Category Archives: Housewifery

Taco Tuesday and Toasters

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Last Friday, I came across a Jimmy Kimmel clip and realized something quite shocking: in the world of emojis, “eggplant” is code for “penis,” “peach” is code for “ass,” and “taco” is code for “vagina,” which makes all those recipes I’ve posted, complete with cutesy emojis, kind of offensive. When I realized this, I heard from one person who went so far as to say that she had NEVER seen anyone use those particular emojis for the food which they are modeled after. In other words, all those Taco Tuesday posts take on a very different meaning from what I had intended.

I feel like one of those old people who use “LOL” as “Lots of Love!” and who horrify their children by saying they want to Netflix and Chill with the whole family. After all, it was a mere six months ago when my dear friend Allison (HI ALLISON) tipped me off as to the Netflix and Chill meaning, and who really knows what hip new saying I will find out is a horrifying double entendre in another six months. After all, I’ve been using eggplants and chili peppers all over the place ever since such emojis were made available to me.

In other exciting news, we got a new toaster this weekend. I had been waiting for my old toaster to die for years. I hated it immediately; it was so finicky with the dial that the slightest movement would take the bread from the “dry bread” stage to the “completely burnt and inedible” stage within seconds. Toasting one slice of bread only was a complete act of faith, and the “Cancel” button never worked, so that when I could see the toast going into the “OMG it is going to burn” stage my only option was to unplug it. When it died this weekend I actually cheered. The great satisfaction I have for our new toaster is matched only by the satisfaction I got from getting it 40% off on Bay Days, and makes me think that I probably could have done this sooner.

I read a piece this weekend entitled “Memo to parents: Your adult children don’t want your stuff.” The premise was this: we all have our own style and tastes, and limited space, and we don’t want to fill that limited space with your “heirlooms.” The whole piece gave me massively mixed feelings; as someone who lives in a small bungalow that is entirely filled with my own furniture and artwork of my own taste, I understand the author’s point of view.

But on the other hand, it really made me sad. It made me sad to think about people of my grandparents’ generation, saving up to buy something good and lasting, and then have no one want it. And I get it, I really do, but I still think it’s sad. People are not their things, and the world is about more than just possessions, but still. I have a few things that belonged to my grandmothers, and I treasure them very much.

In terms of our old toaster, I held onto it because I didn’t want to waste money on a new one when the old one still worked, however substandardly, but I also knew that it wouldn’t last forever. Things are made to be disposable now, more’s the pity. My mother-in-law still has the chest freezer that she had when she was first married; they just celebrated their 54th wedding anniversary. Back then, things didn’t get thrown out. Now, we are lucky if our washing machine lasts more than five years, or if our dishwasher doesn’t need to be replaced twice in a decade.

Part of what I think is sad is that there is a huge disconnect in thinking between generations. Back in our grandparents’ day, you took pride in your possessions, and you assumed you would pass them on when you died. Part of that was because our grandparents didn’t really have much in the way of “stuff.” Today, we have way too much stuff, and we take great joy not in passing it along to beloved family members, but getting rid of it in trash bags at the Goodwill. So it is an entirely new way of thinking, in this world of more, more, more.

Of course, the dark side of taking great care of and pride in your possessions is the propensity to not use it. I was thinking of this when I read my friend Swistle’s (HI SWISTLE) post about using the “good stuff.” How many of us have boxes of things that we never use because they are too precious? I have my grandmother’s china, a full set, that was given to her on her 40th anniversary. It was saved for me, the only granddaughter on that side, and given to me at my wedding shower. It is absolutely precious to me, it is beautiful, I love it, I am happy to have it, and yet, I never use it. Each piece is carefully wrapped up and stored.

This. This is ridiculous. Why DON’T I use it? I should not need an occasion to use the beautiful china. Sure, I don’t have the cupboard space to store it properly, but wouldn’t it make an everyday dinner kind of special, and worth the effort? I don’t even need to worry about it getting broken because I cannot remember the last time one of my children broke a plate or anything. And if it did get broken, at least it would be used and enjoyed.

But here’s the thing: life is brief and fleeting and we shouldn’t waste it eating substandard toast, so to speak. My husband has given me two beautiful diamond rings; one is an anniversary ring for our tenth, and the other is a solitaire for my 40th birthday. They are fancy and yet I wear them almost every day, taking them off only for gardening or rolling out cookie dough or similar. They make me feel happy and sparkly. If we have pretty clothes, or expensive shoes, or a gorgeous handbag, why should these things hide in our closet when we could use them every day and make ourselves feel fabulous? What are we saving these things for? If our generation is indicative of future generations, no one will want these things when we die so we might as well use them now. How sad would it be to die with boxes of super-fancy soap and unused guest towels? So let’s agree to drink the wine, use the truffle oil, and set out the china for pizza night. Or Taco Tuesday.

KonMari FAIL

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Here’s a little tidbit about me that some people (read: my husband) find quite un-endearing: I have a really, really hard time spending money on non-essential items. What often happens in my house is that my husband will suggest a purchase, and no matter how minor, I rail against it. Spotify, for example. Why would we need Spotify, I argued passionately, We already have Sirius! Or the Roomba. We don’t need a Roomba, we have a vacuum!

Well, over the course of our marriage, my husband has learned to just make the purchase, which I subsequently fall in love with. Like, I cannot imagine how I actually did workouts before without Spotify. And Roomba? Roomba, as I’ve mentioned before, is now my favourite child. Everyone in the house talks about Roomba as if he is a living, breathing person who exists only to clean our floors. Great job, Roomba! we all say as Roomba whirrs around. Oh, Roomba, you got into the cords again! we will gently chide him as we see an extension cord pulled out from under the bed. Even Barkley has learned to live with Roomba, even though his tail was once almost vacuumed, causing him to now watch warily when the whirring starts.

roomba

 

It naturally follows that if a person has a hard time spending money on non-essential items, then that person should have – in theory – a fairly empty closet. Right? Well, it appears that clothing is essential and that I have far, far too much of it, if my exploding closet and drawers are any indication.

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The “yoga clothes and beach wear” portion of my closet.

The problem is that I like clothes, and I buy quality, long-lasting clothes, which means I have a lot of clothes. I mean, I have yoga pants from 2008 that still look fantastic, I have classic black dresses purchased between 2011-2014 that are always in style, and I have very well-cared for sweaters from the now-defunct but much loved Jacob.

Everyone has been talking about the KonMari method of tidying up; yesterday was a PD day and I was looking for a project, so I thought I would re-organize my closet. Although I am a very organized (read: anal) person in general, my closet was getting a little small and cluttered. Now, I knew the rules: if an item was used and brought joy, then it could stay. Otherwise, it would get purged.

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How much beach wear is too much beach wear, when one does not live anywhere near a beach?

Do you know, all of my clothing brings me joy?

Reader, I couldn’t bear to part with a thing yesterday. I regularly comb through my dressers whenever I get a phone call asking for clothing donations for this charity or that one, and I usually can gather a good solid garbage bag full. But perhaps I’ve gone to that well too often, or perhaps yesterday was the wrong day to go through my things, I don’t know. All I know is that after putting everything in a giant pile, I ended up neatly rolling everything up and putting it back in the closet. I found a couple of unused containers and I rolled each bikini piece together, Kondo-like. (Who needs fourteen bikinis, mostly black? I DO. I need ALL the black bikinis.)

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It’s marginally neater!

 

So that was a bit of a fail. Not only did I go through my closet, but I also cleaned out my dressers and the same thing occurred; I couldn’t bear to part with any items at all. Well, on the upside, everything is now neatly put away. On the downside, I still need to deal with my shoes and boots, and that, my friends, is going to be a test.

I’ve got the power!

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I know what you’ve all been wondering: How did Nicole survive the Great Power Outage of 2016? Did she have to resort to grinding her own seed wheat in a handheld coffee grinder? Did she have to feed hand-twisted hay sticks into her fireplace just to keep warm? Did she play a song on her fiddle to keep her spirits up?

Answer: none of the above. Her coffee grinder is electric, her fireplace is gas and the pilot light has been unlit since 2005, and she has no fiddle, nor does she know how to play one.

I will tell you this, while switching back into the first person, that a power outage is not all that bad when you know it’s coming. First thing in the morning, I cranked the heat up from its usual 19 degrees to 23 so that by the time I left to take the kids to school, I was sweating. By the time the power went back on the temperature had only dipped to 18, so I call that a win. I spent most of the day running errands, walking the dog, and taking Mark to the orthodontist, so I wasn’t stuck in my dark and cooling-down house all day. My friend Janet (HI JANET) had tipped me off that Jugo Juice makes kale smoothies so I didn’t even have to go without.

The kids and I had lunch at the food court, where I had my smoothie and they enjoyed chicken fingers and fries, and I spent some time surreptitiously eavesdropping on the many teenage conversations around me. I forgot that the mall is essentially a teen hangout, especially at lunch and especially at a mall that is across the street from a high school and two junior highs. MY WORD THE DRAMA. Dylannnnn did you get me a doughnut? Fuck you, Dylannnnn kiss my asssssss I wanted a doughnuttttt. No, I think she still likes you, she’s just mad that you were talking to Jaden. Ugghhhhhh he’s so GROSS don’t talk with your MOUTH FULL GODDDDDD.

The power went back on half an hour before it was scheduled to, which was nice, since the backup battery of the carbon monoxide detector had died and the beeping was making me feel like I was going to lose my mind. I couldn’t figure out how to stop it, so basically every time it went off Barkley and I looked at each other, distressed. But the power was restored before I had completely descended into insanity, so all’s well that ends well.

I was a little worried that all was not well, though; as I was preparing to go to the School Council/ Parent Association meeting – that I was NOT chairing, thank you god – Jake called from downstairs saying that the computer wouldn’t turn on. And it was true; the power bar was plugged in, everything else was working, but the desk top – on which ALL my work, photos, writing, etc., was saved – was not turning on. Nothing, no sound, no fan, nothing.

Cue panic attack.

I called a computer repair company and told the technician my story. He thought it could be a damaged power supply – despite my surge protector – or possibly a fried motherboard. MOTHERFUCKER. I made an appointment with him and then did some deep breathing to calm down. Less than one hour later, the computer magically turned on. I felt like Cousin Eddie: “It’s the damnedest thing. She falls in a well, eyes go cross. A mule kicks her, they go back to normal. I don’t know.” I had to cancel the appointment, citing the “suddenly working and everything’s fine” thing, feeling slightly like I’m a drama queen who just made up a computer issue for fun.

I’m no Ma Ingalls, I’ll tell you that much. But if Ma Ingalls had electricity and access to small appliances, she’d probably love this:

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Ice cream!

It all started when we were at a Ukrainian Christmas celebration, and our hostess had made her own ice cream. She pointed out that most “ice cream” is now called “frozen dessert,” and one thing led to another and suddenly my husband ordered me this beauty. I’m especially excited since non-dairy ice cream is ridiculously expensive, and now I can make my own! Today I’m making a classic vanilla for the boys, as a test run. The only issue here is that my family is ridiculously spoiled. I know, I know, pot and kettle, yada yada yada. BUT THEY ARE. Since I make so many things from scratch they won’t even eat certain store bought items. Case in point: a few weeks ago I bought some hummus.

Husband: What is this hummus?

Me: I bought it at Costco.

Husband: It’s terrible!

Me: It’s not bad. I’m eating it.

Husband: Ugh, I can’t eat this stuff. It’s terrible. It’s SWEET or something.

Mark, grabbing a pita, completely oblivious to the conversation: Mom, where’s the hummus?

Me: It’s right there.

Mark: Ew. I don’t want that. Where’s YOUR hummus?

They proceeded to eat their pitas completely dry, rather than eat the non-homemade-hummus.

Do you see where I’m going with this? It’s a slippery slope, but fortunately making one’s own ice cream is a pretty fun slippery slope to be on.

May all your blues be Monday. Or something.

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It’s Blue Monday! Mercury’s in retrograde, it’s January, and today has been calculated to be the most depressing day of the year. Maybe no one should communicate at all today, JUST IN CASE.

Well, blue is my favourite colour, and even if the algorithm has calculated it to be the saddest day of 2016, this morning the sun came out and the sky is gloriously blue. It looks just beautiful against the snow, and the temperatures are warming up this week. This is great news because in my panic last week, I didn’t realize that the seven-hour power outage is scheduled for THIS Wednesday, instead of LAST Wednesday. Good news: I will have had a week to prepare. Bad news: I will have had a week to fret, because what if they make a mistake and the power NEVER comes back on? Then what? I’ll never have a decent smoothie again, that’s what!

Oh, speaking of smoothies and related vegetables, I have a piece up at YMC about the high price of cauliflower. You know, no one wants to talk macroeconomics, but everyone wants to talk about cauliflower. Well, I tell you, they’ll pry those tiny $8 cauliflowers out of my cold dead hands before I give them up. My grandmother is probably turning in her grave, but a) I almost never go to Starbucks, b) I almost never eat out, c) we almost never have take-out, d) I WILL ENJOY MY EXPENSIVE CAULIFLOWER LIKE THE PRINCESS THAT I AM.

Gosh, we’ve become a spoiled, entitled society, haven’t we? Oh my god, the kale is like, not crisp at all. Ugh, what a rip-off. I feel like Louis C.K. but with vegetables. Let’s partake in the miracle of January avocados. We can have anything we want to eat at any time, we just have to pay for it. Sorry! But it’s true. There’s a trade-off for everything and in this case, it’s dolla dolla for your caula caula.

Not that I want to start living out the winter with nothing but sauerkraut the occasional piece of dried fruit like I’m a heroine in a Little House on the Prairie-esque drama, but I think you can see what I’m getting at.

In non-vegetable-related news, last Friday I chaperoned the last day of Mark’s field trip, and it was really fun. The kids learned all about stage fighting, so if anyone needs someone to be fake-choked, I am your Huckleberry. Related to this, the class is doing a unit on Greek mythology, so Mark is in his element. Next week they are having a fashion show, narrated in French, and Mark is dressing up in Greek fashion. This means that a few hours this weekend was devoted to the making of a cardboard-and-duct-tape sword and shield, along with a toga. I helped him make a toga out of an old sheet, and wondered if these skills would be used again some time down the road. Toga party!

Last week Barkley had a vet check-up and shots, and I will tell you this: I live in dread of the pet scale. Barkley likes his food, and at the vet clinic entrance is a huge poster that shows the decline in life expectancy for pets that are too fat. I try to watch his food, and buy low calorie dog treats, but he is what we might call curvy. I nervously had him sit on the scale…and he’s lost three pounds since last year! Three pounds! I practically did the Snoopy dance right there in the waiting room. He’s svelte! Or, as the vet says, “Still quite plump.”

Well then. He also needs dental scaling and that, along with my meeting this afternoon with the orthodontist to discuss Mark’s braces, is going to lead to financial wreck and ruin. Not really, but I might have to cut back on the cauliflower. Do me a favour: if I start jonesing for roast cauliflower, someone throw me a box of spinach or some other veggie methadone. xo

Panic at the (Electricity-Free) Disco

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Here I was, calmly going about my day, when I heard someone drop something in the mailbox. Hmmm…the mail is early today, I thought, and if my life was a (admittedly very boring) made-for-TV movie, some kind of ominous music would be playing. The soundtrack would then circle to the crazy-sounding, straight-to-the-asylum middle bars of A Day In The Life when I started reading the piece of paper that had been stuck in my mailbox.

People, the electric company is doing maintenance work on a generator in my neighbourhood, and the power is going to be off between 9 and 4 tomorrow. Seven hours with no electricity or heat; for a person who works from home, this is a nightmare on par with the one I have where I’m endlessly folding laundry and then I turn around and there is another, unfolded pile to be done.

Clearly, I would have been a terrible pioneer or settler, because the slightest hardship or inconvenience gives me a Panic At The Disco feeling. How will I make a smoothie tomorrow, I thought worriedly, like the spoiled princess that I am. Why couldn’t this happen during book fair, I thought, as if maybe the electric company was doing this strictly to inconvenience me.

Oh well. I was very productive today prior to this notice, and I have been utilizing our electrical appliances like crazy. I baked brownies and mini-muffins today, and let me just give a shout-out to my friend and YMC colleague Gwen, over at Delightful Adventures. I had been meaning to try her Vegan Gluten Free Gingerbread Loaf, but with regular gluten-full flour, and today I gave it a go. In addition to changing the flour, I also subbed in brown sugar and grapeseed oil, realized that I didn’t have cloves nor all-spice, and then decided to make it into mini-muffins instead of a loaf. In short, I was like one of those awful recipe commenters who say “This was terrible; I changed everything in the recipe and it didn’t work.” Except, it turned out awesome! I’m sure the original must be delicious too; check out Delightful Adventures if you love recipes and gorgeous food photography.

Like Jake’s class did last month, Mark’s class is on a week-long field trip. Unlike Jake’s class, which toured the Board of Education buildings and got to do thrilling things like discuss community collaboration and education funding and sit in on a school board trustee meeting, Mark’s class is actually doing something fun. They are at the Arts Commons, and they are making Greek masks, writing plays, and learning stage-fighting. Methinks Jake’s class got the short end of the stick. Mark’s “partner class” – the one they collaborate with most often – is on a similar field trip, in which they get to focus on Healthy Living. Games, physical activities, and making pizzas is on their agenda, which made me feel even more sorry for Jake’s class. I mean, the highlight for the entire class was seeing the fish tank in the indoor garden. I should point out that these field trips are assigned to the classes, and are not chosen by the teachers or the school – the school board runs them and it is considered a privilege to go. However. Fish tank viewing is not equal to learning to stage fight or making pizza.

Well. Life, as we know, is not always fair, and meanwhile when the power is out tomorrow I think I’ll take Jake out for lunch. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to go to the mall food court for lunch, which has never happened before in the history of his school experience; the mall food court being the epitome of fine dining for a ten-year-old boy.

Speaking of the mall, my mother was in town yesterday and we had a little visit and quick shopping trip. The trip to the mall reminded me why I almost exclusively shop online. People, the Old Navy is a hellhole. A yard sale set up by Mary Ingalls would be better organized. If I took everything out of my drawers and closet and piled it up on my bed, it would look somewhat like the Old Navy displays. It was a bit soul-sucking, but they had a table of boys’ t-shirts advertised for $5 each – discount taken at register! – and my mother chose one for each boy. Do I even need to tell the punch line to this? The discount was NOT taken at the register, and I left feeling like Old Navy Customer Service Has Gone To The Dogs. This $10 in Old Navy Cash feels like blood money, or at least bloody irritation money.

Well, I’m off to prepare for the coming apocalypse/ power outage, and fret that all our food is going to go bad. Fortunately for my comfort, it’s not going to be terribly cold tomorrow. Unfortunately for my food, if the power is off for longer than anticipated, my giant weekend grocery shop will be all for naught.

Detoxing my life

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The other day I saw an infographic about “daily steps to keep your house clean and organized” which, I am sorry to admit, is a genuine interest of mine. I LOVE organizational and cleaning tips to the point that I’ve often thought I could start a whole blog about it, or at least a series of posts, a la the Fly Lady. But then, I remember that upon cleaning out my bathroom and hall cupboards, I found sanitary napkins dating from 2005 and cold medication that expired in 2010, so that would make me feel like Matt Foley, motivational speaker. Also, I do not ever wear shoes in the house; the Fly Lady would be ashamed of me.

The biggest deterrent, however, to making my OWN infographic of household tips or writing a series of posts, would be the Professional Internet Commenters. Circling back to this infographic I saw, I noticed that there were several hundred comments on it. Several hundred, on an infographic that had daily, weekly, monthly, and annual chores. People, I did something that I never do, something that I know not to do, something that never brings about joy or happiness: I read the comments.

You wouldn’t think that an infographic that has such things as “make your bed” or “wash the dishes” as daily chores would be all that controversial, would you? Well, what if I told you it was A MAN that created the infographic? Would that enrage you? At least half the comments were with regards to the obviously single, childless, entitled man who dared write an infographic on household tips. “What about taking the kids to activities? What about making lunches? This guy has no idea what real life is like! Must be nice!”

Oh, people of the internet. You do realize that no one is forcing you to a) read things, or b) implement the things you’ve read into your own life, right? If the mere suggestion that washing dishes daily is better than letting them all pile up all over your counters, until your cupboards are empty and then trying to deal with a mountain of disgusting, crusty pots and pans and plates enrages you, then maybe don’t read anything about household tips. If “making your bed” makes you outraged, then you really don’t have to do it. And the kicker? The kicker is that you DON’T HAVE TO COMMENT ON IT, EVEN IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT OR DISAGREE WITH IT.

It’s that time of year when everyone is making resolutions and choosing words to keep in mind for the coming year, and I love all that. I love that we like to improve ourselves and our quality of life. I don’t really have resolutions, other than to maintain what resolutions I made five months ago – apparently August is more of a New Year’s for me. Some of those resolutions are dull and I won’t bore you with the details, but the one I want to talk about is detoxing.

I don’t mean that I’m going to drink only juice for three weeks or take enough laxatives to cleanse my colon or anything. What I’ve been doing in the past little while is detoxing my life.

You know when someone goes on Facebook and announces that they are going through their friends list and deleting everyone they aren’t in touch with and everyone on their friend list rolls their eyes and presses “hide?” Or, less passive aggressively, sends messages to everyone on their friends list, saying since you don’t like any of my photos feel free to “un-friend” me? The latter actually happened to me, which was startling, since all the photos on that person’s feed were of cars that she had keyed for parking crookedly and taking up two parking stalls. While bad parking is annoying to everyone, I am not a fan of random property damage, and so it was true, I didn’t “like” those photos.

In any case, I noticed that there were a number of people on my Facebook who were constantly bringing me down, and no matter how much I “hid” their comments or how quickly I scrolled past their ignorant updates, it would still infect my spirits, a little. Now, I would never chirpily announce that I was “cleaning out my friends list!” because that behaviour is lame, but I did actually think long and hard about people I wanted in my life. Why did I have them on my friends list if we had what might be termed as irreconcilable differences? Did they bring anything to my life? No? Then why were they there?

And, dear reader, I did it. I went through and I took out the people who said things like “anyone who isn’t atheist is a sheep and a moron” and who insulted people who live in my province and who were just in a constant state of outrage. Percentage wise, it wasn’t many – most people I know are lovely – but that small percentage was bringing me down, like a virus.

Then I started thinking about what causes me angst and grief in my day-to-day life, and I swore that I would no longer be affected by someone else’s negativity. If someone was constantly bringing toxicity into my life, I thought long and hard about how much contact I wanted to have with that person. I asked myself two questions: do I want them in my life, and do I have a choice whether or not they are in my life? I think I often forget that I have the power of choice; I can choose not to enter into unkind gossip and I can choose not to be around someone who is constantly negative. I can choose not to be with people who openly dislike me and have no qualms about saying so and I can choose not to listen to ignorant and uninformed opinions.

I can choose to be with people who uplift me, or people who support me and who I support. I can choose to surround myself with joy and laughter and interesting conversations.

So, if I have a resolution this year, it’s to continue to exercise that choice. Well, that and to finally start using eye cream. I’m starting to look like an old crone.

Do you have any resolutions or words for 2016? Do tell. xoxo

Clean all the things!

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How have your holidays been? Mine have been a lovely mix of sloth and good food, along with my usual post-Christmas frantic cleaning and reorganizing. All last week I hardly worked at all, and then I fell into the Christmas cheer. We visited with some of my husband’s family on Christmas Eve, and if they ever decide to go on a sunny vacation together, I’m thinking of tagging along because these people are FUN. Christmas Day we headed to my parents’ for a couple of days, which was lovely.

Usually my tree and decorations come down on Boxing Day, but since I was actually not home on Boxing Day, the annual CLEAN EVERYTHING fiesta waited until Sunday, when I had been home for approximately three minutes. I love Christmas and all its glorious sparkly decorations, but I also love that clean, uncluttered look too.

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The house looked like this for a brief moment on Christmas morning, and then I started the cleaning process. My husband gave me the side-eye a little because I’m sure he thought I was going to start de-Christmassing, but no. Not on Christmas Day, no matter how tempting.

Yesterday I decided that just de-Christmassing wasn’t enough; I had to reorganize everything in the bathroom and hall cupboards. And honestly, it was pretty bad. There were a number of items I hadn’t used or gotten rid of: several shampoo bottles with 1/2 an inch of shampoo left in them, lip glosses that were discovered to be unflattering, and many bottles of expired medication. There was also a package of gigantic, extra-absorbent sanitary napkins that I had purchased for post-partum bleeding back in 2005, and then never used again, alongside a box of slim, light days tampons. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that no woman who has given birth vaginally is going to use slim, light days tampons. I think we can all admit that in those cases the feminine mystique takes a bit of a beating and those tampons are best left to others.

I also found a number of strange items in the hall cupboards, including a bottle of golden corn syrup. For one thing, I cannot remember ever buying corn syrup or even what I would have used it for. For another thing, it was far from golden; it was dark brown and sort of sludgy looking.

Today the big job was to reorganize my dresser – a big task, given that it was getting difficult to close the drawers properly. I was in the perfect mood to do it; if I didn’t LOVE an item, it went into the donation bag. At this rate I’m going to mow through the house by the time the kids go back to school. It’s a very satisfying process; I hope I don’t lose my ambition. NO HALF-MEASURES, NICOLE.

Speaking of binge-watching things, my husband and I have been watching Game of Thrones. He watched the whole thing last year, and I joined in around Season Four. Let me tell you, things make MUCH more sense when watched from the beginning. I was previously so confused and constantly texting my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) questions about who was who, why was that guy like that, what’s with all the incest, and OMG ARE THOSE ZOMBIES? Finally, I understand – sort of.