Category Archives: I am really 90

I AM Lady Mary!

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Did you know that Bill Clinton is vegan? Probably you did, but it was news to me. Between him and Justin Timberlake I feel like I can make a case to my husband that not all vegans are crazy hobos. Now, how to get them to start reading my Yummy Mummy blog…although chances are neither of them are actually in the kitchen preparing their own quinoa.

Yesterday I was walking the dog and I met up with an older woman who I often see at the offleash. We chatted for a while and I mentioned something about the boys. She looked a bit taken aback and asked me how old my children are; when I answered she told me that she was shocked because she thought I was a 21 year old university student. That was both startling and flattering, although I did wonder a teensy bit if she is in need of cataract removal. In any event I shall take a compliment however it comes.

It is ridiculous, but I’m really into those Buzzfeed quizzes right now. Apparently the actress most suited to play me in the movie version of my life is Emma Stone. Emma Stone! I wonder who the other options are and also how boring a movie about my life would be. Hoo boy! I can’t imagine that being a box office smash. According to Buzzfeed I am also a saucy combination of Lady Mary, Brigette Bardot, and R2D2. I actually think I’m more of a C-3P0 than R2 but let’s not split hairs here.

The other day I was at the hair salon, reading In Style and thinking such intellectual thoughts such as I thought Sarah Jessica Parker already HAD a shoe line, and Eva Longoria looks better without bangs. I came across this advertisement for Guess jeans and I was completely disoriented as to the date of publication.

Guess

 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not out to judge anyone, mostly because I probably did have a (less-cleavage-revealing) outfit like this in the early nineties. Admit it, you did too. But in this day and age! Have we learned nothing? Are we doomed to repeat the same fashion mistakes over and over? Denim.Overall.Shorts. What is next for humanity? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.

Not to mention the return of the high waisted pants. They are everywhere. Witness this evidence from my local mall:

highwaist jumper YOgapants

 

We are mere moments away from tapestry vests and pleated jeans, mark my words. ONE DAY SOON we will be going out for girls’ night out and it’s going to look like this:

 

mom-jeans

 

Speaking of nine-inch zippers, it’s almost my wedding anniversary! We will have been married for twelve years, which – thank you, Lynn, for pointing this out – is our silk/ linen anniversary. I wonder if my husband would like a silk shirt, circa 1991. I’m going to go ahead and guess NO on that one. The modern gift for the twelfth anniversary is pearl. Heh. Feels like it has all the makings of a good dirty joke but I shall refrain. However, notice the jewelry I’m wearing here:

006

 

Everything’s Coming Up Nicole!

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I know I’m a couple of days late, but Happy Robbie Burns Day! I had a friend tell me excitedly that there are vegetarian versions of haggis available, to which I blinked a few times in response. Blink. Blink. The meat in the haggis isn’t what’s stopping me, people.

One of my friends posted a photo of her baby wearing a 30 year old onesie that had a Care Bear on it; I think it was Bedtime Bear. Remember Care Bears? I had – and this probably won’t surprise you – Cheer Bear, the pink one with a rainbow on its tummy. Just thinking about that makes me smile; in fact, a lot of things are making me smile today. Negativity brings us all down; I find that even if I don’t react to negative information or negative comments, they still grate on me and put me into a bit of a slump. I think the opposite holds true for happy things, so here are a few things that are making me happy today.

Becoming a Bonnethead. My friend Hannah is starting a series of posts recapping all the Laura Ingalls Wilder books and giving some historical background, and I am just going to say this makes me extraordinarily happy. Like, insanely excited. I think all us rabid Laura fans should unite and become Bonnetheads. Not literally – it might be strange to see us walking the streets in sunbonnets, and much less charming than the Red Hatters – but in our minds. Every morning, let’s put on the sunbonnets of our souls. Her first post is here. Pig slaughter and meat smoking? Good times in the Big Woods.

Giant Socks. I am embracing the trend – and I use that word very, very loosely – of wearing giant socks on the outside of my pants. Why on the outside, you may ask, joining the club started and chaired by my husband. My pants are too tight to wear them underneath, that’s why. Once you get used to wearing giant socks outside your pants, you become addicted to the cozy feeling. See also: my penchant for legwarmers. It’s like that secretary in Splash, but with socks instead of a bra. And also, better.

socks

 

1 Cup Pyrex. Several weeks ago, my favourite little one-cup measuring cup met the granite countertop with more enthusiasm than was necessary, resulting in shards of Pyrex in the most surprising places. It proved oddly difficult to find a replacement. There were tons of cheap plastic cups and tons of giant four-cup cups, but my humble little one-cupper was proving to be a rare commodity. Today I FOUND ONE! The fact that this is one of the most exciting things that has happened to me in a while probably says something about me.

Archie Comics. During winter break, my husband found a box of his old belongings, among which were Atari games, a Rubik’s cube and Xeroxed cheat manual, and a pile of Archie comics from the 70s. What fun! I had a great time reading through them and asking myself the age-old question, am I a Betty or a Veronica? I’d like to be a Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, but most likely these days I am Miss Grundy.

archie

 

Cleaning Out My Drawers. It’s funny what you find when you go through a drawer that is generally untouched. I have a few drawers downstairs that I shove various items into that I don’t feel can be thrown out. Today I looked through one, trying to find a camera battery charger, and found the following items: a bag of Halls in a flavour that they don’t make anymore, and haven’t for some time, a deck of playing cards with a Kokanee beer motif, a couple of blank party invitations with Bakugan characters and the slogan “Have A Ball” on them, some free NFL stickers from Sports Illustrated, extra bolts for baby gate installation, and a manual on installing and caring for a Peg Perego infant car seat. This was an even better haul than the time I found maternity pantyhose in my lingerie drawer.

Let’s make it a Meme Monday! What’s making you happy today? Let’s rub our rainbow tummies, give the Care Bear Stare, and spread some cheer.

Come to think of it, Superman is a douche

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There is this strange phenomenon I’ve noticed this winter: no matter what the weather is like at all other times of the day, it will surely become much, much worse at school pickup time. I’m not sure what it is about the 3:30-4:00 time slot, but lately it’s been nothing but gale force winds, snow, and icy cold. It’s a wee bit depressing to be standing out in the playground, bundled up like I actually am in the Arctic, watching kids walk backwards because the wind and snow in their faces is just too much.  Also, my finger-that-was-nearly-and-unknowingly-amputated-whilst-carrying-groceries is now doing this alarming thing where it spontaneously goes numb, and the cold is just not helping that. 

Today the sun came out – thank goodness – and although it’s still woolly mammoth cold and we have had snow on the ground since October and we probably will have snow on the ground for weeks to come, spring IS coming.  I think.  No, it is.  One day I will put on footwear that are not boots, and a top that is not a thick sweater layered over a long sleeved shirt, and I will wear a coat that is not big and puffy.  One day.  It’s coming.

Meanwhile, this morning Jake used the word “douchey” to describe Superman.  I was both impressed by his apt description and startled by the inappropriateness of a seven year old usage of the word.  We had a rather involved discussion about the time and place to use a word such as “douchey”; i.e., not at school.  It’s true, though.  Superman is a bit of a douche.  I’m more of a Batman girl myself.  Or Wolverine. 

When you live with a housefull of boys, these are things that actually come up in conversation on a semi-regular basis: the ranking and ordering of favourite superheroes and WHY, what foods lead to the most odorous of intestinal gas, which Pokemon character is the fastest and which is the strongest, and how double light sabers are far superior to regular light sabers.  And, apparently, how douchey Superman is.

One of my husband’s colleagues was in a Superman movie when he was a kid, and we recently watched a clip of it on youtube.  “Superman was here!” a woman exclaimed to Clark Kent, who looks totally different from Superman because he is wearing glasses and regular clothes.  Dude, at least all the other superheroes have some sort of mask on. 

Speaking of the Man of Steel, I’m in a bit of a swoony mood this week because Saturday is my wedding anniversary!  We will have been married for eleven years, and the traditional gift for eleven years of marriage is steel!  So I will be looking forward to the receipt of my new car, a la The Price is Right.  A NEW CAR!  Kidding, I will not be receiving a new car for my anniversary, but I may be receiving a piece of steel, if you know what I mean.

Some euphemisms just don’t work.

This week, in anticipation, I have been using my favourite set of dishtowels, because I am a total hausfrau who celebrates life events via dishtowel usage.  Remember this set I bought from anthropologie, that was likely meant for a wedding shower gift but I bought for myself because it’s so awesome?

This makes me as happy as a material item possibly can.  It makes me happy every time I look at it.  I am living happily ever after, I smile to myself as I polish an apple.  Not everything from anthropologie is so awesome though.  I get the catalogue in the mail, and this was on the very last page:

anthropologie.com

If you have been searching for that elusive blue toile romper, look no more!  It can be yours for only $168. 

anthropologie.com

Old lady comfort outfits, represent.  All this needs is a white cardigan with a tissue in the sleeve to complete the look.

Maybe I need an outfit like that.  I was looking swoonily at our wedding photos, and was struck, as I often am, at how very young I looked:

Eleven years later, and I look like this:

advanced style


Marriage has aged me!  Or maybe it’s all the talk about superhero douchery.

The toll of shopping at Costco

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Congratulations to Maggie, for winning the random draw!  I picked up the prize yesterday on my trip to Costco.  Can you spot it in my minivan?

No, silly, it’s NOT the case of tetra pak almond milk.  Nor is it the giant family size package of Snapea Crisps – those are ALL for me, family size be damned.  I don’t share my Snapea Crisps (although, this isn’t a point of contention in my house.  I am the only person who appreciates their snacktacular attributes.)  You’ll just have to wait and see, Maggie!

A few weeks back I was shopping with a girlfriend and she reached into her bag to pull out her wallet, when something popped out and fell onto the floor.  We both reached for it and started laughing hysterically when it became apparent that said object was an o.b. tampon.  You’d think we were in junior high, gauging by our level of merriment.  Although, truth be told, if that had happened in junior high, we would have probably died of embarrassment.

I thought of this incident with amusement yesterday while shopping in Costco.  I was in the feminine products aisle, and the gigantic boxes of Tampax Super were stacked underneath the gigantic boxes of Tampax Regular.  I selected a box of Regular but I also needed Super – SUPER!  I know, my feminine mystique is going to take a bit of a beating here – and so I tried to shimmy a box from beneath the flats of Regular.  Slowly and nightmarishly, all the Regular tampons started to tip over onto me.  Now, as a person who has a (probably irrational) fear of being crushed to death in a warehouse setting, this was a bit alarming.  I tried to push the boxes back but several still tumbled to the floor.  Fortunately for me, a box of Super also fell to the floor so I had only to replace the gigantic scattered Tampax boxes and wheel my giant cart away, relieved that I now possessed a two year supply of tampons and that I probably would not have to endure narrowly missing death by tampon crushing until early 2015. 

There are a few more humiliating ways to die – I’m thinking specifically of death via heart attack while on the toilet, Elvis-style – but death by crushing in a warehouse would be one of the worst.  Especially, somehow, death by crushing by giant pallets of tampons.

I actually really like grocery shopping, but the loading up of the van and the unloading of the van and then the putting away of the groceries are big negatives to me.  You may be saying to yourself why don’t you get your kids to help? but they are generally in school when I shop (see also: why I like grocery shopping) but even if they weren’t, the baskets that I load the Costco offerings in are probably half their body weight.  Yesterday was cold and snowy and grey, and by the time I had unpacked my giant cart into the van, driven home, and started to bring the groceries into the house, I was pretty cold.

Slight digression: remember, people, that I have what is called Raynaud’s Syndrome, which is characterized by poor circulation and cold, somewhat painful, purple hands and feet.  By the time I reached home my hands were numb and cold, but since that is their normal state in the winter, I kept calm and carried on.

Once everything was neatly put away, everything in its place, I washed my hands.  Hmm, I thought, my right index finger sure must be cold.  Even the warm water isn’t helping.  Then I looked at my right index finger, which was enormously swollen, purple, and had a giant dent in it.  It started to feel like it was going to explode.  Huh.  I realized that I must have pinched it somehow, bringing in the baskets of groceries, but my hands were so numb I didn’t even realize it was happening. 

If that isn’t reason enough to move to a warm climate, I don’t know what is.  I am a Delicate Flower who needs warmth and sunshine to bloom, people.  Or at least for me to not accidentally and unknowingly injure myself.  It’s still pretty painful today, but what was more alarming is that I was typing away this morning and it spontaneously went completely pins-and-needles numb and tingly.  And I tell you this: do not google these symptoms or you may think that you have somehow become gangrenous or the like.  Is my finger going to fall off? you may nervously ask yourself.  Fortunately I have feeling in my finger now, thanks to me turning up the heat and anxiously washing the floors, on the belief that moving around might increase circulation.

Last night while I was waiting for the boys at karate, I tried to take a picture of my finger.  I discovered that a) it is very hard to take a picture of one’s right hand when one is right handed, and b) I’m not going to become a hand model any time soon.

There’s an old adage that you can tell the age of a woman by looking at her hands.  By this picture, one might think I’m one hundred years old.  The waiting room at the karate dojo DOES look a lot like a nursing home.  I’m just watching my stories, dearie.

Mildly Annoying Things

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You know when it’s the week leading up to your ladies’ holiday, and you feel all raw and emotional and sad things are unbearably sad and mildly irritating things are making you ragey and you’re reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid with your children and you didn’t realize how very mean spirited and awful it is, and it’s two days until your hair appointment and your hair looks and feels like orange straw, but with grey roots, and you have impotent rage about the impending time change and your husband thinks time change is “no big deal” and it’s “crazy to get all worked up about it” and Monday is a new moon and Mercury is in retrograde and why don’t we keep snack food in the house, omg, want snacks right now?  That’s the kind of day I’m having.

I realized yesterday that Barkley is going to be five soon, which means he is approaching doggie middle age, and I myself am approaching human middle age.  Or maybe I’ve already reached middle age, although I hope not.  I have an ultimate goal of being one of those sweet yet crazy little old ladies in the nursing home, wearing tons of lipstick which will bleed down into the lines around my mouth, and I will colour my hair orangey-red, and I will wear so much Chanel No. 5 that everyone will know I was in a room twenty minutes after vacating it.  I will wear jaunty little silk neck scarves in bright colours to hide the wrinkles on my chicken neck, and will paint my nails to match.  I will force the cafeteria in my nursing home to offer a vegetarian option and I will always have a bowl of hard candies in my room.  I think that would be fun, but I envision myself to be in my nineties, or late eighties at the very least, and so I do not think I have technically hit middle age yet.

Speaking of being an old lady, I do not want to be one of those mean ones who ram their shopping carts into people at the grocery store or complain about the lineups to the cashiers, and so I will blog about the things that have been irritating me today.  Although, technically, they aren’t irritating me so much anymore since I went to my beautiful friend’s restorative yoga class this afternoon so I’m actually feeling pretty relaxed.  Still.  Here is a list of the mildly annoying things on this sunny, blue-and-white day:

1) It snowed for about ten hours straight on Sunday; there is about a foot of snow on the ground.  This is nothing unusual since March is typically a snowy month.  However, by the level of complaints about the snow, you would think we were all living in the tropics and it suddenly and unexpectedly turned into the Arctic.  Also, the city road crews did an amazing job cleaning up the streets, all things considered, and yet the complaints about the city road crews were endless.

2) Because of the snow, I am dropping the kids off at the front of the school after lunch, rather than the alley.  First, people dropping their kids off for afternoon kindergarten park in the alley like they’ve never seen traffic before; they double park and park on blind corners and leave their cars and it is – in good conditions – a mess.  And so I tried to just avoid the situation by dropping off the kids in front of the school, but then my zen state was ruined by witnessing three people jaywalking with their small children across the busy street.  People: darting out between parked cars into traffic and expecting said traffic to stop for you is not a good lesson for your kindergarten aged child.  THEN one of those small children got stuck in a snowbank on the side of the road.  There’s nothing quite like watching a parent standing in the busy street trying to dislodge her child from a snowbank, meanwhile the younger siblings are darting around ON THE STREET.  I’m having heart palpitations just thinking about it.  It’s the same visceral reaction I get when I see pictures of babies on those Bumbo seats sitting on elevated surfaces.  Get the baby off there before it falls and breaks its little neck!!!

3) My friend Nan wrote about this today, but whenever anyone mentions the Paleo Diet I immediately picture that person with a club and wearing animal skins, hunting down sabre-toothed tigers and the like.  I find diet trends – when they are spoken about with fervour as they often are in the born-again dieter – to be annoying in general.  I mean, awesome if you’re into the Paleo Diet or low-carb or gluten-free or whatnot and it works for you.  What I find annoying are the attempts at conversion.  Hey, I’ve been a vegetarian for years and I have never once said anything derogatory about my carnivorous friends.  Particularly since I live with four of them (I am counting the dog).

4) The boys have another make up karate class today.  The oversharing, overly talkative woman will be there.  That right there should be enough but now she’s talking to ME.  God help us all.  She told me that outdoor sports – like spring soccer – are the only way to REALLY teach children about sports, and while I agree that there is something character building about playing soccer with snow on the ground, in the howling wind and sleet, I am ecstatic that my children are not playing this year.  I can’t wait to see what we will talk about tonight!

Speaking of which, I must go get ready to pick the kids up and head to the dojo – they got new belts this weekend!  White with the yellow stripe!  Excitement all around – and so I will sign off, feeling much better about everything.  What would I do without you to listen to me, dear readers?  I guess I would turn into Mean Old Lady.  xoxo

The Third Dimension (of Top Gun)

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It was pointed out to me that Top Gun – TOP GUN – is being re-released in 3D!  This month, in an IMAX theatre near you!  As thrilling as that may seem, I do find myself wondering if watching that (much beloved by me) movie in 3D on a huge screen would actually enhance the experience.  I’m sure the action sequences would be intensified, but would the volleyball scene be better or worse in 3D?  I’m not convinced either way.  Slider’s oiled up posturing might border on the frightening.  Or, it might be awesome.  Either way I’m not going to find out.

Oh, my.  I went looking for this picture and fell down a rabbit hole.

 
Sorry, I cannot help myself.
 
 
 
Okay, one more.
 
 
PLAYING WITH THE BOYS.
 
Whew.  Where was I?  I think I blacked out for a minute there.  I need an antidote to all this glossiness.
 
 
And…there it is.  Now I can focus.
 
No matter how awesome a 3D showing of (talk to me, Goose) Top Gun would be, I won’t be seeing it.  The reason is that a) I very, very seldom see movies in the theatre, and b) if I do see a movie in the theatre, I want it to be Les Mis, which I still haven’t seen and, if history is any indication, I probably won’t see until it’s on video-on-demand.  Watching movies in the comfort of my own home does have its benefits: unlimited access to the wine bottle, the ability to pause the movie when said wine consumption is high and a visit to the ladies’ room (or, in my house, the room that I am forced to share with the boys) is necessary, and the fun of munching on snacks that did not cost $10 per portion.  The downside, of course, is not seeing the movie as it was intended to be seen, i.e., on the big screen.
 
The last movie I saw in the theatre was The Lorax.  It was in 3D, which was my first 3D movie ever.  It was all right, but the only reason we went to see it in the first place was because our family was visiting our in-laws, and it was raining and cold and an outing was most definitely in order.  Prior to The Lorax, I saw Cars 2 in the theatre (don’t get me started) and prior to that?  Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2.  I don’t even have any idea when I was in a theatre prior to that, which means in the past eight years I’ve been to the theatre three times.
 
Oh wait!  I forgot – there was a fourth time, when my girlfriend and I went to a screening of Mirror Mirror, courtesy of my lovely friend Marilyn.  So, four times in (at least) eight years.  My record is not great, so I’m guessing I’m not seeing Les Mis anytime soon.
 
My memory of Pirates of the Caribbean is fuzzy; Jake was about ten months old at the time and I was exhausted.  He woke several times a night until he was four and a half years old, for the love of god, but I was also tired from the following: pregnancy (years 2003-2004) and interrupted sleep, having a newborn (2004), having a nine month old baby and being pregnant (2005), and having Jake, who was colicky and, as I said before, was a terrible sleeper (2005-2010).  Anyway, my parents were watching the boys for a matinee (since even they weren’t crazy enough to babysit in the evening at that time) and I almost immediately fell asleep.  I slept through the entire movie, waking once in a while to scenes of creatures with squid heads. 
 
All of which is to say, no matter how much I love (Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash) Top Gun, I won’t be seeing it in 3D.  If you see it, let me know how it goes, okay?

COME ON DOWN!

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Yesterday I optimistically cleaned the house, sanitizing all the surfaces and disinfecting doorknobs.  I baked muffins and indulged in such self-care rituals as applying moisturizer, blow-drying my hair, and shaving my legs for the first time in many days.  I just finished reading How To Be A Woman, and while I enjoyed it, and felt a strong and hearty agreement with it, I also feel that there are many nice things in life, and having smooth legs, underarms, and bikini line after days of achieving yeti-like status is one of them.  Relatedly, I realized as I plucked them that my eyebrows would, if left unchecked, morph into a blend of Frida Kahlo and Martin Scorcese’s on my face.  There’s nothing like a few days of stomach flu and no sleep to make normal daytime rituals seem like the epitome of luxury.

Oh!  But I was too optimistic too soon, because my remaining healthy child took a turn for the worse last night, causing me to pull a very gross all-nighter with him.  I’m doing a lot of laundry, is what I’m saying.  My husband is also feeling nervous, like there is ominous music playing just for him.  If you hear a strange noise, do not leave the campfire.  Do not go into the dark woods.

The funny thing about kids is how quickly they bounce back, eating freezies and playing video games.  Even while sick, in the middle of the night, Mark both maintained his polite manners – “Please may I have a tissue?” – and his incredulity about the whole situation.  “I think I have the barfing flu” he said after heaving into the toilet for the seventh time in two hours.  Yeah, maybe.  Jake, on the other hand, maintained sunny optimism: “Every time I barf I feel a little better!” he said after the tenth bathroom visit.  “I think I’ll probably feel better tomorrow!”

And he seems to be correct.  Yesterday, while attempting to find a suitable children’s show on television, I came across The Price Is Right!  I was so excited.  The kids enjoyed the show in the same way I did when I was a kid.  The prizes and games were all so exciting!  A barbeque in the shape of an egg!  A new car!  A trip to New York!  A freestanding sauna!  I was kind of disappointed that there were no dinette sets to be won, as in my youth, but maybe I need to watch more.

When I was a kid, I loved that show.  I used to want to be a Barker’s Beauty, and this wish also coincided with my idea that I would, one day, be crowned Miss Canada.  My mother even made a Halloween costume to that effect, complete with red gown, crown, and sash proclaiming MISS CANADA 1982.  But the idea that a whole career – such as it was – could be built out of being pretty, wearing stilettos, and showcasing RV’s and sectional couches was fascinating.  I didn’t know about sexual harrassment, obviously, so it seemed pretty prime to me.

Of course, the Price is Right that my kids are now happily being exposed to has 100% less sexual harrassment – I THINK – and also has a male, um, Barker’s Beauty.  I guess they aren’t called that anymore but I cannot imagine what they might be called.  Anyway, this guy is disappointingly modestly dressed and also, it appears, in charge of driving the New! Cars! to be won.  What’s up with THAT?  The women can still drive cars in the presence of a man, thank you very much.

In any case, I’d like to thank The Price Is Right for the much-needed entertainment for me and my recovering children.  One episode had almost every single audience member in blocks of colour-matched t-shirts, which made Mark think that the audience was made up of “teams”.  “Oh, the red team is up.”  I guess it’s kind of true.  We also saw a woman win $1000 spinning the big wheel, whereas she promptly fell on the floor and rolled around.  “Wow, she’s REALLY happy.” Mark said.  “What would happen if she won one million dollars?”  I’m guessing she would probably die, but die happy, I suppose.

One of the best parts of watching The Price is Right is the commercials.  You have to hand it to the TV executives; they know their prime audience, and it isn’t me and my kids.  In one hour we saw two separate commercials for motorized scooters, several for Ensure, laxatives, and other supplements for Colon Health, and one featuring Henry Winkler advocating for reverse mortgages.  FONZIE.  Have we learned nothing?  Reverse mortgages are a very, very bad idea.  NOT COOL.  Stick with the Colace.