Category Archives: Luckiness

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

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Happy Leap Year, everyone!

Our last Leap Year was in 2020, and thinking about it now, how strange that time was, having an extra day just ahead of being locked down and going through a global pandemic. When I look at my blog from February 2020, it is all very cheerful and clearly I had no idea what was about to occur. I also, it seems, did not mark the leap day in any way at all.

Well, I shall not make that mistake this year! I have had a really lovely month filled with good things, so why not extend it a day?

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

The E is for Environment

One of my favourite podcasts, Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend, has a new segment called Podcast Pals Product Picks, and as you can imagine, I am here for this kind of content. One of the guests talked about E Cloths, which to my mind means ELECTRONIC cloths, but the E in this case stands for Environment. Anyway, they are special microfibre cloths that use only water for cleaning, and by the time the podcast guest finished talking about the streak-free shines on all of his glass and stainless surfaces, I was scrambling to order them. Here, take my money. We have a lot of windows in this house, not to mention mirrors and my shiny lacquered Yamaha piano, and I am never able to get them really clean. I will THINK they are clean, and then the sunlight will come in a certain way, and I will feel the kind of despair that accompanies what one thinks is a job well done, but was actually wasted time and effort.

NO MORE!

Listen, I do not know what magic is involved here, but all I can say is that they really work. Apparently these cloths are somehow antibacterial and antimicrobial and require no extra cleaning supplies, but that is a bridge too far for me. I may use hippie cleaning products, but I still want to use cleaning products. I’m happy to shine my glass and stainless appliances with just water and E Cloths, but I’m not relying on them to, you know, wipe up food-related messes or clean the bathroom.

The Big Ass’k

I have been on a lifelong quest to be less dissatisfied with my hair, and I honestly don’t think I will ever actually love my hair. I have issues, is what I’m saying, for many reasons which I will not go into here so as to not bore and depress us all. Nora Ephron once said that not worrying about your hair anymore is the secret upside to being dead, and when I read that, I finally felt very seen in a way I never had before.

My lifelong quest means that I am always on the lookout for new hair products. I bought this Cake volumizing product on a whim, and also because it was called The Big Ass’k, and honestly, I feel that the name called to me. My anaconda don’t want none unless…

Anyway. I like this product a lot, it’s really great for non-shampoo days to add volume, and it smells fantastic.

Look at that shiny clean mirror!

Actual Cake

I think I bought Julie van Rosendaal’s cake cookbook back in January 2023, with the eventual resolution to make every recipe in the book. My younger son sternly reminded me of this resolution a couple of weeks ago, chastising me for falling down on my goals. To that end, I tried a recipe that I have been wanting to try since obtaining the book: the Jos Louis cake. I have never had a Jos Louis in my life, and neither had anyone in my family, so we could not compare this to the original. Mine was not as pretty as Julie’s, but wow, was it a delicious cake. It might be the best cake I’ve tried from that cookbook to date.

Now, I want to note that this is not a simple recipe. There are many steps and it takes a while to get assembled. Also, I have no idea how one would cover the cake in ganache without it spilling all over the sides of the platter, but no matter. As they say in Beauty and the Beast, true beauty is found within.

Let My Lust Open The Door

I have a new favourite podcast called Bad On Paper; the two lovely young hosts are authors who talk about their writing processes, as well as about books and life in general. This checks every box for me! For Valentine’s Day they had an episode about – wait for it – obscure erotica. One of the hosts talked about a book concerning a pansexual Abraham Lincoln who – again, wait for it – has a penis fight with the Emperor of Japan to see who will – wait for it – colonize the moon. I could not be less interested in such a storyline BUT the other author brought up a book called Unhinged: An Erotic Door Romance.

The host said, “If you’re wondering ‘Is this a book about a woman who fucks her door?’ well, you’d be right!” and at that moment, I knew I had to read it. After all, let’s never forget I read the Governor General Award-winning book Bear about a woman entering into a sexual relationship with a bear – and not, as my son asked, a big hairy gay guy, an actual bear. Upshot of that, for those of you who don’t remember, bears give great oral but are maybe not so good with intercourse. Or, as I like to say now, intercoursing. Anyhoo, back to the door. This little piece of door-related erotica was well worth the $1.30 on Kindle plus the 45 minutes it took to read. I mean, not to spoil anything, but this is no ordinary door. It was made from wood from a tree that – wait for it – Zeus, Greek god, fucked. You read that right! Zeus Harvey Weinsteined an oak tree and bam, we have a sentient – and, apparently sexy – door. More spoilers! The door can sometimes take on a human form! Sexiness ensues!

But wait, there’s more!

The host of the podcast mentioned that Squeak, erotica having to do with balloon animals, was her second choice in books, and, hilariously high off of the image of a doorknob wearing a condom, I bought it on Kindle for another $1.30. Sadly, this one was disappointing. I mean, it wasn’t really entertaining to read, it was just mostly confusing. There’s a three-way? And two of them are partially balloon animals? But they maybe also turned the woman into a balloon animal by having sex with her? But I’m not sure? In a different kind of universe? I really don’t know, but it only took me about 25 minutes to read so it wasn’t a huge investment or anything. Funny thing to note: the author is clearly using a pseudonym, but there is a real photo of her and a description that she lives with her husband, seven cats, and two dogs in North Carolina and you know what, I like this level of author detail. I also appreciate her level of creativity because doors and balloon animals are not items that I have ever thought of in a sexual way before, but now I’m looking at my doors for a little too long. They seem to be getting uncomfortable.

Girl, Put Your Snowshoes On

Let me tell you, the best thing about having a retired, active husband – other than afternoon delight wherein I pretend he is a door – is the willingness to do fun things any day of the week, and the best thing about having my specific retired, active husband is that he likes to buy accessories for us to do such things. In the fall he bought us snowshoes, which I frankly thought would be a waste of money. After all, we had just bought cross-country skis. This is probably why the snowfall has been so low this year, I’m sorry, everyone. Anyway, after kind of a hectic month of not doing anything winter sport related, we decided to give the snowshoes a whirl last week, and let me tell you, I am obsessed.

It’s hiking in the mountains, but with snow!

If it wasn’t a 45 minute drive to get to snow, I would snowshoe every single day, this is how much I love it.

Outfit of the Month

I had a real Ladies Who Lunch experience with my girlfriends a few weeks ago; we went for a nice lunch downtown and then poked around in various expensive boutiques in the area. When we walked into one store called, appropriately enough, The Little Boutique, I had no intention on purchasing anything. I was just along for the ride; the clothes all seemed pretty expensive and nothing seemed to call out to me. That is, of course, until I saw a soft, drapey black sweater on the sale rack.

One might argue that I needed another drapey black sweater like I needed another leg, but I felt the material and it was so incredibly soft. It was also originally priced at $509.

I mean, who would pay that? Not me, but it was marked down to $119, which is still a lot for a sweater I did not need. But then it was 25% off of that price, and you know what, I am not made of stone. $85 for a sweater that was originally $509? Who could say no to that? NOT ME.

Something has been happening to my body lately that is just out of my control. I am in great shape, I am strong and flexible and healthy, and I am also losing my waistline. It is just…disappearing. Where is it going? I don’t know. I am developing the menopausal woman’s waistline, which is to say no waistline at all. My torso is turning into a rectangle; this is a fact, and it’s one that I have come to accept, and so having a long, drapey sweater that skims that rectangle? Yes. I’ll take it.

I debuted The Expensive Sweater at my Galentine’s party, paired with my old faithful Lululemon City Sleek pants, which have been on the Favourite Things many times already; they are actual pants that feel like yoga pants. What could be better? Other than getting an expensive sweater for 16% of the original price, of course.

I hope you all had a wonderful February full of lovely things – if you’d like to tell me about them, I’m all ears. xo

Money Honey

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I had a real Lemon, It’s Wednesday start to the week, but on Monday. At one point I thought it was time to start making dinner, and I looked at the clock; it was 12:30 pm.

Fortunately this state of affairs didn’t continue for the whole week; in fact, things improved exponentially. For one thing, we finished the puzzle!

Michelle (HI MICHELLE) had asked what I do with puzzles after I’m finished, and I disassemble them and put them back in their box, which in this case feels like an extreme case of non-attachment, like I am a monk making mandalas in the sand.

If you have been in a grocery store lately, or, indeed, alive in this world, then you will be well aware at the shocking price of literally everything. Recently at Costco I picked up a two-litre of olive oil that a mere six months ago cost $18.99; it is now selling for $32.99 which, I think we all can agree, is a startling increase in price. I do believe there is a global olive crop failure, cue the ominous climate music, but also? $32.99. My cooking just got way more expensive.

Olive oil isn’t the only item that has vastly increased in price, of course, because it seems like everything has with the strange exception of almonds and almond butter, which I am not going to question and instead will welcome with open arms. Come to me, almond products. In a non-food-related, but still very shocking topic, my favourite Maybelline mascara is now $14.99, as opposed to being well under ten dollars only a year ago. This is MAYBELLINE MASCARA. It is not by any stretch of the imagination a luxury brand. I go through at least one tube of mascara a month, so my already-unwieldly beauty budget is ever-increasing.

In my recent Ask Me Anything, Engie (HI ENGIE) asked an interesting question that I have been pondering for months now: What do you resent paying for? Because I am pedantic about semantics, I have been stuck on the word resent. I do not like paying such high prices for everyday items such as olive oil and mascara, but I cannot say I resent it.

Something I find mentally exhausting is the action of clicking on a link in a newsletter or a blog post, a link that looks interesting and exciting, only to find that it is behind a paywall. Similarly, I have in the past year subscribed to a number of Substack newsletters written by talented and interesting people, and recently I have noticed that only a paragraph or two will be available in the free subscription of the Substack, the rest reserved for paid subscriptions only.

I don’t resent this. I do believe that creators should be compensated for their work, and to that end, I do have a few subscriptions I pay for via Substack or Patreon, subscriptions that I value and that add to my life. However. I could not possibly afford to pay for every single Substack or Patreon membership for every creator that I enjoy; or, I suppose I could, but that would severely cut into my beauty budget, and I am unwilling to do that. I’m not cutting back on my mascara consumption, is what I am saying, and something has to give.

It’s frustrating, though, to get excited about reading something only to find out that one must pay to read that something, which is the point of a paid subscription, I know. I know how it works! It’s like old-school click bait, but with subscriptions. Creators have to eat too, and that olive oil isn’t going to pay for itself, but I just wanted to know what Val Monroe was going to recommend for undereye bags without having to pay $8 a month to find out.

To be honest, when it comes to undereye bags, the secret is probably to invent a time machine and to get completely new genetics, or to visit a plastic surgeon or dermatologist for some kind of injection or surgical intervention, or to quit the Friday night wine habit and get ten hours of sleep a night. None of these appeal.

Speaking of undereye bags, I made a grave mistake a few weeks ago. I was glancing at my Instagram when a sponsored reel popped up, regarding The Biggest Mistake Older Women Make When It Comes To Makeup, and dear readers, I watched the whole thing. I watched an entire reel on Instagram about the best way to deal with undereye bags and other signs of aging, and now my entire Instagram is flooded, absolutely flooded, with Makeup For Women Of A Certain Age.

It’s only a matter of time until I capitulate. This is how I ended up purchasing many pairs of my dearly beloved Mott and Bow jeans, and we all know that I am not made of stone, particularly when it comes to beauty products. I shall keep you all posted.

After a great deal of thought, I realized that although there is nothing in my life that I currently resent paying for, there is something that I resent having paid for, and that is twenty years of regular, frequent, professional hair colouring. The pandemic forced my hand, as it were, when it comes to boxed, at-home hair colour, and there might not be many things that I am grateful for, back in April 2020, but I absolutely am grateful for my foray into DIY hair colour. When I think about the massive amount of time, money, and energy I expended on getting my hair coloured when I could have been doing it myself, and what I could have been doing with that money instead, I do feel ridiculously resentful. My hair is no more damaged than when I was getting it done in a salon, and while I’m sure it’s not a perfect colour job, it is definitely more than good enough.

Before:

After:

All that wasted money! Well. I have not yet invented a time machine to go back and start colouring my hair at home at the beginning of the millennium, nor to change my DNA so as to not have undereye bags. One must leave the past in the past; we learn from history, lest it repeat itself.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of history!

The Indifferent Stars Above: The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party. This is not typically the kind of book I reach for, but Engie (HI ENGIE) mentioned it with enthusiasm and it did sound fascinating: the author is distantly related to Sarah Graves, who with her family and brand new husband leave Illinois for the promised land – initially Oregon, but, fatefully, they decide to take a “short cut” and across the Sierra Nevada to California, joining up with the Donner Party. What a decision that was. The throughline for the book is “The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party” and “harrowing” feels like a real understatement. Something I have thought of a lot, after rereading the Little House books as an adult, is that there has to be something of hubris, plus the incredibly offensive “manifest destiny,” to just pack up your family and travel thousands of miles, destination unknown, really. Also, how bad are things at home that one must feel the need to do this? I guess it’s just the search for a better life, which is something we all want. Anyway, these people were all extremely ill-prepared for what was to come, although if they knew what was to come they’d probably have stayed home. First of all, they go against the recorded recommendation to never start their journey later than May 1, instead they left over three weeks later. They start running out of provisions as they trudge across the salt deserts of Utah, with no water and their oxen (the poor oxen, I felt for the animals in this book) just collapsing and dying. Animal lovers: there are some really difficult parts to read THE POOR OXEN, THEY DID NOT CHOOSE THIS LIFE. Truly, no one would have chosen what they did, particularly the poor children. And probably the women. Let’s face it, the men were making the decisions here.

Anyway, the party starts dropping their possessions – once considered necessities – to lighten the load for the dying oxen. Then they get stuck in the “shortcut” through the Sierra Nevada, getting snowed in, everyone starving to psychosis and, often, death. A small party – including Sarah – makes a break for it to get help, and of course they have no idea where they’re going or how to get there, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle they didn’t all die right there. They were essentially shoeless and naked, in the winter and deep snow, with no food, eating people as they died, which is also what was happening back at the base camp. Of the 87 people, 47 died, including Sarah’s husband, and most of them, um, get eaten by everyone else in order to survive.

Another thing I’ve thought of often due to my Little House consumption, and now this book, is how terrible it would be to be a widow in those times. A widow would be extremely vulnerable, with no way to earn money really, and she would be kind of a sitting duck for anyone who wanted to take a shot at her, so to speak. Anyway, this is a GRIM book but absolutely fascinating, and the story is told in a really compelling way, and despite the shockingly horrifying, one might even say HARROWING, subject matter, I really enjoyed reading it. What’s wrong with me?

The Rachel Incident. Listen, I know that a while ago I swore off books about twentysomething hot messes who drink too much and make bad choices BUT something compelled me to pick this up. The author is a podcaster who I enjoy very much and this book – about an Irish woman and her closeted best friend and housemate – is one of the most intensely satisfying books I have ever read in my life. It takes place in Cork in the height of the 2008-2010 recession, and I was emotionally invested in the characters from page one. It’s so well written and there is just so much in terms of layers and nuance, it’s fantastic.

It’s been an interesting and, ultimately, good week. I hosted a Galentine’s night on Saturday with some wonderful girlfriends; I will never cease to be grateful for the incredible women in my life, and this group has welcomed me into their circle with open arms. If you’re reading this, know that I am grateful for you too! Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

People Who Watch People

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The world is such an interesting place, isn’t it? It’s wild that a person can go from this:

To this, in only a matter of hours.

It has been very grey and foggy this week, but it’s so mild and windless that I don’t mind it at all. Our snow is basically all gone, except for piles in parking lots and along the walking paths where it had been shovelled. Those piles are a source of great joy to Rex, who likes to roll and slide down them, and then starts to eat them. His penchant for eating snow is pretty cute, and so I’m trying not to be horrified when he shoves his face into filthy parking lot snow. I mean, he is a dog, so I am assuming his digestive system can handle it.

After what felt like a long run of books that ran the gamut between Good and OMG Boring, last Friday I read a really fabulous collection of short stories, entitled Today A Woman Went Mad At The Supermarket, and if that title does not pique your interest, then you are living a very different life from me.

Hilma Wolizer has been around and writing for decades – most of these stories were written in the 1970s, one as early as the 1966 – and so I am puzzled as to why I haven’t heard of her before this. All the stories are interconnected and deal with my favourite genre: ordinary, everyday things written in an extraordinary way. The last story has to do with the pandemic, written in 2020, and I mention it as a warning for anyone who is not in a mental space to read about the early days of Covid, specifically how it affected elderly people living in New York City.

The foreword of this book is written by Elizabeth Strout who, as you know, is one of my favourites and who also really writes the Slice Of Life books that I adore. In the foreword are two quotes from Wolitzer, which resonated with me so much and made me want to call her up and scream ME TOO into the phone.

Everyone’s face was fascinating to me, and I would wonder what their lives were like.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary.

I cannot even begin to explain how seen I felt after I read that; I felt a deep kinship with this 90 year old writer.

On our trip to Mexico, I spent a lot of time by myself at the pool; I am the early bird of our group, so I would lounge around waiting for my husband and our friends to arrive, reading and soaking up the surroundings. I tend to chat with anyone within ten feet of me, but on this trip people were mostly swimming by me, or in large groups, and so instead of chatting, I’d just imagine what their lives were like. How long had that couple been married? What was it like to look exactly like the guy who talks about the O Face in the movie Office Space? What does the man swimming early-morning pool lengths do for a living? Where did that woman get that fabulous hat?

One afternoon I was reading while my husband and our friend were floating around in the pool, drinks in hand. They noticed a couple who was in the pool beside them; this couple was involved in what can only be described as An Extensive Makeout Session. The guys couldn’t believe I didn’t notice the couple, because, as I mentioned before, I am always people-watching, and so they were shocked I missed the estan caliente teenage-like making out and, if you will pardon the extremely crude expression, but nothing else comes close to describing this accurately, dry-humping that was happening in the pool right in front of me. How did you not see it? our friend asked, puzzled at my obliviousness. The guy got out right in front of you and he had a massive boner, how could you miss that? my husband told me, with his usual delicacy of manner.

How indeed?

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I started seeing this couple everywhere, though, and always in a similar state of semi-clothed in flagrante: in the lobby bar, standing next to the pool, in a single pool lounge next to the pool. From what I could see the man was probably in his fifties, and the woman a couple of decades younger. Their level of passion was truly inspirational, although if continued to completion, I would assume that there would be a lot of chafing and possible cystitis involved in this holiday.

I did, of course, wonder what their story was. I concluded that if they were married, it wasn’t to each other, and before long I had an entire Harlequin-like romance written in my head about them.

Speaking of marriage, my husband and I were wandering through the resort one night; our friends had gone back to their room, and we were enjoying the full moon and the music that was coming from a wedding reception being held nearby. One of the songs was Baby Got Back, which I love, but which also seems like a strange choice for a wedding reception. In any case, there we were, getting our groove on, when my husband was swarmed by a group of young women in an advanced state of inebriation. Josh! Josh! they squealed, to our bemusement.

It turns out that these lovely young women had mistaken my husband for an actor named Josh Duhamel, who I had never heard of before, but who has the distinction of being from Minot, North Dakota, which is not far at all from where I was born, in Saskatchewan. These girls were slightly disappointed that my husband was not the star of a Transformers movie, but were extremely sweet and cheerful. We saw you by the pool today! they said, then turning to me. We just thought he had gotten remarried! Well, that was cute, but there are two things that I found out later: Josh Duhamel used to be married to Fergie, of Black Eyed Peas fame, and is now married to a former Miss World America.

I do not have low self-esteem or lack for confidence, but I admit I did feel a bit strange at this exchange. The tables, they had turned. My people-watching had ricocheted back to me; me, with my giant sunhat and streaks of mineral sunscreen on my legs and bikini, with my slightly-bloated margarita tummy and fuzzy, out of control beach hair. Did these women really think that Josh Duhamel, one-time star on All My Children, left Miss World America for ME? Were they making up their own mental stories about people around the pool generally, and me specifically? I cannot imagine such stories would cast me in a very flattering light. Listen, I would like to believe that we live in a world in which women of all ages, visages, and bodies are embraced equally by ex-soap stars, but let’s be realistic. The most likely answer is that these women’s vision was blurred by unlimited day-drinking; in fact, I think that is probably my best-case scenario. Maybe they thought you WERE Miss World America, my husband ventured, to which I answered with a look only. He shrugged sheepishly. When a couple has been married for a few decades, sometimes non-verbal communication is the best kind of communication.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

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A few weeks ago, we were having dinner and Fancy came on, via the Nicole’s Karaoke playlist, which sparked a discussion with regards to the mother-daughter relationship between Fancy and her mother. Well, she basically prostituted her daughter, I said, to which my son answered, What do you expect? She named her daughter Fancy. Obviously she didn’t think she’d grow up to be a lawyer.

One of my Favourite Things in the world is having Responsible Adult Children. Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what has, so far, been the best age when it comes to children, and I have thought about this a lot. I think I suffer from recency bias because if you asked me at any time in my children’s lives what the best age is, I would say, with great enthusiasm, this one! I loved babies and toddlers, I loved preschool and elementary school, and I loved – and am still loving – the teen years; yes, even the awkward junior high years. I’ve loved all the ages and stages and I think I just enjoy my children more and more as the years go on, as I see them grow and change and become more and more the people they have always been, but more awesome.

So there is probably some recency bias here, but wow, do I love my kids being Responsible Adults. My husband and I went away to Secrets Maroma in Mexico for a week; we have, over the years, gone away together several times, but never for very long, because when the kids were younger there were just so many logistics to account for, plus the typical motherly guilt about leaving the children behind. But now we have very few constraints and my younger son wasn’t working last week, so we left him to be in charge of the house and also Rex, which is no small task, given that he has Very High Needs when it comes to exercise and general affection. He drove us to the airport at 5:00 am, and picked us up in the middle of the night (read: 9:00 pm); I came home to a perfectly clean house – albeit one with an empty refrigerator, because he cooked all his own meals for the week – a happy dog, and no laundry to do except for the myriad bikinis and sundresses crammed into my carryon.

It was a really incredible week, and a perfectly indulgent one. We met up with friends, relaxed, ate and drank and soaked up the sun and played in the Caribbean. I have zero complaints; no notes. I do have many Favourite Things, though, so without further ado:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

Life In Front Of The Curtain

The incredible vacation started out on the flight. We had splurged on premium seats and friends, I do not think I can ever go back to economy. I can’t! I won’t! Well, I will – we have a few upcoming flights that are not premium – but as god is my witness, I will never go economy again if I can help it. Flying in general feels like a tedious exercise in maximum discomfort, but flying premium? Oh la la. I felt a Mad Men-level of glamour, like it was the 1960s and everyone was dressed up for a fabulous flying experience. I mean, they served us actual meals on actual crockery and drinks in actual glasses; we got snack packs and offers of booze, refreshing hot towels, and the exclusive use of the premium bathroom. On a practical note, my circulation and varicose vein issues are pretty bad, even with my full-length, medical grade, “nude” compression stockings, and with the roomy seats and legroom I was able to stretch out quite a bit. Also, our flight was ninety minutes delayed on the tarmac before takeoff, and I think I might have died, or at the very least, been incredibly annoyed at having to sit in a cramped economy seat for an extra hour and a half on top of the over six hours of flying. As it was, I just chilled out and read, sipping from my complimentary water bottle. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down

We have been to many of the Secrets/ Dreams resorts in the past, and they are all really great. This one, however, was beyond everything I could have imagined. Every single detail was pure luxury. The rooms were beautiful, the pool areas were stunning, the service was incredible in every way; I have often thought that all-inclusive resorts are a bit like a fancy summer camp for adults, because it’s so easy to meet people and there are fun activities people can partake in, pretty much every hour of the day. My preferred activities were reading by the pool, cooling off in the pool, and swimming in the gorgeous turquoise Caribbean Sea. I did, however, partake in Spanish lessons one morning.

Hablo Espanol

I have been learning Spanish via Duolingo for a while; 702 days, to be exact. My son got me started on it – he’s learning Japanese – and every week we go on our Friends Quest together to maintain our positions in the Diamond League. Anyway, I felt like I had learned a lot, but I don’t have any friends to speak Spanish with, face to face, with the exception of my husband’s colleague’s wife, who very patiently, and with great encouragement, spoke with me at his retirement party in September.

Therefore, I was a little nervous to attempt to converse with actual people; practicing on an app is one thing, actually speaking is another. I was worried that I would use the wrong word or phrasing, I worried I’d use the wrong verb conjugation. Then, just before we left I had a pedicure, and the esthetician, who spoke little English, had a brief conversation with me about the weather; at that moment I realized that I would never judge someone learning English for using the wrong grammar or conjugating a verb incorrectly, so it stood to reason that the same would go for me, speaking Spanish.

I was right! Also, I was amazed at how well I could carry a conversation; I could understand everything being said to me, and even when it took me a moment to formulate a response, I could still formulate the response. Now, I probably have the conversational ability of a preschooler (I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK SPANISH WITH YOU PLEASE) but it was so great to be able to practice. My Spanish lesson at the resort was fun and also enlightening; the teacher informed me that, in Mexico, one should never say estoy caliente, because that doesn’t mean I’m hot, it means I’m horny. This, I felt, was excellent information to have.

The Sharks Like It

After discovering that this invention was the highest valuation on Shark Tank, my husband bought us LARQ water bottles. The cap contains a special UV light that kills bacteria and there are two modes: regular, and “adventure.” I wanted to use fewer plastic water bottles, which are ubiquitous at these resorts, and so I was excited to give this a go. Now, there are two things to note: a) the concierges warned against drinking the tap water in the rooms, and b) there must be a big filtration system somewhere on the resort because there are a lot of fruits and vegetables, not to mention ice in drinks and jugs of water in restaurants. I did not know about a) until I had filled this bottle from the tap, and drank from it, at least four times. I didn’t get sick so I guess it works.

While I was by the pool, I asked one of the bartenders if I could have water to fill my bottle, thinking that he would just fill it from a tap behind the bar, but instead he just opened up a couple of plastic bottles and poured them in. That was a little discouraging, but then I discovered a bottle filler NEAR the bar. I’m sure it was filtered just fine, but still I used my little UV light, feeling like a well-hydrated rock star.

I got some kind of mystery marks on the bottle, which I THINK came from a travel-size black plastic tissue pack that melted in the heat, but happily, after an application of baking soda paste with a Scrub Daddy, they have since disappeared.

Here Comes The Sun(screen)

Just like (hopefully?) I will never go back to economy seats, I will (absolutely!) never go back to checking luggage. Generally it’s not too difficult for me to pack carryon only, but the one thing that is tricky is ensuring I have enough sunscreen. On our trip to Maui last year, I just purchased a lot of sunscreen on the island, but I didn’t want to do that here because omg, do you know what a bottle of sunscreen costs in a Secrets resort? FIFTY-EIGHT US DOLLARS. With the exchange rate and tax, we are looking at almost a hundred dollars for a measly bottle of Banana Boat.

But sunscreen we must have, and there are only so many travel-size bottles one can squeeze into the regulation one-litre bags, especially when one needs to take hair products, makeup, and night cream. It was serendipitous that I came across these solid Neutrogena stick sunscreens, which do not count as liquid, obviously, because they are solid. Bonus for the fishies in the sea, it’s mineral.

Some of you may remember my lament last year about mineral sunscreen and the white cast it leaves on the skin, and this one, despite being “Ultra Sheer,” is no exception. However, it works really, really well, as evidenced by the little spots of sunburn on my knees and breasts where I obviously missed with my application.

Welcome To Margaritaville, Population: Me

My husband’s birthday is in October; we went out for dinner to celebrate. Since that day, I have made dinner every single night. Every. Single. Night. So what I’m saying is that I was very excited to partake in unlimited food items that I had absolutely no hand in preparing. The food at the resort was so incredible, so vast in variety and so well-prepared and fresh, and, in comparison with other resorts, the plant-based offerings were Off The Chart. I couldn’t even begin to believe my luck. I’m used to very limited options, and so I was amazed at all the delicious vegetarian and vegan food available. At breakfast there was CHIA PUDDING. And little waffles made with almond milk. And incredible fresh fruit. And made-to-order smoothies. Lunches had me plowing through vast amounts of lentil and chickpea salads, and chips and guacamole; so much guacamole, friends. There were fresh berries and caramelized pumpkin seeds, there was every dessert you could imagine, and every dinner was more delicious than the last.

Of course there were also mango margaritas by the pool!

Probably it’s good to only have gone a week, my liver may have exploded in protest if we stayed longer. But oh! So delicious.

Outfit of the Month

I know, I know, I KNOW that we are all trying to avoid fast fashion. I really am. But also? I am not made of stone, and I found this dress at Old Navy last summer for ten dollars. That is TEN CANADIAN DOLLARS, which is essentially free for my American friends. What price my morals? I know. Anyway, I keep all my clothing for many years, to the chagrin of my husband, and so I’ll probably have this cute dress for decades. The sandals are old Skechers, but I think I need to retire them. I think these sandals are a half size too small. A few times after a big dinner and lots of wine, I had to walk barefoot back to the room as my swollen feet exploded out of their strappy cages in the heat and humidity. Probably that is not an ideal thing to do, but I’m still here, with intact feet, so I guess it worked out fine. I’m in the market for dressy new sandals, is what I’m saying.

This week of rest and relaxation was exactly what I needed after such a hectic and stressful year. I feel so rested and ready to take on anything. Up first: figuring out how to make my own caramelized pumpkin seeds, and finding new sandals. xo

Live Your Life With Arms Wide Open

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I became a little bit obsessed with Hamilton in the summer of 2020. What can I say? It’s a pretty catchy soundtrack, and I had some time on my hands. The lyrics Look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now became my mantra. Merely repeating those words in my head really helped centre and ground me over the subsequent months and years. While I was on one of my endless walks or runs, while I was in the garden or masking up to go to the grocery store, I would look at the world around me and repeat look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now.

I have always been very moved and motivated by music. Even from a child, I could be moved to tears by a lyric or a beautiful melody. I remember feeling my heart swelling while in church, as a very small child, singing How Great Thou Art. Although I don’t go to church anymore, I strongly believe in a higher power – as they say in Desiderata, …be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him (HER) to be – and I still can feel that swelling while thinking of that hymn.

Last March, I was on the Peloton when a song was played, one I hadn’t heard for a long time. That time period, March into April, was one of the most emotionally difficult of my life. I was drained, stressed, exhausted, and my heart was cracked such that I was unsure if I could ever come back, if I would ever feel like myself again. I constantly repeated to myself my longtime mantra, borrowed from Allison over a decade ago, There will be a time after this. (HI ALLISON). I knew there would be a time after, but I wasn’t sure what I would be like in that time after. I just didn’t know. Can I handle the seasons of my life? I didn’t know if I could.

The song in question was Unwritten, and the lyrics seemed to say everything to me.

I am unwritten
Can’t read my mind
I’m undefined
I’m just beginning
The pen’s in my hand
Ending unplanned

Do you know the feeling when a piece of art or music just seems to see into your soul? Do you know what it’s like to encounter the absolutely perfect thing at the perfect time? That was this song, which I had long ago forgotten about.

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it

I thought about all the times I had changed over the course of my lifetime. Ending unplanned indeed. A younger me would never even recognize the woman I am now, or even believe that it would be possible to be me, the way I am. When I was young, and dissatisfied with myself, I found the idea of change exciting and invigorating. Any kind of change, anything new was thrilling and the harbinger of great things to come: a new adventure, a new outfit, a new lipstick, a new school. Anything new was a fresh new start, a chance at a different kind of life. You might be thinking to yourself, that’s a tall order for a new lipstick, but maybe you don’t remember what it’s like to be that age, or the life-changing magic of Revlon’s Love That Red.

Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips

Somewhere along the line in my life, change ceased to be exciting and invigorating, and instead became something exhausting and to be feared or avoided.

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

But listening to this song, I realized that I needed to change my thinking in order to deal with all the other changes in my life. My perspective was off. I was holding on so tightly to my idea of myself and my life that I couldn’t see the beauty of transformation. I couldn’t see the possibilities in front of me, I could only see losses. I couldn’t move past what was cracking my heart.

I break tradition
Sometimes my tries are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes
But I can’t live that way

Some people choose a word or a phrase in January that will set the tone for the year to come, but I don’t do that. I tend instead to grasp onto phrases or concepts whenever they come into my life, such as Friluftsliv, Embrace the Season, and Hygge, and then I keep them with me forever. Back in March 2023, look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now started to transform into live your life with arms wide open. What better way to live your life than with arms wide open; open to new experiences, new people, new ways to live. This became my theme for my year of change and continues to be my theme for my life now.

In my recent Ask Me Anything, Suzanne and Elisabeth both asked about Teenage Nicole (HI SUZANNE, HI ELISABETH) and what she was like. It’s hard to say, exactly, because Nicole at 13 was a very different person than Nicole at 16 or 19. The only similarities between these Nicoles would be that they all strived for good grades, played the piano, and loved books and music. I think the tween and young teen years are probably universally the worst in anyone’s life, particularly for girls. I was a very unhappy and emotional, and therefore difficult, young girl who spent a lot of time feeling unaccepted, unwanted, and unliked; those things were probably not true, at least not to the extent I thought they were, but that was my perception. I was highly negatively impacted by the diet and beauty industrial complex and was constantly dissatisfied by my appearance. I found a lot of solace in music, particularly the dreary and dark, and also in the line from Desiderata that hung on my grandma’s wall, the same Desiderata that hangs by my piano now: You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and stars; you have a right to be here. I remember reading that around age ten, and it meant so much to me then, sad little me; it means so much to me now.

But you can change your life, and I did. I remember the transformative feeling every summer of my teens, when I would decide what my fashion style would be for the coming school year, and with that fashion style, what would be my life. Was I working from the outside in, instead of the other way around? Yes, I was. But by the time I was sixteen, I had made many positive changes. I changed schools, I changed my clothes, I changed my friend group, I changed my after-school activities, and yes, I changed my lipstick, wearing Love That Red every day. Was it a bit much for 9:00 am math class? Probably. But a child of the universe does not back down when armed with transformative red lips.

And the point is, we can all make changes. We all have seasons in our lives that are more difficult, and I have so recently been through one of those. A lot of those changes were happening to me, but the biggest change I made was in my own mind, deciding to live my life with arms wide open, feeling the rain on my skin. Or snow.

Weekly Reading

Tom Lake. After months of having this book on hold, Santa brought me my very own copy. And I am so glad he did because I LOVED THIS BOOK. Oh god, I loved everything about this. This is a love story, and a warm cozy family story, it’s a tragedy and it’s an uplifting heartwarming story about the world. It is absolutely gorgeous. It made me want to have two sisters so we could braid our hair together, it made me wish I had worked in summer stock, it made me happy in every way. It concerns a story a mother is telling her daughters about her past – and isn’t that something? It’s something so ordinary and yet not, the life a woman has before her children are born, the life a woman has before the life she has, the adventures of youth and the coziness of middle age. I want to go back in time and experience this book newly, all over again. What a beautiful book.

The Beast Within. This is the second in the series about Disney villains, and it concerns the Beast. IS the Beast the villain? I guess so. Anyway, it’s his backstory, including a friendship with Gaston, and it’s okay. I didn’t like this that much but since I liked the Evil Queen book, I am going to continue with the series.

There is still no snow in town, and so my husband and I drove out to the mountains on Friday to try out our new cross-country skis; it was our first time on skis in 21 years, if you can believe it. Next up: learning to snowshoe! There are a few wintry days forecasted this week which will make it feel more like January. I hope you are all enjoying this start to the new year. xo

Poetry In Motion

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If I were a Mary Oliver or a Maya-type person, I would be sitting at my desk, crafting a moving poem about the beauty in the mundane everyday, about the ordinary suddenly becoming extraordinary, after a little tiny bird, a chickadee, flew right in front of my cart at Superstore in the middle of the bakery section. I gasped, I was so filled with wonder. I watched it flutter up, up, up, and perch on one of the high ceiling beams.

If I were Mary or Maya, (HI MAYA, yes I DID group you with Mary Oliver, deal with it), I would write about thinking to myself what a wonderful world, I would write about going placidly amidst the noise and haste that is Superstore ten days before Christmas, I would write about reveling in the natural world among us. I might somehow craft a poetic sentence about thinking that there were no more tiny tubes of decorator frosting in the baking aisle, but then finding them behind a box of carrot cake mix; I would talk about how they are actually kind of gross but they work great for decorating gingerbread men, which I did this past weekend with my actual grown-men children, and then I would write about traditions, my heart, and the many blessings that surround me. Somehow this poem would reach its apex with the little bird flying between the displays of Danish and cookies in their plastic clamshells, crossing my path and filling me with delight and all the warmth and wonder of the holiday season.

I would not, however, include in my poem what happened when I joined the checkout lineup, a short line with only one woman with a full cart behind a gentleman who seemed to be just finishing checking out. I would be tempted to include the detail of the man who lined up behind me with only a small basket of items, and how I, filled with the holiday spirit, insisted he go ahead of me, and then the woman in front insisted he go ahead of her. She and I were conjoined in that little joy that is spreading happiness to others by allowing them to jump the queue, and the gentleman was gracious enough to inform the cashier that he had received two Christmas gifts from these lovely ladies, who allowed him to go first.

Alas. The first gentleman, the one who had ostensibly been already checked out, had some issues. There was a problem with one of the prices on his bill, and then there was a problem with one of his items. This problem was such that customer service needed to be called, but it was ten days before Christmas, and customer service was slow to respond. I coped by talking to the woman in front of me, who informed me that the reason she had so many groceries was because she was a) hosting a dinner for thirteen that very evening, and b) hosting a dinner for 160 at her church on the weekend. While I digested that information, we talked about her pink hoodie dress, her boots, and the raspberry Bubly in her cart. She realized she forgot eggs; I told her I would hold her spot until she came back. My offer was not one of significance, because by the time she came back we were still waiting for customer service for the first gentleman; the one who we allowed to go ahead of us was still standing there awkwardly holding his basket, waiting. Probably he thought it would be faster if he just left and found another, less-problematic lineup, but likely he did not want to throw our unfortunately meaningless Christmas gifts back in our faces.

Twenty minutes later, it was the lady’s turn, and unfortunately for me, it turned out AFTER the cashier had gotten through half the items that the woman remembered she needed her items separated into two different bills, one for her own personal party and one for the church’s, and so everything needed to be voided and re-entered. At that point I had a really hard time remembering the little chickadee.

If I were a poet I would be able to craft a beautifully haunting poem about the wide variety of the human experience, but I’m me, and I can tell you, I was feeling pretty salty by the time I loaded up my car. I had to aggressively listen to a podcast on holiday decor on my way home and then equally aggressively put together my daily Advent dog-themed puzzle before I could settle myself down and regain a sliver of my holiday spirit.

Ah, life. Sometimes it’s like this:

And then sometimes it’s this:

Here we are, one week until Christmas, can we even believe it? Last week my older son wrote four finals in 47 hours, and so he came home for a few days to decompress before heading back to prepare for his last final, late this week. I used that opportunity to corral the troops into, as alluded to earlier, our annual tradition of gingerbread decorating.

There was some interesting creativity this year – not from me, never from me – and yet not a single one with anything obscene written on it. We are growing as people.

Weekly Reading

A Manual For Cleaning Women. Someone mentioned this book, and now I can’t remember who. Was it you? Anyway, I do enjoy a collection of short stories, particularly linked short stories, but I want you to know that the word for this isn’t “enjoyable.” These autobiographically-inspired stories are well written and incredibly moving, but holy moly they are gritty. This is a grim and gritty book about mining towns, alcoholism, poverty, and illness. Huge content warnings ahoy for pretty much everything but particularly infanticide (whew, that was a ROUGH story to read), graphic descriptions of the physical side of alcoholism, child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, and a really gross story about pulling out teeth. I’m not squeamish about teeth in general but this had me feeling queasy. So, yes, a talented author and excellently written, but DARK AND GRITTY. Possibly not the right thing to read in December, is what I’m saying.

But Have You Read The Book? After the last book, I desperately needed something light and fluffy and that did not require thinking. This was PERFECT. I have never been reticent about my general dislike for book-to-screen adaptations; there are only a couple that I actually enjoy. But who knew so many movies were book-to-screen adaptations! Certainly not me (Mildred Pierce, really?). Anyway, this is a fun little book put out by TCM that talks about 52 movies that were made from books. Of the 52 titles, I have read OR seen 25, and of those I have read AND seen only five (Little Women, Clueless (Emma), One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, The Godfather, and The Color Purple). If you’re a movie buff – or know one, this would make a great gift – this is a book you’ll enjoy, particularly if you love older movies. Birchy (HI BIRCHY) I’m looking at YOU.

Contemporary Canadian Women’s Short Stories. All the short stories in this collection were written by Canadian women, which, hello, checks a lot of boxes for me. This did NOT disappoint. Of course my favourites Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood are featured, both in stories that I have read independently many times, but I was excited to see stories from the two women who taught the online creative writing courses I took this fall. I felt like Buddy the Elf: I KNOW THEM, I KNOW THEM! (I don’t really but kind of?). As with any short story collection with a variety of authors, there were some stories I absolutely loved, and some I did not. A couple of stories were incredibly moving but the subject matter was so upsetting I had to take a break and do something else for a while. If you love CanLit and women’s writing and short stories, this is a marvellous collection.

I get asked a lot about books – here for it! – and I was thinking, maybe there are other questions my dear readers may have. To that end, I am doing an Ask Me Anything! If you have a question for me, please fill out this form; I thought this would be a fun thing to do post-holidays. I will answer pretty much anything, books included! Then again, you may be thinking god no, I already know too much, in which case, well, I understand.

I shall conclude with a small addendum from last Friday’s post. After writing I was slightly concerned that my memory of the alien Christmas movie was part of a fever dream of childhood, but IT WAS NOT. Dailycrossword (HI DAILYCROSSWORD) who, coincidentally, grew up in Alberta, also remembered that movie, called A Cosmic Christmas. As soon as I saw the photos I was instantly transported (cosmically?) back to it. I had misremembered part of the plot, which involved the theft of a pet goose by the town bully who – in a bullies are bullied plot point – stole it because he was hungry. Ah, pet slaughter for food. Again, so much to unpack. But the part about the human chain to pull the child out of the frozen lake and the aliens helping, discovering for themselves the true meaning of Christmas was accurate. Wishing everyone holiday spirit this week, and no falling through the ice into hypothermia-inducing water, metaphorically or otherwise. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Gnomevember Edition

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I don’t usually leave my Favourite Things until the last day of the month, but here we are! November is an underrated month, in my mind. It’s the month of Tiny Secret Festive Season and Christmas shopping, it’s preparing holiday cards and baking gingery things. It’s Mint Chocolate season, which is my favourite of all the flavours, and it’s the month to start playing holiday music with abandon. There are so many happy things, that without further ado I bring you:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Gnomevember Edition

Gnomevember

One could argue that any month in the Boyhouse is Gnomevember, really, but if every month is a specific celebration of gnomes then perhaps no month is a specific celebration of gnomes, if you know what I mean. So when Michelle (HI MICHELLE) started talking about Gnomevember, I was clearly going to be all in. One of my favourite things this month is that Michelle’s dollhouse has now been overtaken by gnomes, and it is the most charming thing I have ever seen.

A few weeks ago I was getting the mail and there was a little package in there labelled Tiny Secret Festive Season, from my dear friend Allison (HI ALLISON). She had sent me this little guy, who lights up, which is a desperately needed thing as the sunset is now at 3:59 pm. 3:59 pm!!! What will happen by Winter Solstice? I’ll be lighting this guy a lot, that’s what.

He was in a plastic bag, with a note “Help, help, I can’t breathe,” which was the most delightful little surprise. Obviously I saved him.

The very next day my sweet friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) came by for a visit, and with her came this guy:

If I wasn’t overwhelmed enough with the kindness and love of my dear friends, this arrived in the mail from the beautiful and talented Suzanne (HI SUZANNE).

And, of course, my old Christmas gnomes have set themselves up on the kitchen windowsill.

Am I actually living in a full-sized version of Michelle’s dollhouse? MAYBE! Dreams do come true, people, and my home is happily gnome-tastic.

Brace Yourselves

I had received a number of questions about my bracelets, and so I wanted to show you my Christmas one. I wear it from November 1 to January 1, and it just brings me so much joy.

The bangle itself is engraved The Best Is Yet To Come which is a really lovely sentiment. A few of the charms are also engraved: the gingerbread man says Life Is Sweet, the mistletoe says Meet Me Under The Mistletoe, and the snowflake scene says, appropriately enough, Merry Christmas. Each charm was a gift from either my husband, the boys, or my parents.

A few years ago, I had trouble with the clasp spontaneously opening up, and sometimes I’d find that a charm had slipped off it, usually, and kind of depressingly, into my dish glove. But December of 2021 I was out shopping; there was a ton of snow, I was wearing my warmest coat and gloves, I was in and out of the car with my mask on, and everything felt just uncomfortable. I don’t wear a mask anymore, but I clearly remember the awkwardness of it, especially in winter with all the clothing layers and going in and out of the minus 20 weather. Anyway, I got home from groceries and errands, and noticed that my bracelet had unclasped and my cute little snowman charm, a gift from the boys, was missing.

It was December 2021, people. I think we all remember what that time was like. Everything felt challenging and depressing, it was the second pandemic Christmas, we were heading into yet another lockdown, my kids’ schooling was weird and constantly interrupted, and my missing snowman was the last straw. I sat on the floor and sobbed. I sobbed like a small child forced to sit on Santa’s lap against her will. I sobbed like a small child forced to interact with a clown at a birthday party, and then later losing the balloon that said clown had foisted upon her to reduce the sobbing.

I retraced my steps, including those to the snow-covered London Drugs parking lot, to no avail. And you might think there is a happy, snowman-charm-related ending to this story, but you will notice that there is no snowman on the bracelet. This is not about the snowman. My favourite thing is that my younger son, aged 16, went to the Pandora store in the mall on December 23 of that year to see if he could replace it. The thought of him, with his friend who was just our houseguest two weeks ago, being at the Pandora store looking for a snowman charm for his mom brings me more happiness than even that charm could. He was unable to replace it as the snowman charm had been, as they say in Pandora-speak, retired. Over the past two years the guys have looked for a snowman multiple times, only to be told either no longer exists, or that they could buy the snowman from the movie Frozen, which, I am sorry to say, is a subpar snowman and one which I do not wish to have.

Anyway, I love this bracelet for the two months of the year that I wear it, it brings me so much joy and happiness, and I will just hold the snowman memory in my heart.

Drink And Be Merry

With the exception of 2020, we have seen my husband’s cousin and her husband (HI DARCY AND DEREK) around Christmas every year, and they share my great love for Christmas Vacation. Last year they gave me these fabulous stemless wine glasses:

Years ago, knowing also my great love for Buddy the Elf, they gave the boys each a mug with hot chocolate mix and marshmallows; I have coopted these for my morning coffee:

Play That Christmas Music, White Girl

Almost universally, I love Christmas music. I love the classical and instrumental, I love churchy hymns, I love modern pop songs, midcentury ones, and everything in between. The only song I really strongly dislike is Wonderful Christmastime, which puts me on edge like you would not believe. My son would also like to tell you, dear reader, that in the Boyhouse we also loathe songs that feature out-of-tune children, such as Two Front Teeth, but I am pretending that such songs don’t even exist.

One song that I love so much that I have an entire playlist devoted to the original and all of its covers is Last Christmas. I play it on the piano. I sing it to myself in the shower. I can never, ever get enough of it.

Other favourites include Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Santa Baby, Baby, It’s Cold Outside (I KNOW BUT I LOVE IT), and Driving Home For Christmas. I always, always cry when I hear White Wine In The Sun, so may I recommend it to anyone who would enjoy a nice cathartic holiday cry? Ditto with River.

On the more modern side, I absolutely LOVE N’Sync’s Merry Christmas Happy Holidays. Although, now that I have said “modern,” I should probably check when it was released…okay, well, it looks like it came out in 1998. Huh. I also love Underneath the Tree by Kelly Clarkson, and that was released in 2013, so I’m within a decade. THAT IS MODERN ENOUGH.

Here Baby, There Mama, Everywhere Daddy Daddy

I have an important hair update for you! This past weekend marked exactly one year since I started taking Nutrafol for hair loss, and I can tell you it has made a huge difference. My hair no longer falls out in big clumps. I am no longer cleaning handfuls of hair out of my hairbrush or unclogging the drain. I wish I could say this was a sponsored post because that shit is EXPENSIVE, but alas, I am paying for it myself. The expense is worth circumventing my eventual nervous breakdown due to balding, and so I will keep it up.

I do have one teeny tiny grievance about this Favourite Thing, and that is my roots. The first week after I colour my hair, I am in love with myself and my reflection. The second week, as my white roots come in and I have a halo around my face, I toy with the idea of just letting it go, colour-wise. I think about my many friends who have embraced the grey and who look absolutely fabulous, and I think, hey, that could be me! The third week, I begin a descent into despair, becoming increasingly unhappy with not only the colour, but also the texture of my roots. Before four weeks have passed, I have a headful of hair colour and a timer set.

The problem, as I see it, is that my perimenopausal menstrual cycle is now, and has been for a while, three and a half weeks at best, and somehow this has synced up with my hair colour cycle. My extreme dissatisfaction with my hair and general appearance perfectly correlates with the days leading up to my period, and although I would like to break this cycle, I cannot. I am trapped in a problem of my own making. I am a snake eating my own tail.

That said, as with all the privilege in my life, I feel I cannot complain. Can a person take an incredibly expensive supplement for hair growth, and then complain about the hair growth? No. That is ridiculous. So I embrace my boxed hair colour. In any case, if you are curious, Nutrafol really has worked for me, and I had a grandmother who actually wore a wig, so let me tell you, genetics are not on my side, people.

Outfit of the Month

Some families have matching pajama sets on Christmas Eve, but in the Boyhouse, we have WWE Christmas sweaters for Decorating Day.

If you haven’t been around for the past two Christmases, I will fill you in: the guys bought WWE sweaters post-Christmas 2020 for 80% off, and I resisted strongly getting one of my own, for reasons which I feel are obvious. However, as the year went on, I started to feel a little left out about it, and so my husband looked into buying me a sweater. By that time, there was only one woman’s sweater at 80% off; the rest were at regular price, and regular price was far too high for me to want to spend. The one discounted sweater was cute enough, but it was only available in a size that was six sizes larger than the one I normally wear. My choices were a comically large but inexpensive sweater, or one that fit properly but was ridiculously costly. I suppose I could have gotten a men’s sweater, but I believe in lifting up other women, even if the women in question are lifting each other up only to body slam them in the ring.

You can clearly see my Scottish heritage, in my extremely oversized sweater. Anyway, the point is that Decorating Day is a Big Deal, and so we all wear them for the festive occasion.

It’s been a really great November – STILL NO SNOW, YOU GUYS – and now it’s time to bring on December! Do you have anything you’ve loved this month? Tell me everything. xo