little charges all the time, mostly Kraft Dinner or Zoodles, but I knew how to do it. Only yesterday did I show the boys how to turn on the stove. They have never cleaned a bathroom and their ability to sweep the floor leaves much to be desired. Also, much to be picked up by Roomba.

Speaking of Roomba, he continues to be the naughty little pet that we all love. We love his industry, and we laugh when he bumps into a side table and ends up with a piece of paper jauntily riding atop his little body. Roomba is wearing a hat! we say joyfully. A few times Roomba somehow got tangled up in the toilet paper, leading to a giant shredded mess all over the basement. Oh, Roomba! we shake our heads at his well-meaning but disastrous attempt. Just a few days ago, the boys ran upstairs in a state of excitement. Roomba, they said, had tried to eat the laces on my husband’s trainers, and had dragged the shoe all over the basement.

I feel like this could be the start of a very exciting reality show, or maybe even a sitcom. It would be at least as entertaining as any of the ones currently on air. The Adventures of Roomba! Roomba would surely be a contributing member of society, not like those spoiled children in LA.

Speaking of (semi) spoiled children, I must now send them to the Co-Op by themselves to buy a loaf of bread since we have, inexplicably, ran out. Never mind that we all were buying cigarettes for our parents at the corner store at age seven, and the six-year-old Amazonian children are catching and cleaning all the shellfish for the tribe to have for dinner, I am PROUD that my children can go to the Co-Op by themselves, armed only with a fiver, my Co-Op number, and a reusable bag. And then – AND THEN – they can take that damn loaf of bread and make sandwiches from it for their lunches because I am raising my children to be competent adults, and also they don’t eat Zoodles or Kraft Dinner.

Oh! But I had forgotten what I had been actually planning to write this post about, and no, it wasn’t actually the New Yorker piece. What can I say, I digress easily. There has been a meme going around about Your First Seven Jobs and I thought it would be fun if you could play along too. What were yours? Here are mine:

  1. Babysitter (this should be obvious from the entire post)
  2. Page at the public library, where I shelved books and impressed the interviewers with my knowledge of the Dewey Decimal System and my volunteer work as a candy striper at a nursing home.
  3. Pizza Hut employee, where I did all jobs from bussing tables to answering phones to making pizza to being a cashier. It was a fun job in that I had a lot of friends there, but it was also a terrible job because people LOVE to scream at the teenage employees when their pizza does not arrive in a timely fashion.
  4. Salesgirl at a ladies’ clothing store, where I discovered I did not want to sell anything, ever again.
  5. Waitress at Moxies’ – another fun job where I also discovered that working in customer service is very hard. This job made me empathetic every single time I had a meal out that went awry for any reason.
  6. Beer sample girl. If you want a job where you get hit on by disgusting, much older alcoholics, and everyone treats you like a brainless idiot, this is the job for you! I finally quit in a fit of rage when the company got a contract with Busch, and I would have been required to wear a Busch bathing suit to hand out samples. In a freezing cold liquor store. NO THANK YOU, YOU MAY KEEP YOUR SEVEN DOLLARS AN HOUR.
  7. Summer student at a petroleum company. This was my first taste of corporate life, and I got to use my linear programming skills, so it was great. It ended up leading to my first “real” job that didn’t involve food, customer service, or bathing suits.

Please play along! What were your first seven jobs? All of these jobs took place within the span of a decade, which seems amazing for some reason.