Category Archives: Fashion

Leaning in to the Sexy Librarian Look

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You people who don a cozy sweater and scarf and then head off apple picking, whilst sipping your pumpkin spice lattes and kicking around leaves? I envy you. Well, not the pumpkin spice latte part – pumpkin spice is NOT my jam, I am, as we all know, a mint chocolate girl – but the rest feels so idyllic and fanciful to me. What must that be like, I think. Imagine going apple picking. Imagine leaving the house in a cozy sweater and scarf. Imagine not digging out legwarmers and winter coats on the last weekend of September.

When I went to upload and name these photos, there were a dozen already named some variation of “Snow September” which is a bit depressing. My husband had the weather channel on for a few minutes on the weekend, and there was a reporter there who was on the streets trying to get an interview with passers-by. She was over-the-top dramatic about SNOW! In September! and kept trying to drum up some kind of enthusiastic dramatic response from the people walking by in their parkas and toques. Can you BELIEVE it? I mean it’s September! she kept saying, and every single interviewee shrugged and was pretty complacent, albeit not particularly happy. Who is this woman? I thought. Where did she come from? She’s obviously not local. Accepting weird and appalling weather in a stoic and martyr-like way is part of our cultural identity, along with day-drinking and cowboy hat-wearing in July.

Things are starting to melt; all the trees that had turned colour before the snowfall are completely decimated now, while many trees are still completely green-leaved, in stark contrast to the snow. As I walked Barkley, with trees dripping all the melting snow on my head, I thought it felt like spring. Spring! The fact that green leaves and thick, wet snow feels like spring to me is a very sad testament to this hellhole I call home.

But enough about the weather! I have much more important things to talk about. For one thing, I picked up my new reading glasses yesterday and I’m really going to lean in to my new look, the Sexy Librarian.

Have you ever worn reading glasses? They are really quite bizarre. As I had Mr. Magoo-strength glasses, and then contact lenses, from age 11 to 25, my experience has been that when you put on glasses, everything becomes clearer. With reading glasses, the book you are reading becomes clearer, it’s true, but everything else is completely blurry. I mentioned this to the fellow helping me fit the glasses, and he said “That’s why you always see people looking up OVER their glasses.” Aha! Now I understand.

My new look:

My husband kept looking over at me while I was reading last night.

“It’s just so strange,” he said, “I just haven’t seen you in glasses in so long.” Maybe he really likes the Sexy Librarian look, maybe he’s waiting for me to slide off my cardigan, whip off my glasses, and shake my hair out of the bun.

He’ll have to wait on the bun thing; that baby is held in place by many – MANY – bobby pins. On that note, you will be all happy to know that I had a hair appointment and my Hair Therapist and I agreed that we would start “putting length on,” which, given I can’t stand split ends and get my hair trimmed every five weeks, will take a while. Probably it will be another 9-10 months before we really see a difference, but I have been taking biotin lately, so maybe it will be faster than I think.

Now I can be one of those people who are constantly looking for where they left their glasses!

This side table is normally stacked with library books, but a few days ago I finished my stack and had no holds come in, a rare thing. I decided to re-read The Handmaid’s Tale; I last read it about twenty-five years ago and let me tell you, it reads very differently for a woman of 44 than it did a woman of 19. For one thing, I do not remember being much horrified by the – spoiler alert – Removing Child From Parents storyline. I also find that I have different empathy for the different characters. While it is not IMPOSSIBLE that I could find myself pregnant at this age – EXTREMELY UNLIKELY but not impossible – I am much closer to being a Wife than a Handmaid. Or, given my enormous load of domestic chores, a Martha.

Speaking of which, it’s my dad’s birthday today – Happy Birthday, Dad! – and we are having a big family party on the weekend. I am in charge of bringing the cake, or, more accurately, cakes, as there will be about 25 people there. I’m bringing cupcakes for the little ones, and they will be – on my five-year-old niece’s strong suggestion – worms and dirt. Worms and dirt! I haven’t made those since my bake sale days, god bless. I am sure I will have many cake-related photos to show you by this time next week. On that note, I have many Martha-like duties to complete before I can settle back down with my reading glasses and The Handmaid’s Tale, so I must sign off. Plus, I picked up four holds at the library this afternoon so there will be a lot of Reading Glasses Duty in the next three weeks. I just hope my husband can contain himself. xo

Girl’s Blouse and the Forward March of Time

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I was walking the dog the other day when I ran into one of the young neighbour girls. She’s the youngest of three and the last to fly the nest; she told me that she was headed to university in Ottawa at the end of the month. I cannot even begin to tell you how unexpectedly this information affected me. I teared up as I told my husband about it. I’ve know her since she was a BABY, I said tearfully, ALL of their girls are gone now. GONE. I’m pretty sure I’m projecting my feelings about fleeting time, empty nests, and the general preciousness of life on this unsuspecting 18 year old.

All of which is to say: can you even BELIEVE it’s August 9? August is my month to cling to the last vestiges of summer, such as it is, even while some of the leaves are starting to change and I’m organizing my thoughts as to what we need in terms of school supplies and pants that actually fit the boys, the boys being in that odd teenage stage where they are tall and skinny and good luck finding 29/34 jeans in any store.

August is also my month to realize that I’ve gained weight, probably due to the fact that we always take a trip to see my mother-in-law at the end of July. What can I say, booze. This happens every August, but it was a bit shocking to see that I’ve put on seven pounds since the end of June. I’m HOPING some of that was water retention, but the long and the short of it is that it’s time to cut back on the boozy coolers.

Seven pounds in a month is one thing, but I have been very active, and so it feels a bit like a slap in the face. I guess the old adage you can’t outrun a bad diet is very true, but still. You especially can’t outrun a bad liquid diet, but hey. Needs must.

We all hiked up Big White on our trip, which is over 11 kilometres and 500 metres of elevation. I was impressed with the kids’ endurance level and also happy that my hip was fine with it.

“Thoughtful Instagram pose”

This week since we’ve been back has been a strange combination of Back To Routine and Fun Activities, which is giving me an odd, time-warp kind of feeling. Yesterday my friend and I took the boys to the mountains for a short hike; apparently it was too short as they complained that it wasn’t enough of a challenge. Well, game on, boys. I guess from now on it’s all endurance all the time. The hike was pretty though.

Tuesday I went back to teaching, my husband went out of town on business, and the boys went to a sleepover birthday party. Ten years ago I would have committed any number of criminal activities in order to have an evening to myself, but now it just feels kind of dull. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed making a special dinner just for myself – Greek salad and pita on a Tuesday! – but while I was reading in complete silence I realized I miss the dull-roar noise level of our house. At any given time a) my younger son is practicing drums, b) my older son is playing Iron Man on his electric guitar with the amp up high, c) the kids are talking in their Outside Voices, d) my husband is talking in his Regular Voice, and e) my husband is listening to Bloomberg and/ or Sport Centre. It was pretty quiet with just me and Barkley. I spent my evening reading, with a “clarifying and polishing” face mask and my feet swathed in cotton socks to keep the lotion on. Hashtag: living the glamourous life.

The cut of those socks remind me so much of my grandma and her penchant for Isotoner slippers. It makes me miss her so much. I can just picture her in her kitchen, wearing light-blue Isotoner slippers, capri pants, and a flowered blouse.

Speaking of blouses, the boys and I have been re-watching all six seasons of Downton Abbey in preparation for the new movie coming in September. Although, knowing me, we will see the movie when it comes out on Netflix. Anyway, we all love Downton, probably because of the terrible soap-opera story lines and fluctuating awfulness/ brilliance of the characters. I mean, what is UP with how terrible Lord Grantham is in seasons 3-4? Won’t someone PLEASE give Lady Edith a little bit of support for once in her whole pathetic life? How many deaths can be attributed to Bates, really? What does all this have to do with blouses? Well, some of the old-timey British sayings are just too awesome to not incorporate into daily conversation. “I jolly well WILL!” “Splendid!” “Oh, crikey.” But the very best line comes from good old Murderer Bates himself, when chiding Jimmy for over-reacting about Thomas’ moves. “Why are you being such a big girl’s blouse about it?” Everyone in our house uses the term Girl’s Blouse several times a day now, as it is possibly the greatest semi-insult ever. One only needs complain about the slightest thing to be immediately named a Girl’s Blouse.

Boy: I’m a little tired today.

Any other member of the family: Stop being such a big girl’s blouse about it.

My husband: I have a lot of meetings today.

Me: Why do you have to be such a girl’s blouse?

And so on.

The city, as if to boost everyone’s self-esteem from being constantly referred to as a random article of women’s clothing, has put up signs everywhere with motivational sayings on them. “You can do it!” I’ll see as I’m driving down the freeway. “You made a difference today!” I’ll see posted as I’m coming out of the Superstore parking lot. I like the idea behind it but I’m puzzled as to where they came from. It’s like the world is conspiring to make us feel good about ourselves, which is lovely. I was unwrapping a vitamin C drop and noticed that it, also, is concerned about my self-esteem. “Don’t give up!” it told me. “March forward!” Well, crikey. I jolly well WILL march forward, thank you very much. But not too quickly; August is speeding away as it is.

Happy Friday everyone, xo.

Empty Nest

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The week following the last day of school has been certainly mixed, weather-wise. We have had the occasional cool-but-sunny day interspersed with many cold-and-rainy days; the weather is never predictable in this city but so far summer has been completely missing. As is our tradition, we went up to my parents’ house for the Canada Day long weekend. We luckily had some time on the paddle boards, and I had a beautiful long bike ride, before the storm rolled in. Today I finally broke down and turned the heat on; it’s so cold and rainy, I’ve been wearing my winter-weight thick sweaters and fuzzy slippers for the past few days, and have had to remind myself that yes, indeed, it is July. It certainly brings new meaning to carpe diem, as who knows when another nice day might come around.

My hostas are happy but all my other plants are literally drowning, especially the ones in planter pots. They are all leggy and droopy; hopefully the sun will come out sometime. July in Calgary is often a disappointment. The sole upside is that I do not have to listen to people complain about “the heat” when it gets above 25 degrees. At this point I would be excited if the temperature exceeded ten degrees.

The boys stayed up at my parents’ place for the week, so I’ve had an empty nest. Any time that the boys are not here I am amazed anew at how much more time I have on my hands. I’ve been afraid of changing because I’ve built my life on you. On Wednesday, I went for an 8 kilometer walk before going to Superstore AND Costco, with a yoga class in between, all things I would never do with the kids at home. Even though they are teens – actually, BECAUSE they are teens – I find it very important to spend as much time at home with them as possible, despite the fact that they really only “spend time” with me while they are eating. I remember many years ago, before kids, a coworker had told me that she went part time when her children became teenagers. People think their kids need them less at this age but actually, they need them MORE. I think that’s a very true statement.

Back to a small detail: I went to Costco and Superstore ON THE SAME DAY. It felt like one of those CrossFit workouts, between the actual shopping and then up and down the stairs to put all the things away. At both stores, I had a person in line behind me with much fewer items than I had in my giant cart. As is my wont, I offered to let them go ahead of me and both refused – the teen boy at Superstore told me he didn’t mind waiting, as he stood there with only a container of two-bite brownies. The older gentleman behind me at Costco looked aghast and said, “Oh, no! Ladies first. I insist. Ladies first!”

I guess we all have extra time on our hands this week, the better to spend in line buying groceries; we certainly aren’t spending a lot of it in the gardens or doing yard work.

Enough about the weather, a topic which is boring and depressing to us all. After a bit of a dry spell in terms of really engaging books, I’ve been reading My Name Is Venus Black, and is it ever excellent. I started it yesterday and am almost done, since I am finding it hard to put down. I highly recommend it. I also read Small Fry by Lisa Brennan-Jobs, who is Steve Jobs’ illegitimate daughter and I honestly had no idea how much of an asshole Steve Jobs was. I didn’t really know anything about him; I told my husband a bit about the book and he was surprised that I didn’t already realize what a wretched human being he was. I asked the kids if they knew anything about him, and they replied that of COURSE they knew he was awful, everyone knows that. When I pressed them – how did they know – my younger son just stared at me and said, “Um, this thing called the INTERNET?” I’m not sure if I would recommend it to you or not; it depends whether you would like a reminder about how some people are the absolute worst. I mean, most people are doing their best to be good people, I’d like to think. However.

Today marks the beginning of Stampede week – I shall refer you to my older posts about dressing for the Stampede without looking ridiculous and my subsequent purchase of cowboy boots. While I’d like to be one of those women who pairs cowboy boots with sundresses, I decidedly am not. I did pull them out this morning to take a few photos with which to promote my yoga classes during Stampede week, and I couldn’t figure out why the left boot felt so awkward. It’s not like I wear these boots often – or ever, really – and so it seemed strange that the lining would be rumpled up, which is what it felt like. I reached in and discovered a Nerf dart lodged in the toe.

Even with an empty nest, the boys manage to stay in my day-to-day life. They are home tomorrow, so I’m going to enjoy this day of relative leisure before they return and I get back in the laundry/ baking/ cooking groove. Have a lovely weekend! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The June/ “Why Is This Week So Weird” Edition

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What is it about the last week of school? The month of June – well, and April and May – flew by, but now this last week is taking an age to get through. It doesn’t help that I feel like I’m in a constant time warp, what with today being a PD day, and tomorrow being a “pick up report cards and generally do nothing for three hours” day, and the past two weeks being half days. Who am I? Where am I? What are we doing again? These are the questions I am constantly asking myself. I have to remind myself several times a day what day it is and what is happening.

A huge highlight having half days of school is that there are no lunches to pack. My kids are semi-famous in their group of friends for having The Best Lunches; clearly they are old enough and competent enough in the kitchen to make their own lunches, but I still do it as a semi-love letter to them. On weekends and holidays they are, for the most part, completely responsible for cobbling together their own lunches, but on school days they get a lunch prepared by me, the secret ingredient being Love.

About a year ago I was at a neighbourhood barbeque and one of the dads told me his son was constantly complaining about the quality of his lunches, saying that the ones my boys eat are far superior. This dad asked me to dial things back a bit, can’t I just slap a piece of bologna between two slices of bread? Has he met me? Of course I can’t. I still have zest for lunch making as a) the boys came home for lunch for all those elementary years and so I never really had to make any, b) I only pack three lunches a week, as Fridays are half days and Tuesdays are Chicken Caesar Salad day at the cafeteria. Here’s my secret: on pita pizza night, I make extra pizzas to have cold in their lunches, one day a week I put deli turkey with ranch dressing and lettuce in tortillas, then wrap, secure with toothpicks, and slice up, and on Mondays, they get whatever leftover roasted meat happened on Sunday, plus a couple of leftover waffles. Every lunch has veggies, fruit, and something I’ve baked in it as well. I AM THE LUNCH QUEEN.

So no lunches for the last two weeks; Monday I was mixing up cookie dough when my younger son came home, alone. Usually they come home together but he cagily said that his brother was just “a few minutes behind him.” When his brother came home he mentioned that he had parked an abandoned Walmart shopping cart behind our house.

Me: What.

Son: I just parked it out back. Don’t worry, it’s not behind the garage or anything.

Me: I don’t want an abandoned CART behind our HOUSE. Why did you PUT it there?

Son: Okay, I’ll go move it.

So many questions. So much to process. In the end the story went like this: the boys and their gang found three – THREE – abandoned shopping carts in one of the back alleys that they use to cut off thirty seconds from their commute. What’s a group of teenage boys to do when they find three – THREE – abandoned shopping carts? Climb in and race, of course.

When this was relayed to me, I had to turn to the sink full of dishes, close my eyes, and employ my ujjayi breath for a few moments. My initial reaction was to completely flip out but I didn’t because a) they actually related this to me, b) there are no real inclines or declines from that alley to our house, and so chances are no one was careening out of control, and c) teenage boys, honest to god, have no brains.

I did, however, ask them to please, in future, if they encounter abandoned shopping carts, to just leave them alone. I’m sure this is not the last of it, however. When my husband got home, he wondered what kind of idiot would leave an upside down shopping cart in the green space behind our house, to which my son responded “I am that idiot!” We cultivate self-awareness in this house, let me tell you. My husband then grabbed his truck keys and the two of them returned the cart to the Walmart parking lot, a somewhat happy ending to a story that I never, ever thought would be part of my life.

So IDIOCY is not my favourite thing but I do have a number of things I love about this month, time warp and all.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The June/ “Why Is This Week So Weird” Edition

Hunter Boots

I have wanted Hunter boots for YEARS but couldn’t justify them in my mind; I had a perfectly good pair of rain boots that, up to about seven weeks ago, served my purposes. After years of service they finally cracked; Browns had a 30% off sale on tall black Hunters, and there was ONE left in my size. What’s a girl to do? I bought them and immediately the weather turned dry and sunny. You’re welcome, Calgary! But the last few weeks have seen a huge amount of rain – summer solstice was the darkest, rainiest, longest day of the year – and so I’ve been enjoying my fashionable, dry feet.

Flowers

My Siberian irises have made the best showing ever this year, and they are popping up in places far from their original domain.

All my outdoor plants are making strides, but just look at this:

One of my dear students gave me that bouquet, and I am just in love with it. Bonus: it’s not triggering anyone’s allergies in the house!

Barkley

I know, he is just constantly one of my favourite things, but will you look at this:

I mean, come on.

My husband has been doing a lot of business travelling lately, and it’s all sadness when the suitcase comes out:

Poor puppers!

All That Food Is Paying Off

I’ve been the shortest in the house for a little while now, but today my fifteen-year-old took the title of Tallest in the House. The boys have both grown 1 1/2 – 2 inches since April 2, which really explains my grocery bills. Now I’m just looking forward to their brains catching up with all that growth.

Well, June is hectic, this week is even more so, and with that fun piece of news I will close. Happy end of school, friends! xo

Lemon, it’s Wednesday

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There is no need to remind me that today is actually Thursday; however, this is how I have felt over the past couple of weeks:

On Monday I cheerfully mentioned to my older son that if he was having issues with his F chord, he could ask his guitar teacher at his lesson the next day. His guitar lessons are on Thursdays. By Wednesday, over the last two weeks, I’ve been ready to collapse on the couch with a bottle of wine and a funnel only to realize that no, it isn’t Friday, and not only did I have to Just Keep Swimming, I also had to take my younger son to drum lessons.

Remember the young girl who teaches voice lessons, who changes her look dramatically week to week? A few weeks ago I anxiously awaited her to come out and talk with one of the parents, and I was rewarded by her new look: a shaved head, army boots, and what appeared to be a karate gi. Maybe her head is always shaved and she wears different wigs every week? That would explain a lot of things. Last night she had on one of those golf-style hats that are favoured by old men on her shaved head, a gigantic Club Monaco sweatshirt over top a turtleneck, hugely wide-legged high waisted cropped jeans, and white faux fur open-toed mules.

I don’t mind at all waiting for the kids at their different music lessons; I bring a book and use the time to read, or contemplate how one person can have so many different styles from week to week when my own style has been virtually unchanged for many years. Either way, I amuse myself. There is one dad there who has two young children that have lessons not concurrently; he’s there at least an hour and he never, ever has so much as a book or a phone. He merely stares into the distance, mostly ignoring the child who is not currently taking a lesson, and who is constantly whining about how bored he is. Now, I get the concept of allowing your child to sit and be bored for a few moments, there is no need to be constantly amused by screens or the like, but would it not be possible for the sake of everyone around him to at least bring a book for the child? How much LONGER do we have to waaaaaaait, the child usually says about two minutes after his brother has started lessons. A book! Markers and colouring pages! What a novel concept. Then last night, a woman who I assumed was their mother brought the children to lessons. I didn’t even realize they were there until I noticed the child, who was completely engrossed in a Roald Dahl book, rather than complaining loudly for thirty minutes. It was a nice reprieve. I am not drawing specific parallels to the rest of the world, but way to go Mom.

Small digression about books: I was reading Feel Free by Zadie Smith, and my husband commented on it. Why was I reading that? What is it about? I replied that it was a book of essays, and it was okay, not great, but sort of interesting. I started to mention I had read her first book many years ago, back before kids when I was in a book club. She’s a WRITER? he asked incredulously. Other than the time I read The Dead Husband Project, my husband has shown no interest at all in any book I have read, and so I was pretty surprised by his line of questioning. It turns out he was thinking JADA, not ZADIE, which was quite amusing to me. There are no anecdotes about the Fresh Prince in Feel Free, although there are many long essays about paintings I am not familiar with and books I have not and probably never will read.

These last few weeks of school are a strange combination of busy and not busy. The boys have only half days of school every day for two weeks, with the exception of last Tuesday, which was Field Trip Day and found them at the zoo and the science centre. The half days are ostensibly designed to allow for studying for finals. The grade nines are all taking their provincial achievement tests, and the grade eights have a couple of finals as well, but the majority of the time appears to be consumed by movie watching and, in general, nothing at all. Everyone seems to be mailing it in right now. Today as the grade nines write their math PAT, the grade eights are having a barbeque.

Strange as it might seem to have a barbeque for the entire eighth grade at ten in the morning, that’s nothing compared to the request to “bring your own meat.” Just think of the logistics of this: one hundred and fifty thirteen-year-olds all bringing in a single hamburger, or hot dog, or chicken breast, with no refrigeration facilities. Last year I thought this couldn’t be the case, the school couldn’t possibly be endorsing such a potentially food-poisoning-infused activity, but the morning of the barbeque my son begged to take something, anything to school. Everyone’s taking something, Mom! He ended up taking a single sausage, which was the only barbeque-able piece of meat in the house, which subsequently got eaten by someone else. This year I gave my younger son a whole pack of hot dogs, buns, and a couple of nearly-empty condiments; at least this way he and his friends are provided for, hopefully without salmonella.

Today is the teacher luncheon at the school, and as I have been pretty much a lame duck in terms of volunteering for these junior high years, I offered to bring dessert. Specifically, mini cupcakes. More specifically, the fussiest, most time-consuming labour-intensive dessert that I could possibly make for a large crowd. Why do I do these things to myself? I could have made a pan of brownies and called it a day but no. The cupcakes turned out great, but I will just say this: yesterday was a pretty frantically busy day without making five dozen tiny cupcakes frosted with roses and stars, so adding that on top of things was perhaps not that bright. I’m pleased with the final result, though, and even more pleased that tomorrow is Friday and my friend is coming over in the afternoon for a much-needed wine break.

I excitedly texted a photo to my husband, who expressed extreme doubt that I actually made these myself, given my very poor track record for decorating baked goods. But I did! I did make them! You could too; all you need is the right decorating tips and a YouTube video. I told this to my husband, owner of a whole workshop filled with every tool you can imagine, and he nodded with great understanding. The right tools are EVERYTHING, he agreed. Indeed.

Aunty Ant Takes Her Revenge

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Earlier in the week I was so tired; it was the kind of exhaustion that makes me wonder if something is seriously wrong. Why am I so tired? I kept saying, over and over, like the world’s most boring broken record. My husband gently reminded me that every so often I DO get this tired, and every time I get this tired I wonder why, and possibly I shouldn’t run myself at full throttle every single day? Well, it turns out he was correct. I am generally a Jack Russell terrier, but every so often I need to embrace my inner Basset hound. A few days of extra sleep and an afternoon spent gardening in the sunshine, and I seem to be back to my usual self.

Generally speaking, the more things I have to do, the more energized I get. It’s like I have my own little contest going on, trying to squeeze in one more thing every moment of every day. Can I bake a batch of muffins while washing the floor and folding the laundry? And then read this collection of short stories while I make pasta sauce? At some point I become like the airplane headed for Carnival in Rio in Richard Scarry’s Busy Busy World; I explode with the addition of Aunty Ant.

Looking back over the past couple of weeks, I realize that I might have been going at even higher speed than normal; every single day that the sun has shone I’ve been doing yard work on top of running 23 kilometres a week, spin classes, daily yoga practice, and dog walks, not to mention my teaching schedule. Oh, and grocery shopping, food preparation, running a household, parenting, and all of those things we all do every day without thought. A few days of rest is definitely a good thing; if I was talking to a friend or a student, I would tell them to be gentle to themselves and to take rest to restore their bodies and souls. Every once in a while I should really take my own advice.

This past long weekend we travelled to visit my mother-in-law, adding “packing” and “taking dog to kennel with all his prepackaged food and medication” to last week’s to-do list. Packing is a job that I find myself obsessing over; my husband packs his own things and my kids choose the clothes that they need, but my need for order and control means that I alone am in charge of the suitcases. Or, the Orange Suitcases of Sadness, as we call them in this house. The moment the Orange Suitcases of Sadness come out of storage, Barkley is on High Alert and will either be found sitting beside one or be completely underfoot, so that I’m tripping over him while unloading the dishwasher or stepping over him as I neatly roll up all the clothes in order to maximize packing space. I heard a woman talking on the plane about how her friend spent six weeks in Europe with only a single piece of carry on luggage, and I was amazed. A weekend away necessitates a huge suitcase plus carry on for me. I mean, how do you even pack enough toiletries without checked baggage? I guess there are pharmacies and shops in Europe but still.

My sister-in-law and I bonded this weekend with our mutual disdain for travellers who sneak too-large pieces of carry on luggage onto the plane and then cannot fit said pieces into the overhead compartments. Just spend the $25 and check your damn bag, I always think to myself, watching them nearly take out people as they swing their giant distended roller bags overhead. You people are the worst. Perhaps that’s how that woman got through six weeks; with a contraband oversized carry on.

I like to pack a lot even for a weekend, because as you well know, I love clothes. My friend Jen (HI JEN) mentioned that she is going to start her own One Year Shopping Challenge, and for a few minutes I wondered if I have been appreciating all my clothes enough; should I too do another challenge? Nothing makes you appreciate what you have like not being able to purchase new things. However, I am pretty sure my husband would stop speaking to me and my mother would disown me, so I won’t. Maybe I’ll quietly do my own six-month challenge, though, now that my wardrobe has been supplemented over the last nine months of restocking. Maybe.

Speaking of clothes, I noticed a few very interesting outfits yesterday. First, as I was walking the dog, I noticed an older gentleman mowing his lawn wearing nothing whatsoever but a pair of white shorts, the type favoured by basketball players in the 1970s, black socks, and work boots. This was especially odd given that the outside temperature was only about 15 degrees; it didn’t feel like “only shorts and nothing else” weather but then again, I tend to be cold most of the time. Then at my son’s drum lesson, a young boy came in wearing a Garfield hoodie and shorts set. It was bright yellow, adorned with the lasagne-loving cat, and the hood was made to look like Garfield’s head. This I found intriguing; is Garfield still relevant? I guess he must be somewhere, since the outfit looked quite new and bright. That is some longevity for a cartoon feline.

The most interesting outfit was really the third in a series. The young woman who gives voice lessons at the same place that my son takes drum lessons is absolutely fascinating to me. The first week I took him, she was dressed exactly as an anime character: shiny bobbed black hair with a hairband adorned with two big pompoms, a short colourful dress, and tall, shiny, white platform boots. The next week her hair was still black, but soft and wavy, and she was wearing a flowing flowered dress; the type your grandma might have worn as a housedress, but longer. Then yesterday her hair was greyish-lavender, curly except for straight bangs, and she was wearing a long grey and white see-through lace dress over top a short white dress, with black lipstick. I honestly can’t wait to see what happens next week. The mom of the Garfield-clad boy looked at me and said, “Every week, she looks different!” which seemed like a vast understatement.

I cannot recall ever purchasing anything from the Venus catalogue, and so it is for reasons unknown that I have been the recipient of said catalogue for many years. I find it fascinating just how many different iterations there are of star-spangled bikinis. The catalogue is mostly filled with swimwear and beach accessories, but a good third of it contains “street wear” and that, my friends, is the best part. Better even than star-spangled bikinis, the pages are filled with “butt-lifting” jeans and really startling spandex dresses and loosely-knit cropped sweaters worn over sparkly tank tops. There is also a whole section on “work wear” which very much differs from my idea of office-appropriate attire. Although, who’s to say work wear is synonymous with office wear? After all, my work wear consists of yoga pants and tank tops. Perhaps other people have jobs that necessitate cold-shoulder bell-sleeved blouses, off-the-shoulder wrap dresses, or wildly low-cut zipper-front sheath dresses. Who am I to say?

And the sun is shining so yard work is calling; off to embrace my inner Jack Russell. Enjoy the sunshine, sunshines. xo

Never Say Never

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On Sunday I was returning a book to the library – A Mind Unraveled, if you’re interested – and I noticed the sign on the door stating that, as usual, the library will be closed on Sundays from Victoria Day weekend to Labour Day weekend. Victoria Day, I thought, They are really giving a lot of notice for that. Then I realized that the long weekend is, in fact, less than two weeks away.

I seem to have trouble processing that it is May, let alone the second week of May. Perhaps it’s because on Sunday morning I woke up to this:

Well, it is certainly not unusual to get snow in May, but this, coupled with the completely dull grey sky, was a bit much. My husband took me to the garden centre for some Mother’s Day shopping – I got three large planters and a whole lot of dirt – and I thought the place would be empty due to the wretched weather. I was surprised to see it fairly bustling; I suppose we are all an optimistic bunch. In any case, the snow has now melted and things are greening up, so our optimism was not misplaced.

It seems springlike now, but last week was wretchedly cold; I was beginning to despair that I would ever put away my winter coat. My mom and I went for our annual Mother’s Day pedicures last week, and of course I wore sandals so as not to smudge the polish. I felt like I was making a real fashion statement, in my sandals and capri-length jeans paired with my winter coat, gloves, and a long sweater.

We had dinner guests on Saturday and in talking about pedicures, my friend (HI DENISE) expressed astonishment that I have had red, and only red, nail polish on my toes ever since I was sixteen. I mean, it’s not the same exact shade of red; when I was sixteen I was really into Revlon’s Love That Red on both my toes and my lips, but it’s always been a variation of a true red. Why would you choose red when they have literally two hundred other colours at the salon? she asked. This is an excellent question and one I do not have an answer for other than I like red. Even my husband, who does not generally have an opinion on my nail polish, or any other feminine beauty products, asked why I didn’t switch it up a little. It’s just nail polish, can’t you just take it off? Well, I guess. But why would I, when I really like red?

This reminded me of a conversation I had several years ago with my friend Dan, who just happens to be a makeup guru. He told me I should be switching out my lip colours with the seasons.

Dan: You need to switch it up! It’s like your shoes; it’s not like you have only one colour of footwear.

Me: Well, actually, I do. All my shoes are black.

Dan: What.

Speaking of shoes, all of my boots seem to be wearing out at once. My much-loved lined rain boots have developed a crack along the top of the foot, much to my despair. I did purchase them when the boys were in preschool, so I suppose I got my money’s worth out of them, but still. I am in mourning. They are currently patched up with a piece of black Gorilla tape while I search for a suitable replacement. At around the same time as I purchased the boots, I also purchased a spring-weight coat which I wear at this time of year; at least when I’m not wearing my winter coat. My husband informed me yesterday morning that I MIGHT want to consider buying another coat, it’s starting to show its age. But then a random lady in the Superstore parking lot told me, only a few hours after that sad conversation, that she absolutely loved my coat, it’s gorgeous, and it looks so great with my hair. Well, random kind lady, I shall keep that coat based entirely on our lovely exchange. Also, I still like it.

Another thing I really like lately is my hair. As you know, in December, after many months of careful deliberation and the kind of thought process that usually accompanies any major life decision, I made the leap to growing out my layers. One thing you may not know about me is that I have never really liked my hair. It is in my bottom five percent of favourite body parts. I’m not even sure it is a body part, but nevertheless. Nevertheless, over my lifetime I’ve oscillated between actively disliking my hair and thinking it was satisfactory, a good solid C+. Not failing, but certainly not setting the world on fire.

Well, all that has changed. My hair therapist, god bless her, quietly snipped off quite a bit of length to facilitate the Layer Growing Out Process. It is not something I would have asked for, but there is a reason I have been her loyal client since 2002; she has vision. I am enjoying my bouncy, shorter hair so much. Let me show you the before and after.

This is me the morning of my hair appointment. Note roots, shredded-looking layers, basic Hair Sadness.

I don’t leave the house like that; here is me on the way to the salon, making the best of things:

Here’s the after – two days, one week, and two weeks later:

I am very pleased! Obviously things will change by the end of my colour cycle, but for now, all is glorious. The only issue is that with the shorter length – it doesn’t touch my shoulders – it is a bit tricky to put up into a bun. It’s nothing a sleeve of bobby pins won’t solve, but it takes a bit of time.

Time is something I don’t have at 4:45 in the morning, when I’m heading off to yoga practice. Therefore – and this is what I really wanted to talk to you about – I made a purchase I swore that I never would. It’s something that I lived through once and never, ever thought I would again. That chapter of my life, I had confidently thought, was closed forever. As of this week, though, a new era has begun and it is one that incorporates my new purchase.

People, I bought a scrunchie.

I know what you’re thinking: what’s next? Will I start embracing acid wash again, not having worn acid wash since the late Eighties? Will I swan into a party wearing denim overalls with one strap hanging down? Will I walk Barkley clad only in high-waisted jean short-shorts and a crop top, with gladiator sandals on my feet? God, I hope not.

Although I cannot believe that I, a grown woman, chose to spend $8 for a hair scrunchie, and I have gone out in public wearing one for the first time since 1993, I will tell you this: it works really well. Behold!

That little piece of material held my bun in for a very vigourous, sweaty practice that included drop-backs and a headstand, and so it is the real hero of this story. I guess the moral of the story is to never say never, although I really do think I can safely say NEVER AGAIN to acid wash, denim overalls, short-shorts and crop tops.

I hope.