Category Archives: Housewifery

At that moment I knew. I knew the way you know about a good melon.

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A while back, I read Gwyneth Paltrow’s GOOP newsletter, something I never do unless my attention is directed to it.  This particular newsletter – which I cannot find archived, for some reason – dealt with how to be organized.  I was particularly interested because, not to overly congratulate myself here, I consider myself to be a very organized person.  Hyper organized, one might say.  Insanely organized, even.  I write in my agenda daily, little to-do lists that really transcend what I think normal people probably write on their to-do lists.  For example, I write down “clean bathroom” on the same days that I clean the bathroom, week in and week out.  One might think that, hey, it’s Monday/Wednesday/Friday.  I always clean the bathroom.  I do not need to write that down.  But yes.  I do. 

That’s just day-to-day information.  If something really big is happening – and by “really big” I mean “really big in the life of a stay-at-home-mom”, so take that with a grain of salt – then I compile lists, normally on spreadsheets.  If there are three really big events occurring over a six week period, which is my situation right now, then the lights will be dimmed with my spreadsheet making. 

So when I read this GOOP newsletter I was struck by two things: a) Gwyneth Paltrow’s writing is somewhat difficult to read, but it seems that she is attempting to show the world that she is just a regular mom, which I contest given that regular moms do not normally shimmy on a grand piano at the Grammys with Cee Lo Green and a tribe of dancing Muppets, although I totally would if I had the chance, and b) she has a friend who she admires for her organization as she makes spreadsheets when she is packing to go somewhere. 

I read that and thought, really?  Doesn’t everyone just make spreadsheets while packing?  But no, it appears that they do not.  Also, not everyone makes a weekly dinner plan to avoid staring at the fridge and sobbing at five o’clock.  Neither do they carefully schedule grocery trips and other boring domestic activities into their daytimers.  It appears that I am just an anal weirdo.

Remember the scene in When Harry Met Sally (greatest movie ever) when Sally finds out that her old boyfriend, Joe, is getting married?

Sally: I’m difficult.

Harry: Challenging.

Sally: I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off.

Harry: But in a good way.

That’s me.  I am Sally.

The problem with being hyper-organized is that something has to give, and that something is sponteneity.  I have a very hard time just going with the flow, especially if I’m busy.  This week has been extraordinarily busy, for me, as I have been running our Scholastic book fair; in other words, this is the week I stand in awe of working parents everywhere.  How do you all do it?  Clearly I am just accustomed to a slack, slow-paced life as I am frantically trying to keep up with my regular life in addition to dealing with excited little people and their ravenous acquisitions of floppy covered books and fancy erasers.  I am TIRED, people.  And I think I need a glass of wine, Thursday be damned.

I need to learn how to go with the flow, I need to learn to be more spontaneous (perhaps I should write that on my to-do list: “LEARN SPONTANEITY”.)  I need to learn to take a deep breath and not get frustrated when (let’s say, for example) Jake leaves his mittens on the steps at lunch and then slips and falls down said steps thirty seconds before we have to leave the house, in order for me to be on time to open up the book fair.  Let’s say.  Or to be more empathetic when I hustle the children back to their normal routine after a ten-day vacation, and remember that if I am frantically rushing around it affects them, and to not completely snap when I ask Mark to please pick up his Legos and he responds with an “Awww!  What?  I never get to do ANYTHING!”  I also need to not be completely thrown off when I reach into the dog’s crate to retrieve his food bowl and subsequently thrust my hand into a pile of his own regurgitated food that he was trying to re-consume.

Well, maybe I can accept being thrown off by that.  What can I say, it’s been a bit of a crazy week.

Wherein I lose my zen talking about Nutella.

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I spend many, many hours a week thinking about food.  I spend hours grocery shopping and putting away groceries, hours preparing meals and cleaning up after meal preparation, hours baking bread and muffins and cookies, hours slicing up fruit and vegetables for school snacks.  I spend a lot of time planning what the kids are going to eat and I feel I am very knowledgeable about nutrition and health.  That is why when I read articles like this one about a woman suing Nutella for wrongful advertising of their product – specifically the claim that Nutella is part of a nutritious breakfast – I feel like the apocalypse is coming. 
Clearly some people simply have a high need for attention that only a high-profile lawsuit can bring.  The lawsuit claims that Nutella contains sugar and saturated fat – which is true – and that it is shown advertised alongside fruit, juice, and whole wheat bread as part of a healthy breakfast – also true – and that together, those are contributing to the North American childhood obesity epidemic.  The lawsuit demands a corrective advertising campaign, and that all earnings from such advertising should be returned to the consumer.  The consumer who, evidently, purchased Nutella in the belief that their lives would like those of the Nutella commercials, with happy, healthy, sporty children being fed by their happy, healthy, sporty mothers. 
I really want to believe the best of people.  I truly want to believe that people are basically good and making the best independent decisions for their children that they are capable of making.  What I do not want to believe is that there is someone out there who was shocked when she, apparently, learned from friends that Nutella was high in sugar and fat.  I guess you would need to learn this from friends if you were completely unable to read the label. 
I have Nutella in my cupboard.  Clearly we don’t eat it very often because I noticed it expired in December 2009, and I will be throwing it out after writing this, but I have purchased Nutella.  As a treat.  At no point did I think that eating Nutella straight out of the jar would be a great breakfast, just as I don’t think that eating Cocoa Puffs or similar to be a great breakfast.  But then, I’m not a moron, and I am able to read nutritional information. 
As an aside, nutritionally Nutella is not that much different from peanut butter, which is a staple in our house, my children being PB&J aficionados.  Per one tablespoon serving, Nutella and peanut butter have the same amount of calories, same amount of fibre, same amount of iron.  Peanut butter has one gram more protein and three grams more fat.  Nutella has 0.5 grams more saturated fat.  Neither have trans fats.  Nutella has 11 grams of sugar per serving, peanut butter has 1, keeping in mind that a glass of milk has 12 grams of sugar.  Essentially, having a breakfast of Nutella on toast would not be that much different from having peanut butter on toast, and if that was served with juice, milk, and fruit?  Not too bad. 
It is very important to do the best for our children in terms of nutrition.  I cook healthy meals every day but allow for treats as well.  Lawsuits like this infuriate me because they waste resources, they are obviously desperate bids for money and the spotlight, and my god, people, if you’re too stupid to read nutritional information then you are too stupid to be taking up valuable space in the news when there are so many more important issues to worry about.
What is really enraging is the inherent belief that purchasing an item will give you the life that you see on a commercial.  Do consumers really believe that their mornings will be smiling, hearty, and unrushed with the purchase of Nutella?  Do they think that the Pillsbury dough boy will pop out of their vacuum packed containers of biscuits and help with dinner, and the Hamburger Helper guy will kick a ball with their kids while they prepare their ground beef meal?  Perhaps these same consumers purchase Cialis in the hopes that they too will be late arriving to the symphony due to newly reawakened unbridled sexual passion.  I guess anything is possible.

Warning: This Post Written Under The Influence

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I am having one of those days where I seem to be on the go and busy all day, but investigation of the activities that have kept me on the go and busy all day is completely boring and depressing: I spent an hour grocery shopping and half that time putting the groceries away, I changed all the sheets and did four loads of laundry, it took me twenty minutes to clean up the dog’s fecal matter in the backyard, all the while I was marvelling at the sheer volume of said fecal matter.  I became extremely excited at the arrival of my new compression stockings, and I realized that I myself have become boring and depressing, due to my obsession with my freakishly bad varicose veins and impending surgery.  I’ve become like someone’s elderly aunt at a family dinner; the one who regales the company with tales of her varying, and revolting health complaints.  Will you have some more salad, Aunty?  No dear.  Remember my irritable bowel?  Well, raw vegetables really inflame it.  Well, would you like some dessert?  No dear.  Remember my acid reflux?  Sugars repeat on me all night long.  Of course, I don’t sleep anyway, due to my restless leg syndrome and hemorrhoids. 
Well, it’s Friday.  The upside of not drinking wine during the week anymore is that by the time Friday comes around, I’m delirious with anticipation.  So I’m drinking wine right now while writing, because it is 6:30 and I just couldn’t wait any longer.  Also the boys are performing science experiments with vinegar, dish soap, baking soda, and polyacrymolide crystals and, much as I love their scientific curiosity, by this time of the week such experiments feel very draining to what is left of my energy and sanity. 
Last night my husband, after a trying few weeks at work, announced to me that his new goal is to become a complete asshole.  How does one respond to that?  I informed him that he probably has already reached his goal; after all, if one’s GOAL is to become an asshole, that probably indicates that you already are one. 
Speaking of assholes, over the past two days I have witnessed no fewer than ten cars get stuck in the exact same spot in the exact same snowbank in the alley behind the school.  This week has seen a reprieve in the cold weather, and so the deep drifts have become soft and treacherous.  The first person I witnessed getting stuck was a friend of mine – NOT an asshole, I hasten to point out – and I sprinted over to help push him out.  He, and another dad who was assisting, vehemently protested against my help.  The neighbour who was spectating announced loudly that I was going to injure myself.  I’m not sure if I emanate an aura of extreme fragility or extreme incompetence, but in any case, I steered the car as the guys pushed.  Ah, chivalry.  I do appreciate it, although I have to remind my readers that I once fixed the gutters BY MYSELF in the pouring rain.  I am woman, hear me roar, and I am capable of pushing cars out of snowbanks.  I have also, on very rare occasions, mowed the lawn, although while growing up my father was concerned that if I operated a lawnmower I would surely sever my own foot off. 
I’m guessing this is enough tipsy randomness for one night.  I am off to pour myself another glass of wine, and possibly unclog some test tubes – in the writing of this post the experiments seem to have become ever more rowdy.  Happy Friday to you all, and stay tuned for next week’s posts where I will discuss a friend’s recent discoveries of her old copies of Sweet Valley High (remember the Dairi Burger?) and another friend and her school’s suspect fundraising endeavours.  Cheers!

"Child abuse": a little rant

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How was your weekend?  Mine was quite lovely filled with lots of socializing – hello, fulfilled New Year’s Resolution! – and food.  Much delicious food, most of which was made by me.  Yesterday I made my friend Happy Geek’s favourite pasta salad, and now I am ruing the day that I discovered said recipe, as it was delicious and I ate the entire batch at dinner, my husband and children having opted for the ever popular “breakfast for supper” menu. 
I have a number of blog friends that I follow, and most of them are mothers.  What I do not follow, however, are any of the “parenting forums” that are rife on the internet.  I never, never read debates about child rearing or any of the issues that go with, because I find them inflammatory and negative.  I like to stay in my happy little world, for one thing, and for another, most of the child rearing issues that are most impassioned are the ones that deal with things I have already dealt with, such as breast feeding, diapering styles, and sleeping through the night.  I made my peace with my own decisions long ago and my children seem to be fine.  They are healthy, they have long been toilet trained, and they sleep just fine.  Of course, Jake did not sleep through the night until he was four and a half years old, but hey, he does now.
It was nearly six years ago that I read a debate on a parenting forum, with regards to breast versus formula feeding.  As always with this topic, there were many emotions involved.  One woman wrote, and I remember this so clearly, “You can formula feed all you want.  I myself do not subscribe to child abuse.”
Of course a comment like that would come from someone who has clearly low self esteem, someone who would speak so cruelly to other people, someone who has little space in their minds for empathy.  I remembered that comment and then swore to never read another parenting debate again, because even if an individual is crazy, and mean-spirited, those kinds of emotions have a way of glomming on to other people, and negativity breeds negativity. 
Then this past week I happened onto another debate, completely by accident.  It was a discussion about take-out food.  We very rarely get take-out at our house, we eat at restaurants once in a while, I try to cut out most of our processed foods in favour of whole foods, but I realize that there is flexibility needed in the world and having chicken fingers and fries in your freezer does not mean that your status as “good mother” will be revoked.  But in this debate, a woman – maybe it was the same woman? – stated that feeding McDonald’s to your children was akin to child abuse.
Now, I don’t eat at McDonald’s.  My children don’t, as a rule, eat at McDonald’s.  But here’s the thing: I highly doubt that anyone who has gone through the tragedy that is child abuse would compare their horrific experiences to formula feeding or a Big Mac.  I think that a Happy Meal is in no way comparable to fear and pain and trauma stemming from child abuse.  When I hear things like this it infuriates me; such insecure comments minimize important issues and are simply meant to be divisive.
We’re all doing our best. 

All the cool kids are doing it!

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And so will I – a Year in Review.  Yes, I know it is the sixth of January and most year in reviews have already been posted, but I was far too busy writing about people who eat toilet paper and watching When Harry Met Sally.

So what happened in 2010 over at the Boy House?

January

I made a resolution to learn how to bake bread, and did so immediately, learning two important things: a) baking bread is not as hard as I thought it would be, and b) the key to New Year Resolution Success is to aim low.

I also ranted about the weird things people say to pregnant women and posted a picture of me with an extra seventy pounds to love.

Yowza.  I still had seven weeks to go at that point.  SEVEN WEEKS.
February
We got really, really excited about the Olympics.  We also went on our first ever winter vacation and became a parody of Canadians as the kids got off the plane wearing t-shirts emblazoned with Team Canada logos, and instantly started running around shrieking in amazement, “Mom, look!  There are FLOWERS!  And they’re REAL!  And the grass is GREEN!  And there’s no SNOW!”
March
Mark turned six!  I had my usual crises with regards to birthday party planning and Daylight Savings Time.  I cleaned out the office and found a whole box of mix tapes, some labeled “Party Mix” and one that was made for my husband from one of his old girlfriends that included songs from Richard Marx.  Hee.

April

I turned 35!  I celebrated by chaperoning on a field trip to the firehall, and cemented my cougar-like status by volunteering to try on the firefighter outfit, discovering just how heavy said outfit is, and actually saying to the young and attractive firefighter “Wow, you guys must be in great shape.”  Coo-coo-coo-choo, Mrs. Robinson.  It also snowed a lot and I wrote about attractive movie characters who would be terrible to be married to, i.e., Ralph Fiennes in the English Patient.


My friend lent me a tiara for my birthday, fulfilling my lifelong dream of birthday crown-wearing.

May
Jake’s pre-Kindergarten class had a Mother’s Day tea in which they sang a song that went “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me”, and I still tear up thinking about it.  I also cried a lot thinking about this Tim Horton’s commercial and I got way too excited about the woman with the MBA with a concentration in economics winning Miss USA.  Clearly May is an emotional roller-coaster of a month for me.
It was still snowing in May.
June
It was really cold.  On Father’s Day weekend – and Super Soccer Saturday weekend – I attended a yoga weekend workshop.  Happy Father’s Day!  Now take care of the kids all weekend.  The kids finished school and my husband came up with a plan in case my kids ever decide to be protesters at a G-20 Summit. 
My two favourite pictures of Mark ever taken.  He’s getting his groove on at the end-of-school-Stampede-breakfast.  Note that it is June and Jake is wearing his fleece jacket.
July
It was raining and cold and I decided to make yarn octopuses, which turned out as well as any craft I make does.  Terribly.  We went to the Okanagan for some sunshine.  The cold and rain made me become Miss Carpe Diem, and so any day with slightly above average temperatures had me running the kids to the pool.
The yarn octopuses, Moppy and Bum, doing a duet of Heart and Soul.
August
It was still cold and rainy.  I wrote a lot about fashion, especially the jeans with zippered ankles that came out that made me feel like I was wearing turquoise slacks and a coordinating blouse, hobbling around with my walker and my Scotch mints, with a tissue in my sleeve.  Also – and my friend just reminded me of this yesterday – I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said “Vagitarian”.  I still laugh evilly thinking about it.  Vagitarian.  Says the guy who lives in his mom’s basement.
September
Mark started Grade One and Jake started Kindergarten.  We got hardwood installed by two attractive young whipper-snappers which led to many “hardwood” jokes.  Also I came home to find that they had taken out my drawers to move my dresser with ease, and my panty drawer was proudly on display for all to see.  So I had to show my panties to get hardwood.  Hee.  Also, Jake turned five!
Too cool for school!  Note the boxes of hardwood at right.
October
In typical October fashion we seemed to have a lot of viruses, dead squirrels, and excitement about Halloween.  Also I went on a two-night vacation with my husband and no kids!  And we all survived!  Actually the boys had the time of their lives and still talk about how awesome it was that Grandma picked them up at school.
Boo, I’m a scary witch!  For real.
November
It snowed a lot, I got ready for Christmas, I ran the Scholastic Book Fair, Mark barfed.  That pretty much sums up November.
A foam finger!  It says “We’re #1 – bp”.
December
I blogged almost exclusively about Christmas, Christmas songs, Christmas baking, and my new awesome sexy bitch boots.

Whew!  If you’re still reading this, thank you!!!  So 2010 was a great year, and here’s to a wondeful 2011 for all of us.

Reality TV, or Signs of the Apocalypse

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I frequently think that nothing is more indicative to the downfall of society as reality television.  I’m always, always startled to think that these shows are being watched by someone.  For example, it has come to my attention that there is a new show coming out featuring people who, among other things, like to eat toilet paper and taste dish soap.  Really.  Wasn’t the concept of putting people in a house together to fight and hot tub and copulate and compete for a spouse who would never actually turn out to be a spouse bad enough?  Now there are shows about people with dramatically peculiar eating habits?  This is the reason I like Jeopardy.  Virtually everything else on television is a scary indictor of the apocalypse.  Plus I like to fantasize that I’m actually on Jeopardy.  I like to think about what I would wear if I was a contestant (probably a black sweater).  I like to imagine myself saying “I’m going to make this a true Daily Double, Alex.”  Alas, I would probably never win at Jeopardy given my poor knowledge of US history and presidents. 
Another indication that the four horses are going to come riding in at any minute is the proliferation of drivel-like magazines lining the checkout counter at Wal-Mart.  Yesterday the kids were back at school and so I dropped them off to go pick up light bulbs, Kleenex, and dish soap (that I am not tempted to taste in the least.  Who are these people, anyway?).  Hilariously, I ran into several other moms who were shopping for similar items, proving once again that we stay-at-home moms are a glamourous people, we who upon shaking off the shackles of child care immediately head towards the allure of the roll-back.  In the lineup, I saw the following headlines: 1) Someone named Heidi is having more plastic surgery, 2) Dr. Oz has a “#1 Fat Cure”, and 3) No matter what they say, Oprah and Gayle are totally lesbians.  My reaction?  1) Who is this Heidi?, 2) “Fat CURE”?  Does the word “cure” seem strange to anyone else?  3) Why is it relevant in any way to anyone if Oprah and Gayle are, in fact, lovers?  WHO CARES? 
So I stood there in line feeling like my brain cells were rapidly disintegrating, a feeling that seemed to be confirmed soon after when I smiled to myself at the abandoned items that were grouped together at the next till.  Really, one should not laugh, but I found myself laughing on the inside at the still-life grouping of a Heavy Duty Rubber Sheet, a box of Extra-Large Depends, and a gigantic container of Sour Patch Kids. 
Maybe I need my own reality show.  Real Housewives of Calgary Who Like Jeopardy and Laugh at Stupid Things at Wal-Mart.

Be Kind Resolution, or How I Resolved to Drink More Wine

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In the height of holiday overindulgence last week, a good friend said “I didn’t want to make New Year’s resolutions, but at this point it’s impossible not to.”  I understood.  I’m not generally one for traditional New Year’s resolutions, although I am feeling kind of bloated and sugar high from my own indulgences.  But, as a jovial older colleague used to say “It’s not what you eat between Christmas and New Year’s, it’s what you eat between New Year’s and Christmas”, which is, I think, very astute.  Unless of course your regular diet consists exclusively of Double Downs, Coke, and Sour Patch Kids, in which case a change just may be required.
In other words, I am looking forward to getting back into regular routine next week, one that will contain much less mint chocolate, given that it is quickly disappearing from my kitchen. 
I do have a New Year’s resolution this year, and that is to entertain more, go on more coffee dates, and enjoy wine with friends more.  As opposed to enjoying wine while sitting on my couch in pajamas watching Jeopardy and stating answers in the form of questions, which I’m still going to do.  One cannot make drastic changes overnight.
That’s the thing about resolutions and their high percentage of failure – the rate of which I don’t know exactly, but I would hypothesize it to be 99%.  I mean, who really keeps resolutions?  Well, I did last year but that is because my resolution was to learn how to bake bread, which I did by mid-January, with the assistance of the best cookbook ever, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, which I recommend and wish I was getting a marketing fee for the number of times I mention it to people.  Artisan Bread people, are you listening?
Where was I going with this?  Oh yes.  Keeping resolutions.
A little while ago I went to a workshop with this lovely woman, who spoke about compassion.  If you wish to be a truly compassionate person, she said, you need to start with yourself.  It’s true, isn’t it?  Aren’t we our own worst critics?  Nowhere is that more apparent than when you are in a room with people making New Year’s resolutions.  I don’t think that there is anything wrong with wanting to change bad behaviours, or trying to achieve a goal, but can we agree to do it in a more compassionate, more loving way?  Perhaps try to walk more or eat healthier in order to feel better, rather than the standard lose-weight-exercise-more-I-am-a-big-fat-whore?  Self loathing is very destructive, and this is why I think most resolutions are never kept – they are based in unkindness towards oneself.  If changes are needed, implement them with kindness and compassion and joy, rather than punitively.
This is why my resolution is to be with and enjoy my friends’ company more.  My prediction is that 2011 will be a very good year.
Are you making resolutions this year?  If so, what are they?  (Remember: be kind to yourself!)