Category Archives: Housewifery

Whale Tail!

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At first I was going to do a “Wordless Wednesday” post – does anyone still do that?  I’m so hip to the scene – but then I realized that it’s Thursday, which is great, really, but probably means that “Wordless Wednesday” isn’t exactly relevant.  Nonetheless, I was going to entitle it Whale Tail and then show you this:

Cool, right?  We went on a whale watching tour and saw 30-40 whales, which I thought was incredible, until I spoke with my girlfriend who had gone with her family on a whale watching tour on the same afternoon and saw a) a group of males competing for female attention, and b) a baby whale breech right in front of them.  Still, it was very fun although I think that my kids were just slightly too young to really appreciate whale watching.  They enjoyed it, for the most part, but for kids that age if you have seen one whale, you’ve seen them all.

Note the guy next to me in his festive Hawaiian shirt.  It’s obvious, but Hawaiian shirts are de rigeur in Maui, but they really do look silly elsewhere, unless worn ironically, I guess.

It is starting to snow right now, which makes me think of Triumph, the insult comedy dog.  This clip is QUITE hilarious, if you like that kind of humour, which I do (note: clip is not family friendly).  “Oooh, clouds!  It’s Armageddon for Hawaii!”

Something about being on vacation has made me completely incompetent when it comes to meal planning and grocery shopping.  I depleted our cupboards and fridge in anticipation of our trip, with the tragic exception of the milk I forgot to empty and hence came home to two 3/4 empty cartons, complete with chunks.  Ew!  Gross!  In any case, because of this depletion I have found myself grocery shopping every single day since our return.  EVERY DAY.  Today I realized that I needed – NEEDED – to go to Costco, and so there I went this afternoon.  I found that my faith in humanity – as usually happens when I shop at Costco – has been shattered.  Is it so hard to return a cart?  Is it?  Presumably, the non-cart-returner has already pushed the heavy, gigantic, unwieldy cart through the vast expanses of Costco and the parking lot.  Is that, then, it?  Is that all the non-cart-returner can give?  Is that the extent of their ability to exert themselves physically?  Is walking an extra thirty seconds with a depleted, much lighter cart just too much?  Apparently it is. 

It makes me all stabby.  Fortunately, I think that my grocery levels are now back to par, although unfortunately I went through the mental process I seem to go through every time I’m at Costco, which is to “just pick up an enormous family-sized package of soap and/or toothpaste, since I’m here anyway.”  I do this EVERY TRIP and now I have hoarder-levels of toothpaste and soap.  I’m going to have to hide some in the downstairs bathroom, else my husband may have me committed. 

Speaking of committed, my kids made up a game this morning that involved writing “prizes” on scraps of paper, putting them in a hat, and making me draw the said “prizes”.  I kept “winning” the following: ninja attacks on my person, bad luck, a football, and, finally, the grand prize of a golden marmot.  These prizes are all theoretical, of course, but I’m still a little disturbed by the many impending ninja attacks I have won.

Post-Christmas Cleaning Binge

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Did you have a good Christmas?  I’m relieved to tell you that Mark recovered enough to enjoy Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, although he was somewhat exhausted by yesterday evening – but then, shouldn’t we all be exhausted by then?  My mother mentioned yesterday that Mark is always sick at Christmas, which seemed incorrect to me, and indeed, upon checking my blog entries the last time anyone was sick at Christmas was 2008.  That seems like a fairly decent run to me.

But today we are all enjoying good health and also our Christmas gifts.  I caved this year on my “no video games” policy and the boys – all three of them – are currently playing Mario Kart Wii.  They are also threatening to get a fourth control so I can play with them, an attitude I am steadfastly discouraging.  So far they have yet to turn into slack jawed zombies, so I grudgingly admit the Wii is fine.  Also, I received a game, just for me, the Wii Jeopardy.  Now THAT is something I can get behind.

I also received this beauty:

A Pandora bracelet!  It’s perfect in every way.  I also received this pashmina scarf, which is so unbelievably soft I want to make out with it:

I haven’t yet.  But I want to.

Meanwhile, today I have broken all my normal rules and have not taken the Christmas tree down.  It’s not because I don’t want to.  I came home from yoga, faced with the clutter and boxes and general grunginess that indicates holiday living, and thought I could not face one more minute with the tree up.  The kids intervened passionately, and I have agreed to give it one more day.  I regret this decision immensely, and I find myself giving the tree what my children themselves refer to as the “furry eyebrow”.  Enjoy your time with us, tree.  You’re next.

If I couldn’t take down the tree, I certainly could deal with the holiday grunginess, which is exactly what I did.

That’s me, minus the blonde hair and kicky pink dress.  My children seemed a little alarmed at the zest with which I attacked the floors and bathroom.  My husband went out to run an errand and came back to find me scrubbing the floor tiles with vinegar water and a Sham-Wow, all the furniture moved around so as to clean behind it.  “Wow,” he said, backing away slowly.  “You’re really…cleaning.”  YES I AM.

Meanwhile, we have approximately one thousand chocolates in the house, which seems like a lot.  What’s better – freezing and savoring them over the next several months, or devouring them all just to destroy them?  Probably something in between, I suppose.  But given we still have Halloween candy in our house, something must be done.  Immediately.  Now pardon me while I go deal with a box of After Eights.

PSA: Don’t be a dick.

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Do you remember back in the day when you were trying to get pregnant, and it wasn’t happening very quickly, and everyone you knew was getting pregnant, and you were sad and frustrated and felt like stabbing every single person who asked “So when are you going to have a baby?” or who carefully examined what you were drinking to see if it contained alcohol or who had some unsolicited advice about getting pregnant or who said things like “You’re not pregnant yet?  Can’t wait forever!  Tick tock tick tock!”?  Remember that?  I know it wasn’t just me. 
I was reminded of this the other day and here is my public service announcement of the day: It’s really fucking insensitive to ask a woman of childbearing age about their fertility.  So don’t ask.  Related PSA: Don’t be a dick.  Actually, that should be a lifelong public service announcement. 
Segueing from PSA’s to PDA’s, yesterday I went to pick the boys up from lunch and a friend quickly walked over to me in the playground, asking if I noticed the teenagers on the hill behind the school.  There, lying on top of each other on the frozen ground, were two teenagers passionately making out and, um, grinding.  Soon the two of us were joined by three other mothers picking up their kids; the five of us staring at the oblivious couple.  Aw!  Young love.  It reminded me of that day last summer when a young couple started making out passionately in front of my house, groping each other eagerly.  The guy made it to second base.  Sometimes it just can’t wait, I guess.  
Following the advice of several people, I decided to check out Staples in my seemingly endless quest for Christmas printer paper.  I should note that this is NOT a sponsored post, but maybe it should be because even though prior to Monday I had never set foot in Staples and now I am a little bit in love with it.  This is what I saw as I entered the parking lot.
Do you think it is NOW available due to my whining?  Probably NOT but I will take the credit anyway.  I walked into Staples and – as usually happens when I’m in a new and large store – I felt completely overwhelmed.  I stood for nearly five minutes looking around, wandering into one of the aisles, having no idea where to look or what to do.  It’s almost like I’m practicing to be a senior citizen.  What’s that?  Where is the paper?  The pretty paper?  No, not THAT paper.  The only thing worse would be going into Future Shop or something like that.  Five minutes in Future Shop makes me want to huddle in a corner in the fetal position, crying and rocking back and forth.  Finally, a super friendly guy with the biggest smile ever asked if I needed assistance.  How could he tell?  He directed me to a display that was almost right in front of me. 
Squee!  Not only was there a large selection, but there were also pretty little seals in the shapes of snowflakes and seasonal address labels!  I finished my shopping on the weekend, but I could not resist what was in front of me: 
Angry Bird stuffies!  Thanks to my husband and his new iPad, the boys (and my husband himself) are now into Angry Birds.  The three of them played it together for much of the weekend while I re-read Sense and Sensibility.  It is exactly like what I thought life would be like when I had two boys.  The three of them play a video game, I do something girly.  Maybe on the upcoming weekend they will play it and I can give myself a pedicure or something.  Anyway, I thought these would make cute stocking stuffers.  Then I saw the cutest little snowman Pez dispensers with a really excessive amount of Pez refills:
They needed a home too.  Clearly the boys’ stockings are going to be VERY WELL STUFFED.  Then – then, OMG – I saw something that I am hoarding just for me:
Peppermint Lindor!  These are really, really hard to find, in my part of the world anyway.  They are EVEN BETTER than After Eights.  They are even better than frozen York patties.  They are even better than Swistle’s Died-And-Gone-To-Heaven-Mint-Chocolate-Brownies.  They are the G-spot-orgasm-plus-he-gave-me-a foot-massage-and-unloaded-the-dishwasher of mint chocolate.  I bought the above three boxes but I would have bought the whole damn display if I knew where the carts were kept.  However, as it was I had items slipping out of my arms every time I took a step, so I limited it to three.  I don’t care what Kate Moss says, peppermint Lindor taste WAY better than skinny feels.

Yes, John Cusack too.

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Okay, okay.  I wrote my last post and then had an avalanche of people ask me WHY John Cusack wasn’t included.  Even my husband – my husband! – read the post and asked why John Cusack wasn’t on the list.  Here’s the truth: I forgot about poor John Cusack.  Poor Lloyd Dobler.  I blame the book fair. 

There.  Now I feel better.
As of Saturday, I am officially finished my Christmas shopping – including stocking stuffers and the photo calendars we order for the grandparents and various others who I think need to look at a photo of my children every single day.  Look at them!  They are adorable!   I normally try to get my shopping done by mid-November for the simple reason that I loathe the mall, especially at Christmas.  All those people shopping for Christmas cheer that have a decided lack of it, who would drive over their own grandmother for a parking space.  I like to keep my festive happiness intact, and so I finish my shopping early.  This does not mean that I won’t be visiting Staples today, in an attempt to find the elusive Christmas-themed printer paper.  Why is it so difficult to find?  Nan not-so-gently suggested that perhaps I am having a difficult time finding it because it is no longer 1996.  Oh Nan!  But how am I to send out my annual super boring Christmas letter if I have no Christmas themed paper?  My relatives and in-laws depend on my super boring updates.  Must I write them on plain paper?  Must I draw my own poinsettias?  This is wrong on many levels.  BRING BACK THE CHRISTMAS PRINTER PAPER.
Speaking of shopping, this morning I was in the grocery store and it is a miracle I made it back alive.  I knew I was in trouble when I was choosing a cart and a busload of old women swanned in.  I live in a senior-heavy neighbourhood, and once in a while there will be a little shuttle bus bringing people – women, mostly – from the seniors complex to do their grocery shopping.  This is not a good day to be in the grocery store.  The aisles were crowded with very slow moving old ladies carefully looking at the different types of baked beans (more than usual), complaining about the lack of mandarin oranges, and crowding the deli counter looking for a particular type of ham.  Sadly, there was only one checkout open, and the lineup of old ladies behind me was quite long.  The old lady directly behind me persisted in pushing her cart into the back of my legs, causing me to develop a severe case of grocery store rage.  Push.  Push.  Push.  I could hear her complain, as I unloaded my perfectly-reasonable amount of groceries, about the fact that the bus driver would be back at ten o’clock, and she would never make it out of the lineup on time, due to my excessive number of items.  I glanced at my watch.  It was 9:35.
I remember my grandma being like that as well.  Once when we were visiting, my brother and I were supposed to take her to church, which was directly across the street from her seniors complex.  And by directly across the street, I mean that it was a two minute walk away, at the very maximum.  My brother and I showed up at her building thirty minutes before church was to start, only to find her sitting in the lobby, steaming.  “We’re going to be LATE,” she reprimanded us. 
I briefly considered letting the old lady go ahead of me, as I often do.  However, a) she was with a gaggle of other old ladies, and I didn’t really want to let five of them go ahead of me, and b) I was seriously irritated with the fact that she was still repeatedly, but possibly unwittingly, pushing her cart into the back of my legs.  However, karma hit me right in the face when the very slow witted but super chatty carryout guy started to bag my groceries.  I took a deep breath and braced myself for the usual onslaught of chat, and it exactly covered the topics I expected: my children and their school, the cold weather on the weekend, and Stampede Wrestling.  My status with the slow witted carryout guy is quite high since I once told him that I know a former Stampede Wrestler.  It’s a rarefied existence I lead.

So THIS is why people love the fall.

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Happy Thanksgiving, my Canadian friends!  I hope you had a lovely long weekend.  I spent the long weekend at my in-laws’.

Pause.

I’m all about positivity, and so I will leave it at that and simply post this picture of me eating grapes.

I seem to have my mouth full in that picture, either that or I’m not willing to show my purple stained teeth that possibly have Concord skins stuck in them.

An airport is the single greatest place to people watch, I think.  We flew, rather than drove, this weekend and I amused myself by watching the world go by.  I also like to examine local fashions when I’m in a different place; I like to feel like I’m some kind of fashion anthropologist.  While I was admiring other people’s tall boots and sweaters, I noticed a woman wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen.  When she turned around I saw that it was evidently homemade from a light cotton imprinted with kittens.  Then I saw a woman who looked extremely stylish from behind, with a lovely fall jacket and long scarf.  When she turned around, her lovely jacket was unbuttoned to show a gigantic, overstuffed fanny pack.  I speak on behalf of purses everywhere when I beseech us all to ban the fanny pack. 

I woke up so exhausted this morning that I actually went back to bed rather than heading for the yoga studio; that’s something that almost never happens and so I’ve been feeling off kilter all day.  I can’t figure out my exhaustion; I’ve certainly had a lot of sleep in the past couple of days.  Either I’m fighting some sort of virus or I’m just completely burnt out from attempting to keep a pleasant demeanor in the face of passive aggressive criticisms.  I tried to regain my normal energy by taking on a number of tasks today – sorting and labelling photos, baking banana bread, cleaning the house, making salsa and kale chips.  While I had the kale happily dehydrating in the oven, I decided to rally the boys and rake the leaves.  With raking comes jumping in the leaves:

Why yes, Mark is wearing his swimming goggles in order to “swim” through the leaves, why do you ask?

We also did some ladybug rescuing:

 It’s on his hand, can you see it?

How about now?

While I’m at it, here’s some pictures of our scarecrows with our STILL BLOOMING flowers.  This has been the mildest fall I can remember.  This must be what people mean when they say they love fall.  Normally I think of fall as one week of howling winds tearing all the leaves off the trees before winter sets in, but this year has been so beautiful. 

My scarecrow is the girl.  Her name is Rosie.  My husband’s scarecrow is named Dummy Jimmy Too Tall.  I think Mark named him.

The boys’ scarecrows are named Idiot and TV.

Usually the leaves on the Mayday tree turn brown from frost and then fall off rapidly, but this year has been so mild that they are actually changing colour. 

And that, I think, is enough to be thankful for. 

If I have to, I can face anything! I am woman!

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I unclogged the gutters today!  I know I’ve written about this before, but every time I perform a job like that, I feel like raising my fist in the air and singing “I am strong – STRONG – I am invincible – INVINCIBLE – I am WOMAN.”  Hear me roar, I unclogged the gutters!

I unclogged the gutters because it’s been steady rain for days now, and I have the overwhelming urge to elbow everyone I see and say something like “Wet enough for you?” or perhaps “Anyone else feel like a duck?”, followed by a grim, humourless laugh.  Fortunately for everyone in my neighbourhood, the rain is slated to stop tonight, saving everyone from my idiocy.

My fierceness in gutter work is in sharp contrast to the other jobs I have done today, which include but are not limited to three loads of laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and baking cupcakes.  Why was I baking cupcakes, one might ask?  It is for a birthday – the DOG’s birthday; because every birthday must be celebrated with cake, even if that cake is non-consumable by the birthday boy.

I also took the kids to get their hair cut at the neighbourhood Beaners, and after a long appointment with some junior, still-in-training stylists, I allowed them to play in the ballpit.  I try very hard to behave like a normal person when my kids play in one of those ballpits; I try not to squirt them with sanitizer every few seconds and I breathe deeply, consciously thinking of other things and not the squeamy little germs covering each and every ball.  I try not to think about Jake’s recent cold and Mark’s recent recovery from pneumonia; I try to let them enjoy this innocent, if gross, childhood pleasure.  Then, as I was at the counter paying for the haircuts, I noticed a woman at the ballpit, speaking very sharply.  I wondered if my kids were involved in whatever the issue was and walked over.  The boys stood in the ballpit, looking alarmed.  The woman was doing that counting thing you do with small children: “Come here Right Now.  One.  Two.  Three.  COME HERE.  HERE!  One.  Two.  Three.  COME HERE NOW.”  Finally she removed her own boots and stepped into the ballpit to extract the small girl.  She turned to the receptionist, who was trying to flag her down to tell her that her children were up for their appointments, and said that she was very sorry, but she had to leave, as her daughter had peed in the ballpit. 

Now, I did feel very sorry for this woman as she hauled her now-screaming daughter out of there.  I smiled sympathetically at her, unsure if I should make a reassuring comment or not, eventually opting for not.  As soon as she turned around I gestured to the boys to exit, discovering on doing so that their socks were soaked.  While I did feel a lot of sympathy about this, I also felt nauseated.  My kids were standing in someone else’s urine.

We went home and the boys changed their clothes and washed their hands and I ate a cupcake and drank some wine and IT DIDN’T HELP.  My kids were playing in a pee pit.  Maybe I need some more wine.  What do you think?

I-I-I-I’m Still Alive!

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So here it is, May 23, and we are still here.  I guess the rapture didn’t occur after all, or, if it did, I was seriously excluded.  I wore my special Judgment Day panties for nothing?  NOTHING?

I spent the weekend celebrating the birth of Queen Victoria by way of a road trip to visit my in-laws, and as of today I am on a cleanse because, let me tell you, no one needs to consume that much booze and ice cream over a sixty-five hour period.  HOO BOY.  Today we made the trip home in a record seven hours, as opposed to the usual eight-to-ten-depending-on-road-construction.  Here’s our little family secret for “making good time”: if you get on the road by 6:30 am, there will be very little in the way of traffic.  We like to get an early start, and theoretically, the children will be so tired from our waking them up an hour early that they will fall asleep in the car.  HA HA HA.  This almost never happens, but today, by some miracle, it did.  Mark and Jake both slept for ten and twenty minutes, respectively. 

They are good travellers though, despite their penchant for asking if we are almost there, even when it was explained five minutes ago that there are six more hours left of travel time. 

It was a lovely trip, and I am struck, as always, by how much nicer other places are than the city in which I reside.  There are many benefits to my home city – employment and standard of living topping the list – but climate and vegetation are not among them.  I came home to see that my beautiful, well-established clematis is not even up yet – Is it dead?  How? – which was a touch depressing given the sight of lilacs, fully in bloom and growing wild around the perimeter of my in-laws’ property.  

Ah, but the long weekend is over and now it’s back to the old grind.  Which, for me, means pretty much nothing.  The life of a lady of leisure!  I suppose it means groceries and running back and forth from the school, and also attacking a weird mountain of laundry, weird due to the fact that I actually DID laundry, twice, within my sixty-five hour vacation period, so I’m not totally sure where all this laundry is coming from.

Also for this week: I wasn’t going to bring this up due to the fact that it makes me sound like I’m going to slip on my heels and pearls and start vacuuming, but I have NEW SMALL APPLIANCES to play with.  Last week I got a food processor – my dreams have come true! – and today my new stand mixer, coffee maker, toaster, and microwave arrived!  I am so excited about them that my younger self probably wants to slap me in the face, enraged with my domesticity and housewifery.