Category Archives: Fashion

It’s My Bag, Baby

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I love my neighbourhood. Today, within a 45 minute span, I did the following: dropped off the kids at school, went to the bank, went to the library where I got a new card to replace the one I’ve had for probably 30 years, bought dog food, put gas in the van, and picked up a bag of groceries. I have to wonder that if the grocery store was less convenient, would I be less laissez-faire about shopping? If I had to drive 20 minutes to get a package of bagels and some corn, would I be more thoughtful about my purchases? Probably. In any case, my quick stop at the grocery store was a bit longer than it would have been, due to a backlog of shoppers at the U-Scan checkout. It was all due to an elderly man with a full cart of groceries, who should have probably just saved himself and others around him much agitation by just going to the regular lineup. Om Shanti. I zipped my purchases through and left while still hearing the “Please wait for an attendant” automated voice over and over, and the man himself bitterly complaining that there WERE no stickers on the potatoes, so how could HE know what the code was? Word. Regular lineup, sir.

But, we must be patient, because one day we will be the elderly people holding up the U-Scan line. One day it will be me, and I will be fumbling in my giant purse that matches my pumps, with my slacks and plastic jewelry, wondering what the code is for KALE because it isn’t ON THERE and WHY is it beeping?

Last night when Jake was writing in his reading log, he exclaimed that it was the last day of April, and to him, April went by really quickly. “Life goes so fast!” he exclaimed, Ferris Bueller-style, and I agreed. Time makes you bolder, etc. At this rate I’m going to be shopping for a giant purse in no time at all.

Speaking of giant purses, my friend Melissa Gaston at Yummy Mummy Club is having a Photo a Day challenge for the month of May, and today’s prompt is “In Your Bag”. Challenge accepted, Melissa! Not only did I take photos of the contents of my (non-giant) purse, I am also going to walk you through it. What could be more fun than snooping in someone’s purse? What’s that you say? Spring cleaning is more fun? Nonsense!

In My Bag

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The whole shebang.

 

The truth is that in the past few years I’ve really whittled down what I carry around; I’m not just talking about when I would pack like a Sherpa for a day at the playground when the boys were little. I mean, up until a few years ago I would have everything from winter gloves – no matter what the season – to snacks and water bottles in my purse, and let’s not even talk about how I had a compulsion to carry around every single “club card” from every store I ever frequented in my wallet, like George Costanza. As you can see, I’ve got the usual things: slimmed down wallet – no more club cards, except for grocery stores – sunglasses, car keys that have “in case of emergency” hair ties twisted around them.

pens

I also have an inordinant amount of writing instruments.

I don’t know exactly why I have a pencil and four pens in my purse. Well, actually, I do. Every time I go to a School Council meeting, I grab my notebook and throw a pen into my bag, never to be removed. Also: two nail files because one is not enough and also I get them free with pedicure. The toothbrush holder in the background holds no toothbrush. It is the perfect little compartment for a tampon. In these days of uncertainty, you never know when you might need one!

Lipsticks

I’m a lip product addict.

Yes, I have nine different lipsticks and glosses in my purse at any given time, but who doesn’t, really? Also hand sanitizer and a dog poop bag. These two are related. I also found a rock that one of the kids gave me for safe keeping from our recent trip to Maui. I should probably do something with that. (Why is your bag so heavy? Rocks.)

makeup

Not only do I have every lip product for every occasion at any given time, but I also have a powder compact, puff, and blotting papers, because while I like having a shiny happy personality, I do not like having a shiny happy face. Well, the upside of shininess is the lack of wrinkles…oh wait. I have those too.

bandaids

Survival Kit

Last, but never least, the “purse sized” package of tissues and a bag of bandaids. We don’t go through a lot of Band Aids in our house; I guess we’re not bloody folk around here. However, I have a plethora of cute, impulse purchased character bandaids. My children are now at the age that they would probably bleed to death rather than use a Spiderman bandaid, but dammit, I still have a full box of them. The solution, as I see it, is to keep them in my bag for playground emergencies as I am the Official Playground Bandaid Mom. Some child is always wiping out and nothing calms a sobbingly hysterical child like a Phineas and Ferb or Angry Birds bandaid for the teensy scrape on their knee. Just yesterday I supplied a Transformers bandaid to a little girl who had burst a blister while playing on the monkey bars; I had sold it as a Scooby Doo one but she was satisfied with Bumblebee.

I should note that my friend Lyn gave me Hello Kitty bandaids a few years ago and I share them with NO ONE. I love them so much, I’m practically TRYING to slice my hand on the grater.

This concludes the tour of my bag. Want to play along? What’s in your bag?

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Speaking of bags, I have a bag of goodies for the winner of the giveaway, Nicole Sandblom. It was hard finding a bag that would fit the 4L of vinegar, but I did it. I kid! I kid! Congrats, Nicole, and thanks for playing, everyone!

I AM Lady Mary!

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Did you know that Bill Clinton is vegan? Probably you did, but it was news to me. Between him and Justin Timberlake I feel like I can make a case to my husband that not all vegans are crazy hobos. Now, how to get them to start reading my Yummy Mummy blog…although chances are neither of them are actually in the kitchen preparing their own quinoa.

Yesterday I was walking the dog and I met up with an older woman who I often see at the offleash. We chatted for a while and I mentioned something about the boys. She looked a bit taken aback and asked me how old my children are; when I answered she told me that she was shocked because she thought I was a 21 year old university student. That was both startling and flattering, although I did wonder a teensy bit if she is in need of cataract removal. In any event I shall take a compliment however it comes.

It is ridiculous, but I’m really into those Buzzfeed quizzes right now. Apparently the actress most suited to play me in the movie version of my life is Emma Stone. Emma Stone! I wonder who the other options are and also how boring a movie about my life would be. Hoo boy! I can’t imagine that being a box office smash. According to Buzzfeed I am also a saucy combination of Lady Mary, Brigette Bardot, and R2D2. I actually think I’m more of a C-3P0 than R2 but let’s not split hairs here.

The other day I was at the hair salon, reading In Style and thinking such intellectual thoughts such as I thought Sarah Jessica Parker already HAD a shoe line, and Eva Longoria looks better without bangs. I came across this advertisement for Guess jeans and I was completely disoriented as to the date of publication.

Guess

 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not out to judge anyone, mostly because I probably did have a (less-cleavage-revealing) outfit like this in the early nineties. Admit it, you did too. But in this day and age! Have we learned nothing? Are we doomed to repeat the same fashion mistakes over and over? Denim.Overall.Shorts. What is next for humanity? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.

Not to mention the return of the high waisted pants. They are everywhere. Witness this evidence from my local mall:

highwaist jumper YOgapants

 

We are mere moments away from tapestry vests and pleated jeans, mark my words. ONE DAY SOON we will be going out for girls’ night out and it’s going to look like this:

 

mom-jeans

 

Speaking of nine-inch zippers, it’s almost my wedding anniversary! We will have been married for twelve years, which – thank you, Lynn, for pointing this out – is our silk/ linen anniversary. I wonder if my husband would like a silk shirt, circa 1991. I’m going to go ahead and guess NO on that one. The modern gift for the twelfth anniversary is pearl. Heh. Feels like it has all the makings of a good dirty joke but I shall refrain. However, notice the jewelry I’m wearing here:

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Don’t mess with the bull, young man. You’ll get the horns.

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I heard on the radio this morning that there has been some kind of significant study showing that yelling at your kids is just as bad – if not WORSE – than spanking them. Well, then. This is one of those hot button, easily misinterpreted studies, in my mind. Of course no one wants to belittle their children or destroy their self-esteem. Of course no one should yell demeaning or insulting things at their children, but I think there’s a difference between, say, Shut the fuck up you stupid kid! and Don’t touch the stove! but according to the woman being interviewed, there IS NO DIFFERENCE. Instead of losing your shit because your child almost grabbed a pot of boiling water off the stove, you should tell them calmly not to do that and remove them from the kitchen. WELL THEN.

I guess I just may as well have taken my blacksnake whip – remember Farmer Boy? Badass Mr. Wilder and his blacksnake whip. – to all the children at the playground today because I yelled at a whole group of them. Perhaps yelling is too strong a word. I spoke VERY SHARPLY to them, including my own children and their friends, because there was an icy snowball-throwing incident and Jake took one to the face. I VERY SHARPLY informed the children that they were not to throw snowballs, especially not in this weather with the “snowballs” being chunks of gritty ice-like snow. “If this behaviour continues,” I said in a loud, sharp voice, “I will go and tell the principal. I DO NOT THINK YOU WANT ME TO TELL THE PRINCIPAL, DO YOU?” Then I pointed my gigantic mitten clad hand at the group of them, who looked at me wide eyed and silent, and turned and walked away.

As I was walking away, I heard one of them say “That was the book fair lady.” Don’t cross the book fair lady, children.

Ah, but if this study is correct I may as well have beaten them all with sticks, or a blacksnake whip. No matter! The snowball throwing ceased immediately, and so I CARE NOT. The end more than justified the means, in my opinion.

The weather finally has broken, so my constant humming of Hold on for one more day has really paid off. Today I did not feel like I was going to die while walking the dog; I put on my pretty winter boots instead of my Joan-of-Arctic Sorels. I am full of light and optimism. This is a good thing because yesterday I feared for my sanity. I dropped the boys off at their karate practice and went to Superstore. At 5:00 on a Thursday. Since when did my personal judgement get so flawed? This was a terrible idea. All I needed, really, was a couple of eggplants and a tube of bubblegum-flavoured toothpaste. The self-checkout was filled with imbeciles with giant carts full of, apparently, only produce and bakery items. My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. Please wait for an attendant. Please wait for an attendant. I almost shoved people out of the way to do it myself. “NO! NO! DON’T PUT IT ON THE SCALE UNTIL IT ASKS YOU TO!”

It’s probably a good thing I didn’t. Yelling at someone for their incompetence with the self-checkout would surely be damaging to their self-esteem. In any case, it’s Friday, and I’m ready to crack open a bottle of wine and watch a few episodes of Downton Abbey. Happy weekend, everyone! xo

 

You’re also never fully dressed without eight pounds of clothing.

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On Monday it warmed up all the way to minus 17, so I carpe diemed the hell out of that and took the dog for a walk. Poor fluffster, it’s been a while since he’s had a proper walk, and it probably will be a while before he gets a proper walk, because two minutes into it I started considering what kind of fashion statement wearing a balaclava would make. On the plus side, I wouldn’t feel like I would die by face-freezing; on the minus side, it would totally ruin my makeup. I eventually abandoned the idea; vanity, as usual, winning out over practicality.

The winter has been so long and so cold that I have entirely lost perspective about the weather. A few people have mentioned that it’s “March” and so it should be “springlike already” which filled me with bemusement. Isn’t March still winter? Isn’t it always this cold? I truly cannot remember what “other seasons” are like. It has come to the point that I apparently think, with all honesty, that it is always this cold and it will never get warm, forever and ever, amen. I met up with an elderly German man at the off-leash park, who told me that he has been in this city for fifty-eight years and he can only remember three other winters that were like this. Well, I guess that proves me wrong. I shall not cross the friendly elderly German man. I expect he knows what he’s about.

Someone just reminded me that Daylight Savings Time starts this weekend. I need offer no further comment.

Ah, but resistance is futile, isn’t it? We cannot change the weather and – unfortunately for all involved – we cannot change the mandate for Daylight Savings Time. No – really, we can’t. Lord knows I’ve tried, if complaining and rabble rousing on this blog counts as “trying”. ENOUGH OF THE BELLYACHING, as my long-suffering mother would say, possibly in response to some kind of teenage angst or similar, as I moped around the house in my Depeche Mode concert t-shirt.

There are some people who claim that winter is their very favourite season, and while I applaud anyone hardy enough to fully enjoy the season’s frigid splendors, I really have a hard time understanding. I want to understand, but I cannot. I understand fall lovers: the leaves and crisp air, the promise of Christmas around the corner. I understand spring lovers: the sprigs of green, the buds on the trees, the mild air and freshness. Of course I understand summer lovers, being one myself: the ease of getting dressed in the morning, the warmth and unscheduled days. However, I shall try to understand the winter people by remembering all the lovely things I enjoy about our 6-8-month-long winters. I toyed with the idea of making a Nicole’s Favourite Things post, but then I remembered that these things are not exactly my favourite. The Nicole’s Favourite Things posts cannot contain lies!

Nicole’s Not-Favourite-But-They’re-Okay Things, Frigid Winter Edition

1) Since it’s too cold for the kids to play outside, I haven’t been standing in the playground, shivering, for an hour after school.

2) Since it’s too cold to do much of anything, I am super productive in the housewifely arts. I am kicking ass and taking names, if by “kicking ass and taking names” you mean “accomplishing a lot of domestic tasks in record time”. Yesterday I had baked a banana bread and washed the floors before 8:00 am.

3) Inspired by Allison I tackled the boys’ sock/underwear/pajama drawers today. They haven’t closed properly in months. Mark’s drawer was more in need of reorganization than actual purging, but Jake’s was full of treasures: four newborn infant hats, a bib, socks that had a Transformers motif, circa 2010, two pairs of size five pajamas, and three pairs of Hot Wheels underwear, possibly from his kindergarten year. Tomorrow we tackle the t-shirt drawers!

4) Baking in this weather makes the house feel warm and cozy; it also smells terrific and as an added bonus, I can leave the oven door slightly ajar after the baked goods are done and warm my frozen purple hands over it, making me feel like Laura Ingalls coming in from twisting hay, but without the starvation and chamber pots. My hands are chapped just like hers, and I bought a pretty new fig-and-shea-butter cream for them. You all know how I love a new beauty product.

5) Aubergine is THE hot new colour this year, and although I don’t see myself wearing it, my hands are naturally on-trend!

6) I love the look of long sweaters, tall boots, and skinny jeans. Not only is it a saucy look, but long sweaters also nicely conceal the muffin top resultant from indulging in so much baking.

7) There’s no need to worry about sunscreen!

8) I do like a good bowl of soup, which I don’t bother with in the summer. Unless of course it’s a typical Calgary summer with chill temperatures. Soup: the all-season gustatory pleasure of my hometown.

9) Walking while wearing my heavy winter boots is akin to walking with 1980s-style ankle weights. It’s like I’m having a retro workout every day!

10) When the sun is out it’s actually really pretty. Not as pretty as, say, green grass and flowers, but pretty.

Barkley3

Barkley doesn’t mind the cold. He’s furry!

In the spirit of keeping one’s expectations low so one will not be disappointed, I’ve been avoiding the weather forecast. However, I keep hearing that warmer weather is coming “soon” and I’m holding on to that “soon” like it’s the key to the universe’s secrets. SOON. Soon it will get warmer. I don’t know what “soon” means but maybe if I channel my inner Wilson Phillips and my inner invincible summer, I can hold on for one more day. Don’t you know, don’t you know things can change, things can go my way if I HOOOOLLLLD on for ONE MORE DAY.

You’re never fully dressed without a smile.

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This morning I was shopping for random things like Vitamin D pills, toothpaste, compost bags, 12 boxes of tissues, and socks for the boys. I had quite a cartful of items and after I finished unloading them I noticed the woman in front of me, who was purchasing only three things: two bottles of Midol and a giant bag of Cadbury Mini-Eggs. I wished I could take a photo; it was quite a powerful still-life image.

I was flipping through a magazine and I came across one of those weight-loss advertisements, and it really struck me – not for the first time – that those kind of photos are not a true representation of what a person really looks like. In any kind of weight-loss or makeover advertisement, the “before” photo almost always shows a slumped-over, unsmiling person wearing unflattering clothing; in the “after” photo the person has makeup on, a wind machine blowing her hair, and some gorgeous outfit that not only shows off the newly svelte figure, in the case of weight-loss, but is also a flattering cut and colour. This isn’t a news flash, of course, but it does make one think about how one presents oneself to the world.

I am fairly confident that I would not be described, by most people at least, as a bitch. I make exceptions for ex-boyfriends and that ex-friend who ended up ending our friendship over an ex-boyfriend who she then married. But I don’t waste time thinking about those people’s opinions; generally I would say I am a non-bitchy personality, even when I’m the one in need of two bottles of Midol and a giant bag of Cadbury mini-eggs. I do, however, suffer from Bitchy Resting Face Syndrome.

Don’t believe me? That’s because nearly every picture of me in existence is one in which I’m smiling. If I know there’s a camera in the vicinity, I will consciously smile a lot because of BRFS; on the off chance that there’s a non-smiling photo of me, I will delete it if it is in my power to do so. And you know what, smiling is a good thing. People smile at you if you’re smiling. After all, we don’t walk around with the desire to look like our passport photos, do we? At least I don’t. My passport photo is hideous, although it’s not totally the fault of my Bitchy Resting Face. I was also having a Bad Hair Day that day.

Want to see a dramatic makeover? Here is a photo of me that I took Saturday morning, before I even washed my face or brushed my hair, wearing my grey fleece pajamas:

Before

WHO’S THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL. I know, right? I look like I’m 100 years old and haven’t slept in weeks, and I had just woken up from eight and a half hours sleep. Look away, I’m hideous.

After2

This is the difference that a smile (and makeup and hair styling) can make. Now add sunglasses to hide the wrinkles and bright lighting to wash away the forehead lines:

incar

  So there you have it. My beauty advice for the day. Smile. And add a little lipstick, because you never know who you might meet.

Copy (1) of Jim Cuddy

Shamelessly gratuitous shot of that one time I met Jim Cuddy.

 

I think hell just did freeze over.

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I woke up this morning and it was minus thirty with windchill, and all I could think while I watched the weather report was at least I’m not in Regina. Or Flin Flon. Because minus 49 – which is the temperature in those places – is really really cold. We all have to look on the bright side, and speaking of which, it is the last week of February. How did that happen? This afternoon I’m setting up the book fair, and then running it for the next few days, and then doing all the paperwork and counting all the money and generally revelling in my unpaid but much lauded career as the Book Fair Lady.

Way, way back in the eighties, I was a candy-striper at a nursing home. During my time of bringing cheer to the elderly, I would play old-timey music on the piano for the Sing-Along hour. To this day I have a vast knowledge of songs that were popular between WWI and WWII, proven when I started singing “If You Were The Only Girl In The World” while watching Downton Abbey with my husband. “How do you KNOW that song?” he asked, slightly aghast. I am an onion full of layers, my dear. The old people used to go nuts over that song, as well as “It Had To Be You” and “A Shanty in Shantytown”.

Speaking of interesting musical performances, my kids’ recorder performance is tomorrow, as well as – apparently – Russian dancing and some other musical numbers. I’m not quite sure what exactly is going on, except that Jake has informed me he is in a dance number set to “Rasputin” and Mark told me he’s hoping to play the bass xylophone. Suffice it to say I’m PRETTY excited to attend tomorrow’s performance. Somewhat relatedly, the children have informed me that they need to wear their Olympics shirts and/ or an outfit that represents their country of origin and so I’m assuming there will be some kind of international celebration, culminating in a recorder performance of Hot Cross Buns. Mark told me that he is very nervous for the performance, because his class is, he says, “terrible” at the recorder. How terrible can Hot Cross Buns be? I shall report back.

GoCanada

My husband was watching the CBC (sign of age: when you refer to it as “the” CBC) and there was a special segment about the men’s curling team. I made him stop and rewind because THE LADY WILL HAVE TWO TICKETS TO THE GUN SHOW, PLEASE. Is it me, or have curlers changed their image significantly? In my day, curlers did NOT look like that. The ladies are quite lovely too; they used to sport “mom” haircuts and now they are all young and dazzling. I guess I should say “old-lady” haircuts since we are the moms now. This is our hair. “Mom” is not a synonym for “lame”, not anymore!

Speaking of which, I read that Kate Middleton is being criticized about her hair; apparently it’s “too long” and “looking bedraggled”. Um, what? Other than her dreadful Official Portrait, I don’t think there has ever been a bad picture of the duchess. Her hair especially is lovely. Apparently the criticism is largely coming from Camilla Parker-Bowles who is a) apparently taking her role of mother-in-law to a cliched unfriendly level, and b) a Very Bad Person and a Homewrecker, according to my late grandmother, who thought she was the devil incarnate. What I’m saying is, DON’T LISTEN TO HER, KATE. You look gorgeous. Also, I wish I had your wardrobe. Not that it would be very practical to wear Manolos to the book fair, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

Rising up, back on the street.

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This morning I finally could breathe through my nose, and so I went to yoga for the first time since Sunday. When I was driving home, Eye of the Tiger was playing on the radio. It felt appropriate. I feel like I should play it on a continuous loop over the next few days as I prepare for Book Fair and all that entails. Rising up to the challenge of our rival and all that.

Not only am I running the Book Fair next week, but my children’s classes are hosting an assembly, in which they are going to play recorders. I cannot imagine just how badly this is going to go. The kazoo performance was one thing, but both boys have mentioned that they – and their classmates – are not very good at the recorder, which seems like an understatement of the largest order. I’m starting to be concerned for the music teacher’s mental health. The very few times that the boys have actually practiced the recorder at home have ended with the dog whimpering in his crate and me reaching for the wine bottle. Of course, the other day I was singing a spirited rendition of The Greatest Love of All and the dog ran and hid in his crate, which I am going to assume was just a coincidence. I went the distance, and I’m not going to stop.

The recorder, though. I know of only one person who has actually enjoyed her child playing the recorder, and I’m fairly certain that child has much, much more musical talent than the vast majority of children. In general it is truly a wretched instrument, which is not to say that I do not understand why the recorder is so widely used by elementary music teachers everywhere. It’s light, inexpensive, and appropriate for small hands and YET. One year I was running the Book Fair in the room beside the music room, and I heard recorder music for the entire day, to the detriment of my sanity. I hope that doesn’t happen next week. I’m just a girl with a will to survive.

The other day I came across an article that declared high waisted jeans are the biggest trend for this spring and I died a little on the inside. There has to be a happy medium between showing the world that you really do need a bikini wax and waistbands that end just below your ribcage. Why, world, why? We ladies of a certain age remember donning our high waisted jeans with our bodysuits underneath to head out to the bar to go what is now called “clubbing”, shaking our amply-denim-covered booties to I Saw The Sign and I Like To Move It Move It. We don’t need to relive those days, at least not with such unflattering clothes. Don’t lose your grip on your dreams from the past, but there’s no need to fight just to keep them alive.

Speaking of unflattering fashions, the other day I was in the mall and I saw this:

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I wonder if it’s a hot seller. It might be nice for wearing while jogging and singing Eye of the Tiger, which is something I should keep in mind in the unlikely event that I take up jogging. Although maybe it’s meant for evening loungewear? I don’t really know. Stalking prey in the night.