Category Archives: Luckiness

Being Unikitty*

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This morning I woke up feeling disheartened and stunned, but I’m taking this opportunity to practice compassion and understanding, even when I don’t understand, really. And, in the words of Eckhart Tolle: Accept, then act. Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.

We can change the world one step at a time. And with that, I will focus on what has been going on in my own world, over the past few days.

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It is Day Three – DAY THREE – of having Please Come To Boston stuck in my head, and honestly, I don’t even know what to do anymore. It is taking over my life. How long will this continue?

Other than that, I have been KILLING my to-do list lately. November is the month I like to get the majority of my Christmas jobs done – shopping, cards, etc. – so that in December I can focus one hundred percent of my festive attention on baking things and watching Christmas specials and movies. In the past few days I’ve done the following: had our family photos taken and edited, ordered Christmas cards, put together and ordered photo calendars for the boys’ grandparents, finished Christmas shopping. I know! My schedule is pretty hectic over the next few weeks and so I was extremely motivated to get it all done.

Next week is the Book Fair. Have you noticed I haven’t even mentioned the Book Fair? Well, that’s because I have passed the reins to the amazing new coordinator (HI HAYDEE) and so I’m not even a little bit stressed. I only have two Book Fairs left, so I wonder if I’ll start getting emotional when the kids ask how much the posters are, or if they can eat that delicious looking eraser. I will keep you posted.

We have been having beautiful, absolutely unseasonably warm weather, and I love it. Any day in November that it’s not snowing or freezing is a day I will enjoy. Winter is long enough here, so I love any respite we get. If the obese squirrels busily scrounging in my yard are any indication, we are in for a long, cold one. I feel like Pa Ingalls, looking at an extra-thick muskrat den and then deciding to lay in an extra supply of hay. Barkley seems to think, even more than usual, that these pudgy little beacons of productivity are there as his personal buffet, and I have to be very vigilant with him. No one wants to clean up a squirrel corpse – or at least, I THINK no one does – and I especially do not want to deal with the digestive fallout associated with squirrel eating.

It is a glamourous life I lead.

Speaking of glamour, I have had so much spam and telemarketing phone calls lately. Several times a week my inbox is subject to really gross sounding pornographic emails, and I get at least one porny/ do-I-want-a-job-as-a-secret-shopper text a day. It’s probably a sign of our poor economic times that someone is always calling or knocking on my door. I never answer the door, by the way, unless I can clearly see it’s one of my neighbours. There is no upside to answering the door; at the very least someone is going to use pressure tactics to ask for money, and at the worst, I could get murdered.

But the phone calls I have been getting lately! I had one fellow phone me TWICE IN THE SAME DAY. I don’t know if he was just going through the phone book, or what, but he asked for both Mrs. My Last Name and Mrs. My Husband’s Last Name, which are obviously not the same last name. I always know it’s a telemarketer when I get Mrs. My Husband’s Last Name, but I will admit that I always, always, always hand the phone over to my husband when they ask for Mr. My Last Name. Yes, you MAY speak to Mr. My Last Name! I will say giddily, while my husband rolls his eyes at me and answers the phone with his “what the fuck do you want” tone.

Anyway, this guy who phoned me twice was representing a painting company, and he wanted to know if I wanted my house painted. Inside or out, he was happy to do either. Now, as far as cold-calling potential customers goes, this one strikes me as bizarre. Who makes a decision about house painting over the phone? Who doesn’t look for a recommendation from a friend, or at least on Facebook, for something like that? Besides which, would you really say yes to someone who called you to ask if he could paint your house? Does it not seem extremely imprudent to give out your address to someone who has called you on your landline because he allegedly has a painting company? Recipe for disaster/ being murdered/ getting robbed if there ever was one.

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*Title inspired by my friend Maya (HI MAYA), the original Unikitty.

Keep on keeping on, my friends. xoxo

Life is a destination. No. Wait.

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I feel like I’m in some weird time warp and also, like I’m Laura Ingalls at the beginning of the Long Winter, with a sense of foreboding about the months to come. There’s snow on the ground and it’s cold, cold, cold. I dug out my thick woolly legwarmers and enormous warm mittens today, to take Barkley for a walk. It snowed all weekend, much to my dismay.

Friday my husband loaded up the van and took the boys and dog to my in-laws’ for Thanksgiving, eight hours away. It snowed or sleeted most of the way, but was otherwise uneventful. I had teacher training until late Saturday afternoon, so the plan was for me to fly out Saturday night, and drive back home all together on Monday.

Side note to say that Friday was the first time in years – I don’t even know how long – that I was all by myself in the house, without even the dog to keep me company. It was bizarre, not having anyone else’s schedule or needs to think of. Mind you, the days prior to that were a blur of preparing and packing and getting everyone else ready, but come Friday, I realized it was just me. I didn’t have to let the dog out, I didn’t have to feed anyone except myself. All I had to do was make it to class on time, and that’s it. It was a little surreal.

Another side note: since my husband took the van, I was driving his three-quarter-ton truck. Technically I could have taken his car, but the thought of it possibly getting dinged in the parking lot of the yoga college was too much to bear. I don’t think I could stand that kind of pressure. Plus, the snow had started and the plain fact of the matter was that if I – god forbid – was to get in an accident, being in the giant truck would be much preferable than being in a little sports car, on so many different levels. One of those levels would be that my husband would be much less upset if the truck was in an accident, than his girlfriend/ car. The other was that I felt eminently safer in the truck. You can’t hurt me, motherfuckers, you can’t even try, I thought to myself from my much-higher-than-normal vantage point. This is what driving a three-quarter-ton truck will do to you. I’m not excusing my behaviour, I am just stating a fact. You try it, and tell me it’s no different from driving a minivan. You cannot. I felt like one of those guys on one of those gold mining shows, but with much lower stakes. And less gold.

I will admit I felt a little strange when I drove it to the homeopathic dispensary. I mean, it has an elk decal in the back window.

truck

I am pretty spoiled, on account of my nice van with its heated seats and its sharp turning radius and its keyless entry. Despite my newfound extreme driving confidence, I found myself feeling slighted at having to actually use a key to turn on the engine, like a barbarian. And the radio stations were not tuned to my favourite Hits of the 70s and 80s. However, those inconveniences paled in comparison to my new Don’t Mess With Nicole I Am Woman Hear Me Honk The Horn of This Big Truck kind of way.

I also felt slightly ridiculous in that I left a lot of extra time, in anticipation of the roads and traffic being awful with the snow, and it turned out there were no delays at all. I ended up at class a full fifty-five minutes early, so I sat in the cab of The Truck, pressing “Like” on all the Instagram posts that had cute animals and photos of food in them.

Saturday was even gloomier than Friday; the snow kept falling intermittently and, alarmingly, a fog started to creep in. It is hardly ever foggy here, being landlocked in the middle of the Prairies, but the fog indeed rolled in. The last time it was foggy I was also due to fly out of town, if you recall. All through class on Saturday I kept glancing out the window, where it was evident the fog was getting thicker and thicker. I kept checking my flight status app and all was on time, no delays. O-kay. I rushed home after class, caught a cab to the airport, sailed through security, checked again. Flight – on time. I sighed with relief and sat at the bar to order a glass of wine. No sooner had my wine appeared than my husband called, to tell me my flight had been cancelled.

Indeed, one check of my app and I saw the truth, updated one minute prior: CANCELLED.

Cancelled, and me with a full glass of wine.

Thirty minutes and 2000 steps later, I found I had been bumped to another flight, that was going through Edmonton. Edmonton! My one hour flight was now going to take much longer, but I would still get there. I sat down at the bar – again – and ordered a glass of wine – again – only to find out, ten minutes later that the flight to Edmonton was delayed and I now had a mere ten minutes to make the connection.

At least this time I had made a dent in my wine.

I trundled back to the gate, where I was chirpily informed that the plane hadn’t even arrived yet, and if it did arrive, I would hopefully still make my connection. “Hopefully” was not the term I wanted to hear, particularly since I had sent all my luggage in the car with the guys, and all I had with me was my makeup bag, a toothbrush, a hair brush, and my blow dryer. I was extremely unequipped to be stranded in Edmonton.

Too long, didn’t read; I ended up on the 8:05 am flight Sunday morning, which meant I had to grumpily get up at five after an anxious, unrestful sleep. The good news is that everyone was happy to see me, and we had a nice visit with a lot of people. I missed seeing my friend Sam (HI SAM) and I could have done without paying for three cab fares in less than twelve hours, but it’s all about the destination, not the journey, right? No? Oh.

My Face Says I’m Disappointed, But My Heart Says I’m Happy

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Well, hello there! So much has happened in the last two weeks; my husband took time off work and we Vacationed Like Nobody’s Business. First of all, the boys finished off their week of karate camp with a mini-tournament, and all I can say is that I really get Aly Raisman’s parents. I really do. I cannot imagine the nervous breakdown I would have in the highly unlikely event that my children were Olympic medal contenders, because I find myself sweating, with heart palpitations, just watching the karate kids sparring in a fun-tournament-that-has-no-real-consequences. Johnny, you’re a cream puff. It’s not just for my kids, either; I find myself all tied up in knots watching ANY of the students.

Happily, the mini-tournament went well, and the boys did not have to compete against each other too much, which was a huge relief. They are in the same belt and age group and so this has happened in the past; it is just as much fun as you might imagine.

Just as a quick side note: the only summer Olympic event I actually am interested in watching, albeit briefly, and never very closely, is women’s gymnastics, and unfortunately this is the only summer Olympic event my husband is NOT interested in watching. This means there is a lot of Ooh, look at that! kind of commentary, followed by total disinterested silence from the other spouse. Occasionally there will be a polite Ah! in response, but those Ah!’s are few and far between.

After karate camp, my husband took the boys Camping For Real, which meant that I stayed home and made avocado fries and kale chips and watched back-to-back episodes of NYPD Blue before falling asleep at 8:45. I also tried to soothe Barkley, who had apparently fallen into a deep depression after hearing the truck being packed up and being left behind. Poor puppy. Who can blame him? NYPD Blue isn’t everyone’s taste. He sat outside in the backyard, staring at the garage for hours, until I tempted him in with treats, only to go back outside again. It was like a less-sad version of that movie where the dog waits for his deceased owner at the train station until death finally releases him from this heart-breaking hopefulness.

God, now I’m depressed.

Vacation! Back to vacation. We spent a few days at my parents’ place, and the weather cooperated enough for us to not only go boating, but for the boys to go tubing and swimming as well. My dad snapped this photo of me, and it cracks me up.

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I look like I am Deeply Disapproving of all this Fun In The Water, but really, this is just what my face looks like in repose. I was fully approving of the aquatic good times, I swear.

We then spent eight days at my in-laws’ place, where we had not one but two lovely dinners with friends, I enjoyed a Girly Afternoon With The Girls complete with mani-pedis and lunch, the boys went swimming several times, my husband and I took not-sad-anymore Barkley for long walks along the creek, and we went bowling twice.

BOWLING

Notice anything about this photo, other than my saucy bowling shoes? My shirt – which I chose while shopping with my mother, who thinks I wear Too Much Black – is not only colourful, it is long sleeved. It seems the below-average temperatures like to follow me wherever I go this summer. The chilliness didn’t really kill my summer buzz, but I would like more opportunities to wear my cute summer clothes before fall sets in.

To be honest, it kind of feels like fall has already set in; soon we’ll be doing things like wearing socks and sweaters and non-flimsy scarves. August is a bit of a funny month for me; for example, I spent this morning at the orthodontist, and next week the boys have appointments with both doctor and dentist. I need to make optometrist appointments, and I have to buy a LOT of clothes. I had the boys try on every clothing item they have, only to discover that Mark has zero pants that fit. Jake now has three pair of Mark’s old pants – the only ones that weren’t worn completely out – and nothing else. There’s only three weeks left of summer vacation!

Well, I need to cram some fun times into these final three weeks, as well as all the important health-and-clothing related business. Maybe I’ll take the kids to the amusement park, so I can look Deeply Disapproving there.

The Mayday is blooming IN APRIL

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It’s been quite the eventful week! Today is, somewhat inexplicably, a PD day and so the boys and I decided a zoo trip was in order. We hadn’t been since last summer and, as usual, it was a great time. The boys always force me to walk through the aviary, which is terrifying. This guy gave me a look that I took to heart, and we left shortly after snapping this photo:

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Eeek! It was a bit chilly today, as opposed to the massively above-normal temperatures we have been experiencing. It has been unbelievably gorgeous here, and I can’t help but wonder, is this what people in normal climates feel like in the spring? I mean, it is incredible. This is the first bloom on my Mayday tree – taken on Tuesday – and now the entire tree is in full bloom. It’s beautiful.

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My Mayday blooming in April? It’s like a gift from the universe because yesterday was my birthday. I spent the bulk of the afternoon working in my rose garden…IN APRIL. This is a climate in which it’s not unusual to see May come and go without the lilacs blooming, and tulips are more often than not beaten down by five inches of snow. Not to say this cannot happen still, but just look at my Nanking cherry:

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The boys have been eating freezies in the backyard; lately they have been going for little runs after supper and this week they have been cooling off afterwards in the sprinkler. IN APRIL.

Well, today was more like an average April day; cloudy and cool, with a sharp wind. We were dressed warmly and it was still cold. At the zoo, it seemed like people had simply assumed that the past was the best indicator of the future, in terms of weather. There were purple-limbed people wandering around in shorts and tank tops, and it was seven degrees. I saw one little girl with what looked like a fleece baby blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and I’m sure people were flocking to the African exhibits just to warm up.

Anyway, my birthday was just lovely. Thanks to everyone for your kind wishes. I love birthdays – everyone’s, not just mine – so I like to extend the celebration as far out as possible. Yesterday was mostly just a regular day, with the addition of our newly-hectic Thursday night schedule: getting the boys to karate and then driving through rush-hour traffic to yoga teacher training. Being able to garden felt like a special birthday treat, though.

A few weeks ago we were at my parents’ house and my mother baked me my favourite strawberry cake. I was sure to leave one candle burning, just so my husband wouldn’t feel slighted.

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(photo credit: my dad)

The boys, including my husband, had given me some lovely cards and also some new yoga clothes, which I am always happy to receive. And this weekend we are going to see The Jungle Book, which I’ve wanted to see since seeing the trailer at The Force Awakens. All in all, very lovely.

I know many people do not enjoy birthdays, viewing them more as a step towards the grave than something to celebrate. I, obviously, do not share this view. My thoughts on birthdays are Hey, I’m still here! It’s a great excuse to eat cake and drink wine (which I will be doing very very soon). So cheers to all of you and thank you, as always, for your readership and support. xoxo

I’ve got the power!

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I know what you’ve all been wondering: How did Nicole survive the Great Power Outage of 2016? Did she have to resort to grinding her own seed wheat in a handheld coffee grinder? Did she have to feed hand-twisted hay sticks into her fireplace just to keep warm? Did she play a song on her fiddle to keep her spirits up?

Answer: none of the above. Her coffee grinder is electric, her fireplace is gas and the pilot light has been unlit since 2005, and she has no fiddle, nor does she know how to play one.

I will tell you this, while switching back into the first person, that a power outage is not all that bad when you know it’s coming. First thing in the morning, I cranked the heat up from its usual 19 degrees to 23 so that by the time I left to take the kids to school, I was sweating. By the time the power went back on the temperature had only dipped to 18, so I call that a win. I spent most of the day running errands, walking the dog, and taking Mark to the orthodontist, so I wasn’t stuck in my dark and cooling-down house all day. My friend Janet (HI JANET) had tipped me off that Jugo Juice makes kale smoothies so I didn’t even have to go without.

The kids and I had lunch at the food court, where I had my smoothie and they enjoyed chicken fingers and fries, and I spent some time surreptitiously eavesdropping on the many teenage conversations around me. I forgot that the mall is essentially a teen hangout, especially at lunch and especially at a mall that is across the street from a high school and two junior highs. MY WORD THE DRAMA. Dylannnnn did you get me a doughnut? Fuck you, Dylannnnn kiss my asssssss I wanted a doughnuttttt. No, I think she still likes you, she’s just mad that you were talking to Jaden. Ugghhhhhh he’s so GROSS don’t talk with your MOUTH FULL GODDDDDD.

The power went back on half an hour before it was scheduled to, which was nice, since the backup battery of the carbon monoxide detector had died and the beeping was making me feel like I was going to lose my mind. I couldn’t figure out how to stop it, so basically every time it went off Barkley and I looked at each other, distressed. But the power was restored before I had completely descended into insanity, so all’s well that ends well.

I was a little worried that all was not well, though; as I was preparing to go to the School Council/ Parent Association meeting – that I was NOT chairing, thank you god – Jake called from downstairs saying that the computer wouldn’t turn on. And it was true; the power bar was plugged in, everything else was working, but the desk top – on which ALL my work, photos, writing, etc., was saved – was not turning on. Nothing, no sound, no fan, nothing.

Cue panic attack.

I called a computer repair company and told the technician my story. He thought it could be a damaged power supply – despite my surge protector – or possibly a fried motherboard. MOTHERFUCKER. I made an appointment with him and then did some deep breathing to calm down. Less than one hour later, the computer magically turned on. I felt like Cousin Eddie: “It’s the damnedest thing. She falls in a well, eyes go cross. A mule kicks her, they go back to normal. I don’t know.” I had to cancel the appointment, citing the “suddenly working and everything’s fine” thing, feeling slightly like I’m a drama queen who just made up a computer issue for fun.

I’m no Ma Ingalls, I’ll tell you that much. But if Ma Ingalls had electricity and access to small appliances, she’d probably love this:

icecream

Ice cream!

It all started when we were at a Ukrainian Christmas celebration, and our hostess had made her own ice cream. She pointed out that most “ice cream” is now called “frozen dessert,” and one thing led to another and suddenly my husband ordered me this beauty. I’m especially excited since non-dairy ice cream is ridiculously expensive, and now I can make my own! Today I’m making a classic vanilla for the boys, as a test run. The only issue here is that my family is ridiculously spoiled. I know, I know, pot and kettle, yada yada yada. BUT THEY ARE. Since I make so many things from scratch they won’t even eat certain store bought items. Case in point: a few weeks ago I bought some hummus.

Husband: What is this hummus?

Me: I bought it at Costco.

Husband: It’s terrible!

Me: It’s not bad. I’m eating it.

Husband: Ugh, I can’t eat this stuff. It’s terrible. It’s SWEET or something.

Mark, grabbing a pita, completely oblivious to the conversation: Mom, where’s the hummus?

Me: It’s right there.

Mark: Ew. I don’t want that. Where’s YOUR hummus?

They proceeded to eat their pitas completely dry, rather than eat the non-homemade-hummus.

Do you see where I’m going with this? It’s a slippery slope, but fortunately making one’s own ice cream is a pretty fun slippery slope to be on.

Detoxing my life

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The other day I saw an infographic about “daily steps to keep your house clean and organized” which, I am sorry to admit, is a genuine interest of mine. I LOVE organizational and cleaning tips to the point that I’ve often thought I could start a whole blog about it, or at least a series of posts, a la the Fly Lady. But then, I remember that upon cleaning out my bathroom and hall cupboards, I found sanitary napkins dating from 2005 and cold medication that expired in 2010, so that would make me feel like Matt Foley, motivational speaker. Also, I do not ever wear shoes in the house; the Fly Lady would be ashamed of me.

The biggest deterrent, however, to making my OWN infographic of household tips or writing a series of posts, would be the Professional Internet Commenters. Circling back to this infographic I saw, I noticed that there were several hundred comments on it. Several hundred, on an infographic that had daily, weekly, monthly, and annual chores. People, I did something that I never do, something that I know not to do, something that never brings about joy or happiness: I read the comments.

You wouldn’t think that an infographic that has such things as “make your bed” or “wash the dishes” as daily chores would be all that controversial, would you? Well, what if I told you it was A MAN that created the infographic? Would that enrage you? At least half the comments were with regards to the obviously single, childless, entitled man who dared write an infographic on household tips. “What about taking the kids to activities? What about making lunches? This guy has no idea what real life is like! Must be nice!”

Oh, people of the internet. You do realize that no one is forcing you to a) read things, or b) implement the things you’ve read into your own life, right? If the mere suggestion that washing dishes daily is better than letting them all pile up all over your counters, until your cupboards are empty and then trying to deal with a mountain of disgusting, crusty pots and pans and plates enrages you, then maybe don’t read anything about household tips. If “making your bed” makes you outraged, then you really don’t have to do it. And the kicker? The kicker is that you DON’T HAVE TO COMMENT ON IT, EVEN IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT OR DISAGREE WITH IT.

It’s that time of year when everyone is making resolutions and choosing words to keep in mind for the coming year, and I love all that. I love that we like to improve ourselves and our quality of life. I don’t really have resolutions, other than to maintain what resolutions I made five months ago – apparently August is more of a New Year’s for me. Some of those resolutions are dull and I won’t bore you with the details, but the one I want to talk about is detoxing.

I don’t mean that I’m going to drink only juice for three weeks or take enough laxatives to cleanse my colon or anything. What I’ve been doing in the past little while is detoxing my life.

You know when someone goes on Facebook and announces that they are going through their friends list and deleting everyone they aren’t in touch with and everyone on their friend list rolls their eyes and presses “hide?” Or, less passive aggressively, sends messages to everyone on their friends list, saying since you don’t like any of my photos feel free to “un-friend” me? The latter actually happened to me, which was startling, since all the photos on that person’s feed were of cars that she had keyed for parking crookedly and taking up two parking stalls. While bad parking is annoying to everyone, I am not a fan of random property damage, and so it was true, I didn’t “like” those photos.

In any case, I noticed that there were a number of people on my Facebook who were constantly bringing me down, and no matter how much I “hid” their comments or how quickly I scrolled past their ignorant updates, it would still infect my spirits, a little. Now, I would never chirpily announce that I was “cleaning out my friends list!” because that behaviour is lame, but I did actually think long and hard about people I wanted in my life. Why did I have them on my friends list if we had what might be termed as irreconcilable differences? Did they bring anything to my life? No? Then why were they there?

And, dear reader, I did it. I went through and I took out the people who said things like “anyone who isn’t atheist is a sheep and a moron” and who insulted people who live in my province and who were just in a constant state of outrage. Percentage wise, it wasn’t many – most people I know are lovely – but that small percentage was bringing me down, like a virus.

Then I started thinking about what causes me angst and grief in my day-to-day life, and I swore that I would no longer be affected by someone else’s negativity. If someone was constantly bringing toxicity into my life, I thought long and hard about how much contact I wanted to have with that person. I asked myself two questions: do I want them in my life, and do I have a choice whether or not they are in my life? I think I often forget that I have the power of choice; I can choose not to enter into unkind gossip and I can choose not to be around someone who is constantly negative. I can choose not to be with people who openly dislike me and have no qualms about saying so and I can choose not to listen to ignorant and uninformed opinions.

I can choose to be with people who uplift me, or people who support me and who I support. I can choose to surround myself with joy and laughter and interesting conversations.

So, if I have a resolution this year, it’s to continue to exercise that choice. Well, that and to finally start using eye cream. I’m starting to look like an old crone.

Do you have any resolutions or words for 2016? Do tell. xoxo

I see your Elf on a Shelf, and I raise you a group of snowmen on the bathroom counter

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After a fairly warm fall/ early winter, the world is suddenly covered with a thick blanket of snow and very, very cold. It looks very pretty and of course the children are delighted with the festivity of fluffy snow a week before Christmas, but on Wednesday I had an early-morning spot on the news and I woke up to 10 cm of snow and traffic in a snarly mess. This happened the last time I was on the news, which filled me with slight foreboding. Fortunately, I got there safely and the spot went off without a hitch. However, I have been incorporating all the appetizers I made for the show into dinners since then, so as not to waste them. It’s filling my entire family with puzzlement. You know that you’re a rigid person when your husband is completely SHOCKED to discover tortilla wraps for dinner on a Wednesday, and tacos on a Thursday. “What next?” he asked last night as he warily filled a taco shell, “Are we not having pitas for dinner tomorrow?” He almost fell over when I told him no, we weren’t.

Today is the last day of school, and all pretence of academia is long gone. Speaking of which, I forgot to mention the added-insult-to-injury of Jake’s week-long field trip: each child was required to pay an extra $50 for the honour. $50 so that the kids could be bored out of their minds and learn nothing, with the only highlight being the indoor garden. OUTRAGE.

Anyway, it’s pajama day at school, and after many years of shunning pajama day, my children trudged through the snow with their flannel bottoms tucked into their boots. I’m not the biggest fan of it myself – but at least the kids will be comfortable as they watch movies and eat party treats. Mark is watching the Polar Express with his Grade 1/2 buddy class, which he says is lame, but okay for the buddies I GUESS.

It’s a tradition of mine to send festively-shaped sugar cookies to class for every special occasion: birthdays, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, and Christmas. I’ve been doing it so long that now the boys’ longtime classmates ask if I’m going to send cookies. Frankly, it makes me feel a bit like a rock star when I see them in the halls and they tell me that my cookies are superior to every other cookie they’ve ever had. I mean, you cannot hear that kind of compliment without it going to your head a little bit.

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Between appetizers, cookies, and making peppermint bark and truffles for teacher gifts, it’s been a busy week in the kitchen. Main teachers also get gift cards, but I like to send chocolates to the office staff and the teachers who supervise the crossing guards. My kids are both crossing guards and the supervisory role is a stressful one, given the asshole way people drive through the crosswalks.

So the boys went loaded down with cookies, teacher gifts, and snowpants, since they are going to be sledding with friends after early dismissal this afternoon. And just to make my life even more awesome, they are at the age that I don’t have to stand in the snow and wait for them. I’m dropping off the sleds and then going back to my cozy house; they will sled and then WALK HOME, IT IS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. I mention this to give hope to all you mamas out there who are working up a sweat wrangling your children into winter gear, freezing to death watching them narrowly miss the brick walls of the school, and then managing both the tears when faceplants in the snow occur and sudden meltdowns because snow is in the mittens. One day soon your children will walk home when they are done, carrying their own sleds, with no supervision. IT IS GLORIOUS.

Another glorious thing: we got a Roomba. Someone was mentioning the other day how hard it is to really “wow” teens and tweens at Christmas. I mean, at a certain age they are just not going to be as excited getting a video game/ books/ shirts/ new gloves (all things my own children are receiving this year) as they were when a Thomas the Tank Engine table magically appeared in the basement. That’s part of the growing-up process UNLESS you decide to do something incredible like BUY A ROOMBA. We ran it in our carpeted basement this morning and two things occurred to me: a) our vacuum is clearly too old to be effective anymore because the filter needed cleaning twice, grosssssss, and b) watching a Roomba maneuver around furniture and exercise equipment was more fun than anyone could have imagined. We were all cheering the Roomba, giving it positive reinforcement (GREAT JOB, ROOMBA!), and projecting human feelings onto it (YOU’RE SO SMART, ROOMBA, WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU!). No need for a late-in-life baby, we are all embracing the Roomba like the Christmas miracle that he is. Who knew we had an empty space in our hearts, filled only by a robotic vacuum cleaner?

Also filling empty spaces in our hearts is our tiny snowman collection. When I had a tiny light-less tree in my first apartment, I bought a set of tiny snowmen to decorate it. They were cheap, from Wal-mart, but very cute. Almost twenty years later, all their hooks have fallen off, but I put a handful of them on the bathroom counter to make showering and other bathroom activities super-festive.

Santa

One morning I finished my breakfast to see that my husband had rearranged all the snowmen, so that instead of the dull little groups of two or three I had them in the bathroom was transformed into a snowman hide-and-seek game.

hide and seek hiding snowman

And, like Donkey Kong, it was on. We have all been switching the snowmen to different vignettes and then seeing if anyone else can guess what they are doing. I admit, my ideas run towards the dull – a yoga class, a conga line, everyone in a circle singing Christmas carols – but the testosterone in the house has led to slightly non-Christmassy themes.

Younglings

Such as, Anakin brutally slaying the younglings so that his power, Herod-like, would be unchallenged.

The other day Jake said “I call the snowmen today!” and busily rearranged them. It was a bit later when I went in to see the initially startling result:

lightsaber

Before you express concerns that I have a Rosemary’s Baby kind of situation around here, it is a LIGHT SABER. Just a light saber. We are going to see The Force Awakens tomorrow, and excitement is through the roof and coming through extensively in our snowman-vignette game. Light saber. Not work of the devil.