Category Archives: Housewifery

My body is a temple

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Let’s Talk About The Weather

Here we are in the last full week of July, and we are actually having a summer! A whole week of summer weather, which, as we all know, is all relative considering other places in the world. For example, on Wednesday it was 31 degrees, which would be considered just a run-of-the-mill summer day in many, many places, but in Calgary it was the hottest day of the year. A couple of days in a row like that and it would be all over the news, HEAT WAVE AND HEAT WARNINGS IN EFFECT. Sadly for the reporters who were probably eager to encourage people to hydrate and stay cool, it was only a one-day event; yesterday was cool and windy, with some rain to boot.

Am I really talking this much about the weather? Yes. I wonder what it would be like to live in a place in which summer was just summer, and not some crazy, who-knows-what-will-happen-it-could-snow-tomorrow season. Would I just stop appreciating the beauty and warmth of summer days? As it was, every spare minute I had I was out in the garden or reading on my outdoor glider, looking up to smile at my flowers and at the tiny little birds who seemed to be playing a game on my yarrow. These tiny birds would alight on top of my yarrow, which is not sturdy enough even for their weight, and so it would slowly sink to the ground. Then the birds would flap around and do it again. Over and over, they appeared to just enjoy riding my yarrow, which was the most adorable thing I think I have ever seen.

Okay, maybe not as adorable as Barkley, but pretty close.

The Circle of Life

Speaking of birds, this morning I looked out the window to see a number of magpies on my garage roof. This is not an unusual sight, but what was different is that one of them had something in its beak. Something that once was alive that now, presumably, was dead. I think it was probably a baby robin, since I could spy what looked like bird feet sticking out. I recognize that there’s a food chain thing going on here, and no one is lamenting the robins eating worms or what have you, but still. Poor baby.

It reminded me of watching the new Lion King last weekend; I guess the magpie excrement will somehow feed the worms that will feed the robins, or something. It also made me think of a local radio personality who is always proclaiming that she is an animal lover, but also is a meat lover, and well. Circle of life, I guess. No judgement over here; I became nearly hysterical when I realized we have mice in the garage. Or, a mouse. I assume that there are many mice but only one has been spied. My husband assures me they won’t get in the house but what if they doooo. 

The Weather Changes Everything

I was so excited by the warm summer weather that I changed my weekly meal plan! I know! I couldn’t believe it either. I have a piece of advice for anyone who is tired of their families not enjoying the meals put on the table: deconstruct everything. It works really well in my household. For example, I made a big batch of pasta salad with sauteed chicken on the side for the guys. Only the pasta is dressed, and then I set out all the vegetables and edamame and everyone can add what they like to the pasta. I make sure to have a little extra dressing to drizzle on top of the extra vegetables.

On that note, I made something totally different on Monday; I am sure I got the original recipe from Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) but I can’t find it now. In any case, as is my wont, I changed the recipe quite a bit to accommodate my family and the things I had in the house. It’s a Thai quinoa salad, and it was a huge hit. I, of course, completely deconstructed it (NO ONIONS FOR ME THANKS) and it turned out well. Here’s what I did:

Cook up 1 1/4 cups quinoa, and 1 1/2 cups edamame, and let both cool.

Pulse a huge amount of broccoli (that’s as exact as I can get) in the food processor until finely diced.

Chop up some red onion and a pepper, grate a few carrots.

Make a dressing: the original one seemed small so I just extrapolated by using 1/4 cup each rice vinegar and Bragg’s soy sauce, 3 tablespoons each lime juice and sesame oil. It seemed tart so I added a tablespoon of brown sugar, and a big clove of minced garlic, along with some grated ginger. It still seemed a bit tart so I splashed a little extra sesame oil in it.

Set everything out, with some peanuts, and let everyone go to town.

Things That Are Happening

A Welcome-to-High-School newsletter popped in my inbox a couple of days ago; HIGH SCHOOL. I remember how very exciting it was to be in high school, landslide, sunrise, sunset. It’s hit me that really, there aren’t many summers left before the kids are grown and will not have leisure to hang out with me or travel with us as a family and HOO BOY.

Deep breaths.

I Have Never Felt More Seen

A while ago the boys and I were card shopping for one of their myriad friends’ birthdays. As an aside: I used to dread birthday parties for the simple reason of trying to choose a gift for children I didn’t know well, but what the boys and their friends do is just give each other money. It’s brilliant in my opinion, but it does seem like a zero-sum game as they all seem to pass along the same exact amount for every party. However! I like it.

Anyway, we were in the card store and I happened to come across this, which is an illustration of ME and why I do not even WALK DOWN the chip aisle at the grocery store:

It’s like the card people looked inside my very soul.

Empty Nest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: What.

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

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

Son: Okay, I’ll go move it.

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

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

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

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

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

Hunter Boots

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

Flowers

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

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

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

Barkley

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

I mean, come on.

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

Poor puppers!

All That Food Is Paying Off

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

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

Lemon, it’s Wednesday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But did you know when it snows my eyes become large

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Several times a week – sometimes even several times a day – I peer into the mirror and notice a smudge of mascara under my eyes. It’s only after I’ve taken a tissue with makeup remover to it that I realize the exercise is futile; that the smudge in question is not mascara at all, but it reflects the actual colour of the skin under my eyes. I’m not sure how many times I will dab at my under eye circles before I realize that they are not removable, but right now the number is high and growing.

Aging is a privilege and I never forget that for a moment, and so I should probably just embrace my haggard self with joy and acceptance. I have been using Neutrogena Rapid Wrinkle Repair Eye Cream for many months now, and I will say that it is great for under eye wrinkles; I have no crows’ feet and the lines are minimal. However, despite its claim that it “brightens the under eye area” and “reduces the look of dark circles” it has done nothing in that vein. Or perhaps – and this terrifying thought just came to me – perhaps it is doing a LOT and without it I would resemble an actual zombie.

Moving on.

It’s a short week around here and in the manner of short weeks, it feels excessively long. Part of this was that my husband was out of town; the kids are so easy now that it shouldn’t really make a difference, but it does. Last night – and last week as well, due to Mr’s long working hours – I took my younger son to his drum lesson. The drum lessons themselves are held on the second floor of a seedy-ish building, and the drum teacher seems to be constantly a little bit high. “Heyyyyyy, let’s play some DRUMS” is his general greeting, and with his beard and beanie and general demeanor, he is exactly the kind of person you might peg as a drum teacher. This is not in any way a judgement; I think he’s actually great. My son has really clicked with him and meanwhile, I’m listening to a lot of beats related to “Paint it Black” and “Gimme Some Lovin’.”

Speaking of beats, for Mother’s Day the boys gave me a tambourine. They all – this includes my husband, on the bass – jam downstairs, and since my own beloved instrument – the piano – is highly not portable, as well as being not conducive for jamming, they decided I needed something to be included. I now feel like my lifelong journey to Dancing Queen status is complete.

How was your Mother’s Day? The Saturday prior was my mom’s birthday, and so we went to my parents’ for the night. I made a cake and I was very happy with how it turned out, and that I am getting used to using my decorating tips:

I was particularly pleased since I wrapped her gift from the boys, and it looked like this:

Why don’t I just give it up and go for gift bags? Why do I always feel like I am a person who can actually use wrapping paper and tape effectively? I feel like I’m missing some sort of gene here, the gift wrapping gene. My husband looked at it and burst out laughing. “Why didn’t you trim the paper more?” he asked, like someone who is unaware that every time I do that I trim too much off and then end up taping pieces on the exposed box in order to compensate. I would never dream of starting over with a new piece, because I don’t want to waste all the paper that has already been inevitably crinkled up in my sad attempt to gift wrap.

Gift bags, I must embrace them.

The past week or two has been glorious in terms of temperature; the sun has been shining and I’ve gone for walks in only a sweater, with no gloves. In fact, it has been so nice that I have actually had the windows open in the house. This is a good thing and a bad thing: I like to listen to my Spotify playlist entitled Nicole Karaoke, and, as you may infer by the name, it contains songs that I love to sing along to. Well, I love to sing along to most songs, but these are my particular favourites. The negative part comes when I find myself really belting out the tunes and then realizing that my neighbours are likely out enjoying their yards and are probably privy to my passionate version of Kiss From a Rose or Eye in the Sky. BABY! I compare you to a KISS FROM A ROSE on the grey. OOOOOHhhh. As we all know, my zest for singing far outweighs my vocal talents, so thoughts and prayers for my neighbours. The one consolation is that my octogenarian next-door neighbour is a little deaf, so she’s probably safe from I am the EYE IN THE SKY, looking at YOUUUUUUU I CAN READ YOUR MIND. 

The rain and cold – and possible snow – started today. Knowing this was coming, yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine to go to the garden centre, purchase the hardy, frost-and-snow tolerant plants I wanted to add to the garden this year, and plant. Later when I walked Barkley, I noticed half the neighbourhood frantically working in the garden, trying to make hay while the sun shone, so to speak.

The rain (and possible snow) will be great at getting those plants settled in, anyway. Plants become stressed when planted in too-hot conditions, I heard a local expert say on the radio this morning, which, well, there is no fear of that. I plan on reading a lot this weekend.

On that note, I have lately been reading books with very heavy subject matter: a devastating memoir of a man with epilepsy who was the victim of gross medical incompetence, a memoir of a woman who was physically and emotionally abused in her arranged marriage, and The Tattooist of Auschwitz. After that trio, I needed a palate cleanser, and so I read this:

It was exactly what I needed, and it might be what you need too, if you are in the mood for a light and hilarious book with a real feel-good ending. I loved it so much I went straight to the library and picked up her first novel. Between that and some David Sedaris, I plan on having a long weekend with entertaining books.

I hope you all – you Canadians, anyway – have a wonderful long weekend! May you escape the snow. xo

I welcome my new overlord

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For my birthday, the guys gave me a Garmin watch; it has been four days and already it has taken over my life. I’m full-on David Sedaris. I welcome my new watch overlord.

I used to figuratively roll my eyes when I would hear various friends complain that their fitness tracker didn’t properly count steps or heart rates, or that they forgot to enter their workout into their app. I would think, Does it matter? You still DID the exercise, does it MATTER if it’s not recorded on your device? Well. Just like everything I’ve ever silently judged in my life, it has come back to haunt me. I am now completely obsessed and also have turned into one of Today’s Children who get all sorts of accolades and praise for participation. Yesterday I went for a run and, while I consider myself to be a very self-motivated person, I couldn’t help but be thrilled every time my watch buzzed when I unlocked a new achievement. Step counts? More than 5km run? Elevation gains? Heart rate intensity minutes? Every time I got a new Badge, I felt like I did when I was a Brownie and my mom sewed a physical badge to my sash. Check THIS out. 

The Watch is pretty bossy, though. I said this to my husband and he replied that it was just like its owner, which, well. I’m sure there is some way to change this setting, but it seems like being stationary for fifteen minutes at a time triggers it into a bossy frenzy; it doesn’t even gently or politely suggest movement, it buzzes and in all capitals and punctuated with an exclamation mark says MOVE! on the screen. I was at the hair salon yesterday when this happened; my colour was processing and I had, obviously, been seated for this procedure.

Me, silently: Don’t boss me!

Also me: *gets up and pretends to use the washroom just to clear the move bar*

It doesn’t seem to take any other activity into account before virtually shouting at me to MOVE!, as proven last night. Yesterday I had a) practiced yoga, gone for a run and a dog walk, AND grocery shopped at Superstore, with all its accompanying steps and stairs to put the groceries away, b) doubled my step goal AND my stair-flight-climbing goal, and c) got in half of the week’s worth of “intensity minutes.” And yet, I curled up in my chair after dinner to read, and the Watch began buzzing at me.

Me: You’re not the boss of me!

Also me: *waits five minutes before getting up to use the bathroom*

The book I’m reading is The Rosie Effect. I read and enjoyed The Rosie Project years ago, and I am enjoying this book just as much, if not more. However, it was a little unsettling to realize that Don Tillman’s Standardised Meal System is not dissimilar to my own Weekly Meal Plan, as far as efficiency, ingredient inventory, shopping, and zero food wastage goes. It’s always a little startling to see aspects of one’s own personality in a fictional character, particularly when that fictional character is Don Tillman.

Speaking of the Weekly Meal Plan, while I was making Thai curry on Tuessday, I realized something: the Watch has changed my household behaviour. I have become extremely inefficient when it comes to moving between floors of the house. The kitchen is on the main floor, but the pantry is downstairs, and normally I am extremely efficient at Bringing Stuff Upstairs – except, of course, when I forget what I went down to the pantry for. In Life Before The Watch, I would bring up broccoli from the basement fridge, snip some cilantro, and bring up the peanuts all in one trip. Tuesday, however, I took three trips to do this, plus a fourth to bring up the laundry, as the dryer finished while I was prepping dinner. My morning ritual, in Life Before The Watch, involves putting in a load of laundry at the same time I do my hair, my hair products and appliances being housed in the bathroom adjacent to the laundry room. In Life Before The Watch I would carry a laundry basket – with bathroom cleaner and gloves perched on top – on one hip and a coffee cup and hair accessories in the other hand, in order to minimize the number of times I would go up and down the stairs. Now, Post-Watch, I’m going downstairs to put the laundry in, going back upstairs for hair accessories, and after that, going up and down the stairs to get the cleaning products with which to tidy the bathroom.

Frankly, it’s probably safer this way, if slightly more insane. It was only a matter of time before I Emily Starr-ed and tumbled down the stairs while carrying all those items.

Slight digression for those of you who spent years of your childhood obsessed by the Emily books: did you ever feel sorry for Dean Priest? I sure did, even though he was possessive and a little bit creepy. I always thought Teddy was too smarmy. But then, I guess this is what happened back then when one lived in a small community: if you were a woman, and there was a man in your general age bracket, then it was likely that you would get married. It would only be a matter of time. Ah, romance.

But back to the Watch: memories of life before it are becoming faded and distant. It’s like trying to remember what you did before you had a smart phone. How did we interact with people? Did I call them? Email them? I have no idea. And now I have no idea what I did without counting my steps like a crazy person. This way lies madness.

To quote from David Sedaris: Why is it some people can manage a thing like a Fitbit, while others go off the rails and allow it to rule, and perhaps even ruin, their lives? Well, we all knew in which category I would fall. It’s not like I didn’t know this would happen. Give me any kind of goal – number of books to read in a year, number of kilometers to run in an hour, number of steps in a day – and I immediately want to crush it. Add in there a spreadsheet or an app and suddenly I become a monster. The saddest thing is that the only person I am competing with is myself. I thought briefly about joining one of those friendly competition groups, and instantly quashed that idea. I don’t need to be marching in place while reading at night just to get a first-place badge. Or do I?

Random Long Weekend Thoughts

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The Targeted Ads Algorithm Is Broken

Several times a week I am the bemused recipient of advertisements for various stylish online shops, and currently, they are exclusively showing me jumpsuits. Jumpsuits! God bless you all for wearing and enjoying them, but the day I wriggle this mortal body into a piece of clothing that, by its very design, will end up puddled up on the bathroom floor every single time I use the facilities, is the day I find myself, as one of my senior yoga students said yesterday, on the wrong side of the grass.

At least the first few advertisements were black; I’m trying to envision myself wearing an exotic-floral print of anything and failing. I also seem to get a lot of advertisements for floral, one-piece bathing suits, which are right up there with tailored shorts on the list of things I am not going to wear, ever. I mean, I have worn them, in my checkered past, but never again. As we live, we grow.

A while back the Co-Op stopped giving out gas coupons and instead began sending something called Me-Wards, which I assumed would be tailored to my consumption habits, given the Me-Wards are linked to my account. Sadly, it appears there is no linkage whatsoever, or if there is, it’s so cryptic that no one could ever decipher the algorithm within. This week, my Me-Wards include frozen pizza, Coke products, some kind of cookie, and fresh Atlantic cod fillets so that I can, as it suggests, make my own chowder. Co-Op, it’s like you never knew me at all.

Getting the Girls Checked

It’s that time of the year again to get the girls checked out. I always smile in the change room when I see the directions on “how to tie a medical robe” because yes, I have gone into my mammogram with the robe on the wrong way. So if you ever wonder who would need these directions it is I who needs them. I asked the technician today, as she neatly arranged my sad excuse for a breast on the machine, if this was a strange kind of job to have. It’s actually really fascinating! she said enthusiastically. And everyone’s breasts are so different, so it’s never boring! I appreciated her zest, it’s refreshing to see someone so excited about their work. She handed me a remote control so I would have autonomy over the squishiness of the procedure, which is a new thing, I guess. Just go ahead and press the “plus” button until you feel you can’t stand it anymore, she said, and when I did this she became alarmed. Okay, stop, that’s enough, STOP! I think she thought I was going to flatten myself completely like a cartoon character run over by a steamroller.

Circling back to the robe, the first thing the technician did after confirming my birth date and being reassured that no, there is NO chance I’m pregnant, was ask me to remove it. Why then does it matter if it’s on the wrong way or not if it’s only going to be immediately removed? Perhaps it’s a medical robe faux pas? Perhaps it’s a conspiracy among diagnostics centres to make us all into uniform patients? Most likely, though, is that tying it in the back is actually quite difficult and feels ridiculous and really, who would do such a thing? Who indeed.

It’s Mini-Egg Season

I’m quite proud of how these little cuties turned out:

I took a recipe from my old copy of The Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites for “haystack cookies,” modified it by using coconut oil and cutting the sugar by a third, and then molded them into little nests. I’m nesting!

I feel extraordinarily crafty now; the next step is to figure out how to draw a bunny as I’m dividing up Lindt truffles into little paper bags for our Easter egg hunt this weekend. I usually give the boys – yes, they are teens but they still like chocolate eggs – a cryptic lists of hints, for a treasure hunt. This year I was feeling quite ambitious as I wrote a few poems for the hints; I wrote the kind of poems they learned about in school: limerick, tanka, haiku, acrostic, and couplet.

You may be saying to yourself, who doesn’t know how to draw a bunny? Well, the same person who has been known to tie her medical robe incorrectly, that’s who.

It’s Birthday Season

As puzzling as the Me-Wards are for Co-Op, I was gratified to see this on offer in my inbox:

I also refer to April as my birthday month; a mere DAY is not really enough to celebrate, is it? Last weekend we visited my parents and my mom made me my favourite strawberry-angel food cake, complete with pink non-dairy whipped cream. I have always had a pink cake on my birthday.

Pink cake goes beautifully with red wine; two of my favourite things. This year, for the first time ever, my birthday falls on Easter, and so I guess that means extra mini-eggs coming my way!

Speaking of red wine, my husband/ Santa gave me a beautiful bottle of Amarone in my stocking this year; I think this is the weekend to open it!

Happy long weekend to you all, and Happy Easter to all who celebrate. May your blessings and chocolates be many! xo