Category Archives: Housewifery

A very long confessional post about bathroom cleansers.

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Something very momentous happened this week, an event that is quality-of-life altering for me.

Before I get to that, a little background information. Most of you who have known me for a while know that my go-to cleaning solution is white vinegar. I am, you might say, a white vinegar fiend. At any given time my house smells like an odd cross between a bakery and a pickling factory. There is, in my humble opinion, no better nor more cost-effective cleaner than white vinegar. Occasionally I will mix it up by using a hippie essential-oil based cleaner, but for the most part, it’s all white vinegar all the time.

Well, most of the time. There is an exception to this rule, and that is the bathroom sinks and toilets. When it comes to that, I go all out; I like the kind of cleaners that boast of killing off 99.9% of germs, the old-school, scrub-free disinfectants. When it comes to the bathroom sinks and toilets, the harsher the cleanser the better, in my opinion. I feel fine about this because, as I mentioned, I only use these cleansers for relatively small area, and so one bottle of cleanser can last…well, I don’t really know how long it can last. Months, I suppose.

So it was several months ago that I impulsively bought a different cleanser; it was on a price rollback, it promised to kill off 99.9% of germs – including staph bacteria, which is not something I had thought of before but sure am thinking of now – and it advertised a “spring-fresh scent.” Now, I am not the kind of person who actually sniffs cleansers in the Walmart cleaning solution aisle, because a) I don’t want to look like a weirdo, b) who sniffs cleansers anyway? Certainly not me, and c) it doesn’t seem like too big of a deal what your bathroom cleaning solution smells like.

Oh, the naivete. It turns out that it DOES matter, it matters a lot, because this cleaning solution was, while effective at its job, terrible in the scent department. It smelled like a chemical factory mixed with formaldehyde, which is not a scent I enjoy, nor is it one that I associate with “spring-fresh.”

And yet, I kept on.

I continued to use the abhorrent-smelling-but-effective cleanser, and every time I did – three times a week, because that is how often I clean my bathrooms – I would hate it. The bathroom would smell like a chemical factory with formaldehyde for hours afterwards, THREE TIMES A WEEK. So for a large part of the week, I basically hated my ill-scented bathroom and everything else around it.

Now, at this point, you might be saying, But Nicole, when you Kondo’d your life, you realized that saying goodbye to things that do not spark joy is the key to happiness and tidiness. Why did you not just get rid of the bathroom cleanser and buy another one, in a non-offensive scent?

Why indeed? Well, as it turns out, I can get rid of lipglosses that do not suit me after only one use, I can get rid of ill-fitting clothes that originally cost a tidy sum of money, I can donate an entire lifetime’s worth of compact discs because of Spotify, but I cannot get rid of any kind of household cleanser. I know! It was $2.99 worth of cleanser, that I used for MONTHS AND MONTHS, and yet I continued to use it until the bitter end.

Sure, I could have poured it down the sink, and although eventually that is where the cleanser all goes, for some reason I felt like that was environmentally unsound to do so all in one shot. Ultimately, though, it is probably to do with my Scottish ancestry. I also keep using hand soap until the soap itself is a centimetre long and a millimetre thick, and my long-suffering husband throws it out. I flatten toothpaste tubes until not another drop can be extracted, I keep shampoo and conditioner bottles upside down, probably using a ton more water in the shower as I violently shake out the last drops.

Once, I was watching a Shark Tank episode with my kids, who love that show. On it was a woman who had invented something called the Spaddy Daddy. It was a long, thin spatula that could be used to scrape out every last ounce of body wash, conditioner, or liquid soap out of a bottle, and all I could think was Brilliant. This woman is a goddamn genius. She is my people. I do no think the Spaddy Daddy is available in Canada, but it is clearly the greatest idea of our generation.

Side note: why has no one ever invented a nail polish in which the brush goes all the way to the bottom? It is impossible, not to mention eminently frustrating, to get any nail polish out of the bottle once it is less than 1/3 full. What a waste. Someone told me that this could be solved by putting nail polish remover in the bottle to get the last bit out, but that seems to me that it would compromise the integrity of the nail polish, and so I have never tried. Instead I throw the bottle in the trash, 1/3 full, a little harder than is necessary.

All of which is to say that I could not, and would not, throw out the gross-smelling bathroom cleanser, but this week, I FINISHED IT. I have started on a new, citrus-scented one, and my quality of life has improved immensely.

Mercury in retrograde plus Costco equals misery

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If you have been feeling like things are a drag, if you’ve been feeling tired or if it seems like your plans have been constantly foiled by external factors, I have some great news for you: Mercury is in retrograde! And it ends tomorrow! All will be well soon, my friends, or as well as it can be, I suppose.

To tell the truth, I haven’t really noticed; all has been fine around here. The only thing is that last night I slept really well – I fell asleep just after nine and slept solidly until 4:10. Normally I wake up a few times in the night; often I wake up at 3 and then just doze off and on after that until I get up for the day at 4:30. I never think this affects me, other than I seem to be in a semi-coma by evening. But waking up today I felt so incredibly refreshed, so able to take on anything, that I am a little alarmed by my regular, everyday feeling.

I decided to read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, being that I am 42 and all, and I will tell you right now that I loathed it. I didn’t even finish it, and I normally soldier my way through most things. Last night, I read another ridiculous chapter and then decided that life is too short and time is too precious, and quit. Maybe that’s why I slept so well; who knows?

I am no busier than anyone else, but this week my schedule is a bit strange; filled up with a lot of one-offs. However, I really needed to go to Costco for some specific, much-consumed items that I can only get there. Side note: all my free time these days seems to be consumed by grocery shopping and laundry, the two Sisyphean tasks in my life. Anyway, this afternoon I had a small window, and though I try to avoid Costco in the afternoon, I ventured forth. Winding through the parking lot, gazing at all the carts strewn everywhere but the cart corrals, I started to regret my choices. I did manage to park, grab an orphaned cart, and shop.

People. I forgot that one of the reasons I don’t shop in the afternoon is because Costco has the sample tables out by then. I tried to deep breathe and think of it as a lesson in patience, but it is very irritating to not be able to maneuver through the aisles because of all the lineups at the sample tables. I mean, by all means, line up for ten minutes to get your free cracker, but we are not all so eager to try the new sweet potato flavour, so please let me pass. I promise I am not going to cut in line.

Not everyone dawdled however; one woman zoomed by a sample table, grabbing a tiny paper cup and sauntering off. The sample lady must have been having a DAY – and who can blame her? – because she started speaking in a very loud, passive-aggressive voice, about what exactly was in the cup. IT IS BLACK BEAN SAUCE SERVED ON BASMATI RICE AND THE SAUCE IS $3.97 A BOTTLE AND YOU CAN PICK ONE UP AT MY TABLE OR IN AISLE 103. AISLE 103!

She said this in the direction of the woman who was seemingly obliviously munching on her black bean sauce and basmati rice, and me, because I was right behind her. I smiled at the lady, nodding; although I did not have a sample it was good information to have. The black bean sauce did look good and maybe the sample people are required to give their pitch, regardless of whether the samplers stay to listen. She stared at me with daggers in her eyes. Perhaps I should have taken a sample, but at that point it seemed weird.

I do get it. The worst job I ever held was that of Beer Sample Girl, which, as you can well imagine, has its own trials. One of them was not the sales pitch because giving out beer samples means that you will have many, many people conversing with you about many things, including the beer sample itself. But I do get it.

Also: Mercury is in retrograde! Shopping at Costco is a bit seventh-circle-of-hell-like at the best of times, especially for those of us who don’t love crowds or the possibility of being crushed to death by towering items. This is not overly an exaggeration; longtime readers will remember the time I narrowly missed being crushed to death by tampon boxes at Costco. 

Okay, that was also an exaggeration. But! Moving on! Mercury in retrograde and harried Costco shoppers can take their toll on the most pleasant of souls. The cashier who checked my items through had a look on her face that exactly matched what most people probably felt like, a “Lord, deliver me from this hellhole and all the idiots inside it” kind of look.

The one exception was the girl who packed my cart. She said in a very, very enthusiastic and excited way, “Thank you SO MUCH for bringing your own bins today!” I was a bit startled by this outpouring of enthusiasm but was incredibly appreciative of her positive attitude and, frankly, amazing cart-packing skills. I mean, this was a thing of beauty. I commented on her mad skills and she shrugged cheerfully. “It’s just my job!”

Well done, Costco girl. And hold on for one more day, because things are going to change, they’re going to go your way. If you just hold on for one more day.

Accomplishing Things and Reading Motivational Quotes

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You guys, the Mayday tree is budding, the tulips are up, all sorts of hardy plants – yarrow, daylilies, ornamental sage – are making their appearance in my backyard, and today it RAINED. Do you know how rare it is to get rain in Calgary in April? Usually it’s snow. I feel like I’m in some exciting new world where winter doesn’t last eight months.

Now that I’ve said that, it will probably snow tomorrow.

Similarly, I realized that it has been over a year since I was last ill. I made it through the entire winter – including close-quartered yoga teacher training when a number of my fellow students were hacking up lungs and feverish – without getting sick. I thought, perhaps I should write a post about that, but then decided that was hubris, and in doing so I was guaranteeing I would be immediately struck down with the bubonic plague. So this brief mention is all you, dear reader, will have to endure. In any case, my “stay healthy” regimen consists mainly of daily smoothies containing 8-10 cups of spinach, washing my hands like a surgeon, never directly touching doorknobs, and having children who are no longer mobile petrie dishes.

I currently have five library books piled up on my side table; four of them came in within two days of each other, and the other one was a title I picked up on a whim, so I’ve been reading a lot. I finished What Alice Forgot, and while it wasn’t my favourite by that author, it was certainly thought-provoking. The premise is a woman falls and hits her head and is suddenly missing the past ten years of her life; she doesn’t remember her children, her friends, her impending divorce.

If you woke up tomorrow with no memory, none whatsoever, of the past ten years, and had to just reintegrate into your regular life, can you imagine what that would be like? Imagine if you still thought you were the same person you were in 2007. It boggles the mind. I had only just started practicing yoga in 2007, I wasn’t 100% vegetarian, I didn’t have a blog, and I looked a lot like this:

Well, I FELT like that, anyway, since I hadn’t slept through the night since 2003, and by that point I was pretty tired. I really looked like this:

Whatever happened to that denim jacket? I guess I donated it; I barely remember it.

Anyway, it’s an interesting thing to think about, if you just erased the past ten years. All the friends that you would have made in the past ten years, you’d have no memory of. The children’s school years, family dramas, deaths, home renovations, etc., all of those would be GONE. My god, I wouldn’t even remember Barkley. I would just suddenly be thrust into a home with a super cute fluffy dog who insistently nudges me when he wants to be petted, and begs for carrot ends.

Well. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

It’s been a real Get It Done week in the Boyhouse. I don’t know if it’s post-vacation energy or the fact that I’m reading motivational quotes, but I have been Down To Business around here. You know those little jobs that take hardly any time, but are annoying and you hate them? I’ve been doing all those jobs! And I have to say, it is incredibly Empowering (motivational quote-inspired) because damn, now those stupid little things are Done. Going through the pile of mail and filing things and recycling others, picking up boring items at Walmart, vacuuming the stairs. That kind of thing. I feel a vast, and probably greatly overstated, measure of accomplishment in doing those little chores.

I will confess to one of the stupidest jobs that I always put off; I hesitate to even call it a “job” because really, it’s almost nothing. I don’t think this can even qualify as a job, but here goes: Sunday nights I make a big dinner, and usually there is gravy. My gravy boat resides in the cupboard above the fridge, and every Sunday night after the dishes are done, I just let the gravy boat sit on the counter for a day or two before I put it back, because it seems like too much work after all that cooking. Because pulling a chair two feet and then getting on the chair and putting the gravy boat back in the cupboard is just a Bridge Too Far. But having the gravy boat on the counter is incredibly annoying to me, and I keep thinking to myself, all Monday and Tuesday, I need to put the gravy boat away, I need to put the gravy boat away, I need to put the gravy boat away, before I finally do it.

This is a long and boring way to say that last Sunday I just PUT THE GODDAMN GRAVY BOAT AWAY ON SUNDAY NIGHT and honestly, it was – is Life-Changing too dramatic? – Life-Changing. I mean, I have to do it anyway. It takes literally thirty seconds. Why do I aggravate myself by not just doing it? This thought spiraled into other areas in my life. Why put off something that can be done right now, and get it off the Giant List of Things To Do? Why have something as stupid as a gravy boat hanging over me? FREEDOM.

So, I urge you, dear reader: go DO IT. Do whatever it is hanging over your head. Do the thing on your to-do list that will take no time but you don’t want to do it. Make the phone call. Schedule the appointment. Just Do It And Then It Will Be Done, is my new motto. It is incredibly Freeing, I tell you.

Just in case you’re wondering, no, no one else in my house will put away the gravy boat because I have somehow created a Reign of Terror around putting things away incorrectly in the kitchen. I know! I need to figure out how to rectify this issue but in the meantime, Gravy Boat Serenity rests on my shoulders.

Spring Break in Mexico! Busting Loose!

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Hi! Happy April! Can you even believe it?

We spent a week of Spring Break in an all-inclusive in Mexico, and now I am completely spoiled. The whole trip was perfection; we went with another family and all eight of us get along like a house on fire, so much fun was had by all. The weather was perfect, the resort was perfect, everything was perfect.

This made the entry back to real life kind of rough: I had immediately become accustomed to not cooking, and having someone come by with a fresh drink every time mine was empty. I mean, my god, it is 4:53 as I write this and not one mango margarita have I consumed. One week ago, I would have had several by this hour in the day.

But one cannot be on vacation all the time, or one would not appreciate all the glories of sunshine and ocean breezes, am I right? And so today was the first day the kids were back to school, husband was back to work, and regular routine resumed. Which is not to say the past four days after our return were leisurely and relaxed; mostly I did load after load of laundry, grocery shopped, finished deadlines, and wistfully remembered, as if from a dream, this view:

Sigh.

What is it with post-vacation laundry? Mine was a dire situation, and I am one of those people who MUST unpack almost immediately upon walking in the door. My husband had to restrain me from starting the laundry at 9 pm after travelling all day. The following three days were almost entirely filled with laundry, punctuated with other drudgery, work, and – bizarrely – an orthodontist appointment. Note to self: never again book an orthodontist appointment on the day after a vacation, because you will regret it with every ounce of your being.

Anyway. The laundry is now done – as much as the Sisyphean task is ever done – I have meals planned for the week, and everything is caught up. Now for the vacation photos!

We met these guys on a bicycle excursion. One is male, one is female, and we were the happy viewers of live iguana porn. In fact, the whole iguana mating procedure seemed really bizarre, and it must have been, because the guide looked very taken aback by the strangely vigorous thrusting. “I’ve never seen THAT before,” he said, completely earnestly.

This led to a hilarious joke that we carried on throughout our trip: my friend and I were sitting by the pool, having a drink, when a large man came over, unloaded the children’s towels off of one of our pool chairs, picked it up, and carried it away. We were too taken aback – and tipsy – to say anything. The next day we saw him do the same thing to someone else. For some reason I nicknamed him Gary, and he was the unknowing butt of iguana jokes for the remainder. Hey, if you’re going to take chairs while children are swimming, then you should be laughed at, in my mango-margarita-fueled opinion.

Moving on, we also saw this guy on our bicycle excursion, and I did NOT name him Gary. He probably had a name.

The mango margaritas that started it all.

My husband and I celebrated our anniversary, on the same day that our older son – and our friends’ older son – turned 13! Serendipity.

One thing I LOVED about this resort was all the scheduled activities that anyone could join in. One thing you may or may not know about me, if someone is asking for a volunteer for an activity, I am first in line. This is how I ended up doing zumba and/ or water aerobics almost every day, and also how I somehow got involved in Crazy Games where I had to race across the pool on a floaty, while being splashed in the face and held back by one of the Entertainment Team.

I wasn’t the only adult doing zumba, by the way. The rest have been cropped out to maintain privacy. It’s really fun, once you get over the weirdness of dancing in your bikini in front of everyone around the pool.

It was fairly spring-like when we got home, the snow was melted and Jake and I even did some garden clean-up on Saturday. Sunday morning, however, looked like this.

Oh well, I guess it’s still good to be home.

Fifteen minutes of fame or writing or something.

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Last week was pretty hectic, so I was looking forward to a fairly open week in which I could get a lot of writing done and, in general, relax a bit. Unfortunately, I did not actually look at my calendar in that burst of optimistic feeling, and I am having an OMG it’s Wednesday already and OMG it’s March 8 already and OMG my life is flying by.

For one thing, I forgot that I had signed up to volunteer for a field trip to the Spaceport yesterday. The field trip itself was just fine; not the best field trip ever – that title still goes to the one to the Police Interpretive Centre – but certainly not the worst either. There were lots of fun and interesting activities for the kids and my Nerd might have been showing as I got pretty into the air compression station, when it was my turn to man the equipment.

There was also a very cool inflatable dome that the kids got to lie down in to look at the various stars and constellations, and it is pretty clear that the entire class is much more knowledgeable in this area than I am.

My favourite part by far was footage with Commander Hadfield and crew, snacking on bananas and M&M’s in space. You had me at Commander Hadfield.

One of the presentations included a very detailed demonstration – using a dummy with the creepiest face you’ve ever seen, seriously, this is nightmare stuff – about how astronauts use the toilet. Clearly the people who design the program have their fingers on the pulse of what interests students in this age group.

This morning, despite minus 15 degree temperatures and fresh snow, I decided that I needed to go to Costco. There was literally no other time this week that I could do it; as we all know, Costco is a time-suck of epic proportions. There is the driving, and the loading and unloading of the giant groceries, and the putting away of said groceries. However, I must note that luck was on my side today as I not only got an excellent parking spot, meaning that pushing the heavy cart through snow was only a moderate workout, rather than a “I may die here today” one. Also – and this has never happened before, so it is noteworthy – as I was in line, a NEW CHECKOUT OPENED UP AND THEY CHOSE ME TO BE THE FIRST IN LINE. I felt like a celebrity, getting into the hottest new club in town with nary an issue.

As I mentioned, I started watching Jane the Virgin a few weeks ago, but have not watched any since that time. Instead, I have been reading. I know that makes me sound like one of those douchey people who think television is much too pedestrian for their tastes, but here’s the thing: I put a ton of books on hold at the library, and they all seem to be coming in at once. I can’t keep up. I take back a book only to pick up three more, and now I feel like I’m in some kind of one-step-forward-two-steps-back world. Since I was in the queue for a lot of those books, I can’t renew them either, so I’m in a strange spot of frantically reading. It reminds me of my pre-social-media youth, which is a very good thing.

To Kill A Mockingbird has been one of my favourite books since the moment I read it at age 23. I’ve read it so many times I’ve lost count, and some of my very favourite lines ever written are in that book.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that the character of Dill was based on Harper Lee’s childhood friend, Truman Capote. I know what you’re thinking, and that is that everyone knows that. Everyone but me! This was completely new information for me, and although I’ve read a lot of his writing, I never connected the dots. It makes so much sense! Dill sounds exactly like what Capote would have been like as a child! I can’t get over it.

The only reason I even know this is because it was in one of the books I read, The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which is a dishy, delicious read. I highly recommend it and as you read it, be sure to google photos of the real people in the book. It is well worthwhile.

I also, after having it on hold since last June, and having it come up when I was on vacation in November, and then having to put it on hold again, finally read The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck. I will say this – after all that, I did not really enjoy the book. I mean, I liked the premise. I like not giving a fuck about things that aren’t worth giving a fuck about. But I did not like the book itself. Maybe it was the way it was written, I just don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but I am DEFINITELY in the minority here.

Well, I just challenged myself to write a post in the 15 minute window I had, and on that note, I must close and finish all the other (more pressing, but what can I say, I like blogging) things on my to-do list today. Have a great day, everyone, and I hope you are well. xo

Renaming The Boyhouse to The Sugar Shack, at least for today

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There is no question that I am not gifted artistically. I am a person who couldn’t, say, draw a car without having a car directly in front of her and even then it would be a strange, stickman-like car. Things that normal people might find easy are terrifyingly difficult to me, like gift wrapping or sewing a button on a pair of pants. Actually, the last time I attempted to sew a button on a pair of pants, I accidentally cut a hole in the butt and also ended up with a thick snarl of thread behind the button. When the kids were little, the kinds of crafts we did were things like “decorate this paper heart with stickers” or similar non-difficult ideas. I was always more of a “make your own playdough” mom, rather than the kind would would make pine cone reindeer, if you know what I mean. I know a number of women who have taken up things like knitting or crocheting or even cross-stitch as a way of relaxation, but to me that would be akin to checking myself into a rubber room. That adult colouring craze from a while back? No. I can’t.

So when I do something that requires hand-eye coordination and it actually does work out, it is viewed in this house as next thing to a miracle. Therefore, there was much excitement about this:

My husband came upstairs from his workout and said “My god, it’s actually a heart!”

I know, babe. I know.

We aren’t really Buy Each Other Gifts For Valentine’s Day people; fifty percent of us are allergic to flowers and pollen, I don’t really like having big boxes of chocolates to consume, and I have enough jewelry to last me a lifetime. To be honest, even before kids we didn’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day (except…well…you know…) but these days I just like to bake all the things for every commercial and non-commercial Hallmark and non-Hallmark holiday.

Sundays are a big cooking day for me; I usually bake some snacks (which last maybe a day or two in this house) and I always make a big Sunday dinner, complete with dessert. I decided I wanted to make a heart-shaped cake but my skills in this department are, as mentioned before, seriously lacking. So I used this tutorial from my friend Maija (HI MAIJA) which is so easy even I couldn’t mess it up. I thought about making a red velvet cake – I hadn’t made one since I helped a friend with a baby shower, and that baby is now going into kindergarten – but the excessive use of red food colouring is unappealing. Instead, I made a strawberry cake with a cream cheese icing, tinted just a little bit. It was a major hit, and very easy.

The most important thing here is to make sure your pans are the same size. Otherwise, super easy.

Have I mentioned that my grade seven student is super into the “Circles and Area” unit of math? Have I also ever mentioned that at one point in grade twelve I was known as the “Conics Goddess” for my mastery of the conics unit? I told my husband that and he was less impressed with my conics prowess than I would have hoped. I think his exact words were “That is the nerdiest thing I have ever heard in my life.” Well, I never.

If I can do it, you can too!

I also made and frosted 112 sugar cookies. Why would I make so many, you ask? I really have no idea. I wanted to send some in to the grade six class, but the teacher suggested that since the class is conjoined with another, it would be better to either send in no treats or enough for both classes. Since I realized that my years at elementary school are rapidly coming to a close, I could not and would not send zero cookies. This is my last chance to send Valentine’s Day treats to school and I am going to go out on top I was thinking to myself in a crazy, semi-hormonal way. I had some dough in the freezer left over from Christmas, but with all the frenzy surrounding November and December this year, I hadn’t marked if it was a full batch or not. I made an entire full batch, and used the frozen dough which was, I soon realized, indeed a full batch. One hundred and twelve cookies.

I realized that I have been asked for this recipe many times, so I am going to put it here. I am not going to be modest, because it’s not my recipe, it’s actually my mom’s. They are the best goddamn sugar cookies you will ever have in your life. They were the best cookies when I was a kid, and my mom made these for us and our friends, and they are the best cookies now. They are the cookies that I always get complimented on. Ten-year-old boys have stopped me in the playground to ask me to send their mom the recipe. THEY ARE LITERALLY THE BEST COOKIE EVER. I make them at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Halloween, and for school birthday treats in lieu of cupcakes. They are easy, foolproof, you can make them with your kids, and you can freeze the dough for up to six months. I make the dough ahead of time so I only have to roll it out when I’m baking.

Now, they are not vegan. They are not, by any stretch of the imagination, remotely healthy. But these are TREATS. You could probably sub in coconut oil for butter and maybe aquafaba for egg replacement, but I don’t. They are for my kids, they love them as-is, and it’s nice to make a recipe that was my mom’s. One day I will say that this has been handed down over the generations, but I think I need at least one more generation to do that.

Nicole’s Mom’s Sugar Cookies

1 cup butter, softened

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

2 eggs

1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

3 cups flour

Cream together sugar, butter, and vanilla. Add eggs and beat well. Mix in baking powder, salt, and flour.

Make the dough into a two or three balls, wrap with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least two hours. You could also freeze the dough for later use.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees (or 325 if using convection oven) and line baking sheets with parchment paper. This is an important step! Don’t forget the parchment paper! Roll out chilled dough on a floured surface. Cut into shapes. Bake for ten minutes for the perfect, soft cookie.

When cooled, frost and decorate as desired. Since I am kind of lazy, I like to just spread a delicious buttercream on top and add sprinkles.

Nicole’s Buttercream Frosting

1/2 cup very soft butter

4 cups icing sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

2-3 tablespoons milk

colour, if desired

Cream butter, then add icing sugar in 1/2 cup increments. Add vanilla. Add milk until desired consistency is reached. Whip it on high for a minute to get a really fluffy frosting. Enjoy!

 

If it’s not Scottish it’s crap.

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I have been browsing through a Facebook page for a brand-new, just-opened-in-November, Mexican resort. On the page are the sort of reviews one might expect: terribly bitter complaints about some small bit of incomplete construction or a delay in service on opening week, complaints about having to walk fifty steps from the pool in order to obtain nachos and margaritas, anger over the Teen Club being restricted to 13-17 year-old people when one’s son is 10 and wanted to enter said Teen Club to play video games, and extreme disappointment in the resort upholding a dress code for the fancy restaurants despite said dress code being clearly indicated on the website.

However, this morning I came across this glowing review:

“Our group has experienced many resorts and this is by far the best for me, lots to do…food is great, room service food is good, food at the restaurants is good, top shelf booze, pools are amazing. Put your anxiety and worries away, you’ll love it. If you need anything the brown shirt people will help you with almost anything to make your stay as enjoyable as possible.”

Ah yes, put your anxiety away because the brown shirt people are there.

I feel that this review could have been better worded.

Today was Parent-Teacher Interviews for the junior high, and believe me when I say that there is no injustice faced like that of a grade six student heading off to class with the knowledge that his brother is home for the day. Life, as we all know very well, is not fair. In an attempt to assuage these resentful feelings, I whipped up a batch of cherry muffins, to be eaten warm when the long-suffering sixth grader came home.

Small digression: I have, on many occasions, poked fun at my old copy of the Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites, particularly because of their truly astonishing variety of Meat and Macaroni Jello Salads – an actual section in the book – and also their head-tilting casserole recipes, such as Vera’s Wiener Pie. The latter is a melange of cream sauce, a variety of root vegetables, and a package of wieners and a pie crust. It is hard to take a recipe seriously when the main ingredient is a package of wieners, in an unspecified size and quantity. Well, it’s hard to take it seriously when the main ingredient is a package of wieners, period.

But I will tell you this much: when it comes to baked goods, the Lutheran Ladies do NOT fuck around. I have yet to try a muffin, square, slice, cookie, or sweet loaf that has not worked out well. The beleaguered sixth grader had gone through it and marked off every recipe he thought we should try out, and one of those was Cherry Muffins. I was all for it until I read the recipe; it was bizarrely complicated and involved immediate pan inversions. It seemed more like an upside down cake, in muffin form, and so I took Dorothy’s Basic Muffin, added some vanilla and a cup of frozen cherries and voila! Cherry muffins. They have been pronounced “great!” and so my work here is done.

As those of you of Scottish heritage will no doubt know, this Wednesday was Robbie Burns Day. Actually, I forget it every year, and am reminded by my father, who texted me to wish me a Happy Robbie Burns Day. Since I was chaperoning a field trip to the Astrophysics Observatory with fifty-seven fifth-and-sixth graders, which was an interesting and informative trip but sadly involved over ninety minutes on an overheated and stinky school bus, sitting beside a student who had little to no concept of personal space, I did think my dad’s suggestion of a dram of single malt did not seem amiss. However, the day passed mostly unmarked, since I do not actually like Scotch. It tastes like burning.

However, I did consider my Scottish heritage as I was faced with the unmistakable fact that my life has been greatly improved by three small things: a vegetable peeler, garlic press, and spatula. I purchased all three of those things, at the absolutely lowest cost, in the late Nineties, when I moved out of my parents’ house. For the most part, these humble kitchen items were a lesson in You Get What You Pay For, as the blade often popped off of the handle of the vegetable peeler, the garlic press was mediocre at best and the white, probably-carcinogenic enamel had started to chip off, and the spatula? Well, the spatula was fine but after nearly twenty years of use the rubber had cracked, rendering it fairly useless.

My mother, probably at the end of her rope watching me with my substandard equipment, bought me a new peeler and garlic press and people, PEOPLE. The difference is obscene. I feel like a super-fancy lady, peeling even butternut squash with ease and using the reverse-action to get the weird garlic remnants out of the press. It’s the most luxurious thing and I had the sad realization that I could have done this earlier, I could have purchased these items years ago and thus would have been living my best life.

And the spatula? For less than four dollars, I am now living the life of luxury, spatula-wise. Things are scraped out of mixing bowls with ease, the last tiny bits of cashew cheese are easily removed from the Vitamix. I feel like I’ve entered into a new era: my post-crappy-kitchen-utensils era. I am now looking around the kitchen for items that I bought on the cheap for my first apartment and maybe, MAYBE by next Robbie Burns Day I will replace them.

I’m still half-Scottish, you know.