Category Archives: I am really 90

Knowing Me, Knowing You, The Time Change Edition

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With clock-like consistency, there are two times of the year that get me excessively agitated and stabby, and those times are the “Spring Forward” and “Fall Back” atrocities known as Daylight Saving-related time changes.  I may have mentioned this before.  I’m not going to bore you with the details, but I will say that, as I age, I myself seem to be more affected by this.  For example, I woke up at 3:30 this morning thinking that it was time to head over to the yoga studio.  I think my stomach is currently in danger of digesting itself, and it’s only 11:00.  My brain is a liquidy mess.  I can’t wait until I slip into a coma at 6:30 tonight – after it’s been dark for two hours, and I certainly can’t wait for the excitement of having two highly exhausted children at that time, when we will still need to finish our home reading and tidy up our rooms.  It’s going to be great!

Just pick a fucking time and stick with it, people.  Time change is an antiquated notion.  Let’s move on.

So as my brain liquifies and I sip my fourth cup of coffee, let’s play a game of Knowing Me Knowing You, shall we?  I picked up this meme from my very good non-lesbian-life-partner-she’s-just-a-friend Allison over at Bibliomama.  Play along – it’s fun!

1. What keeps you up late at night?
Oh, ha ha, this is such a funny question!  Nothing.  I have trouble falling asleep very rarely, and when I do it’s due to something ridiculously stupid like the guy who came to one School Council/ Parent Association meeting and raved about busing fees and the school naturalization area, but who actually did not want any involvement with the Parent Association because he is way “too busy”.  That guy irritated me so much I stayed awake until AFTER TEN O’CLOCK.  Travesty.  

2. Do you collect anything?
I have a lot of books, but I’m not sure I would say I collect them.  Clothes?  Yoga wear?  Boots?  At last count I have 10 pairs of black boots, and here is a (partial) look inside my closet:

My yoga clothes – sadly, I am doing laundry right now and so this is much neater and less crammed than usual.  Also note: I have a cowboy hat on my top shelf.  This is what living in Calgary does to you, people.

My sweater “drawer”.

My “drawer” dedicated to t-shirts of the long and short sleeved variety.

So I’m not sure if I can say I have a “collection”, but my husband would say that I have issues with clothing.  Hey, you can never have enough black tops and sweaters, am I right?

3. Are you addicted to Angry Birds?
I barely know what Angry Birds IS.  I have a flip phone.  I don’t even have voice mail on it.

4. What’s your idea of a perfect evening?
At the risk of sounding VERY lame, I love spending the evening on the couch, drinking wine and eating something made with cheese, and watching reruns of NYPD Blue.  Or Jeopardy.  I am so much fun to live with!

5. Are you looking forward to winter?
I live in Calgary.  It’s winter right now.  NO.  I like to be warm.  But at least the winter gives me an excuse to procure more black sweaters and boots. 

Updates and a meme!

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I feel like I, perhaps, left my dear readers hanging; I will make amends by updating you on the goings-on in the Boyhouse.

1) Mark has been using an inhaler for a week, and he has NOT COUGHED FOR A WEEK.  Happy coincidence?  Related: I have been sleeping uninterrupted through the night.  Not once have I woken up and listened to coughing for two hours!

2) I found a new esthetician.  I chose this particular place because of the incredibly convenient hours, but they also advertised “pain-free” waxing, of which I was deeply skeptical.  Now, you may or may not believe me, but the waxing was actually PAIN-FREE!  For every ending there is a beginning, I suppose. 

3) Related to aging and fleeting time:
 a) INXS’ “Devil Inside” was played on the local “oldies” station, and
 b) While in the pharmaceutical section of Wal-Mart, I noticed three ladies who appeared to be in their sixties giggling and talking to one another with regards to their favourite product.  The product in question?  Personal lubricant. 

I will leave it at that.

Marilyn over at A Lot of Loves tagged me in a meme, about seven posts that I’ve written.  I love memes!  I especially love them on Friday nights when I have a big glass of wine beside me.  I had to dig through a whole lot of archives, and discovered posts I had forgotten that I had even read!  But here goes!

Most Beautiful Post
This was tricky because I don’t tend to think I write particularly beautiful posts, but I do like this one about happiness with children (plus it has super cute pictures of my kids as babies!), and I also like this one about my very grumpy grandpa.

Most Popular Post
My post that has the most pageviews is this one, and I’m going to guess that its popularity is based on the fact that I reference “mom jeans”.  My second most popular post referenced Scaredy Squirrel, which just goes to show that in order to gain popularity you need name-drop a little. 

Most Controversial Post
I’m not huge on controversy around here, but my post on breastfeeding spurred some discussion.  Breastfeeding = controversy, AM I RIGHT?  If you want to ignite some flames, just bring up breastfeeding!  But I urge you, my dear readers, to always be kind, especially to hormonal and sleep-deprived new mothers who may, years later, still ache about certain memories.

Most Helpful Post
Oooh, this is a tough one.  I don’t feel my posts are particularly helpful OR informative, unless you want to commisserate about weird things.  However, here is my public service announcement about what NOT to say to pregnant women.  I urge you to read the comments. 

Post Whose Success Surprised You
Well, obviously the one about Scaredy Squirrel, because I discussed DEAD SQUIRRELS in my neighbourhood.  Not exactly that interesting.  Kind of revolting, really.  I was also surprised at the success of my varicose-vein stripping update, but I guess it was popular because I used the word “stripping” in the title.  I imagine the people who were googling “stripping” were probably somewhat disappointed when they ended up at my blog.

Post That You Didn’t Feel Got The Attention It Deserved
Hey, I’m just happy to be here.  I’m happy that people read my blog at all.  However, early on in my blogging days, I wrote this about Woodstock, Ann Landers, and Alice Munro, and I really liked it.

Post That You Are Most Proud Of
Honestly, I have no idea.  My favourite posts are always the ones leading up to Christmas, but I found this little gem in the archives.  It’s not exactly fine literature, but it pretty much sums up life in the Boyhouse.

Cheerful thoughts for a crappy weekend

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It has been a dull, dreary weekend.  It started for me at 6:20 am on Saturday when Mark woke me up with the words no one likes to hear, “Mom, I feel like I’m going to barf.”  Fortunately no barfing ensued, but unfortunately he spent the weekend feverish, lethargic, and without an appetite.  Then the snow continued to fall, the endless snow in this endless winter.  I feel like Laura Ingalls in The Long Winter but without the actual hardships; no one is starving, freezing to death, or spending days either grinding wheat to make bread or twisting hay into fuel to keep warm.  I’m actually wondering if the snow will never stop.  Maybe a woolly mammoth will take up residence in my yard.  That would be interesting, to say the least. 
So I spent much of the weekend monitoring Mark’s temperature, staring sadly at the grey sky and masses of snow and obsessively refreshing the online weather forecast, and wallowing around nursing hurt feelings from perceived slights by a variety of sources.  Poor me!  It was like a little black cloud was following me around, and I spent many hours in a state of gloom.  When I feel gloomy like this, there are a few ways for me to turn things around: wine, yummy food, and thinking of cheering things. 
Here are the cheering things from this weekend:
1)      Yesterday, while I was getting my roots done in the salon, the perky, very young new shampoo girl chatted with me about her weekend plans.  She was telling me that she was going to go dancing that evening, and then proceeded to ask me, startlingly, if I ever went to her favourite nightclub.  When I responded, she exclaimed “Why not?  It’s so fun and they play GREAT dance music!”  I refrained from mentioning that the last time I “went dancing” was the last time bodysuits and high-waisted coloured jeans were in style; likely I was wearing those with my Rachel haircut, drinking $3 triple vodka slimes.  Probably the dance music was along the lines of “I Like To Move It (Move It)” and “What Is Love (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)”.  She proceeded to discuss the pros and cons of clubbing: on the one hand, if you get there before ten o’clock you avoid the lineups, on the other hand, if you go that early then the dance floor is dead.  Just completely dead.  I had an image of me completely asleep in a corner by the time the club started shaking; besides which I have no idea what people actually wear to clubs anymore.  Maybe bodysuits and high-waisted coloured jeans are actually back in style.  Nonetheless, I did appreciate her high-energy chatter even if I felt like I was ninety years old.  What do the kids like to do on Saturday nights nowadays?  As it was, my husband and I watched The 40 Year Old Virgin, which never fails to make me laugh.  “Now you let your seed blossom into a plant.  Then you fuck the plant.”  Good times.
2)      My husband was watching golf this weekend, and the announcer said “I’ve really been impressed by the way he stroked it.”  I’m sure Clarence Carter was very pleased.  Ah, there’s nothing like sports related unintended sexual innuendo.  Of course there’s curling – “Hurry!  Hard!  Hard! HAAAARRRRRRRDDDD!  WHOA.  Whooooaaaa.” – and football – “Now that’s some really good penetration” – but golf, I find, is the most amusing.  On a non-sports-related front, a friend mentioned that he finds the new “chip” credit cards entertaining – “Just go ahead and stick it in the bottom”. 
3)      A friend of mine wrote an article about undergarments, specifically shapewear, and just casually mentioned that nothing gets between Oprah and her Spanx.  That image is alarming, to say the least, but in the cover photo of this month’s O Magazine, you can really tell that it’s true!  Ewww!
4)      It’s my birthday in four days!  I can hardly believe it because a) it’s really really cold, and b) I missed about a week, mentally, due to my surgery so I keep thinking it’s only March.  No.  It’s BIRTHDAY TIME!  I need to find myself a tiara and dust off my “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY” sandwich board.  As an early gift, my husband made me a mixed CD – a mix tape!  Squee! – and it’s chock full of my favourite types of music, including, but not limited to, the Tina and Ike version of Proud Mary and the song Baby Come Back.  You can blame it ALL ON ME.  I was wrong, and I just can’t live WITHOUT YOU! 
And now you can blame me for putting that song in your head.  Tell me some cheering things, come on, tell me something good!

What makes a happy couple? Not outdoor soccer.

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Last week I was applying makeup while wearing my robe and Jake peered over at my exposed legs.  “Mom, you should go put your stockings on,” he said in a voice of concern.  I assured him that I didn’t need to wear my stockings anymore!  Happy news!  He repeated his request, slightly louder.  I repeated my response in a slightly different way, simplifying it as I thought he didn’t understand, like maybe he had an issue with comprehension of the English language.  Finally, he tearfully snapped.  “MOM!  Please just put your stockings on!  Your legs are creeping me out!”
Ew!  And this is after a week of healing.  It’s like Frankenstein’s monster’s legs, but paler.
I went and put on yoga pants.
Yesterday was a lovely day and I spent the majority of it bundled up and sitting out in the sun, reading, like the elderly person I have now become.  The boys rode their scooters and bikes and dug holes in the dirt while I wondered how much longer it will be until I can clean up the yard a little, plant a few things, cut back the old dead perennials.  There is still snow on the ground although it’s trying to melt.  My husband watched the Master’s, and for those of you who are not golf fans – I suspect that I’m talking to most of my readership here – it is being touted as the most exciting Master’s EVER.  At one point there were six players who were tied for the lead, which is evidently quite rare.  Tiger Woods even was a contender – I coulda been a contender!  I coulda been a somebody, instead of just a nobody. – but he did not win.  It is a little amazing to me that he still has a large fan base and that people were clapping (in the muted, golf way) for him.  I guess this gives hope to Charlie Sheen.
It’s funny about relationships.  I’ve been reading a few articles lately that have addressed the issue of how to “keep the spark alive”, and while I have a hard time keeping the ribald jokes to myself (Blowjobs! Pornography!  Alcohol!), I think it’s an important topic.  My husband is, obviously, an avid golf fan and an avid golf player, while I, most clearly, am not.  I am a yoga practitioner, whereas my husband, most emphatically, is not.  But yet, I find that our separate interests are part of our keeping said spark alive, even if we frequently “parallel talk” – i.e., “I shot a birdie on the tenth hole, then bogeyed the eleventh.”  “My back’s a little stiff from Kapotasana.  I think I should stretch.”  There is no way that we are ever going to be a “golf couple”; I am never donning one of those little hats and killing myself with frustration.  We are also never going to be a “yoga couple”; my husband is never going to “inhale happiness exhale peace.”  We’re a happy couple, though.  Even if I know, against my will, that Rory McIlroy completely fell apart on the back nine.
Tonight is soccer evaluations, and the single greatest email I received last week informed me that the evaluations would take place indoors this year, given the plethora of snow.  I was almost hysterically happy with this news.  Next week the season starts and let me tell you a little secret: outdoor soccer in this city is terrible.  Every year I sit on my little folding chair dressed for a blizzard, with a giant cup of tea and a sleeping bag wrapped around me, and it feels like, indeed, hell has frozen over and I am living in it.  But the kids are happy out there in the fresh air and light evenings, running around, and that’s what matters most.  Now, if only that snow would melt.

When I am an old woman

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When I am an old woman, I will wear an excessive amount of Chanel Number 5.  I will wear thick, bright layers of lipstick that will feather and bleed into my papery skin.  I will make wildly inappropriate jokes and sexually harrass all the male orderlies at the home and earn the reputation of being the creepy old woman in room 14. 


What I have discovered about myself, disturbingly enough, is that when I am an old woman I am going to relentlessly discuss my various health complaints.  Yes, I’m going to be one of those horrible old people who talk about my less savoury ailments to random passerby.  I’m discovering this about myself as right now it is all I can do to not roll down my thick, dark beige compression stockings to show people my stitches.  “Want to see my scar?”  Anyway, my legs have become somewhat fascinating to me, and so I must think that they are fascinating to everyone else, despite the fact that my long suffering, beloved husband turned slightly green at the sight of my unbandaged, revolting legs. 

Speaking of my long suffering, beloved husband, he went back to work today and I think he was quite relieved to do so.  Not only has he had to take care of me and my random, irrational fits of sobbing – But I don’t WANT my legs to hurt anymore! – he has also been running the house and dealing with the children.  I do not think that he has a glamourized view of the stay at home parent.  If any of you are feeling underappreciated these days, I totally recommend complete convalescence and to have your husband do load after load of laundry and wash sinkful after sinkful of dishes to really get some drudgery based recognition.  Or maybe I don’t.  Because it’s kind of depressing to realize that this is how I spend my days.

Anyway, back to my fascinating legs.  Other than the stitches scattered over the length of them – Do you have bugs on your legs, Mom? – they look, disturbingly, as though someone has taken a crowbar to them.  I’m like Nancy Kerrigan!  Why?  WWHHHHYYYYYYYYYY?  I feel a kinship with Nancy.  Perhaps she and I could hang out, discuss the pros and cons of Minnie Mouse ears. 

I ran out of my good drugs yesterday.  This is good and bad.  On the good side, as much fun as it was sleeping sixteen hours a day and being in a state of non-pain, my brain was just completely fuzzy.  I could barely concentrate enough to read a Candace Bushnell novel.  As it was, I did finish Mockingjay and I’m not sure if it was me or the book, but I couldn’t really get into it.  I kept wondering if this was a different battle scene or the same one, or what area they were in, or if anyone important died.  When I finished the book I was just totally confused.  Did Gale die?  What actually happened?  I tried going back and re-reading and just became more confused.  So I think that was me. 

On the bad side, of course, is the pain.  It’s like the House of Pain around here, but without the jumping around.  But you can still take Tylenol, I was told, which to me is the same as saying You can take nothing.  Bitch, please.  Tylenol?  Unless I can down the whole bottle, Tylenol is doing nothing.

So there’s that.  This weekend it snowed, thirty centimetres, and I stared out the window in drugged-out bliss while Mark enjoyed it:

Those are almond eyes, a carrot nose, and a banana smile.

See?

And lest anyone accuse me of only posting flattering pictures of myself.  Here I am, completely high on Percocet, enjoying the lovely fruit bouquet sent by my girlfriends.  Note my awesome hair and pajamas.

STRIPPING! Boom chicka wah wah! UPDATE

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So here’s what you may not know about getting your varicose veins stripped: it really, really hurts.  I know!  News flash!  But honestly, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt and how difficult it would be to walk afterward.  I am happy to tell you that today I am moving around and even getting up out of bed by myself without thinking that a crane and/or hydraulic lift would be handy. 

My strongest – and yet still vague and fuzzy – recollection from the recovery room is whispering to my nurse that I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.  “I just didn’t think it would hurt like this,” I whispered sadly as the nurse upped my morphine dosage.  The nurses kept asking me to rate my pain on a scale from one to ten, and I kept saying, passionately, SIX.  It is a SIX.  Mentally I rationalized that I’d had two babies with no pain medication, and that hurt way more, so I could not go above six on the scale, but I did not explain that to the nurse who I assumed could understand that SIX IS AS HIGH AS I WOULD GO. 

Good times.  So the last few days have been marked by my stumbling around the house – “walking” to avoid blood clots and the like – sleeping a lot, and counting down until it’s time to take pain medication again.  My husband has been handling things amazingly well, making meals and even keeping the house clean.  The kids have been good and have made me several dozen pictures in the past couple of days.  I was sent a gorgeous fruit bouquet by some girlfriends and one lovely friend dropped off sourdough and scones just today.  So I feel very thankful for my wonderful friends and family.

Here’s my complaint about convalescence: it is very boring.  Daytime television is atrocious.  We have a couple hundred channels and almost everything is either a) some sort of strange reality program, b) a crappy talk show, or c) sports.  Since it’s spring break and the kids are around, I can’t really watch reruns of NYPD Blue, either, or not without fear of scarring the children.  I did watch Chris Rock on David Letterman and laughed so hard at his criticism of foreign policy – “There’s a guy over there having a heart attack!  Let’s go kick him in the balls!” – that my stitches hurt. 

Thanks everyone for your well wishes.  xo

I’m used to nice things!

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I had a plan to write a really funny post about how yesterday’s Costco trip destroyed my faith in humanity, but my neighbour restored it; and how the entire city suddenly got over their collective seasonal affectedness disorder because the sun came out and the temperature got above freezing and this was the actual, number one top news story on the six o’clock news.  I was also going to talk about how we got a new garage door to replace our terribly long-suffering forty nine year old garage door and how it has brought me joy as I have had to park on the street – ON THE STREET! – for the past few weeks and while this might not sound like a big deal to you, it is to me.  To quote Cameron from Modern Family, “What am I going to do?  I’m used to nice things!”  I’m not happy scraping several inches of ice and snow off the windshield at five in the morning and then tracking it accidentally onto my seat so that I have a soggy wet butt by the time I arrive at my destination.  The new garage door is a miracle of garage doors.

Anyway, I had some posts planned but I have been unable to focus because my operation to strip my varicose veins is tomorrow at one o’clock, and I have to be at the hospital at 10:15.  I’m a little mixed about this time; on the one hand it will be nice to sleep a little later, my parents don’t have to come over at six in the morning to take care of the boys, and I can shower in the morning.  I also thought, happily, that I could clean the bathroom before leaving for the hospital, and the fact that occurred to me in a cheery way just goes to show I need to get out more.  The problem with this time is that, since I can’t eat after midnight tonight, and the surgery is a couple of hours, that is a long time to go without eating. As those who know me can attest, I do not do well not eating for extended periods of time.  I become even crazier than normal so please, your sympathies for those who have to deal with me tomorrow.