Category Archives: Housewifery

Three Dozen Reds

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I often get pitches in my inbox to feature Tips/ Products That Would Interest My Readers, and I could have the Pleasure of Writing About Them Free Of Charge, and, of course, these are not things that I do. However, on occasion something pops in my mailbox that I find myself enjoying so much that I HAVE to share.

In the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, I received a few pitches to write about romantic things like dealing with late-winter plumbing issues or the differences between water softeners and water filters, and are these people actually spying on me? Am I on camera right now?

But the email that really stood out was the one with the subject title “Eating Pizza In Bed Is Top Relationship Deal-Breaker!” I stared at that subject title for some time; I didn’t want to click on the email because I desperately wanted that to be true. The TOP relationship deal-breaker. Not incompatibility, not infidelity, not differences in managing personal finances. EATING PIZZA IN BED.

Sadly, I did click on the link and further, this was a relationship deal-breaker in terms of pizza eating, not the intricacies of human partnerships, and although it’s been some time since I was in the dating world, I can’t remember having any issues with how people eat pizza and how pizza consumption would affect my feelings towards them. Unless, I guess, that person shoved an entire piece in their mouth and proceeded to have a conversation while chewing, but that applies to any kind of food, not just pizza.

The other deal-breakers were listed as picking the cheese off the pizza, not eating the crust, asking for anchovies and/ or pineapple on the pizza, and eating pizza with a knife and fork. I plead guilty to the last one, because I am one step away from becoming Mr. Pitt, but we order pizza about once every two years, so it’s a pretty moot point. We have homemade make-your-own-pita-pizzas weekly, though, and I always use utensils; my husband still likes me so I think I’m okay.

But really, who eats pizza in bed? Who eats anything in bed? This might be my own personal thing but I like my bed free of food particles. Those duvet covers are a pain to wash and I don’t want to be dabbing remnants of pizza or anything else off of my pillows. I swear, even if I was a married lady on Downton Abbey, I would prefer to come down for breakfast rather than be served a tray, although if that was the case, someone else would be dealing with toast crumbs or Kashi cereal in the blankets. Still, it’s the principle of the thing.

I would kick ANYONE out of bed for eating crackers, make no mistake.

Years ago I read one of those click-bait articles that was titled something along the lines of “The One Thing Successful People Do Every Day” and that one thing was making their bed. I am a huge proponent of this and my kids have been making their own beds for many years, which apparently bodes well for their future successes. I literally don’t understand why people don’t make their beds – no judgments here, I just don’t understand. It takes less than two minutes, it looks neat and tidy, and at the end of the day, I want to get into a nice neat bed, not a jumble of sheets and blankets.

To me, THAT would be a deal-breaker, since I don’t think a non-bed-maker and a bed-maker could really live together in harmony. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe they could make it work, not unlike a gardener-and-flower relationship. I mean, my husband deals with the fact that I cannot handle the TV turned up past a certain quiet volume, and I deal with him folding the tea towels in halves instead of in thirds, so who knows? We all have our relationship crosses to bear, I guess.

Well, this post certainly went a different direction than I had intended. I had intended to write about Valentine’s Day, and how some people place a lot of importance on it and others scorn it, and what happens when the twain meet? My friend and I were talking yesterday of Valentine’s Days Past; she worked in a grocery store and remembers hordes of men rushing in at 5:30 pm on The Day to buy crappy grocery flowers. I remembered one year visiting my parents in Palm Desert and my mom and I went shopping. I wanted to buy some bras at Victoria’s Secret – this was before the chain came to Canada – and the store was flooded with men, with crazed, desperate looks in their eyes. I didn’t make the connection until I realized it was February 14, and noticed the salesgirls had their hands full choosing probably inappropriate items and ringing up gift cards.

For me, Valentine’s Day is a nice excuse to make heart shaped baked goods – this year, a raspberry cake and sugar cookies – and to relentlessly tell my husband I choo-choo-choose him.

This year, though, he ordered me three cases of red wine, which is probably the greatest gift ever given in the history of mankind. Unless, I guess, it was four cases, but that seems excessive. I sent him texts with the bee emoticon so I am just going to say that I got the better end of the deal.

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my friends. May your wine be rich and plentiful, and your pizza be delicious and eaten with a knife and fork at a table, just like god intended.

Bonus Barkley-on-a-snowy-day picture, just because I love you. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day (a day late!).

Well, it’s January

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“Well, it’s January.” This seems to be my answer to everything lately, from the wildly-fluctuating weather to my own general idiocy. Well, idiocy may be a strong term for “writing down the dog’s veterinary appointment on the wrong day” but here we are. I had my entire morning planned around Barkley’s appointment. I had called a few weeks ago, specified the necessity of a Thursday morning appointment, and yesterday, when I bundled myself up and hauled us both over to the clinic, discovered that the appointment was for the next Thursday. Sadly, that time was not going to work for me so now today at 3:30 is my new time; an inferior time, if I do say so myself. Friday afternoon is no time for an appointment. Friday afternoon is no time for anything except collapsing in exhaustion from the week’s travails. However, I could see no real alternative, given my schedule over the next few weeks. No sooner than I had arranged this with the receptionist and arrived back home, I received a phone call from the vet clinic, reminding me of my appointment tomorrow at 3:30. But I just SAW you twenty minutes ago to arrange this is something I did not say to the young receptionist, instead circling “Barkley 3:30!!!” several times in pink ink on my calendar. Mental note: do not miss this appointment.

Well, at least it’s Friday, and as soon as I return from the vet I am cracking open a bottle of wine and grabbing myself a funnel. No, a glass. A glass.

When I went scissors-shopping this week, it took everything in my power not to immediately spend thousands of dollars on beautiful kitchenware at The Bay. Did you know Kate Spade has a whole kitchenware collection? I spent a lot of time looking at the beautiful dinnerware and oversized wine glasses, mentally picturing myself sipping from a 500 mL wine glass and eating dinner off a “in good taste” plate. Then I saw Le Creuset bakeware and, my goodness, how did I get out of there alive? Well, I remembered that I DO have lovely glassware (not 500 mL ones though) and I DO have lovely Denby dinnerware, and almost every single piece is chipped, because of children. Children, nay, TEENAGERS and fancy dinnerware are not really compatible and so I felt powerful and strong, if regretful, as I left with only scissors and two tiny cut-price Christmas ornaments.

Relatedly, I mused aloud to my husband at the end of December, wondering if I should cut back on my wine consumption for the New Year. He looked at me with what can only be described as a mix of horror and bewilderment, as he asked me why, why in the world I would think about doing that. Um, okay! Go grab the corkscrew, honey! After all, Santa did bring me some nice bottles for my stocking.

Santa also brought me this sweater, and I think it’s so cute and cozy that I just have to share:

It’s like wearing a bathrobe over all my clothes and it is just the best thing ever. Especially since this was the temperature when I dropped off the kids yesterday morning.

Brrrr!

Filing this also under “January Idiocy” is what I shall always refer to as the Music Incident. Monday afternoon I was subbing a yoga class for a lovely group of ladies. It wasn’t the first time I’d subbed for them, so I knew what they liked: a mix of gentle and more vigorous postures, a strong standing sequence followed by some slower, relaxed seated asana. They also seemed to enjoy the instrumental playlists that I had used for them in the past. I chose one of my favourites, “Peaceful Piano” for the class. Now, Peaceful Piano is a very long playlist and I have always played it from the beginning, so I confess that I had not heard every song on it. I put the playlist on shuffle and enjoyed some of the gorgeous music.

As the students went into savasana, the song changed. My mental process went something like this:

This song sounds familiar. Why do I know this song?

I’m feeling kind of agitated. Why am I so agitated?

Where is this song from?

Oh my god, it’s from Game of Thrones. This is Game of Thrones! This is the song that played right before Cersei blew everything up.

Oh my god, I’m playing a death song for savasana. A DEATH SONG FOR THE CORPSE POSE.

I wonder if anyone here watches Game of Thrones. 

I seemed to be the only person reliving (SPOILER ALERT) the death and destruction of King’s Landing and the suicide of Tommen, so I guess all is well. But whew, what a week. How many hours until I’m home from that vet appointment?

What’s In A Name; Perspectives; Book Reviews

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The other night, our dinnertime conversation centered on names, and whether the names we give our children are self-fulfilling prophecies. I’ve always been fascinated by names and how they change with trends and generations. The book Freakonomics has a very interesting chapter on names and demographics, and of course I’m watching with interest as names start to come back into style that would have been considered ridiculous when I was a kid. The boys have become big Seinfeld fans – “Santa” gave them the complete series on DVD at Christmas – and there is one bit where Jerry reflects that calling a child “Jeeves” pretty much guarantees a career as a butler. The conversation turned interesting when one of the boys said that it was no wonder Scar from The Lion King was evil; just look at the other names the lions were given. Mufasa. Simba. Sarabi. Nala. All beautiful, majestic names, and then there’s Scar. The other boy said he hoped it was just a nickname given later in life, because if someone was born with a deformity, it seemed cruel to name them after that deformity. “I mean, if you were born with a gigantic head, it seems mean to name a baby Big Head.”

In any case, we all decided that poor Scar was a bit misunderstood and maybe even bullied a little, which is why he turned out the way he did. It’s interesting, always, to look at things from another perspective. I stumbled on this tweet stream the other day and people, it always pays to look at things from someone else’s point of view. There are always at least two sides to every story.

There are two sides to this story as well, but here is my side: my good scissors are missing. Someone who shall remain nameless but who is under fifty and is not me misplaced them; bless his heart, he was helping his father take down the outdoor Christmas decorations, a thankless task, and somehow the scissors have disappeared. Now, I have a very tidy and well-organized house, and believe me when I say THEY ARE NOT IN THE HOUSE. Possibly they were accidentally dropped in a snowbank somewhere, but I think it’s more likely they are in one of the many boxes housing the decorations that are now in the rafters in the garage.

It doesn’t matter what happened to them. What matters is that for the last few weeks I have been forced to use our secondary pair of scissors, a much cheaper and far inferior product.

The good scissors were a wedding gift from my then-boss (HI GARY, WHEREVER YOU ARE) and they were Henkels. When he gave them to me, he jokingly said “You can think of me every time you cut something” and I swear to you, I actually did. But now, upon being forced to use the inferior scissors, I found I was only thinking of my grave disappointment with each use.

Enough is enough and today I headed out in the freezing cold to purchase a new pair of Henkels from The Bay. My motto is to never buy anything at The Bay that isn’t on sale, but needs must sometimes you guys, needs must. It took a lot of internal conflict for me to buy them, with my half-Scottish side reprimanding myself for even THINKING of spending a ridiculous sum of money on scissors when a) the others might turn up next Christmas or when the snow melts, and b) they weren’t even on sale. But you know, I thought it was a small price to pay to have nice scissors again, and not think sadly of the son who misplaced the scissors – WHILE DOING SOMETHING HELPFUL, HE DID NOT MEAN TO DO THIS THING.

Anyway, they are now in my possession and look:

“Just perfect” – they are, really.

It’s all about perspective! And on that note, I’d like to share my perspective on a few books sent to me by Simon and Schuster. I was not compensated for these reviews, but I was sent advance reader copies of each.

Walk It Off

Whenever I get a headache – which is rare, I am not headache-prone – I think, in the voice of Arnold Schwartzegger from Kindergarten Cop, it’s not a tum-ah. But what if it is a tumour? Ruth Marshall – an actress noted for her role in Degrassi, among other things – dismissed her tingling legs and clumsiness, only to find out that she had a giant tumour on her spine. Walk It Off is her memoir (what is the difference between memoir and autobiography?) about her diagnosis and recovery, and although it sounds quite grim, it’s actually really hilarious and heart-warming. You can’t help but put yourself in her (flat) shoes and wonder what it would be like to be in recovery and rehab, with two children, learning to walk and use the bathroom. You also can’t help but get slightly alarmed when you wake up with pins and needles in your hand, ostensibly because you slept in a weird position, but WHAT IF. It’s a really great, quick read with the kind of “a door closes and another opens” ending that I absolutely love.

Dangerous Crossing

As soon as I finished this fabulous mystery I immediately lent it to my mother, who loves mysteries and historical fiction. Dangerous Crossing is the story of a British domestic servant who took advantage of an offer from the Australian government to sail Down Under; apparently domestic servants were in short supply, and the Aussies would pay the passage of young women to go into service. This was in 1939 and really did happen. Now, with any historical fiction, there will be some parts that are NOT strictly historical; behaviours and attitudes tend to be modernized so as to not offend the reader, and this book is no exception. Also, I found myself wondering how on earth a domestic servant would afford a cream silk evening gown, and why cream? It would be hard to clean on a ship. But ignoring that, this book is delicious and fun and I really did not see the ending coming, at all. I like those kinds of twists. This would be an amazing travel read or a book to take to the beach.

Things To Do When It’s Raining

This lovely gem of a book is all about secrets and how they can tear you apart, and the healing power of forgiveness and love. Things To Do When It’s Raining has a lovely message and interesting characters, and this paragraph, I think, says it all.

Asymmetry

I saved the best for last. Of all the books I read in 2017, this might be my favourite. Asymmetry is an incredibly written, beautiful story in three parts; the first two seem like they are completely unrelated, from the perspective of two completely unrelated people, but in the third part, we see how they overlap. It’s a debut novel and it’s amazing – a must read. From a May-December romance to an Iraqi-American detained at London Heathrow, the intertwined stories are fascinating. I loved this so much that I have already decided to re-read it on my next plane trip – it’s such dense, gorgeous writing that I feel that I will get even more out of it on a second read.

On that note, I have laundry to fold and banana bread to make (I still have SO MANY frozen bananas) and a class to teach so I’m signing off. xo

Three Things I Learned Yesterday

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Happy New Year everyone! I am going to admit right now that I love the New Year; I love the idea of fresh starts and new pages and YES, we can start a fresh page of our lives every single day and YES, we can (and I do) make changes and goals any time during the year, but still, there is something about New Year’s. Last year I resolved to focus more, and uni-task rather than multi-task more, and I think that I did improve on that front. I also resolved to read more and – inspired by my dear friend Allison (HI ALLISON) – I kept a record of all the books I read in 2017. I ended up reading 82 books, which I thought was pretty good. Simon and Schuster sent me a bunch of books to read and review and those reviews will be coming in the next little while. Suffice it to say they sent me some excellent titles, and some titles that I would say would be nice, light reads for the beach or holiday.

So what’s up for 2018? Are you making any resolutions, or goals, or words of intention? I have a hard time NOT resolving to do everything – in addition to multiple health, fitness, parenting, reading, and piano playing goals, I’ve also found myself resolving to be more like the mindfulness guru Dr. Saamdu Chetri who starts every day being thankful for the gift of twenty-four hours. Every day! Thank you for these twenty-four hours I have been given! I told my husband about that and he thought it seemed maybe a bit unbalanced. Maybe that’s true, but the principle is still a good one.

It’s a fine line, I think, between self-love and acceptance, celebrating the fabulous people that we are and the wonderful, blessed lives that we have, and also wanting to remake everything entirely on New Year’s. There is always room for improvement, though, and meanwhile, I’ll be over here practicing gratitude and patience and getting extra cardio.

The kids have been off school this week and my husband has been off work, which has been lovely and strange. I still have a modified class schedule, but yesterday I had nothing at all – so I decided I would get all my groceries in one go. That meant a trip to Costco in the morning and a trip to Superstore in the afternoon and suffice it to say that wasn’t the best idea I’ve had. Actually, now that I think of it, it WAS the best idea in terms of a cardio workout – I checked my “steps” on my phone and it turned out I walked 4.2 kilometres – although that did include a 2 kilometre dog walk. There’s a fitness hack for you – go grocery shopping! Especially when it comes to pushing heavy carts through snowy parking lots! Although I did take someone with me for each trip and made them push the cart but next time, it will be just me. I should patent this idea: get fit by grocery shopping, plus buy your veggies! It’s a win-win!

I often resolve to spend less time on the internet and social media, because sometimes it feels that no good can come of it. But then I am proven wrong, for if I wasn’t on the internet I would not have learned these three amazing things:

Pumping Gas

I had no idea that all this time that I have been choosing the “self-serve” lane at the gas station that I was doing something NOT ALLOWED in Oregon. At least, until recently, when Oregon mandated that people can pump their own gas in rural areas which has caused a bit of a kerfluffle in that state. Who knew? I mean really, WHO KNEW. Not me. Opponents to this ruling have many objections: transient people can steal their children while they are waiting in the car as the gas is being pumped, everyone’s hands will smell like gasoline, and – this is my favourite – people don’t KNOW how to pump their own gas. I am the first to admit I am a total idiot when it comes to my car – I don’t even know how to open the hood – but even I can pump my own gas. It’s really not hard. Suffice it to say that if I can do something, vehicle-wise, than it’s pretty much a guarantee even the village idiot can. Just don’t go all Zoolander at the gas station and you’ll be fine, people of Oregon.

Plinko Record SMASHED

Anyone who has watched The Price Is Right is well aware of two things: the commercials during the breaks are awesome, and Plinko is the very best game there is. This fellow from Cleveland SMASHED the previous Plinko record and went home with $39,200!

That’s enough to buy a NEW CAR.

Raw Water is a Thing Now

Years ago I remember talking to someone about iodine tablets to put in drinking water, while on a trip to Nepal. Iodine, she said, might not be the best thing but it’s better than explosive diarrhea on the hiking trail. Truer words were never spoken. But now, apparently, drinking unfiltered, untreated water is a Thing. Tap water – or even filtered bottled water – is for suckers. I live in close proximity to the Rocky Mountains, and while spring water may SEEM pristine and fresh, there’s a little thing called Beaver Fever. Or cholera. Although…if your New Year’s Resolution is to lose weight, there would be nothing more effective than contracting dysentery, so maybe this Raw Water Thing is really going to catch on!

Winter Solstice, a.k.a. The Day The Vitamin D Supplement Was Meant For

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Happy Winter Solstice! As of today, we will have exactly seven hours and fifty-three minutes of daylight, which is NOT VERY MUCH. However, at least we aren’t in the Arctic! And days start getting longer tomorrow, so there’s that. Also! We are in the Final Countdown To Christmas, so there is much excitement around the Boyhouse. I have two more classes to teach before I have a week off, and let me tell you, as soon as I get home from class tomorrow, I am (finally) cracking open that Almonde Baileys I bought, putting on a pot (YES A POT) of coffee, and watching Christmas Vacation with the children. I have been looking forward to that moment for weeks now. It’s going to be glorious.

The boys – including my husband – will also be decorating their traditional gingerbread house tomorrow. We are a bit later than normal but I shrug my tired shoulders at the notion of a gingerbread house schedule. I was reminded by Facebook of the house they made eight years ago:

Nothing can top that baby. Nothing!

For those of you in the throes of festive stress, come here, sit beside me, while I make you an Almonde Baileys and coffee. It’s a stressful time, although I am currently feeling like a motherfucking boss since I zoomed over to Superstore as soon as I dropped the kids at “school” (no actual academic activities will take place on this day, thank god, since no student has any focus at the moment) and, people, I managed to rack up 9,500 PC Points. LIKE A BOSS. And it was all buying things that I would normally buy, rather than weird one-off things that will sit in my pantry for years to come. I AM THE QUEEN.

On Monday I drove past the mall on my way to get a wax (TMI? Sorry, I am literally on my second POT of coffee and my filters, as it were, are blurred) and there were cars lined up along the road just to get into the parking lot. I can’t imagine what the parking lot itself was like, but I did see a lot of very slow moving vehicles. My god, the mall. If you or someone you love is heading there any time this week, my thoughts and prayers are with you. GO WITH GOD, PEOPLE. And don’t forget to be nice to the people working the checkouts.

Hmm, I had more to say but in my coffee-fueled haze I cannot remember what. Oh yes! The banana update. Were you all on the edge of your seats, waiting for an update? Well, wait no more because here it comes: the bananas went from greenish to completely black-and-brown in a matter of 24 hours.

But, Dear Reader, you need to know that when I took off the gross peels, with the exception of the very tip, inside was a firm, yet ripe, banana.

That photo looks a little “not safe for work” and also that is what Reynaud’s looks like.

All of which is to say that while I do love Costco and all of its outsized goodness, I will never buy bananas there again.

Happy Holidays to all of you wonderful people. I wish for you a time of joy, happiness, and peace, and if anyone wants some banana bread, I have a freezer full of bananas for you. xoxo

Can you spot the Barkley?

Miracle on 34th Street, the Costco Version

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“Why? Why would you do that?” my husband asked me, looking at me like I had just escaped the asylum and was planning to sell all our possessions, move into a circus tent, and eat my own shoe. The shocking thing I was planning to do, in fact, was to go to Costco on December 19, the Tuesday before Christmas.

Truthfully, I wondered a bit at myself, but there were a few things I wanted to get and I was in that awkward spot of either a) going now, b) waiting until after Boxing Day and before New Year’s, or c) waiting until January. I couldn’t see how any of the above would be different from one another so I blocked off the whole afternoon and steeled myself for the job. I taught my usual morning class and then headed over there right away, thinking in my mind if I get there at 11:30, I’ll probably be done by 1:00, and then home by 1:30…it’s going to be okay, Nicole, it’s going to be okay. I thought if the lineups were crazy then I could practice my mindfulness, wherever I go, here I am, I repeated to myself as I drove into the parking lot.

I parked far from the doors and noticed that there were several spots to choose from. I chose the one near an abandoned cart, the sight of which usually fills me with impotent rage but I kept breathing and thinking zen thoughts. I took the abandoned cart myself, hauling it over the median and thinking of the cart like I would an abandoned dog, who needs love and attention. The parking lot was a little Frogger-like but I made it into the store without being flattened like Grandma Who Got Run Over By A Reindeer – albeit barely.

Inside the store was a pleasant surprise; I don’t know where all the people in the parking lot were, but they were not in the produce section or the shampoo aisle, nor choosing olives or almond butter. Sure, there were the requisite crowds around the sample tables, but all in all, the store seemed quiet. I walked around smiling at everyone like a friendly lunatic, hoping to shine a light that my resting bitch face does not emit, and, delightfully, people smiled back at me.

Finally, it was the moment of truth. I took a deep breath and headed for the checkouts…and there was no lineup whatsoever. People, six days before Christmas and I was in and out of Costco with a full cart in less than thirty minutes. It is a Christmas miracle! I thought happily. My entire afternoon was empty and available for chocolate bark-making.

My friend Alice (HI ALICE) swears by shopping cart karma, and I am a believer. If you rescue an abandoned cart, or you tidy up the cart corral, good things will happen to you while shopping. IT’S TRUE, PEOPLE, JUST TRY IT.

I did witness something distressing, something I hadn’t seen before so close up. I walked past a car that was backing out of its spot, very near the door. There was another car waiting with its signal light on, and behind it several cars stopped for this. As the car backed up, another car came from a different direction and very quickly – and not exactly safely, since it was icy and slippery – zoomed into the spot. It was, I will tell you, shocking. More than that, the woman in the passenger seat was looking at the patiently-waiting-signal-light-on car who was angrily honking the horn, and she was LAUGHING. Laughing, people. I shared a raised-eyebrow moment with a fellow pushing his cart and I wondered what would happen next. I didn’t wait to see the carnage though, but you can bet that Good Shopping Karma was not awaiting that woman.

It’s December; what’s your Tree Decorating Personality?

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The other day my husband said that the month of November dragged and dragged and seemed to go on forever, and honestly, I felt like I couldn’t relate at all. November FLEW by for me, in that I keep thinking that it was just Halloween the other day, and now it’s December. I mean, I’ve been feeling festive for the past couple of weeks, as is my wont at this time of year, but I keep feeling like my life is a speeded-up cartoon of pages flying off a daily calendar.

On Wednesday I went to the post office to mail the Christmas parcel to my mother-and-sister-in-law, and as I walked through the parking lot I saw a man standing outside of the Tim Horton’s, having a cigarette. This would not be notable in the least, except that the man in question looked exactly like Santa Claus: he had a long, well-kept white beard, rosy cheeks, a generally round shape, and – this might be speculation on my part – a jolly demeanor. I wondered if he WAS the mall Santa Claus; although he wasn’t wearing a red suit, he was wearing a red t-shirt, and anyway it would be more than likely that he would change for his smoke break, so as to not disturb the young children who had just sat on his lap in the pretend North Pole in the mall. Nevertheless, I did wonder if he WAS the mall Santa, would children recognize him even without the suit, and if so, how would their parents explain this? Even Santa deserves a break, maybe, or Santa has a stressful job at this time of year. I thought about this all through the lineup at the post office, imagining this stranger, who had done nothing whatever to deserve this thought process, other than having a Santa-like appearance, was actually the real Santa, picturing his smoke breaks during toy-making supervision, and the elves smoking with him with their tiny elf-sized mugs of super-strong coffee, talking with a “HEY! I’m WALKING here!” New York accent. I thought about this until I got back to my car and then realized that I was letting my imagination run away with me, and speculation is just that, speculation, and most likely the fellow in question was not Santa in any shape or form, only a kind-looking, if hirsute, older gentleman.

Not that I’d begrudge Santa his smoke break – it would be tiring sitting there with screaming infants and parents trying to coax a smile out of their terrified toddlers, who intuitively know not to sit on a stranger’s lap and tell that stranger secrets for any amount of candy canes. Have you been a good girl this year? But a smoking Santa might be a little stinky for the kids.

Long story short, now is the time to visit the post office. The lineup was negligible and the clerks are not as downtrodden and exhausted as they will be three weeks from now.

What’s the gift-and-card-for-the-in-laws situation in your house? For what it’s worth, I take this task on myself. I know many people have a “your family, you do the gift” policy, but a) I find I’m probably more suited to shop for a seventy-five-year-old woman than my husband is, b) I have a much more flexible schedule, and c) broadly speaking, once two people are joined in holy matrimony those two people should – IDEALLY – consider the spouse’s family to be their own. Ideally. In any case, it’s all done and mailed now.

I am also the person in charge of holiday cards, for the very good reason that I am the only person who cares about holiday cards. I am the person who chooses the photo, the layout, and the inside message. I make sure to include “from Barkley too, woof!” as I do every year, and I write out and address each one. I do not let anyone near them – which, as I said, no one is really clamouring to help – because to say I’m particular about them is an understatement.

I mention this so you know that I am not judging the people involved in my next topic. I know we all have our things. Lately I have seen a lot of posts about women, exclusively women, who either a) redecorate their Christmas tree after their children decorate it, or b) do not let their children decorate the tree at all. No judgement here, but I cannot relate in the least. Decorating the tree is a full-on family affair in the Boyhouse and hoo boy, can you tell. I love it. I love our extremely eclectic collection of ornaments and I love to see the perfect arrangement of ornaments through my kids’ eyes. Every year I add one or two ornaments to our collection, something to remind me of the year that has passed, and so we have a lot of interesting trinkets; a tractor from when the boys were obsessed with John Deere, a beautiful ball with an Inukshut on it from 2010, a fat moose from the year I was pregnant with the oldest and was enormous.

Did you know that there is much spirited debate in the world about white versus coloured lights? I did not but never fear: our tree has a setting for both, and the lights oscillate between the two. See?

I love when the kids jam several ornaments on one branch; they do that because they think the ornaments want to be together, which melts my heart.

Clue – a gift from my parents – plus two homemade candy canes and, surprisingly, Superman.

A stormtrooper with Ben 10 and a few assorted Cars movie ornaments.

I bought this admittedly tacky Disney castle with Mickey Mouse last year, at Disney World. It reminds me of watching the fireworks show, and how wonderful and special that was. A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep.

This came from Disneyland, back in 2011. The kids LOVED the Buzz Lightyear ride.

My mom had given the boys these ornaments when they were – as you may guess – four and five, and I love that they are together. Also: Scooby Doo and my marshmallow “Kiss the Cook.”

My mother-in-law gave me this bowl years ago. I keep it filled with driftwood, shells, and smooth rocks from trips my husband and I made to the West Coast, before kids. The vintage ornaments get added at Christmas, and they were also a gift from her. I love the 1960s feel of them.

My husband, bless his heart, spends at least eight hours putting up outdoor Christmas decorations. Not only do we have lights – white icicles and red bulbs – along with lighted deer, trees, gift boxes, a hippo, penguins, snowmen, a moose, and an entire candy cane lane – which he bought for me because I always wanted one – he also decorates our large Mayday tree with glittery ornaments.

Sadly, two of them detached from their hooks. I went to Walmart to buy Gorilla Glue, feeling like an I am Woman Hear Me Roar type. I went to the DIY section, giggling because DIY always reminds me of that line in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, “Do you like to Do It Yourself?” Anyway, there were many different kinds of Gorilla Glue but I chose wisely, I think. When I told my husband, expecting praise for doing what I would strongly consider a Blue Job, he nervously texted me to ask me to please wait until he got home before fixing the ornaments. I think he thought I would glue myself to the table, or perhaps glue my hands together or one hand to my face or something. Given my track record for fixing things, this was probably warranted.

My husband also strung lights on the garage so when I’m making dinner, I don’t have to stare out the window into the pitch-black abyss. It really brightens my mood. He also set the timer so that the lights come on just as I’m driving home from yoga in the wee hours of the morning, and it always makes me happy.

Happy December, my friends. I wish you a month of joy and festivity, and no fingers glued together. xo

Why do we have two Agent P? I don’t know, but I’m glad they’re together.