Category Archives: Fleeting Time

Dog and (Social) Butterfly

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Although I have seen all of the Feuding Dog Park Men separately a few times, I have not seen them all together since The Incident, and I’m able to give them a nod and closed-lip Mona Lisa smile without being drawn into conversation with any of them. I did, however, get knocked off my feet by a large hound who, inexplicably, came running full speed into the back of my knees. I actually had some air time before landing on my left hip and right elbow and I am going to be grateful for my sons for nagging me about strength training, because I broke nothing. My hip still hurts, a few weeks later, but my doctor’s warning about osteoporosis was not for nothing; I guess my bones aren’t crumbling, thanks to my loathed-but-practiced strength routine and, probably, calcium-rich smoothies. The owner of the hound, a slow-moving elderly man, was horrified and apologetic, and Rex will not let the hound get within ten feet of me. When that dog is at the park, Rex is by my side, barking and growling if the dog gets too close.

Other than that, Rex is very friendly and playful with all the dogs we meet, particularly a three-legged doodle delightfully named Trio, and an actual trio of Bernese mountain dogs. His people! He’s halfway to being part of the group! Also, imagine what that owner’s house, back yard, and monthly dog food bill looks like. God bless, is all I can say.

Speaking of his people, we saw Rex’s doppleganger, Willie the other day, and it was just as cute as the first time. Rex’s social life has been very good of late.

A loose goal that I had created for myself on moving here and starting a new life with very few constraints or commitments was that I would say yes to everything I could, in terms of social engagements and new experiences. So far, this has really paid off in meeting new people, reconnecting and deepening my existing friendships, and generally making my life a lot fuller and more fun.

The past ten days have been a whirlwind of social activity, including a Girl’s Night at my house, a party at which I went in knowing zero people but ended up having a great time, and a mid-week visit from my parents. Having houseguests, sandwiched by parties, has been very fun and feels like a holiday, with big meals and lots of wine and dessert. Now, am I tired today and possibly in need of a cleanse and a liver detox? Yes I am. Do I desperately need to catch up on regular life, including massive amounts of laundry? Yes I do.

After these years of pandemic living followed by several months of packing and moving stress, I feel like my social life, along with everyone else’s on this planet, has taken a massive hit. I recently stumbled across an article about how having kids ruins your social life, and it felt like reading about a whole different world, one I could barely remember, with small children and playgrounds and simmering resentment between parents and non-parents. Clearly I am not the demographic for the original piece, which was written by, I believe, a woman in her thirties living the New York child-free lifestyle, ruing the changes in her friendships, but I read the entire article nonetheless, with interest similar to that of a social anthropologist examining an exotic group of people.

I do think that having children does vastly change one’s social life, for the simple reason that it is very difficult to go anywhere or do anything with small children, but in a way it actually improves one’s social life, as it is so easy to meet people when you have similar-aged children. If I was a woman, like the article’s author, going out five days a week in New York City, clubbing and eating at new restaurants, having leisurely boozy brunches on Sunday mornings, then I would absolutely agree that children wreck everything. Imagine paying for a babysitter for all those parties and taking small children to a fancy brunch; that would be nightmarish and expensive. However, even in my twenties I wasn’t a person who went out clubbing five days a week and now, close to fifty, the idea of going clubbing at all sounds dreadfully exhausting. Maybe if the club started at 2pm and ended at 7 I would be interested, but I’m fairly sure no such thing exists outside of nursing homes.

All of which is to say it isn’t my children that have suffocated my social life; if anything, the vast majority of my Calgary friends were ones who I met simply by having kids in the public school system; there was always a committee or school trip that needed volunteers, and of course, I was friends with the moms of my kids’ friends. So I did wonder what would happen, moving here, when I didn’t have school aged kids or a yoga studio or any of my other Meeting People Situations to rely on, that I have had my whole life. I wondered if I would have a hard time meeting people but so far this has not been the case; I have already met so many fun and interesting people who have been open and welcoming. Perhaps they too are tired of Lame Pandemic Social Lives and are willing to embrace new people; it sure feels that way.

Weekly Reading

Hello Beautiful. I do not have sisters, so I have always been fascinated by sisterly relationships and dynamics. I also love a book that has complicated families and strong female characters, and I did like this book. However – and this is a Me Problem, not necessarily a This Book Problem – it is a modern retelling of Little Women, and I am NOT a fan of the modern retelling of anything, particularly when it comes to a beloved-by-me classic. I have read Little Women a few dozen times; it was a very formative book for me as a child, and I have reread it many times as an adult. And so I will say that this coloured the book for me, and not in a positive way. I felt like it tried to draw too many parallels to Little Women in too many obvious ways, although I did like the portrayal of the parents. Louisa Alcott’s father was much loved by her but famously useless; he was a friend of Thoreau (do NOT get me started on that guy, I cannot EVEN with Thoreau), and he burned through their money, necessitating Louisa’s very hard and constant work so he could basically Find Himself, and I felt that the fictional portrayal in Hello Beautiful was spot on. I also liked that the author took Marmee’s hidden anger and unhid it, in the portrayal of the girls’ mother. Overall I liked this book but didn’t love it, however, your mileage may vary.

My parents’ visit was timed to coincide with my younger son’s 18th birthday. I am officially a Mother of Adults, which makes me feel very Adultish myself. Landslide, etcetera. I read somewhere, years ago, that adolescence exists to help kids make the break into adulthood, but I think it must also exist to serve mothers too. I really loved – and still love, both boys are still in their teens – the teen years, and it’s an extremely satisfying feeling to know that I’ve shepherded them all this way and now I can step back. I mean, I guess I have been gradually stepping back throughout their adolescence, but it feels different now. Your children are not your children is something I think about a lot, especially these days.

So it truly feels like a whole new chapter, and there is more news to come after this week, which is going to be so hectic and busy. More about that later, and in the meantime, I hope you all have a beautiful week. xo

The Bear Necessities

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There are so many ways in which Younger Nicole would not recognize Current Nicole, and one of those ways has to do with animal care; specifically, I am now a person who brushes her dog’s teeth. Fourteen years with Barkley and it would have never occurred to me to have a tiny toothbrush and a tube of beef-flavoured paste; I just gave him a Greenie and called it a day. About six months ago, the vet told me that Rex had a fairly significant case of gingivitis and plaque buildup, particularly for a dog who was only TWO, and it seemed my Greenie routine was just not cutting it anymore. And so, every day in the late afternoon I brush his teeth using encouraging words like look at you, you’re so good, yay, and then I send him outside with a special dental treat to chew on. It’s pretty much the only time during the day he’s not within six feet of me for more than five minutes. He’s known as Mom’s Bodyguard for a reason, people, and that reason is that he doesn’t want me out of his sight for a moment, whether that be to shower or to refill a glass.

Last week he was out with his dental treat and I suddenly heard barking, which was very unusual, and the bark itself was very strange. I went on the deck to see what was up and lo and behold, not a hundred feet from me and just beside my mother-in-law’s yard was a huge black bear.

Well! That will get the heart pumping. I got Rex inside the house, and phoned my mother-in-law, who didn’t answer her cell or her landline. Finally when I saw the bear was gone I sent my son over to tell her the news. It turns out that she had been moving the sprinkler on her lawn, not fifty feet from the bear, but out of my sightline, completely unaware of the furry existence. I found the whole thing a bit stressful but after some REM Y REM, I came to the following conclusions: a) bear sightings are commonplace in this area, and will only be more so due to the fires, b) with all these sightings there have been exactly zero bear attacks on people or dogs over the years, and c) at this time of year bears are really only interested in maintaining and increasing their zaftig figures, so the likelihood of a bear turning away from the grapes to maul my dog is near zero, if not actually zero. We may have to revise c) in the spring, but let’s live in the present. Also, Rex was smart enough to stay near the house, rather than bounding over to see if there was a new friend who came to visit, which has been my worry since last fall, when my mother-in-law continuously sent a slew of texts with bear photos from the neighbourhood. Am I going to be living in the actual wilderness? I would think to myself, looking out the window to see Rex wandering through the fenced yard in my suburban oasis.

I have two very vivid, fearful memories from my early childhood, and the first is looking at a motion lamp my grandparents had that depicted a forest fire, like this one. I oscillated between fascination and fear, looking at that lamp, which I think we can all agree is a little bit weird. Home decor that showcases the devastation of a forest fire? I mean, it’s yet another reason I won’t watch Bambi. When I was in the first grade, there was a visit from firefighters who told us all about fire safety, and one, probably well-meaning but misguided firefighter casually mentioned that we all needed to have a exit plan in case of fire, since every single person will be involved in a fire in their lifetime. EVERY ONE OF US. Pro-tip: never tell a child something like this, particularly one with a vivid imagination. I spent many nights lying awake, planning the fire escape route from our bungalow, wondering when, exactly, I would need to put this plan in place. In my six-year-old mind, this fire safety visit meant that we were all going to die in a fiery inferno, perhaps soon, and thus began my lifelong fear of fire. With the exception of birthday candles, I will not light a candle in my house, so help me god. A few of the yoga studios I taught at had little tea lights burning all the time, and I would immediately extinguish them before starting class, so worried was I that someone would catch fire during a vinyasa. This fear wasn’t completely unfounded as once a woman came in to the lobby and the fringes of her scarf grazed a candle as she nonchalantly removed her boots, eliciting a very non-zen shriek from me, behind the desk, as I pummeled her scarf on the table.

The second fearful memory is very fuzzy, literally and figuratively, and has to do with a movie that must have been on television playing in the background while I dressed up my paper dolls, wondering if I could pair those heels with this skirt, or if flats would be better. This movie, which I have since deduced must have been the 1976 film Grizzly, featured a rampaging, human-eating grizzly bear. I would never have watched an entire non-Muppet-or-animated film as a child, but I clearly recall viewing a scene in which a woman and child were hiding in a cabin, ostensibly believing themselves safe from becoming dinner, when a bear claw slid underneath the cabin door. I’m sure it ended in their deaths, but at that point I stopped watching and just started screaming hysterically, probably to my long-suffering mother’s exhausted chagrin. Wasn’t she just playing with her paper dolls a second ago? That scene is so indelible in my mind that when I saw it again while babysitting years later, again on a background television, I gasped out loud and went to check on my tiny sleeping charge, just in case a grizzly slid its claw under the door to break it down, without my knowledge.

The rational, lived-the-vast-majority-of-my-life-outside-the-Rockies me knows there is a big difference between black bears and grizzlies, particularly Jaws, But Make It Bears, fictional kind of grizzlies. Chances are that our visitor is more Baloo than Murder Bear or Governor General Award-Winning Soft Porn Bear, but still.

As an aside: once again, what was happening in the Canadian literature world in 1976?

Anyway. Isn’t it funny that within only six weeks in my new environment, I have faced not one but two of my greatest childhood fears? If, as the lululemon shopping bag says, we should do one thing every day that scares us, I guess I am living my best life just existing here. What’s next? Is someone going to force feed me celery with peanut butter and raisins? I hope not. If anyone is going to eat Ants on a Log, it had better be our Baloo, and involve actual ants on an actual log.

Weekly Reading

An Unquiet Mind. This is a memoir of a woman who has her PhD in psychiatry…and suffers deeply from psychiatric illness. She is what is now known as bipolar disorder but she refers to as manic depressive illness (this was written in 1995). In fact, there is a whole section where she argues against the term bipolar. Anyway, she describes her psychotic breaks, her experience with lithium, and the ethics of treating psychiatric patients when one has a very serious, potentially debilitating mental illness. Some parts are fascinating, others really dragged for me, but mostly I thought it was an educational look into a first-person account of such an illness.

Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls. I posed this question on Instagram to my fellow Sedaris fans: after reading Happy Go Lucky, do you find your rereading of his old essays to be…disturbing? What I mean is, any essay that mentions his father, I see it through a completely different lens, and believe me, even before Happy Go Lucky I found it weird that his father would walk around pants-less constantly, and comment on his daughter’s appearances. Anyway, I thought I’d reread this collection and I enjoyed it significantly less than before, and not just because it contains a few fictional essays, which I tend to dislike due to their over-the-top mean-spiritedness. A friend who had gone to one of his readings responded to my question, and said that you could see his mean-spiritedness come out in his interactions with his fans and with book signings, mental note, never go to a Sedaris book signing. Don’t get me wrong, the essays that hit really hit, and I did find myself laughing out loud at times. It was just less than before and had me wondering if I would feel this way about all his essays.

Calypso. I had to try it. I had to see if I would have the same reaction and I did not. I still love this collection, and the parts about his family – specifically his father and his sister Tiffany, who died by suicide – are moving and nuanced and thoughtful. This has always been my favourite collection and I’m glad it held up for me.

Same Time Next Summer. I really loved this author’s first book, so I was really disappointed with this one. I guess it’s the premise that I really disliked: woman goes back to her childhood summer home with her fiance, runs into “the one that got away,” The One being the guy she dated in high school. Maybe it’s because I just cannot relate; all of the relationships of my youth blew up so spectacularly that I could never fathom ever speaking to any of them again, let alone rekindling lost love. So I didn’t love the storyline and I didn’t love the weird little twists, and I especially didn’t like the fiance painted as the Stiff Wrong Guy who had Serious Opinions on things like wedding invitations and what kind of cake to serve. Show me a guy who has a real vision of what colour of napkins should be used at a wedding reception and I’ll show you a wedding planner. Anyway, your mileage may vary but I thought this was a very silly and trite romance, albeit a quick and easy read.

It’s been a very exciting week at the Boyhouse: my younger son started a full-time job last Monday, my husband came home from two weeks away, and my older son moved into residence at university. All wonderful things, and I’m looking forward to a busy week ahead. But first: enjoying a beautiful Labour Day! I hope you all are having a lovely long weekend. xo

Don’t Worry About A Thing Because Every Little Thing Is Going To Be All Right

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Let Your Love Flow Like A Mountain Stream

Last week I was channeling Miley Cyrus, this week I am all about Bob Marley. It’s been a very busy, very productive week, and – to also channel Melissa Manchester – I think we can make it.

Friends, this is going to sound like the most Out There, Hippie Shit ever, but I made a bit of a mental shift and suddenly, things started magically clicking. Maybe they would have clicked anyway! Maybe this is just a weird coincidence! Maybe our minds have nothing to do with what happens in our lives BUT early last week I was doing my yoga practice and throughout my sun salutations I kept thinking this is what my life is, this is my life, and then as I moved on to standing postures I thought I choose how to respond, and I accept this life and THEN throughout my seated vinyasa and closing I thought of the line in Desiderata, whether or not it is unclear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. I finished my practice, feeling peaceful and zen, and then everything started falling into place. Can that really be a coincidence? Maybe. But also? Maybe not.

My husband and older son drove a truckload of boxes and household items, including all our artwork, to our new house this weekend, leaving only nails and picture hangers, plus an incredible amount of dust on the walls. Did you know that the walls behind your pictures and artwork get very dusty? They do! In any case, I was absolutely astounded by the sheer amount of things my husband squeezed into his truck, and am now feeling much, much better about the move in general and what happens if everything doesn’t fit into the moving van in particular. I also have phoned the moving company not once, but twice, and they have been nothing but wonderfully reassuring, even in the face of my incredibly panicked, probably stupid questions. One such question? How do they make it fit? The women on the phone did not give me an answer like “lube, obvs,” or “that’s what she said” although I kind of wish they did. Instead, they explained, over and over, that the movers were essentially professional Tetris players, and after seeing what my husband – not a professional Tetris player – fit into his regular truck I am definitely feeling more confident.

We are also in the process of donating and selling cheaply a lot of items in the house, which means I was using our neighbourhood Buy Nothing group a lot, and you all know how that goes. My heart strings are pulled by stories of breakups and divorce and children needing items, and when I reach out to those people to arrange for a pickup or drop off? Crickets, they are chirping. I had reached my this is not worth it breaking point, and less than an hour after that the Diabetes Association called to see if I had any donations to be picked up. YES PLEASE, and also, the universe is unfolding as it should, om.

Doctor Doctor Give Me The News

I had two appointments in this past week with two different doctors, and at each appointment I ended up getting into a long, completely non-medical-related conversation. These conversations went on so long that I started to worry about other patients, and if their appointments would be delayed. I kept trying to close off the conversations with a smile and nod, and then they just kept going. What is it about me? I am a chatty person for sure, but there is something about me that seems to encourage long, in-depth conversations with random people, which, don’t get me wrong, I love, but also what about your other patients, you guys?

To illustrate the completely unrelated, non-medical nature of these conversations, one of the doctors talked to me about Snowmobile Culture In Rural Saskatchewan and his Love For Ice Fishing, which led to Bush Parties of Our Youth and Cruising Main Street As A Saturday Night Activity. This conversation was after my regularly-scheduled Pap smear, in which we also discussed Nicole’s Cervix: It’s In An Unusual Spot Which Is Why This Is So Awkward, a conversation we have every single time I get my Pap.

Doctor: I’m so sorry, this must be painful for you.

Me: I’m fine.

Doctor: I’m not! I’m sweating here.

Me: *starts laughing while the speculum is searching in vain for my elusive cervix, makes everything actually painful and even more awkward*

The conversation with the second doctor was my fault entirely. I noticed a photo of a much-younger him crossing a finish line, with a neon sign saying the time was 11 hours and 35 minutes. I asked the doctor if that was an Ironman he competed in, as I couldn’t imagine what else it could be, which started a very long discussion about how it was his first of three, segueing into How The Pandemic Changed Our Exercise Routines, which led to an involved discussion about my love for Peloton and his love of swimming pools and how devastating it was when they closed in 2020, and concluded with his suggestion that I myself compete in an Ironman before I turn fifty. Sir. I think you have grossly overestimated my interest and abilities, flattering as that is. Also flattering is that this doctor informed me that I am the “healthiest person he’s seen in years” and was definitively able to rule out MS as a cause for my constantly-going-numb left foot. Unfortunately, there is no telling why this happens and has happened for five years now, but a diagnosis of Definitely Not MS is really happy news.

Also happy news is that we have a date for the medical procedure for the recently-mentioned health issue, and that date is BEFORE we move. Now, this is the Canadian health care system so anything can happen, but as of now we have a date, we don’t have to think about going back and forth between provinces, and I am just so goddamn grateful.

This Is The End, Beautiful Friend

I wonder if all the community centre’s recent HVAC woes have helped me come to terms with saying goodbye to my beloved yoga classes. I taught my last two classes this week, and I felt very at peace with it. I expected to be very emotional and teary but I wasn’t; I was just happy that I was able to spend so many years at this place, getting to know all my wonderful students. They were so lovely, giving cards and notes and gifts and baking, and only one student burst into tears, which made it easier on me.

Many people have asked if I will teach yoga in my new city, and the answer is I don’t really know. I probably could, and I have a few ideas, but the yoga industry, such as it is, is very different from when I started teaching, what with so many studios closing after and during the pandemic. I advertised to the Calgary yoga community to take over my classes, and my inbox instantly exploded, and each interested potential teacher was incredibly qualified. There are just so many teachers competing for not very many classes, and I feel like the same is true for my new city. It might be time for a pivot!

School’s Out FOREVER

Speaking of pivots, my younger son has his last exam tomorrow, which means we are DONE with the public school system! I am no longer a Mother of School Aged Children, instead I am a Mother of Semi-Functioning Adults. Landslide to infinity.

Weekly Reading

Hold My Girl. Friends, I want so badly to champion every single book written by female Canadian authors, I really really do. I want to tell you to read and support all of them. But this book, well. I didn’t HATE it. I read it to the end because I was invested enough in the story to want to see how it turns out. And on the positive side, it did provoke some interesting thoughts about what makes a parent: is it biology, is it nurture, and is love like a pie that is finite or is it ever-expanding the more people we let in? So the concept – about an IVF mixup that led to two women discovering that the babies they had (one late-term miscarriage, one healthy birth) were not, biologically speaking, their babies – is interesting. The execution, however, was lacking. The story itself is cliched in every way, trite, and the dialogue stilted. And there are so many parts that I thought what, that would never happen, like how the women’s eggs were purposefully switched by the nurse who was a friend of one of the women (what, why), and the doctor revealed the name of each woman to the other without legal representation (what, how) that I just lost the thread a bit. Anyway, it’s fine but I hate that I can’t be more enthusiastic about it.

Buy Yourself The F*cking Lilies. I am not a person who is bothered in the least by swearing, generally, but I have a history of strongly disliking books that have a bleeped out F*ck in the title. If you can’t just say Fuck then just don’t say it, you know? I’m looking at you, Mark Manson and Caroline Dooner. Yes, I know this is a publishing thing but I stand by my anti-f*ck stance. I feel similarly when people use the word “effing” or “fricking.” Say it or don’t say it. And I also had a moment in the first few pages where I thought oh no, I am way too old for this as the author describes waking up in a hungover haze after her 25th birthday when she drunk-dialed her therapist and, although she doesn’t remember it, said she had nothing to live for. But I had heard her interviewed on a podcast and she seemed really lovely, so I gave the book a chance and I am SO glad I did. I really loved this book, which is part memoir, part self-help, part enthusiastic cheerleader. Yes, some of the self-help did not in the least apply to the stage of life I find myself in, but the rest of it was just so cheering, so affirming, and the author herself does so many things that I do personally – make your bed every day, treat yourself in small ways every day, don’t hang out with people who make you feel terrible – that I wondered could I write a book like this? It was truly joyful to read, and I am looking forward to reading her latest.

I am feeling energized and optimistic for the week ahead, like the universe is unfolding as it should. I hope you all have a wonderful week. xo

The Years Are Short

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What an incredible week it’s been! Although I don’t believe Mondays to be a portent of the week to come, last Monday night it poured rain, which settled the smoke in the air. We woke up to blue skies and sunshine, and the ability to take a full breath outside without feeling like this might be the first step to lung disease. I thought this was a sign of a great week, and it was.

Blue skies!

I was especially happy – not just because the smoke was giving me aching muscles and general fatigue, which disappeared immediately after the rain – because we had such a busy and exciting week ahead. My younger son had his graduation ceremony, and all the fun hoopla that comes with it. The ceremony was on Friday, but the kids had to return their gowns immediately afterward, so Thursday after school I photographed my son and his group of friends. There is a group of about ten of them that have been really tight for years – some since kindergarten – so to see them all in their caps and gowns was really wonderful.

It was so much fun; they were all such good sports for their photo shoots, humouring me with silly supermodel poses and changing locations around the school, blowing kisses and posing in a conga line on my cue. “Work it, work it!” I’d say, and then “Frolic through the trees!”

I SAID FROLIC!

I had a belated birthday lunch with my dear friend Tara (HI TARA) on Saturday; both our second children graduated this week and we were discussing the ceremonies. Both our ceremonies had a lot of graduates – there were 691 in my son’s class, and a similar number in her daughter’s – and we both had a feeling of deep gratitude that we could be there and experience it. I had the same feeling last year, when my older son had the first grad ceremony held since 2019.

If there is one gift that the Covid pandemic has given me, it’s extreme gratitude for the ability to celebrate occasions. After the ceremony, one of the moms had arranged a luncheon at a golf club for the boys in their group – the Brentwood Boys, as they are known – plus all the family members and grandparents. She had asked us all to send in photos of the boys throughout the years and then created a slideshow, which was really wonderful and special. There were photos from elementary school, sleepovers, Halloweens, and birthday parties, and, of course, there were a lot from the pandemic. They finished junior high in June of 2020, and we had photographed them all outside, all standing six feet apart, and it was a little sad to see those photos, thinking of the fun things they missed that year. There were so many of those pandemic photos: birthday parties where they had masks on, standing outside, bundled up for the elements, a few of them in my own backyard, with chairs six feet apart and a big bottle of hand sanitizer in the foreground, school lunches every day at a friend’s nearby backyard and garage, even when it was well below freezing, because they weren’t allowed to eat inside the school. These kids have been through a lot and all I could feel was happiness that we were all there together, sharing a meal and laughing and hugging. How incredible to have such friendships over the years. How incredible to be a part of this group.

We moved into this neighbourhood twenty-three years ago, and one of the biggest selling points was that there were schools of all levels within walking distance of home. We had the choice to bus the kids to other, specialty schools, but we really wanted the kids to be able to walk to school and make friends in the neighbourhood. I am so glad we made that decision all those years ago.

Back when the boys were very small, I would walk them to the elementary school playground after naptime and before the school let out for the day. It was a good way to kill some time before dinner and allow the kids to have some fresh air. I was so lonely back then. Being home with two very small children can be a very lonely experience; it was always hard to coordinate playdates with other moms of more than one child, playgroups were only once or twice a week, and there are just so many long hours in the day. My husband was gone twelve hours in the day, generally the twelve hours that the boys were awake, so I was just on duty all the time. So I would take the double stroller to the playground, and I would see two moms who were always there with their kindergarten age children, waiting for the older ones to finish for the day. I desperately wanted to be friends with them, and I did try to talk to them, but the chasm between a mom of a one-and-two-year old and a mom of a five-and-seven-year old is vast and wide, and also, if you have ever tried to strike up a conversation while caring for two toddlers, you know of which I speak. Conversational continuity is nearly impossible, and so I continued being lonely, looking at those women longingly.

This week’s graduate, at the playground 16 years ago.

Only a few years later, I did become friends with them when my own children were at that school, and we were all on the same volunteer committees together. I happily was absorbed into their large circle, and we have been friends all these years, the self-named Brentwood Babes. Saturday night, some of the Babes went to dinner theatre, which I had never done before. My son’s best friend – they have been friends since age 3 – works there, and we had a great time watching the rendition of The Wedding Singer, which involved really great music and lots of laughs.

It’s amazing, really. I’m the baby of the group and it’s pretty incredible to have a group of friends who are a few steps ahead in life, who have supported each other through so many life changes and hardships, and who have shared in each other’s joys. This neighbourhood is a bit like a small town, with its shops and parks and kind of knowing each other’s business, with its Food Library and Little Free Libraries and the actual public library, with its schools and playgrounds and grocery stores. For me, this neighbourhood is the best thing about living in Calgary, and I was really feeling it this week.

Thanks to Covid, I will never take for granted these long-standing friendships and the ability to spend time together; I would never say the pandemic is a good thing, because it was terrible, but no mud, no lotus, as they say.

Weekly Reading

Fleishmann Is In Trouble. There are at least two sides to every story, but sometimes, when you are in the thick of a story, it’s hard to see the other side. This book, which on a surface level, deals with a divorce and custody of children, was brilliantly written in three parts. The first part focuses entirely on the husband and all the things that he is going through, and I found myself incredibly sympathetic to his plight. But then, the narrator – who is a third party – starts to show cracks and glimmers of insight into the wife’s life and motivations. It’s complex and very, very gripping. More than just a book about a breakup, it’s a scathing treatise on marriage, divorce, wealth, class, and, most of all, what it means to be a woman moving through this world. Women, as we all know, can never really win or have it all, particularly mothers. There is always something we are giving up or giving in to, there is always some societal pressure on us to act a certain way or be a certain way, and if we give in to that pressure, it’s going to come at us from another angle. This book was brilliant and is definitely one of my favourites so far this year. Someone recommended this to me; my initial thought was Engie (HI ENGIE), but she read it in 2020, and it was recently recommended. Was it Birchy, or maybe Suzanne? (HI BIRCHY HI SUZANNE). If it was you, let me know!

Don’t Call Me Home. There is an Alice Munro story called Jakarta, which features a running joke between two women that starts with “I’m no prude, but…” and I kept thinking of this the whole time I was reading this memoir about the daughter of an Andy Warhol muse and an artist. I’m no prude, but…this book was shocking and kind of horrifying in every sense of the word. I don’t even know where to start but let’s just say the first ten years of this woman’s childhood were spent nomadically, until her mother became pregnant with her sister – actress Gaby Hoffman – at which point they lived at the famed Chelsea Hotel in NYC. Every single detail about this memoir had my eyes opening wide and my eyebrows finding refuge in my hairline. Obviously her mother was mentally ill and it’s pretty sad that Warhol made tons of money without disseminating any to the women who worked for him, but also, my god. This book is bananas. It’s also weirdly written and there are just so many people in it that I found myself thinking “wait, who’s Ron? Who’s Kathy? Is Mike their son or…wait, is that her own COUSIN she’s considering having sex with? It is? Oh my god.” I mean, your mileage may vary but I found this so disturbing and not written well enough to warrant me overlooking the material.

It’s gearing up to be a pretty busy week around here, once again, but not quite as exciting or social as last week. I hope you all have a beautiful week with lots of blue skies and sunshine. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The 48 Feels Great Edition

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I had a moment of birthday-related epiphany this past week. When I was pregnant, way back in the day, every single change in my body was noted and celebrated by me. Every pound of weight gained, every change in my skin and hair, everything made me so happy. I was lucky enough to never have morning sickness or any other nauseous unpleasantness; I did have aches and pains, and I was diagnosed with preeclampsia in my first pregnancy, but in all cases I took it in stride with joy. Oh, so I have to be on bedrest for weeks? Okay! Maybe I’ll watch some movies! These were my actual cheerful thoughts when I had the potentially deadly preeclampsia diagnosis, which just goes to show how thrilled I was to be pregnant.

I was thinking about my happiness with my changing body during that time of my life, and how a changing body doesn’t elicit that same level of happiness during other stages of life. It’s not fair, really. Why should our bodies not be celebrated in the same way, just because the boulder is rapidly rolling down the fecundity hill? Change is part of life, and just because those changes that come with age are not valued in the same way by our youth-obsessed, patriarchal society, it doesn’t mean they are not worthy of celebration. Why is a waistline expansion cheered when one is pregnant, but not when one is in perimenopause? Both are natural occurrences and both involve hormones and shifting times of life. If anything, perimenopause should be cheered even MORE. We’re here! We made it! Not every woman experiences pregnancy, and not every woman experiences perimenopause, but not experiencing the latter most often indicates that the woman did not live long enough to do so.

I turned 48 last week, and although I hope to live to see triple digits, there is a decent chance that the number of years I have ahead of me is fewer than the number of years I have behind me. I don’t want to dwell on the past but good god, I wasted a lot of time in so many ways. So much time worrying about really pointless, stupid things. I mean, life’s a journey, all our experiences shape us into the people we are today, etcetera, etcetera, but still. I can’t get that time back.

I’ve been triangulating toward this for a while, but I feel like I’ve gotten to a point where I wish to fully embrace – or at least, pleasantly accept – my changing body. I refuse to waste any more time thinking about it except to nourish it in every way; joyful movement, joyful food, joyful serums and beauty products. Fashion trends are absolutely not meant for my demographic, and so I will curate my outfits with my own personal style, without thoughts to what’s in style. Joyful Nicole Style! That style will not include wide-leg pants. I have been there, done that, and the young people can laugh at skinny jeans all they want, but they’ll pry them out of my cold, dead hands.

I feel great at 48; I, like Goose, feel like I’m lucky to be here, and I would like to share with you a few things that made my birthday month shine.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The 48 Feels Great Edition

Spiritual Gangster’s Paradise

There is a little clothing boutique beside the Kihei Caffe (if you know, you know), and while we were standing in line for the best breakfast in Kihei, my husband saw a very cute tank top on display. You need this shirt! he said to me very seriously; one thing led to another, and now I have it in my possession. Did I need another workout shirt in the form of an early birthday gift? Probably not, but the material is so soft, it doesn’t look sweaty when it is sweaty, and it just makes me happy.

Pre-workout.
Post-workout, and boy, is my face red.

Great news, you do not have to travel to Maui to proclaim your spiritual gangsterness, (although, it’s not a bad incentive); you can buy a number of different styles online. They are a bit on the expensive side, but the material is quality and I think it’s going to last a long time.

Sugar, Black Honey Honey

I finally joined the Black Honey party, only a couple of decades late. Black Honey by Clinique is touted as a lip colour that flatters every skin tone, which seems like a tall order to me. It reminds me of the time Victoria’s Secret was giving out thongs as a gift with purchase, and when I told them my size, the woman assured me that she didn’t need to know it. These thongs were “one size fits all.” What. How is that possible?

And you might be thinking the same thing, how can one lipstick flatter ALL skin tones? Well, I don’t know. I cannot speak for every woman; I am no Whitney Houston. What I can say is that, by looking at the actual product, I did not think this would work for me, but it DOES. Does it flatter every skin tone? I don’t know, but it flatters mine. It’s a very natural-looking colour and I love it.

Mentioning the Unmentionable

Speaking of thongs, or panties in general, about once a year or so I go through my underwear drawer and throw out anything that is worn out, ripped, or in a state that is not even fit for “Ladies’ Holidays.” We all know that I like a good outfit, and I think that a good outfit starts with good underwear. This might be an Information Overload situation, but I always match my panties to my bra – which isn’t too hard since they are almost exclusively black, with a couple of so-called “nude” items for light coloured bottoms or dresses – and I like them to be pretty. Yes, they have to be comfortable and functional, but they must be pretty or I won’t wear them, not even to bed, not even to exercise, not even during my period.

I love the products from La Vie En Rose, which frequently have promotions for bulk buying panties. I just took advantage of one of those promotions, happy birthday to me, and I cannot even tell you how happy it makes me to know I have pretty new panties on. Life is too short for ill-fitting, ugly underwear.

Even I shall not show photos of my panties on the internet. Behold, my dresser.

Opening Pandora’s Box

Many years ago, when I got my first Pandora bracelet, a friend of mine excitedly said “This is so great, now your family will always know what to get you for your birthday!” This turned out to be a very prescient comment. I now have four Pandora bracelets, and I have never purchased a charm for myself. For my birthday my parents gave me this gorgeous heart charm, and if you have a magnifying glass you might be able to see the words “Love Forever” etched on the tiny heart in the middle.

Isn’t it lovely? These are my two “everyday” bracelets; every single charm means something special to me.

Nailed It

Before our Maui trip, I wondered what to do about my nails. I didn’t want to waste precious liquid carryon space for nail polish, but the polish I love simply doesn’t last that long. With winter and hand-washing and general dryness, polish tends to chip within a few days for me, at best. I decided to give Sally Hanson Gel a try; it goes on just like regular polish and as a bonus, it dries really quickly. But the biggest benefit is that it LASTS. For me it lasts at least a week, and sometimes up to ten days.

My nails after 8 days of wear.

Outfit of the Month

Since the majority of this month has been spent cleaning and decluttering, my outfits have been pretty plain and simple: tees and sweaters with jeans. And rubber gloves.

However, I wanted to dress up a little on my birthday for my brunch out on the town, and also just because.

I have mentioned these pants many, many times. They are the City Sleek line from lululemon; they have a button and zipper and yet feel like soft pants, which is pretty much the most we can ask for from pants. The boots are Sorels; they are not winter Sorels as they are unlined, but they are waterproof, so perfect for spring. Or, “spring,” as we say in Calgary. The sweater is from lululemon, and I always think of it as new, but as I wore it for our holiday card photo in 2018, it is not. The tank top underneath is a basic Old Navy, and it is at least as old as the sweater. My friend Amy (HI AMY) made that mala years ago, and I love it.

It’s Taurus season, everybody! Thank you all for your very sweet birthday wishes, and if there is something that you loved this month, do let me know! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Here Today, Gone To Maui Edition

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Aloha! I’m back from my digital detox which, as it happens, I took on Maui!

What a fabulous trip. We have been to Maui several times, the last one being in 2016, and it was interesting to see that it has changed very little from that time. The two main changes I noticed were that every single restaurant or eatery had a sign saying that they were short staffed – and there were many radio commercials about hiring opportunities all over the island – and that since October of last year, only mineral, rather than chemical, sunscreen is allowed on Maui. This is wonderful news for the coral reefs, of course, but also? I hope someone soon comes up with a mineral sunscreen that doesn’t feel like those neon zinc sticks that you would see on the noses of Australian lifeguards in the 80s. Mineral sunscreen, with its white streakiness and heavy feel, is not my favourite, but I love the fish and turtles and other ocean creatures, so I’m happy to comply.

Honestly, the whole trip was my Favourite Thing; it was our first big family trip since before the pandemic, and in my mind there is the possibility that this could be our last big family trip, at least for a while. My yoga ladies, discussing this with me, pointed out that as long as you’ll pay, they’ll go, which I’m sure is true, but timing and life might get in the way. In any case, it was a wonderful trip – definitely our last big spring break trip – with lots of great family time, sunshine, and ocean. What more could I ask for?

The re-entry to Regular Life has been a bit rough; we flew in on the red-eye, getting in at 7:00 am on Tuesday, in addition to being exhausted it’s been a scramble getting groceries, picking up Rex, getting organized with life, and remembering how to dress for below zero temperatures. Also, I currently have, according to my blog reader, 158 unread posts, so I have some catching up to do. In the meantime, I have to mention a few of my specific Favourite Things from paradise.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Here Today, Gone To Maui Edition

Fruit Is Nature’s Candy

Probably ten or fifteen years ago, there was a trend called the 100 Mile Diet, meaning that a person should strive to eat food that was produced within 100 miles of wherever they currently reside, mostly for environmental reasons. Well. As a person who lives in Calgary, if I did this then during the winter I would be Laura Ingalls in the Long Winter, eating nothing but bread and a single potato each day, and maybe, for excitement, some old cabbage. I have many, many issues with this kind of smug and judgy diet, which inevitably is created by someone living in California or some other gorgeous climate with lots of year-round produce. One such issue is that it has been proven that greenhouse-grown produce in cold climates use much more non-renewable resources than do trucked-in produce, so fuck you, 100 Mile Diet. However! When I am in a place like Maui, I feel like I COULD happily partake in such a diet because OMG THE FRUIT. The fruit! It’s all so good, being so close to the source. A pineapple that has travelled from afar in the winter just does not taste the same as those island-ripened prickly queens, and so I enjoyed delicious fruit each morning with my coffee, watching the sky brighten in the early hours.

Things Are Getting Skechy

In my youth I would sacrifice comfort for fashion, when it came to footwear, but I have no time for that now. Life is too short and too fun to wear uncomfortable shoes, but also, I want my comfy footwear to be cute too. I love Skechers; they consistently fit me well and I like how they look.

Every morning on Maui I would go on long walks, breathing in the ocean air and appreciating the palm trees and flowers everywhere. We stayed in South Kihei, which is a really active-in-the-morning place – EVERYONE is walking or running – so it’s pretty fun for people watching, as well as nature enjoying. I saw many yoga classes on the grounds of the fancy Wailea hotels, and thought hey, I could totally teach that. I would see couples taking photos of each other and I’d offer to take one of the two of them. One morning – at 8:30 on a Monday – I saw a wedding on the beach. I love my daily constitutionals – to borrow a term from my afore-mentioned ladies – and taking them alongside the ocean was just incredible.

In addition to these comfortable and cute walking shoes, I took these Skechers slide-on sandals for the beach and pool. Look at the sparkles!

Speaking of sandals, I also brought a pair of Skechers that were more appropriate for walking when I didn’t want the bulk of an actual shoe. They are so cushiony and strappy at the same time; I wore them when we went out for meals, and for our shopping trip to Lahaina, where I found a HAWAIIAN CHRISTMAS STORE at which I purchased two personalized ornaments, and then the shopkeeper actually said Mele Kalikimaka to me, and my life is now complete.

What, you can’t see the sandals? Yes, well. I thought I had a photo of them, but it turns out the only ones with my feet in them were group photos, so I did a little cropping. As an aside, that dress is a workhorse. I bought it in 2012, it’s from Prana, a yoga-wear brand which may be defunct, and it has a shelf bra. We all know how I feel about a shelf bra. Anyway, here are the sandals, tiny though this photo may be.

A long while ago, Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) posted about things she wished she liked; my comment to that was that while there are a lot of things I dislike, there isn’t anything that I WISH I liked. I am taking this opportunity to amend that comment. Flip flops. Flip flops are so cute, they are everywhere, and oh my god, the thought of having something between my toes makes those toes curl up and I start doing involuntary Kegels. I just cannot do it. I have been like this my whole life; putting flip flops on me is like putting boots on Rex. It is an unnatural thing and we cannot walk or even move under those conditions. I even have to do deep ujjayi breathing when I’m getting a pedicure and the esthetician puts toe separators on to do my polish.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Even the heavy-duty sunscreen is no match for Maui sunshine, and so I wore a hat on my walks and while reading outside. This is not just for vanity reasons – I don’t want to look like an apple doll – but also for melanoma-prevention reasons. I wore this cute sporty hat from lululemon on my walks:

I also brought this ADORABLE, foldable hat that I bought on a whim from amazon, which ended up being the perfect travel hat. It has a wire brim which is easily reshaped after being mushed in a suitcase or beach bag. It also has a chin strap to keep it from flying off on windy days, of which we had few.

Hair Baby, There Mama

I didn’t have my hat on all the time, though! The boys taught me to body surf and boogie board, and you guys, it is SO fun. My husband said the whole time, I was laughing and smiling, especially when a big wave would carry me far up the beach.

It’s a family photo! Can you see?

Anyway, all that salt water and sun could have wreaked havoc on my hair, but it didn’t, because I used this:

I love Bumble and Bumble products generally, but this is beyond amazing. I think it really helped with sun damage – after twelve days of sun and salt water, my hair does not look like orange straw, which is a victory in itself. It’s pretty pricey, even for this tiny bottle, but the big Sephora sale starts next week, so I think I’m going to buy more in the larger size. We travelled only with carryon luggage – I will NEVER again check luggage, mark my words, the freedom of walking off the plane and not waiting for or worrying about luggage is glorious – and so this little trial bottle was worth the per-milliliter expense.

Outfit of the Month

I love getting dressed in warm climates. It’s SO easy. Maui is such a casual place that you can wear a swimsuit and cover-up to the grocery store and no one bats an eye. This is my favourite cover-up, it’s a cute little dress with pockets!

A word about swimsuits: up until about eight years ago, I was a big fan of the tiny bikini. It was around the time I turned forty that I realized that string bikinis were no longer suitable for a couple of reasons: a) my breasts resemble droopy water balloons that have sprung a leak, and b) the boys were at an age where I was no longer comfortable around them or their friends whilst in a state of extreme scanty-cladness. As well, I have enjoyed water sports with them as they have gotten older and more active, and let me tell you, a small bikini is a recipe for wardrobe malfunctions. I am still a two-piece suit fan for using-the-washroom purposes, but my bikinis have a lot more coverage and support. This is my new favourite:

Of the four bikinis I packed, I was surprised that this single-strapped one ended up being the best for boogie boarding and body surfing. It must be noted that my younger son looked at me strangely and said “Mom, are you wearing a BELT to the beach?” Yes, it does indeed have a belt attached, which feels silly but looks kind of cute.

I feel so fortunate that, after three years of cancellations and disappointments and general angst, we were able to take this trip. There are a lot of big changes coming to the Boyhouse, and this trip was what I needed to centre myself, to be present, and to really appreciate my family and my life. How lucky. xo

Three Years

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TIME CHANGE, AM I RIGHT?

It feels like every single March we are all stumbling around for a week like zombies, children crying and pets confused, people getting into accidents, all for something that is completely made up and useless. Every single March we are all shaking our fists at the people who could do something about this, but don’t. There are places in the world that do not change time, WE COULD BE LIKE THAT.

I wonder if, along with feeling furious about time change, every single March I will also think about the start of the pandemic. It has been exactly three years to the day since the First Pandemic Lockdown, and wow, what a weird time that was. At times I find it hard to believe what it was like, what we did, and all the strange things that started to feel just normal. Did we really not go anywhere at all? Did we really feel guilty if we forgot something at the grocery store and had to go out for a second time in less than a week? Was there really no toilet paper on the shelves? Did we really feel constantly panicked if another person got within our six-foot bubbles? Did I really come home after buying groceries and just sit and stare into space for a while? It was such a strange, disturbing time. I mean, some people were disinfecting their groceries and leaving them in a separate room for 48 hours before putting them away. Not me though; that was a bridge way too far.

Just before the Big Lockdown, my life was so busy, and although we had heard about this novel coronavirus in the news, I didn’t really think it would change anything for me or in my life. I was teaching ten classes a week, I was preparing for our spring break trip to Mexico, and I was frantically going to parent meetings and doing last minute fundraising for my younger son’s West Coast sailing trip, that he had been looking forward to for three years. Cue the ominous music; you already know how those vacation plans turned out. But at that time, I thought that other than needing to stock up on my husband’s blood pressure medication, all this in the news would turn out to be a whole lot of nothing.

Only a few days before March 13, 2020, two things happened that made me wonder if something was indeed about to affect me personally.

First, one of my students in Seniors’ Yoga approached me before class. This student was, and is, a Professor Emeritus in Epidemiology at the university. She cautioned me about my upcoming trip to Mexico, saying that I may want to reconsider. Of course I listened to her opinion, and although I still thought at that time I would go, her words did stay with me.

The second thing was my monthly coffee date with my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) who is also a professor at the university, in chemistry. Nicole seemed very concerned with my Mexico trip as well, asking if I had access to a kitchen (I did not, it was a resort I was headed to) and generally giving off a Very Worried Vibe. She also mentioned that the university was going to close down, and there were rumblings that the schools would too. I was in disbelief about this; schools CLOSING? There was no way that could happen! That would be a disaster!

Honestly, it was a disaster, wasn’t it? Of all the pandemic mitigation strategies, I think that closing the schools was the worst. I remember feeling absolutely devastated that our schools were now closed indefinitely; I still think that the damage to our children and young people was extensive and will be long-lasting, from an educational, developmental, and mental health point of view. Online schooling, while it was the best possible option at the time, was just so detrimental in so many ways, particularly for children in vulnerable situations or in underserved communities. It was terribly detrimental to my own children, who are in no way underserved or vulnerable, and who have all the privilege in the world. We all need to be around peers, physically, and this is especially true for the young.

I often think that the pandemic was a zero-sum game; in order for one thing to be taken care of, other things had to give way. Of course we as a society have to care for each other; as of right now, nearly seven million people have died from Covid, and who knows how many people have been disabled or have had their quality of life severely impacted by the virus. There is absolutely no way to say what those numbers would have been like had there been no mitigation measures.

That said, the mitigation measures themselves have had harsh consequences; hence, my zero-sum game theory. It’s not just an entire generation of youth who have been developmentally stunted in some way, I also often think of the global mental health decline, the vast number of suicides and increased dependence on substances, the loss of people’s livelihoods and the decimation of entire industries. Clearly, we were – and are – all doing our best, everyone was just dealing with ever-changing information and regulations, but wow. What an awful and divisive time. I think it’s going to take a long time to heal in this new era that we have entered. Are we in a post-pandemic state? Covid is still around, people are still falling ill, but are we still considered to be in a global pandemic? I have no idea.

I have spoken before about psychological long Covid, but something else occurred to me this week. Back in the 70s, a comedian who shall remain nameless had a bit about cocaine usage, a pretend dialogue with a cocaine user. “It intensifies your personality.” “Yes, but what if you’re an asshole?” It seems to me that the pandemic, like cocaine, has intensified my personality. In some ways, that’s fine, perhaps even good, but in others, it is not great, Bob.

One thing I have noticed is that my dependence on routine and rituals for comfort has become less of a charming, cozy groove and more of a rut. I am a person who has always been quite regimented in my day-to-day life; I thrive with a routine, I love knowing what I’m doing on any given day. When the pandemic hit I took great comfort in creating new daily routines and rituals, and for the most part, I think they have been greatly beneficial. However. I think my comfortable routine is starting to veer into the “unhealthy dependence” category.

Don’t get me wrong; I happily give and accept invitations for visits, social events, and meals when possible. I enjoy all of those things but every invitation is met with momentary internal mental gymnastics – but I do X on that day! – and I am really, really working on changing this. I don’t want to be like Homer Simpson when Marge had plans on Saturday night. “Saturday night! But that’s our special night! What’s so special about…oh, I don’t know. A little so-called Dr. Quinn? Medicine Woman?”

I think the pandemic has tamped down my sense of adventure, which may have happened anyway with age – who’s to say? – and I don’t like it. It’s not like I’m turning things down, but I have moments of hesitation and worry about my schedule disruption, and I don’t want those moments to get any bigger, or to become consequential. There is a lot of joy and satisfaction in my ordinary day-to-day life, yes, but the memories I cherish stem from times that I broke out of my routine, when something new or different happened, when I travelled or saw a friend or experienced something I hadn’t before. I don’t want to live my life just plodding along, every week the same; I want to be able to appreciate my comfortable routine by breaking it, and then coming back. I want to reignite my adventurous self, while still finding daily joys in ordinary things. I need to spread my wings and find adventures where I can.

First, though, I need to get caught up on sleep. TIME CHANGE. Good lord, when will this madness end?

Weekly Reading

You Just Need To Lose Weight. Maintenance Phase is such a good podcast, and the co-host, Aubrey Gordon, is such a smart and articulate woman. This is her second book and it is educational, illuminating, and important. It will make you think about language we use and it’s implication, as well as the biases we as a society hold.

Dial A For Aunties. Omg, this was such a cute and funny book! It’s part slapstick comedy, part mystery, part romance, part love letter to the author’s mom and aunties. What happens when a woman accidentally kills a blind date? Her aunties help her with the body! But the family wedding business has a big event upcoming and putting the corpse in a cake cooler was not the best idea. This was so silly and funny and if you need a laugh and a light read, this book is for you! 

The Summer I Turned Pretty. I read this whole series when the guys were in Alaska in 2019, and so when I saw this at the library I thought I’d give it a reread. Fun fact about reading a YA romance when you’re 47? You really empathize with the parents.

My friend Lee (HI LEE) posted this on Facebook and I felt that this really sums up how I feel after time change:

All right, time to gear up for the week! Take care, friends! xo