Category Archives: Housewifery

Whiskey and cigarettes

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My husband and I are currently halfway through Season Five of Mad Men.  The thought that we are almost at the end is filling me with great sorrow.  We discovered this show a few months ago, and have ravenously watched it from the first season, some evenings watching two or three episodes in a row.  I am bereft at the thought that we only have a few episodes to go.  I don’t know what we will do when we are finished.  I don’t remember what we did before Mad Men.  I’m adrift, people. 

I know I’m late in the game to watching this, but the writing is so fabulous.  My favourite Don Draper lines are as follows:

Bohemian guy: How do you sleep at night?
Don: On a bed made of money.

Betty’s dad: You people.  You think money is going to solve all your problems.
Don: Well, it’s going to solve THIS particular problem.

Peggy: You never say thank you!
Don: That’s what the money is for!

Oh, Don.  You mercenary rascal.  I do wonder if all the actors are required to be smokers for the show, or if they had to learn to smoke, or if they are now addicted to cigarettes because of all the smoking, or if they had to sign a waiver about cancer risks and smoking before taking on the roles.  Also, do they need to shower after work?  Because you would think they would be pretty stinky and smoky after shooting scenes.  I find myself becoming obsessed with those little details, the same way I obsess about sexy scenes: did the guy get a boner when he shot those scenes?  Or would he be too nervous to in front of the camera crew?  Is that girl really naked?  Because she looks naked.  That would be weird, to be shooting a sexy scene while naked. 

Anyone who has any acting/tv/movie knowledge, feel free to answer my questions.  Otherwise, I’m going to keep wondering.

I do remember, when I first started working, that some people smoked in their offices.  I remember a professor of mine telling me that he used to smoke while teaching.  This seems so strange now, doesn’t it, given that the last time I tried to buy a lighter – to light birthday candles with – that the grocery store I frequent does not sell them because it is illegal to sell smoking paraphernalia in a location where pharmaceuticals are also for sale.  I just wanted to buy a damn lighter for the birthday cake.  Also, if Mad Men is to be believed an accurate timepiece, and I think it is, everyone must have been drunk half the time.  I wondered aloud to my husband what whiskey tastes like, which filled him with surprise that I had never had a whiskey.  Really, is that so surprising?  Whiskey is not a huge drink for the ladies nowadays.  In any case he pulled out a bottle of whiskey – we have whiskey in the house, how or why I do not know – and I will say this: it’s nasty. 

The thing I love most about Mad Men, other than the writing and the plot and all the awesomeness, is the clothes.  I covet Megan Draper’s entire wardrobe.  I find myself mentally trying on her cute little dresses, not that I have reason to have such little dresses, but they are adorable.  The dress that she wears to sing “Zou Bisou Bisou” is especially awesome:

I think this dress would look great on me.  I suggested to my husband that I could get something similar for his office Christmas party, a statement which was met with dissention.

Sigh.  I probably don’t need to think about shopping right now anyway, since I was rearranging my dresser last weekend, and the pile of sweaters on the bed led to a tense conversation about how many black sweaters are too many black sweaters.  And that conversation was before my husband discovered the piles of sweaters on the kids’ beds, because I had run out of room on our bed.  What?  I like sweaters.  I saw this sweater today and I did NOT buy it, which feels to me like a massive display of self control:

Looking at that now, I cannot believe myself!  I didn’t buy it!  It is a perfect black sweater!  I have enormous self-restraint!  Unfortunately I have no room in my dresser.

I did really need to reorganize my dresser, apparently, since I found at the very bottom of the very bottom drawer not only my old compression stockings and the bra and panty combination I wore to my wedding, but a pair of size large maternity pantyhose.

A few of HIS least favourite things.

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My kitchen is done!  My kitchen is done!  I was feeling a bit concerned yesterday, and the day before, when a somewhat comical series of events took place that made the flooring installation take a full day longer than anticipated (“Hm.  Well.  This is going to complicate things.” the flooring guy said more times than I am comfortable with.)  I am extremely happy with the final product and I will post before and after pictures very soon, but today is Friday and I’m feeling a bit silly – giddy, even – and I have beer! because it’s a sunny day! and it’s a Friday! and the before pictures are on my other computer and I am just too silly, giddy, lazy, and beer-y to retrieve them.

The other day my husband and I were watching Modern Family and I pointed out the owl shaped cookie jar in their kitchen.  I had seen the same one on the anthropologie website, and I thought it was cute – outrageously overpriced, but cute.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy that.” my husband said.  Now.  I had no intentions of buying it – I don’t use cookie jars, and that particular cookie jar is $98, plus shipping and duties, and I think we can all agree that is an excessive price to pay for a cookie jar, when a Tupperware container does a much better job at keeping cookies fresh.  However, I thought – and still think – it’s adorable, but the vigor with which my husband opposed my way of thinking made me realize that, sometimes, we really are from different planets.
Mars and Venus, if you will.
I never actually read any of those books, for the record.  But I was inspired to make a list of things I love that my husband hates.  Hey, we could make a meme out of it!  Anyone want in?  Anyone?  Anyone? 
Things I Love That My Husband Hates
1. Kale chips.  I know!  How is that possible?  But, upon gamely trying some, he has said, and this is a direct quote, “GAH.  That is the worst thing I have ever eaten.” 
2. My favourite retro radio station that caters to old people.  What can I say, he is not a fan of 70s ballads.  He is also not a fan of listening to me sing along to 70s ballads in the car.  Baby I’m a want you.  
3. Speaking of retro, he’s not a fan of anything that could be described as retro, vintage-look, or antique.  He doesn’t like old things.  “But I like you, and you’re old!” I say to him, which is nearly always answered with a look only.  He also dislikes anything that can be described as kitchy.  In other words, he hates my new tea towel:


 
It says “Just Married”!  Sweet, right?  Following is the conversation we had about this tea towel.
Me: It’s so cute!  Just Married!
Husband: Why would you get something that says Just Married? 
Me: Don’t you think it’s cute?
Husband: But we’ve been married for ten years.
Me: But we’re in love just like we were just married!
Husband: *nonplussed silence*
4. This outfit:
This super comfortable outfit, he hates.  It’s not the little sweater.  It’s not the cropped leggings.  It’s this shirt:
“It looks like a maternity shirt!” he tells me, which is almost enough to dissuade me from wearing it.  And yet, I wear it still.  That shit is comfortable.  Someone mentioned that men universally dislike the empire waistline, from a “Is she knocked up?” point of view, which may be accurate.  I know that when I was pregnant, I mostly waddled around enjoying all the attention I received, in addition to eating eleven meals a day, while my husband worried about me.  So he may have a bit of PTSD from those days.  Still, I think the top is cute.  By the way, that’s the new flooring in the background.  Squee!
5. The people who do the weather and traffic reports on the morning news.  Okay, I don’t LOVE them, but I don’t actively hate them, either.  Given the chance I think that my husband would set them on fire. 
So, do you want to join in my Friday night meme?  Things you love but your significant other does not?  Good times, people, good times. 

A Whirlwind of Boring Activity

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I have been in a whirlwind of activity the past few days.  A whirlwind, I tell you!  Since Friday I have had more errands and social outings than I probably do in two weeks.  I would describe them in detail but I fear that may be boring, and I fear it may also be less impressive than it feels right now.  So I will simply say that we are, evidently, renovating our kitchen.

Let’s pause for a moment here while I deep breathe.

Things snowballed when we realized that soon our dishwasher will need to be replaced.  Well, if we replace the dishwasher, why not all new appliances?  And countertops?  And sink?  And backsplash?  And flooring…and suddenly a new project is on the horizon.  I’m not sure how my dog – or I, myself – will deal with the upheaval but I have been assured that this is a quick and easy project.  Oh, hahaha!  I am going to be insane and/or liver damaged by the end of it, I just know it.  Chaos is not a happy thing for me, although I will be very happy to have a new kitchen. 

I’m especially excited to get a new range, since I loathe mine and yet it is in near-constant use.  My husband and I went to the appliance store, where we were helped by the strangest, most vacant salesman ever.  Perhaps he was new at his job; I don’t know.  All I know is that whenever I said anything at all about the features I desired, he would stare at me silently for about fifteen seconds prior to responding.  It was very unnerving.  Then he would respond in this manner “Do you cook?  Or do you LOVE to cook?”  Whatever, buddy, just show me the hood fans.  He proceeded to describe how much he loved his own convection oven because it gave him crispy chicken wings, just like the deep fried ones in restaurants.  This one-sided discussion about cooking various meat products went on for at least five minutes.  In the meantime, I completely zoned out and wondered if a dual oven is worthwhile or not, and I still haven’t decided.  Do you have one?  Do you like it?  Help a girl out, dear reader.

Then, of course, it was Mother’s Day, and I hope yours was lovely.  I received cards from the boys, that they made themeselves with no intervention on the part of my husband, which struck me as very sweet and thoughtful.  It was actually a warm and beautiful weekend – no snow! – and so I spent quite a bit of time in the garden, and some time at the park where the boys rode their bikes and I realized that the bike Jake is riding is ridiculously too small for him.  He looks a bit like a clown riding a miniature bike.  A skinny, unmade-up clown. 

Are you “mom enough” to hang out with these two characters?  Oh, mass media.  Fueling the “mommy wars” since…well, I don’t know when.  Can’t we all just get along?

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Hey, speaking of mommy stuff (no, not wars, because that is MADE UP CRAP), check this out: I was listed as one of “24 Mom Blogs You Should Read” over at Yummy Mummy Club.  There are some seriously fabulous blogs on that list – Dinner with Julie, Crib Chronicles, Little Miss Mocha, to name but a few – so I am thrilled to be on that list!  Thanks!  xoxo

Barkley, the high maintenance dog

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“Oh, you’re the worst kind.  You’re high maintenance, but you think you’re low maintenance.” – Harry Burns, and/or my husband.

Every day, I set out two sets of clothing for the following day: my yoga clothes, and my regular clothes.  I need to set out my yoga clothes in order to dress quietly and sneak out at the crack of OMG o’clock, and I need to set out my regular clothes because I need to set out my regular clothes or it will be endtimes.  I set out my clothes based on the next day’s weather and activities, and I do not deviate from that outfit. 

The other day it turned out to be unexpectedly rainy and foggy, and so I needed to wear my hair up, so that I wouldn’t look like a bedraggled mess by the end of the day.  That meant – since I’m on week eleven of Operation Growing Out My Hair – I needed certain hair accessories to hold back the multiple layers.  However, the hair accessories did not match my outfit, and so I had to alter my plans and wear a different shirt.  This may not sound like much to you – and now that I’m writing it down it doesn’t sound like much to me, either – but it threw my day off, just a little bit. 

You know how people say that after a while, dogs take on their owner’s personalities?  Actually, I don’t know if that’s a thing or not, but my dog has taken on MY personality.  For one thing, he freaks out if we don’t put him in his crate by 9:00 pm.  If he could speak, he would be saying It’s bedtime for the love of god!  Put me to bed, already!  Do you want me to be tired all day tomorrow?  I’m just saying, I understand. 

When we were recently redoing the basement, I was prepared for confusion on my dog’s part.  This is the dog who lay outside the bathroom door crying because he had accidentally wagged a shampoo bottle off of the side of the tub.  Something’s different.  The shampoo bottle is on the floor.  Everything is wrong!  When the boys play too noisily for his liking, he would go down to the basement and curl up on the green-and-white fabric sofa down there.  I knew we would be giving away that sofa, and so I went out and bought a cozy new dog bed, along with a new squeaky toy and some of his favourite chew treats.  When the sofa was gone, I put his new dog bed in the usual spot by the fireplace upstairs, and took the old one downstairs, along with the squeaky toy and the treat.  He followed me anxiously, eyeing the treat.  Here, Barkley, I said, here is a cozy new place for you!  I made him sit in the old dog bed, gave him a treat, and then witnessed my dog and the mental anguish I made him suffer. 

He took the treat and ran upstairs.  He dropped the treat in his new bed and stared at me.  Then he started whining.  Loudly.  He refused to eat the treat, which alarmed me because a) he eats everything vaguely edible, including his own fecal matter if it is left unattended, b) he consumes everything in his dog bowl within 90 seconds of receiving his dog bowl, and c) he has never before NOT eaten a treat. 

Me: It’s okay, Barkley. Have your treat!  Now you have two cozy places to sit! 

Barkley: WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIEEEEEE.

He contined to cry and whine, loudly, for the next hour.  Once in a while he would settle down enough to LICK the treat, but then it would make him cry all over again. 

Barkley: Why are you so cruel?  Why do you hate me?  What have I done to deserve this?

Then he would sit in the new bed in such an awkward way that the bed itself would tip over sideways and land on top of him and believe me, this did not help matters.  Finally he gave up, took the treat, and hid in his crate, surreptitiously eating it.  He eventually forgave me the mental pain I had put him through; he is a dog after all.

I understood.  Change is hard.  Different things are difficult.  WE ALL NEED TIME TO GET USED TO NEW IDEAS.  So I get it.  And yet sometimes I feel like there is a reality TV show, just waiting to be made, with my name on it. 

Psst. Wanna come see my basement?

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Oh!  You guys!  It has been so exciting around the Boyhouse this week!  Not just because I’m going to be rich, rich, rich from the class-action lawsuit for Nutella (not really).  Not just because it’s raining so hard that I think soccer practice MAY be cancelled for tonight (I hope).  Not just because of the fabulous visiting yoga teacher who helped me grab my own ankles in a backbend today (that was pretty cool).  There are many, many other exciting things, not the least of which is that I am home alone in a silent house blogging with only my dog nudging me (he doesn’t realize that it is way too rainy for a walk.  No wet dog smell, thanks!).  But also: our basement is all done.  Painted, reorganized, and I now have a storage room and shelves, so that my Costco purchases are not scattered in six different areas of the house.  So come with me, on a tour!

First, here is our new upstairs couch:

Complete with dog, wondering why I’m taking pictures when I could be walking him in the pouring rain!  This couch is shockingly big.  All four of us can sit on this couch without touching or squashing one another.  Did you know couches seem smaller in the showroom than they do in my little old living room?  We got a matching chair too:

It’s HUGE.  It’s my new BFF.  I curled up on it and finished, finally, Anna Karenina.  It was a slug, I will say.  I liked the romance and all but wow – that was a whole lot of information on Russian politics and farming methodology from the 1800s.

So before I show you the new basement, I will show you the “before” pictures.  Here is where the office was:

And here is the main area:

Another angle:

And here is the Wii/toy area:

And now for the “After” pictures:

I always have wanted a wall of books, and now I have one!

And here’s where the boys can play Wii and where our exercise equipment is:

Complete with sniffing dog!

And the office (i.e., computer and desk) has been moved into this living space so that when the kids are playing Wii and desperately want me to see them slay Stormtroopers/ win a Mario Kart race/ whatever, I can just look over.

There is a big book on that shelf, from 1912, called “The Woman’s Book: Contains Everything a Woman Ought To Know” and it’s one of my favourite things ever.  There are many chapters on housewifery, how to hire servants, and on personal grooming and child rearing!  Speaking of housewifery, check this action out:
Shelves!  Shelves!  Shelves!  Are you the type of person who secretly always wants to peek inside your friends’ cupboards?  Don’t worry, friends, I don’t actually do this.  But I’m always curious.  Well, here is your chance to see what’s in my new storage space which used to be an office!
Lots and lots of cereal, and lots and lots of soap and toothpaste, given my penchant for “just picking some up while I’m at Costco” which leads to excessive amounts of soap and toothpaste.
These items are no longer jammed in my hall closet along with booze and towels (what?  Storage space is at a premium here).
Baking supplies!  Condiments!  Paper products!  Mass amounts of sparkling water (that’s for my husband.  He rarely drinks.  His sparkling water habit far outweighs my wine habit, is what I’m saying.)
What happened to the toys, you might be asking.  What did I do with all the toys?  I PUT THEM ON SHELVES, HURRAH!

Wow, that’s a lot of pictures.  Well, I’m excited.  It’s like I have a brand new house and I didn’t even have to move!  Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode, wherein my dog does not do well with the change.

Just call me Flylady

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I have a confession to make that may make me unpopular or perhaps even shunned from the community.  I’m going to take a deep breath and be out with it.  Here it is, my dirty little secret: my house is always clean, neat, and organized.  Now please stay with me a moment – this is not meant to make anyone feel bad or for me to boast about my superior housekeeping skills.  If THIS is what my life has come down to – boasting about superior housekeeping skills – then I may as well end it all right now.  Just writing superior housekeeping skills in relation to myself makes me want to stab myself and/or curl up in a corner and sob with the grimness of it all.

No, my clean, neat, and organized house is more of a function of a rigid, Type-A personality mixed with an extreme distaste for mess, with a side of minor germophobia.  I have never once left dirty dishes in the sink overnight.  I set out my outfit the night before I wear it, I write down the week’s menu and grocery requirements in my agenda.  The kids put away all their toys every night.  I do laundry every single day and I clean the bathroom three times a week.  If my mother-in-law was to show up on my doorstep unannounced, I would certainly have many emotions but shame about the state of my house would not be one of them.

Believe me, I would like to be less like this.  When I have people over for dinner, it’s all I can do to not jump up and start scraping plates and running hot water as soon as everyone is finished.  I have to make myself drink another glass of wine, just so I can relax and carry on a conversation like a normal person.  Tragic, no?  DRINK MORE WINE TO DULL THE CRAZY INTERNAL CLEANING LADY.

But it’s not like I have the kids’ toys alphabetized and on index cards, and it’s not like I’m making hospital corners when I make the bed.  Esthetically, I like things to be tidy, and so when my friend Hannah mentioned Flylady and sink-shining, I thought I should check it out.  After all, I DID have gross crusty stuff around the kitchen faucet, and there WERE some hard water deposits around the filter, and, to be honest, I kind of coveted her shiny sink (go read that link, and you will see why I love Hannah so much – her shiny shiny monument to her own insanity).  So I went over to Flylady to see what all the fuss was about – Flylady, who has this thirty-one day recipe to get one’s life in order.

Well.

It turns out that I have inadvertently been following the Flylady’s methodology for years.  Apparently I AM A FLYLADY, but without the housekeeping-tips blog.  Although I don’t leave little post-it notes full of positive affirmations around the house.  Who would do that?  If one is attempting to get control over household clutter, why would one clutter one’s house with post-it notes?  I can barely stand looking at my kids’ toys – little post-it notes all over the house proclaiming my awesomeness would be the death of my sanity, for real.  I also do not put on lace-up shoes in the house.  Who wears shoes in the house?  How do you curl up on the couch with shoes on?  Plus I don’t own a pair of lace-up shoes.  Other than that, though, I discovered, somewhat depressingly, that I am an unwitting Flylady.

I don’t feel fly, though.  I thought perhaps that if I had a shiny sink – as recommended by the Flylady as the first step to getting one’s life in order – then I would surely be fly as fly could be.  So I followed all the steps, hot water and bleach, scrubbing with a scouring pad and baking soda, using a toothbrush and a butter knife, then buffing and Windex-ing the whole thing.  I stepped back to survey the job.

Huh.  The sink was shinier, sure, but it wasn’t remarkable.  It wasn’t life-changing or transformative.  I could see my reflection, but in a fuzzy, warped, big-forehead kind of way.  I felt very let down.  FLYLADY FAIL.  For the amount of time and resources involved, I expected much, much better.  Flylady, you have disappointed me.  Or perhaps I have disappointed myself.  I do not feel that my shiny sink is a reflection of the love I have for myself.  I feel that it is a reflection of my own rigidity and craziness. 

But that didn’t stop me, today, from buffing it all over again.

The Anti-Clean Plate Club

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This morning the world is white and grey, snow falling and the colour of the sky perfectly matching that of the ground.  Jake has the sniffles, my husband had a cortisone shot in his shoulder on Friday and hence has been rendered the one-armed man (wasn’t there a show about that?), I am running the book fair this upcoming week, and, with all this cheerfulness surrounding me, I woke up with a decided sense of fatigue and ennui.  I decided to skip yoga this morning and cheered myself up by drinking coffee and eating granola on the couch, while watching the new Looney Tunes show with the boys.  Have you seen the new Looney Tunes?  It is VERY funny.  Today’s episode dealt with Bugs Bunny and his – apparent – caffeine addiction, which led to him becoming addicted to a Red Bull-type energy beverage and consuming a month’s worth in one day.  Hilarity then ensues with Bugs redecorating the house and cooking all the food and spending hours on the elliptical machine.  “He likes coffee just like you do, Mom!” Jake said happily, while I wrapped my hands around my mug.

Maybe it was the coffee, or maybe it was the energy from my new green smoothie loving, but I rallied to putter around the kitchen and bake a loaf of cinnamon bread, which somehow led to cleaning all surfaces in the house like a maniac.  I’m not sure how that happened, but at least the house looks good. 

My neighbour told me that she had found in her home a bunch of her grandma’s old recipes, including one for pineapple ham, which reminded me of a cookbook that is in my possession.  It is the Canadian Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites, which my mother gave me when I moved out.  I will preface this by saying that the Lutheran Ladies really know their way around muffin baking, and there are a number of tasty cookie, quick bread, and square recipes that I use frequently.  However.  There is also an entire section entitled “Meat and Macaroni Salads” which includes such dishes as Jellied Egg Salad (utilizing hard-boiled eggs, lemon jello, mayonnaise and cottage cheese), Jellied Chicken Salad (utilizing diced chicken, lemon jello, onion, and Lipton’s Chicken Noodle Soup mix), and a dish made entirely of cold Kraft dinner with celery and Catalina dressing.  Predictably, there are any number of jellied fruit salad recipes, including one that involves orange pop, orange jello, and canned pineapple.  It really reminds me of the church potlucks of my childhood.  

Fortunately for those of us who like to watch our girlish figures, there is a Low Calorie section, which contains no calorie counts but does contain a recipe entitled “Low Calorie Hot Dish” which is made with a head of cabbage, a pound of hamburger, onion, rice, and canned tomato soup.  There is also an “Ethnic” section, which is largely comprised of German, Norwegian, and Swedish dishes, with very sad recipes for tandoori chicken and empanadas rounding out the global feel.  The strangest recipe of all in the “Ethnic” section is one for PEI Clam Chowder.  Apparently living in an Atlantic province is exotic enough to be considered ethnic. 

It’s strange to consider how food trends have changed over the years.  When I was a child meals were of the meat-and-potatoes variety, tomatoes were canned, and I had never eaten a pepper, ever.  There was also a clean plate rule, which has given me memories of sitting at the table long after everyone else had left it, crying, a piece of fried liver, growing cold, on my plate.  That right there is the reason I give my children a bit of rhythm, as they say on NYPD Blue, about finishing their meals.  I don’t encourage waste, of course, but I feel it’s mean to force a child to eat everything on their plate.  I grew up to be a vegetarian; for all I know my kids are going to grow up to never want to see another quesadilla or a bowl of pasta ever again.