Category Archives: Festivities

Mayday! Mayday!

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

The Royal Wedding, or The Reason I’m Going To A 2:30 a.m. Tea Party

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So THE wedding is tomorrow and I’m sure I’m not the only person bourgeois and/or pedestrian enough to be excited about it.  Hey, I’m a Canadian girl.  One of my fondest memories is when, thirty years ago, my grandma woke me up at four in the morning to watch The Wedding with her, and although that marriage was clearly doomed and also somewhat of a sham, it was endlessly fascinating to me.  I was completely enamoured with Princess Diana and for years after I received something Diana-related for every birthday and Christmas: glossy coffee table books outlining her (somewhat frumpy) fashions, Royal Family scrapbooks, and a paper doll book, the (somewhat frumpy) clothing I patiently, painstakingly, cut out with safety scissors.  Do you remember how many lace points were on her wedding dress?  I cut every single one of them out with safety scissors. 

So of course I’m going to get up early to watch the wedding.  In fact, a very sweet friend of mine is having a 2:45 am tea party to commemorate the occasion.  My grandma phoned me last week and mentioned that one of her Red Hatter friends is coming over in the wee hours to watch with her, so I feel the circle has been completed. 

As an aside, my grandma is one of those people who thrives on very little sleep, even now.  When I was a kid, I could get up at any time of the night, and my grandma would be at her dining room table, smoking and drinking coffee and doing a crossword puzzle.  There was always something very comforting about that.  I think it would be the same now, except my grandma quit smoking – cold turkey – after more than six decades of being a heavy smoker.  An amazing woman, the strongest woman I know. 

I love weddings.  I love them in spite of all the icky, anti-feminist, bride-as-a-piece-of-property-being-passed-along traditions that are at any wedding.  I just try not to think much about such traditions.  If you think too much about them you might just go crazy deciphering the fertility symbols, virgin-whites, and property-exchange that are at the bottom of most wedding rituals.  It’s better just to sit back and enjoy the happiness and wedding cake.

One of my husband’s young colleagues is getting married in a couple of months.  I wanted to pass along my completely unsolicited advice for any bride who may be enduring typical bridal stress regarding flower arrangements and centrepieces.  There are only three things anyone will remember at a wedding: what the bride looked like, if the food was good, and if there were too many speeches or bad dance music.  Those are the only three things that brides really need to concern themselves with, in my opinion.  I remember one wedding I attended where the very drunk best man monopolized the microphone for thirty-five minutes, telling incredibly inappropriate and frankly, pretty gross stories about the groom.  I was at another wedding in which they had an open mike.  Future brides, take note: this is a very bad idea.  Especially if open mike is combined with open bar. 

But I’m sure Kate is probably stressed about more than those three things given that she is going to be a) filmed and photographed within an inch of her life and b) marrying the future King of England.  Also, she is the subject of much artwork.  I am amazed at the sheer volume of artwork and commemorative items cropping up depicting the two of them, and sometimes, creepily, the three of them, if you include the late Princess Diana.  Some of this artwork is lovely, of course, but some?  I am the least artistic person in the world; if I were to draw a picture of the happy couple it would be a stick man and woman, with maybe an apple tree in the background.  But some of this artwork is so truly horrendous it is actually kind of kitchy.  Quilts!  Dolls!  Tea cozies!  Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t seen an engagement portrait made entirely out of spray-painted macaroni noodles, with Princess Di floating in the background.

There is one commemorative item I am truly dying to have: Crown Jewels Commemorative Condoms.  Their slogan is Lie Back and Think of England.  I mean, how absolutely great is that?  I especially love the disclaimer at the bottom:

Crown Jewels Royal Wedding Souvenir Condoms are not supplied to, or approved by, Prince William of Wales, Catherine Middleton or any member of the Royal Family.
Crown Jewels Royal Wedding Souvenir Condoms are a novelty condom not suitable for contraception or protection against STDs 
 

Duly noted.

Celebrity, Marky Mark, and the Big Egg Hunt

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I was at the grocery store on the weekend, picking up only a couple of items and scanning them through the self-checkout lane when one of the cashiers, a fairly young guy, ran up to me excitedly.  “I saw you on CBC!” he said.  “I was watching the hockey game and then you were on TV!  On the news!  I said to my buddies, I know that woman, she’s in Co-Op all the time!”  Clearly I spend a lot of time buying groceries.  I gathered up my bananas and dinner rolls, fairly pleased with my one minute of fame and also pleased that the video clip came from a separate interview a day after my unexpectedly videoed, bad-haired radio interview.
Often I think being a celebrity, despite the fact that celebrity often means fabulous wealth and personal chefs, would be very difficult.  It would be hard on even the strongest ego to see oneself on the cover of Star magazine or similar with circles around one’s belly or buttocks, highlighting cellulite or “Is She Pregnant?” bulge.  Having a personal chef would be pretty amazing though.  It would eliminate the “what’s for dinner/ spaghetti again?/ if I have to chop any more carrots I’m going to stab myself” boredom we all go through.  Or I go through.
Speaking of celebrities, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on Mark Wahlberg (MARKY MARK!) and Christian Bale.  Christian Bale, I’ve liked him since he was Laurie in Little Women.  So I have wanted to see The Fighter for a while now, and I actually watched it on the weekend.  It’s an excellent movie, and I really loved it, but I would have to say if I knew what the plotline was prior to seeing the movie, I probably would not have seen it.  Have you seen it?  Christian Bale is a crackhead, which, right there, would have turned me off this film. I make it a general rule not to watch movies that feature a lot of illicit drug use because they are just too sad.  I’m a real escapist at heart.  But – and I really mean this – it is actually kind of a feel-good, happy movie.  Although I was pretty sad that there were very few shots of a shirtless Mark Wahlberg.  I mean, it’s a boxing movie.  I expected a lot of gratuitous, sweaty, shirtless scenes, not unlike the volleyball scene in Top Gun.  Sadly, there were none to be had but I recommend it anyway.  Even if I did spend most of the film saying “Argh!  I hate his mother!  Argh!  I hate those sisters!” 
The weekend was a beautiful one, and you may or may not believe this, but it did not snow!  I know!  An Easter miracle.  It was lovely and sunny and the boys staged several egg hunts in the backyard.  We, traditionally, hide chocolate eggs and candies from the Easter Bunny in the house on Easter morning, but we take our hardboiled coloured eggs outside later in the day, weather permitting.  The boys prefer hiding the eggs for my husband and I to find them.
I love this picture. They look like hobos; Mark with his torn jeans,
Jake with his rubber boots and hat over his eyes. 



Yesterday it continued sunny and mild and the boys asked if they could run through the sprinkler.  At 13 degrees.  I said yes and so they put on their jackets and played in the water until they were soaked and frozen.

Notice that there is still snow in our yard.  My children are a hardy people.

Serendipity

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Do you believe in serendipity?  And I don’t mean the movie, which was fine and all but lady, let me give you a hint here: if John Cusack asks for your phone number, don’t write it on a five dollar bill or in a random book or throw it away.  GIVE HIM YOUR DAMN NUMBER.  It’s John Cusack.  Lloyd Dobler!  One day he could be holding up a ghetto blaster outside your window and it would be the most romantic moment ever.   
Slight digression: did you love Say Anything as much as I did?  I love it nearly – but not quite – as much as I love When Harry Met Sally.  I sigh audibly when I think of that movie.  Oh Lloyd, you adorable slacker, you.  And while I think that John Cusack is some fine drink of water, I actually think that it would be quite irritating to be with someone whose sole ambition is to spend time with me.  I mean, really, I like being adored as much as the next girl, but there are limits to my patience with complete and utter worship.  Not that this is exactly an issue for me, but still.  That movie is fabulous with some truly great lines: “I gave her my heart and she gave me this pen.”  “Joe lies, Joe lies, when he cries.”  Sigh.  Not to mention some great scenes; remember when the guy was singing “The Greatest Love of All” at the graduation ceremony?  They can’t take away MY DIGNITY.
Anyway, back to serendipity.  Friday night we went to the mountains for a night with the kids to celebrate Mark’s birthday and our wedding anniversary, both of which are coming up on Wednesday.  While we were planning this little evening – a  couple of weeks ago –  I called the kennel where I send the dog for boarding, to book him in for a night.  The woman on the phone informed me that she was sorry, but they didn’t take dogs for overnight boarding anymore.  Since this was a Thursday, and only four days earlier I had picked the dog up from that place of business after boarding him there for eleven days, I asked when that policy was in place.  I was informed, rather perkily, that there had been changes in management.
Huh.  Suddenly it all made sense.  When I picked the dog up from boarding there was a strange absence of dogs.  As well, normally after he has been boarded with other dogs, he is completely exhausted like he just got back from the dog version of a Charlie Sheen party, and sleeps almost constantly, but this time he was surprisingly alert and did not seem at all tired.  In fact, for days after he simply sat at my feet and stared at me in a disturbing sort of way.  I realize now he was trying to telepathically communicate with me.  I started wondering what, exactly, had been done or not done with my poor dog, but more than that, I had no idea what to do with the dog for the next time we were going out of town.  In this city, all the big boarding kennels are either a) outside city limits, b) a 45 minute drive away, or c) full of strange and crazy restrictions (Our dogs are allowed to roam free!  If you bring your own food you will be charged excessively!).  The dog boarder that we had used was pretty much perfect; that is, perfect until they stopped boarding dogs while my dog was being boarded.
Later I was picking the kids up from school, and I happened on a friend I hadn’t seen in a while and for some reason it occurred to me to ask her about dog boarding, and it turns out that she has a friend who boards dogs out of her home, not ten minutes away from me.  Score!  So Barkley went there on Friday and I’m happy to report that he is currently passed out like he spent thirty six hours snorting cocaine and having sex with porn stars/hookers and boasting about his Labrador blood.  Serendipity.

It’s a Long Way to Tipperary

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Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  I set out green shirts for the boys to wear this morning, saying “Better wear your green or the leprechauns will pinch you!”  Jake sighed heavily.  “Mom, leprechauns don’t EXIST.”  Ah, the magic of childhood. 

My children may not be enamoured with the magical, but they are enamoured with science, as evidenced by their recent report cards.  Happily, this happens to be right up my alley.  Science experiments are my favourite indoor way to pass the time with the kids, and it’s what I’m guest posting about over at Significantly Simple!

When the lovely Laila and Heather over at Significantly Simple asked me to guest post, I was flattered and a little nervous.  It’s my first guest post ever!  I am losing my guest posting virginity.  It’s just like losing actual virginity but without all the awkwardness and regret. 

Anyway, take a wander over to Significantly Simple and let me know what you think!  xoxo

It says "Let’s BEE Friends!" And there’s a picture of a bee on it.

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This weekend was our neighbourhood’s annual outdoor party, complete with skating, tobogganing, and barbeque, and by some incredible good fortune, the weather was very mild, making it a perfect day.  Mark built a snowman with his dad:
I’m basking in the glory of a snowman, whose existence I did not assist in.

Cute, right?  Until his head was knocked off by some random child, the evil murderer.

Good times.  I also baked and decorated FIVE DOZEN cookies, which I tried to photograph in an arty kind of way but either my camera lacks the proper arty settings or I lack talent in photography.  Either way, here is my non-artistic take:

Mark made me a Valentine yesterday:

So very sweet.  Not only does it include Valentine’s stickers, he also used some cute ones left over from Christmas.  Then Jake came home from school today with this:

You may not be able to tell, because of my awesome photography, but the front of the card says BEE MINE.  And there is a bee on it.  I can now die happy because – and I am not joking or being ironic in any way – I have always wanted a Valentine with a bee, saying BEE MINE, or alternately, Let’s BEE Friends!  So between those cards and the fact that my husband went to the grocery store specifically to buy me a mint chocolate truffle bar, this is the greatest Valentine’s Day ever. 

When the boys gave me their sweet offerings, I thought of that Tiger Mom and her rejection of the homemade birthday card, and in case you are unaware of this newsworthy story, the Tiger Mom’s family had forgotten it was her birthday until the very last minute, and one of her daughters made her a quick, last minute card.  The Tiger Mom was repulsed by this shabby offering and informed her daughter that she deserved better.  It was not good enough.  CARD REJECTED.  I have mixed feelings about this.  If my family forgot my birthday – which is unlikely to ever happen given that a) my husband is not a dick and he knows how much I love birthdays, and b) I practically institute a countdown and wear a sandwich board in the weeks prior to my birthday – I would be extremely angry and disappointed.  But a mother rejecting a child’s artistic endeavours is abhorrent to me. 

I, like the Tiger Mom, have high expectations of my children.  I expect them to behave well and be polite, kind, and respectful; I expect them to do well in school and do their homework and reading every day; I expect them to do their chores in the house and keep their rooms neat.  I think all of those things are reasonable.  But saying to a child that a card that they made is “not good enough” is akin, in my mind, to saying “YOU are not good enough”.  And that is a tragedy.

But on a happier note, Happy Valentine’s Day to you, my dear readers!  Let’s BEE friends!  Bzzz.