Category Archives: I almost failed Home Ec

Maybe Pumpkin Spice Potato Chips really are a thing.

Posted on by

You know those moments in parenting where you just don’t know how you got here, and you just can’t believe this is happening? I had one of those yesterday when Jake came home from school, completely excited about this cool new game he wants to get called Dungeons and Dragons.

I just don’t know where to go from here.

In other news, did you know it’s almost Halloween? Holy moly, did October speed by. Remember when I said that I was just swimming and swimming until October 18, and after that things would settle down? Hardy har, it seems to me that I forgot about, you know, LIFE. Not that I would say I’m any busier than anyone else – we’re all busy – but let me take this opportunity to say two words: BOOK FAIR. Yes, Book Fair Number Fifteen is rapidly approaching, and although – thank god – I have a co-coordinator who is going to take over one entire day for me, it’s still a bit of a thorn in my side. Yesterday I felt like I had things under control: I had made up a schedule for all twenty-six classes to visit the fair twice over a two-day span – the fair itself is taking place in the staff room, thanks to our overcrowded school situation – and the volunteer spots had started to fill out. Then I had an email from the principal informing me of a little glitch in the schedule that I had been unaware of, and although she immediately offered helpful solutions, I just sat and stared out the window for a few minutes. I could actually feel myself deflate.

But this is my fourth-to-last fair, so I’ve been cheering myself on like an aerobicize instructor from the Eighties: and four more, and three more, and two more…

So here comes November, with the book fair and Christmas shopping to avoid the fiery hell that is the mall in December, and the ordering of Christmas cards, and the baking of many festive treats so that they may be photographed and published asap. Speaking of which, I’m going to digress for a few minutes to tell you to read my Meatless Mummy column over at Yummy Mummy Club, for all your meatless (and decadent holiday baking) needs. I’m also going to point out that I have a joint project with Hannah and Allison, called Throwing It Back, for all your nostalgic-for-the-eighties-and-nineties needs. So if I’m not writing here, I’m over at one or both of those places, writing about chickpeas and rolling your jeans. This ends my public service announcement.

The best thing about November, in my opinion, is that it marks the end of the Reign of Pumpkin Spice. I know, I know. Everyone loves pumpkin spice. Everyone except me, apparently. I know I’m in the minority on this one, and truly, I don’t care that much – let your freak pumpkin spice flag fly, people – but the end of the Reign of Pumpkin Spice marks the beginning of the Reign of Peppermint, which is my favourite thing ever. Bless you, peppermint flavouring.

Is it me, or has the pumpkin spice trend officially gone over the top? Driving back from Sylvan Lake, the orange-hued Kubota dealership outside of Red Deer had a sign saying “We ARE Pumpkin Spice,” which made me laugh, a little. I would have taken a photo had I not been hurtling down the highway. In the grocery store was this display:

PumpkinSpiceOreo

Hey, I’m not judging. I’ve tried mint Oreos and they were pretty amazing, and that’s coming from someone who doesn’t even like Oreos. I’m just wondering if we’ve reached peak pumpkin spice popularity, or if next year Lay’s will come out with Pumpkin Spice Potato Chips, or maybe Pumpkin Spice Doritos. Maybe McDonald’s will come out with a Seasonal Pumpkin Spice McRib. Maybe these things have already happened, I don’t know. As an economist, I kind of want to graph out the trends and the market share of Pumpkin Spice What Have You in September and October, and the growth in popularity over the past few years. Perhaps I should; perhaps I should apply for a grant to study the ubiquity of pumpkin spice and its effect on cancer, or something. There could be a whole correlation-versus-causation debate, like the one currently heating up over bacon and other smoked meats.

MAYBE THIS IS A NOBEL PRIZE-WINNING IDEA.

Speaking of cookies, yesterday I went to make Halloween-shaped sugar cookies for the kids’ classroom parties. While I was in my flurry of travel, a few weeks ago, I decided to make some of my mom’s never-fail sugar cookie dough to throw in the freezer for this exact reason. I was trying to be on the ball, and I would have been, if I hadn’t been so caught up in packing/ unpacking/ trying to fit work in/ etc. I remember clearly throwing together a banana bread for the kids’ snack, and then whipping up a batch of sugar cookie dough. At the time, I thought the dough felt odd, but I thought no more about it, until yesterday, when I rolled out all the shapes and thought the dough seemed rather soft.

I took my first batch of ghosts out of the oven, and they had all spread together to make one giant obese ghost. The pumpkins were just the same. My never-fail dough had failed. In hindsight, I think perhaps I was so busy multitasking that I only added two out of the three required cups of flour. I managed to whip up another batch, which worked perfectly, and the kids were only too happy to eat the batch of flat misshapen cookies. All is well in my world again.

cookie

Is this day thermal-spray-worthy? Probably not.

Posted on by

Remember the Seinfeld episode where the contraceptive sponge was discontinued, and Elaine stocked up on them but had to screen each of her potential sexual partners to ensure that they were worthy of a sponge? I’m having that issue right now, but with hair products.

I haven’t written a “Nicole’s Favourite Things” in a while, but I wish I had sung the praises of Abba’s Thermal Styling Spray, because I’ve been using it for years. You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. This is the single greatest styling product of all time, but when I was in the salon a few weeks ago, my hair therapist mentioned that there seemed to be a Problem With The Supplier and she thought it might be Discontinued. She mentioned it to me with some degree of urgency, and said she was looking into Alternatives But Had Yet To Find A Good One.

Panic At The Disco.

I have one bottle in my possession, and I am hoarding it like nobody’s business. I’m now wondering what occasions will be important enough for me to use it. Coffee with the girls? Volunteering at the school? Visit with the in-laws? Good-looking plumber coming over to fix my kitchen tap?

The answer is “none of the above.” I’ve been only using some kind of flexible hold spritzer that I got at the drugstore as a stop gap measure. I’m not sure what occasion will warrant me using the thermal spray, but I sure hope that my hair therapist finds a good alternative soon, or it will be a lifetime of merely-adequate hair days.

Speaking of hair, I was at Costco the other day, and the man who checks the carts and receipts at the exit gave me a big wink and a smile. He was sixty-plus, with a friendly face. “Red hair is my favourite,” he said to me, “And I love yours!” Well, I thanked him very much, to which he responded, with a nudge and raised eyebrows, “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s all natural.” People, I was moments away from making a “carpet and curtains” joke, when my “inappropriate” siren went off. Note to self: making a ribald joke about matching the carpet to the nearly-retired cart-checker at Costco is inadvisable. Instead, I responded with a laugh and a comment about the feistiness being natural, anyway.

The whole reason I was in Costco, besides getting frozen fruit, was to look for sheets. You know how there are some areas of your life that you just find yourself being overly frugal? That’s me with sheets. I may have enough yoga wear to clothe the entire studio on any given day, but when it comes to sheets, ours were so old and had been laundered so many times that they were literally starting to fall apart. The edges of the sheets and pillowcases were frayed, and the sheets themselves were getting worn to threads. And yet, I kept thinking to myself, they’re still good. They’re fine, really.

Long, boring, and completely “who gives a shit” story short, I bought some new sheets and they have been life affirming. Every night I say to my husband, “Look at the sheets! Aren’t they glorious! They’ve changed my life!” And because he’s a patient man, he nods and says “Go to sleep now, you’re starting to not make sense.”

My reluctance to buy new sheets is probably related to my reluctance to throw out the one-centimetre-square piece of soap in the soap dish, because I can still wash my hands with it if I lather hard enough. I know. I know. I blame my mother, whose ability to repurpose freezer bags is legendary.

See you in September

Posted on by

Today is the very last day of summer vacation and I’m simultaneously melancholy about the fleeting nature of time, and excited to get back into routines. Every single platitude about time and children getting older (I’mmmmm getting older toooooooo) seems more poignant every year. I don’t want to be all “My BABIES” or anything, but I keep being reminded that I only have a limited number of summers to spend with the kids, and at some point they are not going to want to go bowling or watch Downton Abbey with their mom, so I Must Cherish Every Moment. Of course, all that cherishing gets tiring after a while, and so everyone is getting excited about back-to-school. I am, especially, looking forward to not working frantically between 7 and 9 am to get things done so I can Cherish My Darling Children All Day Long.

At this very moment, Cat’s in the Cradle came on the radio. Nice timing, 70s on 7.

The boys will be in Grades Five and Six this year; I have nice memories about Grade Six, but Grade Five was unequivocally the worst of my entire school career, due to typical ten-year-old Mean Girl Syndrome. I’m trying not to project, though, and Mark tells me that Grade Five Was The Most Epic Year Ever, so hopefully it’s equally epic for Jake.

Part of the back-to-school excitement is coming from actual certain knowledge of the kids’ new classes and teachers. Last week I received an email confirming a) each child’s teacher, b) each child’s classroom number, and c) the door at which each child is to line up at. This might sound like nothing to you, but it is certainly a big deal to me. In previous years, we wouldn’t know who the teachers would be or what classroom the kids would be in until 8:45 on the first day of school. Is that not a ridiculous system? Arriving at the school at 8:45, milling around the courtyard with hundreds of kids and their parents, looking for a teacher with a clipboard who would look up names and then finding the appropriate lineup. It was inevitable that there would be sad looking, teary-eyed children discovering that they’d been split from all their friends, and parents trying to Make The Best Of The Situation. I cannot imagine why it’s taken so long to implement such a normal strategy such as emailing parents to disperse information about teachers and classrooms so that kids can be prepared on the first day, but, continuing with platitudes, Better Late Than Never.

Filing under Other Things The School Rocks At, each fall parents pay a fee and school supplies are purchased by the school and distributed throughout the year. I cannot emphasize enough how appreciative I am of this policy, especially when I hear of my friends in other school boards frantically shopping for three lined notebooks in blue, green, and red or twelve number two pencils, yellow, all appropriately labelled, or a ridiculously unrealistic number of Elmer’s glue sticks. Unfortunately I often forget that not every school is the same, and I inevitably find myself thinking, on the first week of school, hmmm…I should go pick up some toothpaste and then ending up in Walmart feeling like I should just probably burn the whole store down and everyone in it, just to end the misery.

What is it about Walmart? Why is it so agonizing there? The boys and I briefly stopped in there last week to pick up some Benadryl and hand lotion, and it was a soul-destroying experience. It didn’t help that we were there on what appeared to be Shelf Restocking Day, and so the aisles were clogged with giant dollies full of product, and no product on shelves, along with people stocking up on sheaves of paper on sale for ten cents each. There was a giant lineup snaking into the “jewelry” department, along with six empty cashiers for 12 items or less. Fortunately that was us, and I wondered, if Walmart has some kind of conspiracy to keep people coming back multiple times just to get in the 12 items or less lineup. Why punish people who get in excess of 12 items? It makes no sense, but it must make sense to someone at Walmart Headquarters. It’s a puzzle for sure, but the bigger puzzle is if it’s really worth it to me to save $2 on Benadryl or if next time, I should just pick it up at the much-less-chaotic old-people Co-Op.

Zen and the art of child/ carpet maintenance.

Posted on by

I am relieved to say that I was wrong or, at least, that my first instinct was correct: the insurance that was advertising to those whose “other car” has a siren on top is indeed aimed at first responders, police, and the like. I realized this when I saw another similar sign advertising to nurses, which leads me to believe that such professions are associated with lower accident rates. As someone who is not unfamiliar with the basic tenets of actuarial science, I find this fascinating. Which professions tend to make more insurance claims? Which professions are associated with high risk behaviours? I spent way too much time contemplating this, while driving and singing along to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun this morning.

I know, I know, I had you at actuarial science.

Last week was all about dental checkups and this week is all about the optometrist. Sometimes parenting feels like a lot of maintenance, like the kids are vehicles and I’m trying to maximize performance and longevity. I guess that IS what parenting is. Nevertheless, I find it infinitely satisfying when I’ve successfully made appointments for all these things (next week: haircuts). It feels like the actual appointments are nothing compared with phoning/ emailing to make appointments, scheduling them and figuring out the calendar and schedules. And I only have two children! I admire all of you who are making all the back-to-school appointments for more than two because honestly, two is challenging enough.

One thing I do need to make an appointment for is carpet cleaning. We only have carpet in the basement (does that sound dirty? It kind of sounds dirty.) and it’s reached reprehensible status, in my opinion. I remember when we ripped out the carpet upstairs and replaced it with hardwood, how disgusting it was to dig the dust bunnies out from under the TV and realizing that when the carpet was there, the dust just WENT INTO THE CARPET. It’s enough to make me want to rip out the carpet downstairs, but that is simply not feasible. Anyway, I do need to get someone to clean it but the thought of having to move all the moveable things, and then have someone in the house with a giant hose for several hours (okay, this really sounds dirty) is overwhelming. I keep looking at my calendar, and then at the carpet cleaner’s number, and I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.

It’s a hard knock life.

I’ve been reading a few books this summer that have garnered a lot of buzz and interest, and once again I feel like I’m an alien from another planet who dislikes things that seem to be commonly enjoyed. This is like when I read the much-acclaimed The Goldfinch, and ended up wishing that I’d never picked it up. What a downer of a book. Anyway, I read Hausfrau and I found it very disappointing. I should have known it wasn’t going to be my type of book. Sex addiction. Dissatisfaction with what appears to be a perfectly normal life. Boring sessions with a psychoanalyst. Multiple affairs. An affair with a man named Archie. VERY SAD THINGS THAT I WON’T GO INTO IN CASE YOU WANT TO READ IT. The whole thing was like a modern, less interesting Anna Karenina, which maybe was the point since the main character is named Anna. Have you read it? Did you hate it or am I all alone in this?

Then I read Little Children, which sounded light and interesting, and instead circled around the following: an affair, a pedophile released into the community, and bitchy moms. Doesn’t that sound great? In other words, I’m looking for some book recommendations, preferably something uplifting, or at least not depressing. Anyone? xo

Scaredy Nicole Wears Blue. This Was Not Part Of The Plan!

Posted on by

This weekend I got on my bike for the first time since 2003. I know! It felt like quite the undertaking. I stopped going for bike rides when I was pregnant with Mark, and then I never started again. My husband rides with the kids, but the truth is I’m not a strong rider, I cannot ride in traffic without panicking, and I just can’t deal with worrying about the kids riding WHILE I’m riding. But the kids are now at an age where they are perfectly competent, and they’ve expressed interest in “family bike rides” and so I thought riding up at the lake, where there is little traffic and few things to worry about, might be just the ticket. I also remembered how shocked the kids were to learn that I actually know how to swim, and so I thought in some way I should show them that their mother is actually capable of riding a bike.

So my husband dragged my bike out of storage, and tuned it up a bit. I went out and bought a bike skirt because if I’m going to spend any amount of time doing an athletic activity, I want to do it looking nice.

bikeskirt

My friend Alice (HI ALICE) expressed concern about the colour. She thought the blue was too bright for me, and that I resemble a flower, and will get swarmed by marauding butterflies. If this happens, I will probably die. Or scream.

Anyway, I nervously rode with the boys and it was pretty fun, so I guess we are going on family bike rides now. It’s one of my goals to be more sporty and active with the kids, and as long as I have a cute outfit, I’m good to go. Right?

A friend (HI JOANNE) posted a long quote about embracing yourself as you are and I just have to share the last part:

 I don’t want to waste one more precious, livable moment being anything other than totally thrilled that I’m here! I’m alive! I get to live every day in this body that my soul chose and my only job is to honor it with a full life!”
~ Christina Vanvuren

So I guess I’ll be bike riding more often. I’m not sure if ANYONE is capable of being in a state of thrill every second of every day, but it’s good to remember that it is good to be alive.

Social media is a funny thing, isn’t it? For the most part, I love it, and not just because I have a job based on it. I really like to peek into other people’s lives and celebrate their little victories and happiness. I love photos of pets, kids, and vacations. I love selfies, recipes, pictures of what someone had for dinner, and links to funny or interesting stories. Most of all, I love personal stories. The other day, a woman I know from yoga (HI LAURA) posted an anecdote in which she and her one year old son were in Starbucks and were approached by an elderly lady with dementia. This elderly lady thought that Laura’s baby was her own grandson, and instead of correcting her, Laura sat down and had visited with her. Not one out of one hundred people would do that, I think. What a kindness. This has stayed in my thoughts and has given me a goal to be more open and kind. Think about it – what a gift she gave that lady, the gift of dignity and kindness. I want to be more like Laura.

Then there’s the flip side of social media, the passive aggressive updates, the angry link posting and the threads that follow, the invitations to express differing views followed by the total rage that results from people expressing differing views. I’ve actually seen friendships – actual, real-life friendships – disintegrate over vaccination discussions and political decisions. Just this weekend, someone posted a piece about the price of starter homes. The thread that followed was basically many people agreeing that no one but the very rich can afford to buy a house, and buying a house is stupid anyway. Then one of my friends very reasonably and calmly commented that, by making informed decisions and figuring out where one’s priorities lie, most people can in fact purchase a home. He also – very reasonably – pointed out that the definition of “starter home” is possibly flawed; a 2500 square foot house with all new appliances might not fit this description.

I strongly agree with this last point. My husband and I bought this house in 2000, and it was in terrible shape at the time. The living room was bright pink with shiny forest green trim, and featured a giant fireplace with gold-toned rock work. The basement was panel board and linoleum, the kitchen had five different – but coordinated! – patterns of wallpaper, and the bathroom had BROWN FIXTURES. The kitchen cupboards and drawers were homemade in 1962 and required a great deal of strength to open and close them. The linen cupboards smelled like ginger and garlic had gone in there to die and the gardens were completely overrun by weeds and grass. That, my friends, is a starter home.

But I digress. After my friend made these very reasonable points, and also drew on his own experiences and setbacks, he was immediately attacked by the other commenters. People said some really mean, cutting things, and THAT is what I hate about social media. I hate the pretence that everyone is open minded and can express opinions freely, but if someone does that, then they get attacked. I hate that people say things that they very likely would not say face to face, and most of all, I hate when people follow up a mean comment with a smiley emoticon and/ or an “lol!”. THE LOL DOES NOT CANCEL OUT WHAT YOU SAID, PEOPLE.

Well, we can’t control what others do, we can only control our own reactions and behaviour, and that’s why there’s the “I don’t want to see this” option. And in the meantime, I will be thinking to myself “What Would Laura Do?” Laura probably wouldn’t write a blog post about what she hates about social media. Hmm. Too late now, and so if I do get swarmed by marauding butterflies, it will be karma, I guess. xo

Lettuce pray.

Posted on by

This morning I got home from yoga a bit earlier than normal, at about 6:20, and this is what my back yard looked like:

May2015snow

One hour later I took “weed the garden” off my to-do list.

garden

Well, the snow’s stopped now and I’m sure it will be melted by the time I pick the kids up after school. I’d be more upset about it but really, we’ve had such a mild winter and a beautiful spring that it doesn’t seem to be getting me down at all. Maybe that’s because I have a new secret admirer.

Last week I received an email, from someone amiably named “Birky Tony”:

Hello,Am so sorry to have intrude in your privacy i sincerely like your profile picture on facebook it really caught  my attention. hope you don’t mind us knowing each other much better?.My Name is Birky, I’m from Austin texas.Am a 9 years widower,I live with my pet dogs.I am a Man with sense of humor,I am passionate and romantic,I have the fear of God in me, I have respect for my fellow human being.! It will be wonderful of you to send me a feedback if you want us to get along and know each other.I promise to make you happy and always put a smile on your face.Thanks and Cheers!

Regards,
Birky

It’s nice to know I have options, especially with regards to a person who has respect for his fellow human being, but apparently no respect for rules of punctuation and grammar. Any moment now, Birky is preparing to send a photo proving his masculinity, I just know it.

Did you have a nice weekend? I was much, much busier than normal, but in a good way. We all went to see Avengers: Age of Ultron on Saturday, and I found it to be even more of a snore than I normally find those types of movies. Zzzzz. I mean, really. All those men and the only one we see shirtless is Bruce Banner? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE. I enjoyed a) seeing Captain America in a tight t-shirt chopping wood, b) the on-screen romance between Natasha and the afore-mentioned Dr. Banner, and c) recognizing that Hawkeye’s pregnant wife is actually Sylvia from Mad Men. Other than that, I mostly thought of other things during the long, long movie that seemed to never end.

But I’m not the target audience, am I? It’s not like Joss Whedon is writing movies for people like me, but still, it would have been nice to see a little shirtless action.

And, of course, it was Mother’s Day, and I hope all you moms out there had a great day. Well, I hope everyone reading this had a great day, but you know what I’m saying. I got two awesome cards that I had spied in backpacks last week, a gorgeous blue Le Creuset canister to hold all my cooking utensils – huge improvement on the previous situation, in which I was constantly jamming in my numerous spoons and whisks and occasionally swearing about it – and a matching spatula! It was almost as exciting as last year’s giant bag of dirt, which is really saying something.

I say that without irony, by the way. I really was thrilled about my giant bag of dirt. The gardens are looking great this year already – and will look even better when the snow melts, I’m sure.

And speaking of gardens, my indoor grow lights are really paying off, and no, not like that. Look, it’s my first harvest!

lettuce

It’s mostly leaf lettuce, but there’s a bit of spinach and arugula in there as well. I’m pretty excited to plant more, because it was amazing. And it only took five weeks of concerted effort!

Old at heart.

Posted on by

I had a hair appointment this week – thank god, something had to be done about the orange straw and grey roots – and as I was getting my colour rinsed out, an older gentleman came into the salon. He explained that he was Marjorie’s son, Marjorie being an elderly lady who gets a weekly hairdo every Friday morning. He had never been in the salon before, but he drives Marjorie every week. What a good son! Except that he had made arrangements for her to go out of town to visit her granddaughter this Friday, which meant that all was ashes. How could he take her out of town with undone hair?

And so this gentleman was coming into the salon personally to see if there was any chance Marjorie could be squeezed in on Thursday. The salon I frequent is a busy one – I book my colours months in advance – but they accommodated his request. After he left, my hair therapist smiled and said, “Oh, those old ladies. They hate to have their schedules messed with. It ruins their whole week!” I nodded sympathetically, all the while thinking, I can relate.

You see, I am not elderly, and yet I too find myself getting worked up when my schedule is thrown out of whack. I can only imagine me in forty or fifty years. Changing a weekly hair appointment would be akin to burning down the nursing home or running out of hot water and lemon in the dining room. We don’t have much time left, I am not leaving this earth with messy hair.

Digression: what kind of food will they have in the Home in forty or fifty years? Will it be things that are trendy and popular now, like kale and quinoa, or will we all just start eating mashed potatoes and veal cutlets? I cannot imagine that I will ever tuck into a plate of veal cutlets, but what kind of vegetarian options will they have for the elderly, circa 2060? Also, will we all naturally just slide into Sears’ “pull on” slacks and blouses, or housedresses? Or will we be clinging to the styles we like now? Will we be a generation of skinny jean wearing, kale chip eating old people? Will I still wear coconut-scented lotion or will I just start wearing Lily of the Valley talcum powder? I’d like to think I’ll go straight to Chanel Number 5 but really, who can tell?

In any case, I don’t do well with schedule interruptions or changes. Case in point: the painters. We’ve been talking about painting the kitchen and bathrooms. We’ve had a colour consult with the painter who painted our basement and exterior. The only thing we didn’t have was a firm date. Sometime in early April, was what had been settled on, when we got an email from the painter saying that he might have to change that around. Well, we had nothing firm anyway, so I blithely went on with my life.

At least, until Tuesday night, when my husband informed me that the painters were coming the very next day at 9:00.

In retrospect, this was the best possible scenario. I had a meeting, but not until 11, the kids were staying for lunch for Tech Club, and I didn’t have time to work myself up into a frenzy about omg people working in the house! I was able to be home to let them in, the day was sunny and warm and so I could lock the dog outside, everything was fine. The colours turned out beautifully – photos to come – and as of Thursday morning everything was finished.

And yet. I am the crabbiest person to have people working in the house. Maybe it’s my Type A personality, which makes me feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest when I see drywall dust on the kitchen counters and tiny scraps of paint chips on the floor, and the furniture all askew. Maybe this is a sign that I need to look into my control-freak behaviour when I physically have to leave the room so that I don’t implode and wither to the floor when everything in the house is chaos and I cannot even get to my water bottle or use the bathroom without explaining myself.

Well, it’s all over now, and as I said, it’s beautiful. My husband claims not to be a Type A person, but he is quite a perfectionist, especially when it comes to handy work. He is very handy – if you’re not handy yourself, you are best to marry someone handy, is my motto – and has done a great deal of work in our house with his own two hands. He’s the ultimate “measure 20 times, cut once” guy, everything has to be exactly leveled and exactly centred and there is no eyeballing involved. MEASUREMENTS COUNT, PEOPLE. It works out great, because he is very exact. The only problem is that if someone ELSE does the work, then he can find fault in about thirty seconds flat. He’s the one who spots the tiny piece of roller fluff that got painted onto the wall, or the slightly-less-than-perfect paint line. And the biggest problem about this is that I am the one who is at home, so it is my job to inform the person working on our house that their work is suspect. I don’t like that job. There was a not-great job done in a not-too-prominent part of the bathroom which resulted in some coloured paint being on our cream trim, but my husband threw up his hands, decided he was going to just repaint the trim and door himself, because he could do a better job. This kind of defeats the purpose of getting painters in, but maybe it’s for the best.

Princess problems, am I right? I guess it’s time for me to work on my mental flexibility. Either that, or just continue with my deep ujjayi breathing.