Category Archives: I’m turning into Howard Hughes

Not THE most boring post ever, but close.

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All week, I’ve wanted to write more about my Las Vegas trip. I wanted to write about the rowdy plane ride down there and the near-silent plane ride home. I wanted to write about the guy next to me on the plane who took off his shoes and passed out, leaving me to stare at his purple socks with pink toes, heels, and colourful polka-dots, that I thought my five year old niece would appreciate. I wanted to write about going to see O, and how amazing and beautiful it was, and how one of the acrobats missed their mark and dived gracefully into the water below, crawling out quietly. I wanted to write about the pianist who paused, looked at me, and smiled because I was so appreciative of his rendition of Let It Be. I wanted to write about the weather, how I finally, for the first time in my life, got to say “It was 100 degrees today!” It was actually 108, but who’s counting? I wanted to write about the topless pool that I was so curious about, and that I kept seeing a pretty lady in a white bikini handing people cards with the pool’s name on it, Bare. Were these people especially selected for their topless-ability? It turned out that the pool was more of a nightclub, but in the day, and pretty much anyone was allowed to go, although the crowd tended to be self-selecting. In case you’re curious, I did not, but it kept my imagination busy for a while. I wanted to write about meeting new friends and how I always think Americans are the friendliest, most hospitable people in the world.

But then, I got sick. Remember the little non-debilitating sniffles? It morphed into a full body exhaustion and sinus ache, which I’m sure was due entirely to my attitude of “mind over matter” and “just push through.” This only works for so long.

Wednesday was a bad day; I had to drag myself out of bed at 6:30, after a full TEN hours of sleep. After dropping the kids at school, I took the dog for a walk, feeling like I was actually running a marathon. Then I went to Costco. People, Costco is not the place you want to be when you’re under the weather. At one point, I stopped in the frozen fruit aisle, listening to the whooshing noise in my head and wondering what would happen if I passed out. I was pretty sure that would be an awkward scenario. I managed to finish my shopping and even put away all the groceries, though going up and down the stairs made my heart feel like it was going to explode. I picked the kids up for lunch, and Mark said in a concerned way, “Maybe you should lie down, Mom. Maybe a nap would help you.”

A nap! Brilliant! Except…in what can only be described as a very bad decision, that morning in a “everything’s normal and I’m fine” fit, I stripped all the beds and laundered the sheets. My couch is very uncomfortable for napping, and so I needed to put the sheets back ON the beds prior to napping. It felt like a K2 expedition at that point but somehow I did it, and slept the afternoon away.

Things are better today, or they were, until I started to feel terrible about an hour ago. Oh no! Relapse! Until I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. FEED A COLD, NICOLE. I thought guacamole would be medicinal, so I chopped up some tomatoes, and then grabbed my lone avocado. It wasn’t until I sliced it open and then couldn’t get the pit out, and tried to cut around it and mash the rock solid flesh, that I realized that it wasn’t ripe. Sadness.

I then – dear reader, you must realize my desperation by now – made some sort of makeshift “nachos” using Mary’s Gluten Free Seed Crackers, non-dairy cheddar slices, and the chopped up tomatoes. It was seasoned by my tears. Just kidding. It wasn’t terrible with salsa. I mean, there are probably a thousand things much better than eating a plate of gluten-free crackers topped with a product whose first two ingredients are water and tapioca starch, but it wasn’t actively awful.

Well, it can only go up from here, right? It’s Friday, and there is only one week left of school, so that’s something. Happy weekend everyone. xo

According to Buzzfeed, Elvis is my boyfriend from a past life.

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Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I had full intentions of writing an emotionally-charged gratitude/ thankfulness post, but then my post-Blissdom cold morphed into a Super Cold which left me unable to sleep or function in a semi-coherent way. I was also at my in-laws’ for five days and now I’m catching up – again – on the mountain of laundry that somehow appeared although I actually did laundry twice whilst at my in-laws’. I also cannot comprehend the date: how is it halfway through October? Jake was looking at his calendar last night and said “Hey, it won’t be too long until Christmas, and then I get a new calendar. The year is just flying by!” Tell me about it.

I’m thankful for many things, not the least of which is the approximately one hundred pounds of apples I currently have in my house, and the fifty pounds of grapes. Fruit leather, coming up. Now that I think about it, I really am not sure why I thought this was an appropriate amount of fruit to take home, but there it is. My husband suggested last night that I make some grape juice, but the thought of the juicer and the insane cleanup afterwards just seemed overwhelming, especially after we spent the majority of the day in the car. Fortunately there was not much traffic, and so my husband had very few people to swear at; another thing to be thankful for.

I was so sick last week that I actually missed a School Council/ Parent Association meeting. Such a thing has never happened before. I made it to the meeting, but my friend looked at me and said “Um, I think you should go home. NOW.” Meanwhile, I blinked at her uncomprehendingly. What? Nicole doesn’t understand. By all accounts it was quite the dramatic meeting so I guess it was for the best, since I probably would have passed out, drooling on my notes, while the activity took place. Staring blankly into space and drooling is probably not the best way to chair a meeting, although it might be an interesting experiment.

There was a music tag game going around last night, in which one puts their music on shuffle and notes down the songs that come up. It’s quite an interesting portrait, this peek into people’s playlists. Here’s mine, and I must note that I thought I had written down ten songs, but it was pointed out to me that I actually wrote down nine. I was a queen in calculus but apparently I can’t count to ten. I blame the road trip!

Nicole’s Shuffle Playlist: My Personality, as represented by music

Dreadlock Holiday (I don’t like reggae. I love it.)

Islands in the Stream (Sail away with me. To another world.)

Fast Car (Take your fast car and keep on driving.)

Me and Mrs Jones (We got a thiiiiiiing going onnnnnnn)

Nights on Broadway (Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway. Blaming them love songs. Blaming them straight to the heart songs)

Linda Put The Coffee On (I got sunshine and red wine, a friend of mine taking it easy)

Thrift Shop (Is that your grampa’s coat?)

Over My Head (And it sure feels nice)

BUST A MOVE (Okay smarty, go to a party.)

When I did this exercise, I actually fretted for a moment, as to whether or not I should post these songs. I mean, Islands in the Stream? Really? There are two ways to face it: with total confidence that this is a fabulously eclectic collection of music, or with shame. I’m going for the former.

meandboys

Happy Thanksgiving!

Rainy Day

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I’m writing this on the couch, accompanied by a sick, sniffly Jake, who is busy watching Phineas and Ferb. Oh, September, the return to the petri dish that is the elementary classroom. Actually, the boys each had a minor bout of the sniffles during the first week of school, which turned out to be only a one-day affair, which I, sadly, made worse for Mark. His colds always morph into coughs, and I gave him some over-the-counter cough suppressant, optimistically thinking that this would actually suppress his cough. Instead, he continued coughing and just passed out on the couch for a few hours, feeling lethargic and pale for the rest of the day, and, eventually gagging on his own cough and barfing. Note to self: don’t try to medicate the children unnecessarily.

I’m hoping this cold is as equally short-lived as the first one; I’m still scarred from the cold-that-morphed-into-pneumonia event of 2011. I also have a hair appointment tomorrow and I don’t want to miss it – my roots are insane. I feel like a scarecrow, with orange straw-like hair and startling grey roots, but with non-ragged clothing.

In any event, I’m pleased that the colds are going on this week, instead of next week, when I’ll be out of town for the Blissdom Canada conference. I’m going to be out of town for five days, which is by far the longest I’ve been away from the kids. I’m getting pretty excited to see all my Yummy Mummies and bloggy friends – Hannah and Allison! – and as my excitement grows, my husband’s wanes. He’s always supportive of my endeavours, but I think he’s getting worried about the ensuing to-do list resulting from me not being there. I keep giving him little reminders about what needs to be done while I’m gone, and I think it’s starting to overwhelm him. I don’t totally blame him. After all, I didn’t do any laundry this weekend – I usually do a load a day – and the resulting laundry mountain was immense.

Buoyed by my kitchen reorganization, I’m newly motivated to reorganize and purge my entire house. I’m setting a goal to spend an hour a week reorganizing/ purging one area of my house for the entire winter. First stop: my closet. My closet is a cesspool of clothing, shoes, and bags. It’s really out of control. I oscillate between feelings of despair and regret – for the love of god, no one needs this many sweaters – and a feeling of complete unwillingness to part with a single thing. But I must part with a few things because my drawers and shelves are literally overflowing. And again, I’m faced with the question of how many of a similar item I need. Do I need twenty five black sweaters in different cuts, lengths, and trim? Do I need eight black t-shirts with different necklines, along with twelve black tank tops and seven pairs of black yoga pants? Should I consider buying something that isn’t black? What is wrong with me?

Right now cleaning out my closet feels like some sort of weird psychological experiment, or like I’m on a reality show where someone is going to admonish me for my clothing choices.

The Stages of Costco

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It’s true, I’ve never run a marathon, but shopping at Costco in the winter sure makes me feel like I had. This is probably an indication that I should never, ever run a marathon, but really, that wasn’t on my list anyway.

Because even the thought of Costco during the month of December makes me curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth, I generally make a large shopping trip in November and then avoid it until all the Costco related items in the house are essentially gone. Today, I found myself pushing a part with a few hundred pounds’ worth of groceries through the soft slushy snow in the parking lot, then doing the requisite dozen trips to get it all into the house and up and down the stairs to put said items in the basement pantry and main-floor kitchen. I felt like I had an actual intense cardiovascular workout, and to be honest, I probably haven’t done one of those since I took up “spinning” and step aerobics, back in the nineties. Whew! The good news is, I’m all warm. The bad news is, I need some Robaxecet. Lifting giant flats of sparkling water and boxes of coconut milk is core-strength building, I kept telling myself.

There is a group of people that I find amazing – everyday heroes, if you will – and that group consists of people who can go to Costco and purchase one item. How this is possible I do not know. An elderly gentleman was behind me in line, holding a single package of hydrating hand cream. I implored him to go ahead of me, me with my 300 pound cart, and he courteously argued with me for a moment. “I’m sure you have much more to do today, and I don’t.” he said. After a few moments’ conversation, he DID go ahead of me and we chatted happily about the need for super hydrating hand cream at this time of year.

A few weeks ago, a friend mentioned the “stages of Costco shopping”, and I found it brilliant, to be honest.

Stage One: NO COSTCO

At this stage, you do not think that you will actually purchase enough groceries to warrant the membership fees.

Stage Two: Reluctant Member

After some deliberation, and possibly spousal pressure, you relent and get the membership. You go through fear, loathing, and denial every time you go, but still you cannot turn down the giant wheel of cheese for $10.

Stage Three: Over Purchasing

This stage can last a while. Wow, that’s such a good deal! you may think as you purchase giant vats of everything from Greek yogurt to shampoo, which leads to….

Stage Four: Regret

At some point, we all purchase something we instantly regret, we know we’ll never use up, and that our grandchildren will have to deal with when they are cleaning out our homes for the estate sale. In my case, this is an enormous two-pack of plastic wrap and a gigantic box of 100-calorie packages of Snapea Crisps.

Stage Five: Acceptance and Reality

Happily, this is the stage I’m at now, where I can actually bypass an item – no matter how great a deal it is – by thinking that I might end up on one of those hoarding reality shows, with thirty tubes of toothpaste stashed beside 100 bars of soap. This doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t currently have two giant jars of coconut oil and three enormous bags of chocolate chips in the pantry. What, I bake a lot! I’ll use it! Really! I don’t want to run out!

Speaking of running out of things, the other day I noticed that I had almost run out of hand sanitizer, which filled me with great panic. At this time of year, and especially with the insane media play about the flu – which has led to mass panic and vaccine shortages – it feels like one can never have enough hand sanitizer. Here’s a tip – Costco only sells hand sanitizer OVER THE COUNTER and also, it’s alcohol free. Why does it need to be over the counter? I don’t know. Maybe it’s like in my local old-people Co-Op, where they have to keep the tooth whitening strips at the customer service desk because of thievery. Are people making off with the giant bottles of sanitizer? This seems unlikely, but maybe during the cold and flu season there is a hoarding problem that would lead to – like the flu shot – shortages and panic. Well, I can understand that.

 

12 Days of Christmas Started Two Days Ago

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Today I am on a quest to embrace sloth and gluttony, and wish only to curl on the couch with wine, popcorn, and one of my new Christmas-gift books, and yet I am faced with two universal truths: the laundry never stops, and the children require nutrition. I have acknowledged these interruptions in my sloth-like schedule, but not without a teensy bit of resentment.

My longing for relaxation is possibly spurred on by events from yesterday, which would be best described using the words “obsessive”, “frantic”, and “cleaning binge”. I have to admit that I take down and put away the Christmas decorations with the same zeal with which I put them up. I’m not sure how to explain this, exactly, except that every year at approximately 8:00 am on December 25 I fight the urge to clear away all the chaos and Clean All The Things. I do fight the urge, however, and Boxing Day in the Boyhouse is the day that all the Christmas items are boxed up and closets purged. It probably says something about my personality that I cannot relax and enjoy the holiday amid post-Christmas chaos and disaster.

I like to think that there are two distinct types of us cheery little Christmas elves: the Advent Elves and the 12 Days of Christmas Elves. I know some of us wouldn’t dream of taking the tree down until Epiphany, or New Year’s at least, but others of us (read: me) feel that Boxing Day is the Last Possible Day The Tree Can Be Up Whilst Maintaining Our Sanity. Advent Elves.

The boys have been happily alternating between putting together Lego sets and playing new Wii games, and are preparing to be introduced to Junior Scrabble and Perfection – gifts from my parents. Jake, especially, is interested in Perfection, although he may have a slightly different idea of “explosion”. He asked me if we should play this game in the basement because he didn’t want any of his complicated Lego sets to be damaged in the playing of Perfection.

Speaking of Wii games, we had bought the Just Dance 2014 game, allegedly from “Barkley”, and spent Christmas Eve getting our groove on. I don’t mean to boast, but my disco moves are pretty excellent, proven by my earning 5 stars on YMCA on my very first try. What can I say, I know my Village People.

 

My 5-Star disco dancing skills aside, it’s been a wonderful holiday so far, even if I have been still preparing meals and doing laundry. I have a stack of wonderful new books to delve into, new charms for my bracelets, new pajamas that have owls on them, and many other lovely things. My mother gave me an apron that is absolutely adorable; it’s a little TOO adorable, maybe. She bought it at a lingerie store so I’m not sure if it’s for cooking or “cooking” but in any case, I love it.

How was your Christmas, lovelies? Tell me everything. xo

Mark poured almond milk, just in case “Santa” couldn’t have regular milk.

We moved Jake’s bed into Mark’s room so they could have a “sleepover”,
which is still going on and appears to now be unbreakable tradition.

Full Moon, and Nicole Smash

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I think I’m becoming one of those obnoxious people who can tell when the full moon is upon us without looking at the calendar, or who can just tell that Mercury is in retrograde or what have you. So I will blame it on the full moon that yesterday I was in a bit of a rage all day. Looking back on it was like looking back on the days when I had small children. The rage was somewhat akin to when a small child spirals out of control because it’s bathtime and he just wants to take his favourite stuffed animal into the bathroom and then drops it into the tub accidentally and then it has to go into the dryer, stat, but then the child needs to be bathed and keeps drinking the bathwater, and then becomes hysterical when taken out of the bathtub, even though he didn’t want a bath in the first place, and then realizes that his favourite pajamas are in the wash and cannot be retrieved and then due to exhaustion falls over and hits his head on the floor and then is tucked into bed but the story you read was all wrong and the stuffed animal is still in the dryer and nothing will ever be right in the world again and then the child passes out after sobbing about the injustices of life.

I remember those days and in the heat of the moment, in the thick of things, there is nothing at all funny about the situation, but looking back, it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s hard to believe that a rational person could get caught up in the soaked-stuffed-animal-drama, but these things happen, don’t they? And so it is that I’m looking back on yesterday, thinking about all those little metaphorical paper cuts.

I should have known something was up – the full moon! – when I got home from yoga yesterday morning, plugged in the coffee maker, and then, for the first time in history, forgot to turn it on. I made my bed, collected my bathrobe and set out my various moisturizers, makeup, and deodorant the way I do every morning before my shower, and then I went to get a cup of coffee. People, when you get up at 4:30 in the morning, it is imperative that the coffee be made when you need it to be made. I actually picked up the empty coffee pot and was astonished that nothing came out because I forgot to turn it on. I remedied that, stepped into the shower – and this I blame on the lack of caffeine – started to wash my hair with conditioner. I kept wondering what was wrong with the shampoo. Why wasn’t the shampoo foaming? I added more and more conditioner, until I realized my mistake. It’s not the shampoo. It’s me. Suffice it to say I had very soft hair all day.

Between the hair and the coffee I felt a little thrown off for the whole morning, and so maybe, perhaps the customer service people I encountered during the day were not, in retrospect, quite so awful as I think, but maybe they were. One of my errands was to the homeopathic medicine shop.

Bear with me for a moment. I am not, I repeat, AM NOT, inviting a discussion about the flu shot here. I do not want to hear arguments for or against the flu shot, or any discussion about vaccines in general. I am merely stating a fact: I cannot get the flu shot; in lieu of this for the past four years I – and my family – get a homeopathic flu protocol that has protected us from getting the flu.

And again I will interrupt my own discourse for a moment for a public service announcement: the FLU is not the same thing as a STOMACH VIRUS even though people universally refer to STOMACH VIRUS as the STOMACH FLU or sometimes, incorrectly, as the FLU. A stomach virus is not the flu. And so when I say “the homeopathic flu protocol has protected us from getting the flu” and you say “but remember last year when you were barfing and sick and lost all that weight and then the boys got it?” NO. It is not the same thing. NOROVIRUS IS NOT THE FLU. No amount of homeopathic flu protocols or flu shots or whatever hoo-ha you may do to avoid the flu will help you avoid NOROVIRUS AND/OR OTHER STOMACH VIRUSES. Sorry for yelling, but really. Public service announcement over.

Where was I? Oh yes, I was obtaining a homeopathic flu protocol. In the past there have been two parts to this protocol, and one of those parts, apparently, has changed this year. I asked the lady at the counter, who you would think would be eager to supply information to someone who is IN the homeopathic shop and who is obviously (or obvi, as my kids say) on board with the whole homeopathic thing. The woman was, shall we say, less than forthcoming with information. I kept pressing her, “But what does this DO, specifically?” She had a bit of a frown on her face as she kept saying, sternly, “It STRENGTHENS your IMMUNITY.” Now, I am a sucker for anything that STRENGTHENS my IMMUNITY – you should see how many vitamins and supplements I take on a daily basis, hoo boy – but if I’m going to be paying $40 for a tincture, I would like a little more information about said tincture, especially since this tincture was never used before with the flu protocol. I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW IT WORKS. I recognize that customer service people often have to deal with the lowest common denominator, but some of us CAN comprehend more difficult concepts. I feel this same way when those dreadful people come to the door trying to get natural gas customers to sign up for fixed rates, and then they get all dismissive when I say I’m not interested. I used to work in the structured products market, I’m not just some idiot of a kept woman, here, I know how hedging works thank-you-very-much. Go try your luck on the elderly.

After my extraordinarily frustrating experience at the homeopathic shop, I went to Future Shop to purchase a movie. Now, I rarely, if ever, purchase movies at actual stores, I do online shopping whenever possible. However, my husband’s birthday is coming up quickly and Jake wanted to buy his dad a superhero movie they could watch together. I didn’t have time to waste with shipping, etc., and so I headed to Future Shop, also known as The Worst Place For Customer Service Ever. First of all, I will admit to my own errors. I did not realize that the movie I wanted to buy – and yes, I do have my OWN reasons for wanting this movie in my house (Hugh Jackman) – was not yet in stores. I should have done more research. However! I walked into Future Shop, was greeted by a young man. I looked around the overwhelming store for a few minutes, wondering if the single aisle of “movies, TV shows, etc” was really all that giant store had. One aisle. Finally I approached the young man.

Me: Excuse me, I’m looking for a movie. I’m wondering if you could help me find it?

Douchey Employee: *points*

Me: Yes, I can’t find what I’m looking for. I’m not even sure if this is the right section.

DE: The movies are RIGHT THERE. That HUGE display? RIGHT THERE.

Me: *sharply* YES. I see. But I cannot find what I’m looking for. The Wolverine movie. Do you have it?

DE: The movies are right there.

Me: I DON’T SEE IT THERE.

DE: I GUESS I could look it up. *goes to computer, types in “Wolvierene* There’s no movie.

Me: *looking at the screen* I think you misspelled it.

DE: Well, how DO you spell it?

Me: W-O-L-V-E-R-I-N-E

DE: Oh. It’s not available in stores. You can pre-order it online.

Me: *sets store on fire*

Later, the day would redeem itself, but only when I picked up my calendar, counted the days, realized that it’s not just the full moon that’s affecting my mood, decided that since it was a full moon and there was no yoga the next day, I could indulge in a couple of glasses of wine, even if it WAS a Thursday. That turned things around.

This episode brought to you by The Simpsons

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Did you check the traplines? is a question that my husband and I have been asking each other since Saturday, like we’re old-timey settlers trading furs at the Hudson’s Bay Company for blankets and tobacco. Happily for us, the answer has been they are empty which is good for both my mental state and for the general atmosphere of the household. My friend Julie reminded me of the scene in Little Town on the Prairie, before the Ingalls get a cat, when Pa’s hair gets nibbled off by nesting mice. I did not need for her to remind me of that, because I had already thought of that, which made me feel like this, substituting the word “boogeyman” for the word “mouse”.

But, we are happily mouse free, I say confidently and hopefully, and not at all in a traumatized way. I spotted a dead mouse in our backyard, and envisioned Barkley eating the dead mouse, and me having to deal with the aftermath of such a situation, and I went inside to talk to the boys. Boys, your mother is having a nervous breakdown. Mark, after assessing the situation, asked for me to fetch him the large shovel out of the shed, and then neatly picked the mousey corpse up and threw it out into the alley where a “car would flatten it”. I wasn’t entirely pleased with this conclusion, but I was pleased enough to not have to deal with it one way or another that I baked some chocolate chip cookies for him and Jake to take to school for snack for the remainder of the week. 

Tomorrow I’m heading to Toronto for the Blissdom Canada conference, and boy, am I excited. I’m especially excited because I’ve gotten all of my to-do items done, and also we have the vermin situation under control. These are equally exciting to me. I’ve been working hard to cross all of those things off the list, and at some point I was behaving exactly like this. I was a bit worried since a) this is the longest I will have ever been away from the children, yes I KNOW they are eight and nine years old, and b) I’ve never been away from the children during the school year. We all know things are much simpler in the summer, when there are no scholastic nor activity schedules to navigate. IT’S GOING TO BE FINE, I say to myself. What’s the worst that could happen? And then I come up with some strange worst-case scenario that makes me think I should just go ahead and open a bottle of wine.

The kids have had colds, and then my husband – who was possibly a wee bit run down due to work pressures and also sobbing hysterical wife pressures – came down with the cold, but in massive form, so that he basically looked like this, minus the sandwich. I have been so worried about getting sick before my very first blogging conference, and meeting all these people, that I have been sleeping over NINE HOURS A NIGHT and consuming possibly toxic levels of Vitamin C. Also oil of oregano, so much so that it’s not even gross to me anymore. Happily and knock on wood, I seem to have escaped the worst of it, only dealing with a tickly throat and fatigue.

But! I’m all packed (including a baggie full of Vitamin C packets, along with Advil Cold and Sinus JUST IN CASE) and for once I feel that I’ve packed just the right amount of clothing. Shoes, however. I have four pairs of shoes packed, not including the boots that I will be wearing on the plane, nor the fabulous hippo slipper-socks bought for the occasion. What is wrong with me? How can I possibly feel that FIVE PAIR OF FOOTWEAR is appropriate for a Thursday to Sunday trip? Well, there is no going back now! Tomorrow morning I’m going to be taking my well-heeled (literally, shoes, see what I did there?) self on the plane. And I’m going to read a book the whole way! And not think about what I’m making for dinner! Well, I MIGHT think about what I’m making for Sunday dinner….