Category Archives: Luckiness

Sex Ed, Who-Gives-A-Fuck-About-Volunteering, and The Simpsons

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Today I realized that as of tomorrow, there are only three more weeks left of school! June is a bit of an odd month, isn’t it? On the one hand, I’m desperately ready for the summer to begin – lazy days, no more running back and forth to the school six times a day, no more volunteering (more on that later). I’m ready for sunshine, fun, and unscheduled days. But on the other hand, I’m really trying not to wish my life away since time flies quickly enough without me wishing for these beautiful, sunny, gardening-full days to be over. Also, I’m a little puzzled as to how I’m going to get all my work-at-home work done when the kids are home. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure, but at the moment I’m wondering how I’ll strike the right balance between “meeting deadlines in a reasonable manner” and “being a fun mom and creating summer memories that the children will cherish throughout their lives”. We shall see.

Speaking of fleeting time, Mark brought home the permission slip for me to sign for the study of Human Sexuality. Eeeee, sex ed! I instantly texted my husband the news, who was confused and thought that I had to sign the permission form for him to take it next year, in Grade Five. NOT SO. I know that in fourth grade they really mostly talk about body changes, puberty, and hygiene – which, to be honest, a lot of the kids could use, I say from my experience as Book Fair Lady. Deodorant and toothpaste, two very vital items in the Division Two world. But still, sex ed. It seems so grown up. “It might feel awkward and embarrassing, but you can always ask questions!” I said cheerfully, from the minivan driver’s seat. “Um, I think maybe we should ask DAD those questions,” Mark replied. YES. GOOD IDEA. ASK YOUR DAD.

Volunteering, though. I have what is known as “volunteer fatigue” which means that I have lost all enthusiasm I ever had for doing things for the school. I remember when Mark started kindergarten, and I was so thrilled to be involved in everything, with fresh ideas and plans. Now I’m just like fuck it all, who cares about school supplies anyway. I was asked to speak at the kindergarten orientation tomorrow night, which I’ve done in years past. Sure! No problem. I can come in and give a five minute speech about how volunteers are the backbone of the school community and education is a partnership between home and school, and please volunteer for the upcoming casino fundraiser, it’s awesome and we can buy SmartBoards. I can keep the cynicism at bay and put on my super fun enthusiastic face and all the cool kids are volunteering! But then I got an email asking me to come in at six, set up a table with handouts, and then be available for informal questions until 7:30. THE BEES ARE DOING WHAT NOW. I stewed about this for a bit, and wondered how on earth I could pull off such a thing, given that tomorrow the boys have karate and karate nights are a mad rush of everything. I grumped around feeling taken advantage of, until I realized that hey, this is a volunteer gig. I can change this. BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE, PEOPLE. I emailed the AP and explained that I could do as she suggested, but maybe it would be more effective to give a brief speech about the importance of volunteering and the casino fundraiser, and then I could leave a signup form, and that would be my strong preference. She agreed to it all, and I was reminded that, yet again, the squeaky, but honey-sweet wheel gets all the grease and bees. Or something.

Sugar

In America, first you get the sugar, then you get the power, then you get the women.

On Monday I was at a pie party, to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Rolling Spoon. If you’re not reading it, you should: it’s a fun mix of food and music. Also, they interviewed BLUE RODEO. Just like that time I met Jim Cuddy! Remember that? No?

Copy (1) of Jim Cuddy

Gratuitous photo of me with Jim Cuddy.

But a pie party! Even though I don’t actually like pie, it was a blast. It turns out that I am in the vast minority, here, and that pie is very popular. Look at all these pies!

pie

Can you tell which is my offering? It’s the vegan one. Made with 100% real vegans.

I have to say, I’m pretty disappointed no one put a slice on the floor and yelled “FLOOR PIE!”.

floorpie

Maybe next time.

39 Clues…about being 39

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Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 39. It’s the start of my last year in my thirties! Some people feel gloomy on their birthdays, but not me. I love birthdays, and also, I don’t want to be dead, which is the alternative to aging. Bring on the age, I say! One step closer to shuffleboard, slacks, plastic jewelry, and sexually harassing young male orderlies in the Home. I also think that birthdays are the day to party, caramba, fiesta, forever, and to also wear tiaras.

tiara

Thanks to my friend Rebecca and her girls for bringing it, tiara-style.

 

With the vantage point of being 39 and one day, I give you my list of 39 random thoughts about being 39.

1) I like the way “39” sounds. Not quite middle-aged, but old enough to OWN these forehead wrinkles.

2) I feel way more healthy and attractive than I did twenty years ago.

3) I’m confident enough to rock a bikini, which I didn’t do twenty years ago.

4) Still, I would like the girls to be more like they were twenty years ago, if I’m being honest. Gravity and age has been hard on my poor deflated rack.

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Ah, youth. Remember drinking before going to the bar? It was all about economics.

 

5) This would be why I’m a Victoria Secret devotee. I need all the engineering I can get.

6) I think I have better style now than I did twenty years ago, but that might be due to the fact that twenty years ago I was wearing high waisted jeans and bodysuits.

Pirate

And puffy pirate shirts.

7) Letting my hair go more than six weeks between colours is disastrous, not only for the inch long grey roots, but because the rest of my hair resembles orange straw.

8) Every morning I check my chin for long black hairs.

9) Despite checking every morning, every once in a while I will notice a one-inch black hair under my chin that wasn’t there the day before.

10) Although the whole world drools over Don Draper, the man I find most attractive on Mad Men is Henry Francis. And also, disturbingly, Jim Cutler.

11) In a similar vein, I find Mike the most attractive man on Breaking Bad.

12) I feel disappointed in a motherly sort of way when I think of Jesse. I do not find him attractive in the least.

13) I recently referred to Chris Evans as a “very nice looking young man”.

14) It’s been 25 years since my first viewing of Say Anything, and I still kind of identify with Diane Court. I AM a show pony, after all.

15) While at the salon on Friday, getting my grey roots and orange straw hair coloured, I read People magazine and realized – not for the first time – that I don’t know any of today’s hot new celebrities. Celebrities featured in People that I did recognize: George Clooney, Jennifer Aniston, and Boo the Pomeranian.

16) I am older than Sally Albright, Mrs. Robinson, and Princess Diana when she died.

17) Of all fictional movie characters, I most identify with Sally Albright, even if I have a few years on her. This is especially true of the way I order food in restaurants. “On the side” is a very big thing for me.

18) My husband took the winter tires off my minivan and put on the fanciest rims you have ever seen on a minivan. My ride has been pimped, as they say. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, minivan style.

19) Because of these hot new rims, I feel like I’m going to be the bitchin-est mom at pickup. I already kind of look like this guy when I’ve got the beats going, but with a minivan.

20) Damn. It feels good to be a gangster.

21) My husband says I am the easiest person to buy gifts for, because I’m hysterically excited at just the thought of gifts.

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Presents presents presents!

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PRESENTS!

 

22) This was exemplified by my squealing excitement at the receipt of a dish towel from my children. But then, it was this dish towel, so that’s pretty amazing.

 

pi

Easy as Pi! There’s even a graphic of a double cone. I’m sure there are some reading this who knew me in high school, and so “Conics Goddess” may have some meaning for those readers.

 

23) Last year I received a dehydrator and this year I received a juicer, and I am absolutely thrilled to receive kitchen appliances as gifts.

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But then, I guess I’ve always been excited about receiving kitchen appliances.

24) I am old enough to see not only fashions from my childhood back in style, but also from my teen years. I’m too old to wear them though, so I guess I will leave the bubble skirts and gladiator sandals to the young people.

25) I use terms like “young people”.

26) When I read magazines that have those “Beauty At Any Age” articles, I flip to “In Your 40’s” because the advice for “In Your 30’s” feels a bit irrelevant. I feel like my fertile years are greatly in the past (knock wood).

27) I cannot blame my children anymore if I’m tired.

28) I cannot watch movies that are sad, scary, or violent.

29) I did, however, recently watch Love Story on a plane, and was struck by my teenage resemblance to a young Ali MacGraw. It must be the eyebrows.

 alimacgraw copy

eyebrows2

29) I spend a great deal of effort plucking those eyebrows because these days, they would make me look less like Ali MacGraw and more like Martin Scorsese. See also: chin hair.

30) I can remember the song lyrics to practically every song I’ve ever heard, yet I need to write down “put out garbage” every second Monday.

31) I feel vaguely shocked when I hear of people going out at nine pm, even though I know I once did that too.

32) To me, a perfect evening sounds like watching Downton Abbey in my pajamas with a bottle of wine.

33) Only on weekends though, because I had one measly drink on Sunday night and my Monday morning yoga practice felt like I had turned into the Tin Man.

34) Speaking of which, I’ve never watched The Wizard of Oz the whole way through because it freaked me out as a child and it freaks me out now. Tornadoes, flying monkeys, general creepiness.

35) I actually said to my husband, when we were spring cleaning and getting rid of old toys, that “maybe we should keep that for our grandchildren”.

36) I don’t actually want grandchildren until my kids are 30 or so.

37) I point out pretty girls to my husband, who tells me that it is not normal to tell your husband “Look at that girl! She’s hot!”

38) I have friends who really get me, and every day I am awash in appreciation for them. You know who you are, you ladies who make me laugh and smile and think about things, you who I see daily and you who I only see a few times a year but it’s as if no time has passed, you who read my blog and you who try my recipes. I love you all! xoxo

39) Every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am. My family, my life, it all feels charmed. I’m filled with gratitude for every year and I’m excited for the years to come.

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Lucky, lucky me!

 

Welcome to Crazytown, Population: Me.

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I know I seem all easy going and flexible, but the reality is I am a very rigid person. Each week I write in my day-timer – the old-fashioned PAPER kind, can you imagine? – the tasks that I need to do that week. Some of the tasks are everyday housekeeping ones: what I’m making for dinner each day and what I’m baking that week and on which day, along with chores like cleaning the bathroom, dusting, changing the sheets. I write down which days I’m doing what and I stick with it. If, for some strange reason, I wash the floor on Monday when I had written down Tuesday, I cross off “floors” on Tuesday and re-write it into Monday, even after the fact. Other things I write down are recipes that I’m writing and photographing, blog post ideas, and, of course, regularly scheduled things like the boys’ karate classes or hair appointments.

When I have a week like this one, where my to-do list is very long and filled with things that must – MUST – be done by a certain time, well, I rigidly schedule my days so I can accommodate those things. I have a basic timeline in my mind and I stick to that timeline like it’s the answer to all the world’s problems. When I was in university, I would schedule my study times in a very exact way: microeconomics from 10:15-11:45, research my labour paper from 11:50-12:55, break for 20 minutes, then prepare for my econometrics exam from 1:15-3:00. Once I had written these things down in my day-timer, I would not deviate from them, and sometimes I think it’s a miracle I got married.

I’m sure my husband finds this part of my personality adorable, like when Sally says “I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off.” and Harry responds “But in a good way!” I am sure it’s JUST like in the movies.

The biggest problem with being this anal-retentive person that I am is that when something unexpected pops up in my schedule, I completely fall apart. For example, yesterday my husband and I realized that the boys need social insurance numbers, and what with one thing and another, they need them as soon as possible. My husband asked if I could take care of it this morning and although I had a number of things on my plate, I crossed things off and rewrote them in my day-timer, with as much flexibility and happy-go-luckiness as I could manage. After all, how long could something like that take? The government office is fairly close to our house; surely I could get there and back quickly.

HAHAHAHAHA THE GOVERNMENT OFFICE QUICKLY HAHAHAHAHAHA

I got into the office at 9:10 and there was a gigantic lineup. I was disheartened at first but then it moved quite quickly when someone thought to mention that the information meeting for EI recipients was in a different room. It took only a few minutes for me to get to the front of the line after that, and the man at the desk told me that there would be a 15-20 minute wait. I hadn’t thought to bring a book with me, because I am apparently stupid and naive, and so I dismissed his advice to “take a seat and wait to be called” and instead stood near a wall, with my coat and scarf on, because what’s 15-20 minutes? Nothing, really.

Time dragged on and soon it was 10:00 and I started to get suspicious when I overheard that same man at the front desk tell someone that it would be a ninety minute wait. I put on my half-smile so as not to frighten said man with my bitchy resting face, and asked in the sweetest voice possible, with my eyes wide and fluttery, if he knew how much longer it would be, since he had said it was going to be only 15-20 minutes. You get more with honey, as we all know, and so I kept the frustration out of my voice. “Oh yes,” he said, “Well, it looks like we’re short staffed. So, it will be a while. I’m not sure how long.” OH.

I took a seat and tried not to think of my to-do list with impending doom. Om shanti. I tried to be rational and think that it would be better to just wait; I’d spent so much time already it would be silly not to wait. After all, in the big picture, what does it matter that I spent my morning in the government office, surrounded by the scent of body odour, dirty hair, and cigarette smoke? I didn’t have a book, true, but I did have a phone with me. There are many worse tragedies than being stuck in a waiting room with my fancy phone; I was not in the office because of employment issues or anything like that, three days from now would it really matter that the lion’s share of my morning would be spent immobile and reading blogs on my iPhone? I mean, really. And the princess couldn’t sleep on the mattress because of a pea. CRY ME A RIVER.

I was finally successful in obtaining the numbers, and left the office at 10:50. That’s when I thought if I was fast, and efficient, I could pull off a quick Costco trip before picking up the boys from lunch. There were a couple of things that I needed that I cannot get elsewhere and if I stuck to my list, I could do it.

I strode through Costco with a sense of purpose and a giant cart and…they were out of what I needed. That was discouraging, but it wasn’t a total bust: I managed to get the other, less essential things on my list, along with a whole pile of delicious plump berries. I managed to get home, unload the groceries, and get to the school on time to pick up the boys. I was feeling pretty faded but buoyed myself up by making myself a berry salad in this happy little fellow:

happy

Cuteness! A friend gave that to me, filled with flowers, when I was having a hard time and I can’t look at it without smiling. There’s nothing more cheering than berries in a giant smiley mug, not to mention the thought that went behind it! That smiley mug reminds me to pay it forward, even when I’m having a weirdly anxious morning, sniffing the perfume in my own scarf to drown out the smell of smoke and BO. Really, life is beautiful.

This Post Is Steeped

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Today I received an email from an insurance broker about a mix-up, and she very earnestly apologized for the “incontinence”, which has been making me smile all day. I’m sure her coworkers would be more in need of an apology than me, given the puddles and all.

I’ve been re-reading Alias Grace, and in the language of the 1850s, she describes sweeping under a bed and finding a ton of slut’s wool, which is apparently what they used to call dust bunnies, sluts back then being lazy housekeepers and not the whores we think of today. In my own bid to be a fabulous housewife, I moved the couch for the first time in many weeks to sweep behind it and I myself found enough slut’s wool to create my own dusty sheep, so I feel a kinship with all those nineteenth-century sluts.

When Jake started Grade One full time, I had several people ask me what will I do with all my TIME, intimating that I should consider going “back to work”. Did you know I used to have a career? One where I wore pantyhose and high heels and worked on a trade floor for twelve hours a day on average, and I used to cry in the bathroom sometimes, and once a guy flipped out so much that he banged his phone on his desk until it broke and he had to take an anger management course? Good times. Anyway, I never really considered going back to work in that capacity after I left, and it’s good that I didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be available for my current career of “school volunteer”, not to mention my role of slutty housewife.

Yesterday I was a judge at the school science fair, and let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a volunteer capacity. I highly recommend it. I was easily the most excited judge around, walking with my clipboard and asking VERY SERIOUS scientific questions. I loved all the students with their science-y joy and ideas. Changing the world, one science project at a time. One kid was so into his topic of waves and resonance, and so engaged and excited, that I mentioned he might want to consider taking more science once he was in junior high and high school, which subsequently made him even more engaged and excited, that I thought he might spin off the planet right then and there.

Sadly, there was not one baking soda volcano among the bunch. Not one! However, someone had built a Lego robot, and the boys assured me that it was one of the most popular tables, when their classes visited, along with a research project about venom and its uses. Venom! There’s nothing like a potentially deadly substance to get a bunch of third-and-fourth grade boys interested in scientific applications.

And hey, one week until Valentine’s Day! Apparently I will be making approximately one million heart-shaped cookies for the boys’ classes next week, in lieu of cards which they say are “lame” and “stupid”. Well, cookies are the opposite of lame and stupid! Remember that old Tim Hortons’ commercial in which the teenage son bought his mom a tea and said it was steeped, after which she thought “steeped” was the new word to say for something that was cool and used it in all sorts of situations? That’s totally me. I am that mother. Also, cookies in lieu of cards for Valentine’s Day is steeped. STEEPED I SAY.

Someone was asking the other day what men like to receive for Valentine’s Day and I blinked a couple of times. Blink. Blink. I can really only think of two things, and they are pretty obvious: sex and blowjobs. It’s perfect, you don’t need to wrap anything, you don’t need to buy anything, you don’t even need to leave the comfort of your own home. Alternately, you could make a batch of my aphrodisiac blondies. Blondes have more fun, my sweet young blonde yoga friend is always telling me, and I…don’t know if that’s true or not. But these blondies are very fun. Personally I’m hoping for a teddy bear wearing a bee costume emblazoned with “Bee Mine” but I’m not sure if I’ll get that or not. I might have to be satisfied with smooches and general romantic feelings. And maybe a bottle of wine.

My New Career As A Life Coach, Or Motivational Speaker

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Is it me, or is this winter the one that will go down in history for being the one where every geographical area did their best to win the Cold Olympics? It’s like we’re all in competition to see whose weather is the most atrocious. This morning it was minus 35 with windchill, which is pretty brisk. It’s worth noting that Calgary schools basically never close due to weather. I cannot recall one instance of schools closing here, because a) we’re used to hideously cold weather, b) we don’t get massive three-feet-of-snow-storms or ice storms that actually threaten power or heat, and c) if our schools closed due to cold weather they would be closed for weeks at a time, welcome to winter on the prairies. As it is our schools make indoor recess their concession to the cold.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic to the plight of pretty much everyone else on the continent, what with seemingly endless snow days and abnormally low temperatures and massive snowstorms. A friend recently made snarky remarks about Southerners complaining of the cold, which I felt was uncalled for. If the temperature climbs above 24 degrees here, people start complaining about the heat, which I’m pretty sure would make any Southerner politely blink in confusion. Personally complaints about the “heat” make me feel like stabbing the complainee, and then I have to do deep breathing and OM SHANTI for a while just to settle down.

People, stop trying to win the Cold Olympics. Everywhere is cold. It’s winter. Even if it’s a relative cold, it’s STILL COLD.

Speaking of the Olympics, is it me or does the Russian Olympic Committee seem like that kid we all knew who waited until the night before the assignment was due to start working on it, all the while knowing that the assignment was worth 75% of the mark for the entire term? It makes me think of that SNL skit from a few weeks ago, where the character asked what the other venue choices were, Haiti or the middle of the ocean? Middle of the ocean actually sounds kind of cool in a Waterworld kind of way.

Ah, the Olympics. The precious time that my husband and I get into weird standoffs. He’s all about the athletes, and the determination, and the hard work that goes into training for what could be a once in a lifetime opportunity to represent your country and put pride into your fellow citizens’ hearts and tears of joy to their eyes. He is all about embodying the Olympic spirit and feelings of international cooperation through sport. I, on the other hand, have never gotten over the Sale and Pelletier gold medal debacle of 2002 and have not watched an event in its entirety ever since. I remember it like it was yesterday: watching in a hotel bar in Houston with American co-workers, surrounded by Texan men who, upon discovering my heritage, came over to offer sympathies and opinions, like it was I myself who was on the ice, gracefully skating to Love Story. I’ve had a soft spot for Texans in general and Houston in particular ever since.

Several years later I found myself at a Gold Medal Plates fundraiser with David Pelletier himself, and I will say this: there are probably more entertaining athletes to have dinner with. Not that I don’t feel empathy for the man; it must be very weird to be sitting at a table of people you don’t know, and having to make small talk when it’s pretty clear you have zero in common, and yet you are expected to be bright and charming and entertaining for the table full of athletic benefactors. A metaphorical soft-shoe, if you will.

David Pelletier

And yet, the guy basically texted Jamie Sale about the babysitter all night long, which in light of what happened next in the Sale/ Pelletier story, is pretty sad. Also, I was really jealous of the table who kept bursting into loud and raucous laughter at the apparently hilarious stories one of the Olympic skiers was regaling them with, while David Pelletier sat in glum silence. Long story short: I am not particularly excited about the Olympics, and for more reasons than just the figure skating. And yet, I will cheer Team Canada along side the guys in my house who ARE excited.

This morning I saw a rainbow, an actual rainbow in the sky. I would have taken a photo of it were my fingers not frozen stiff despite my gloves AND mittens. A rainbow, in February, in minus 35-with-windchill. A small miracle, I would say.

But yet it represents something even bigger: a dream. I say this to all of you – Olympic athletes included – as one who knows: dreams can come true, and the impossible can become possible, if only you work hard enough and believe in yourself. Yesterday, I accomplished something that I have always felt was out of reach, that was not possible, that could not be done. And yet. And yet I did it. Yesterday, I went to Costco with a list of 14 items, and I returned home with those same 14 items, and only $112 poorer. My husband did not believe me at first, but I saved the receipt and will possibly frame it, artwork entitled “BELIEVE”. This morning I saw the rainbow in the frozen morning sky, and I thought it was there for me. Reach for the stars, people, and you just might pluck one.

Everything’s Coming Up Nicole!

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

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

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

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

socks

 

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

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

archie

 

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

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

Green Smoothies are the Cocaine of the Smoothie World

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I know I’m in the vast, vast minority here, but I actually really like January. Everything feels fresh and new and invigorating. I was always that kid in school who loved to get new school supplies, but especially new journals; I loved the feeling of the smooth untouched pages with all the potential in the world. In January, I feel like anything can happen. So today, as the kids went back to school, I felt like I could smooth open the new hypothetical journal and write 2014 in bold letters.

Maybe I’m just high on green smoothies. I’ve been on a bit of a green smoothie binge since the New Year and I swear, those babies are the cocaine of the smoothie world. I’ve been having one every day at lunchtime for the past week, and it seems to perk up my day with high energy, and also the kind of smug good feelings that one can only get from drinking four cups worth of liquified spinach. So far today I’m crossing items off my to-do list like nobody’s business, rubbing the smoothie on my gums and talking really fast and occasionally grooving out to hits from the mid-nineties like I Like To Move It, Move It.

Speaking of food, I realized something over the weekend and that is that religious extremism is very similar to dietary extremism. Imagine, if you will, someone who practices a different religion than you do. No big deal, right? You may know that person’s religious leanings, but likely it doesn’t affect the way you feel about that person. Now imagine that person constantly talks about their religion with zeal, spreading lots of good news and glad tidings. Maybe it’s interesting, and maybe you appreciate that person’s efforts, but maybe you also want to spend a little less time with that person. What if that person starts to try to coerce you into their religion? What if that person starts to predict doom and darkness and terrible suffering that will overcome you if you don’t convert to their religion? What if that person believes that once you know the truth, you will embrace their religion with the same zeal, and if you don’t, well, that’s because you have not sufficiently evolved enough to do so? How much would you enjoy spending time with that person?

And so it is with dietary extremism. Especially at this time of the year, love it though I do, the dietary extremists come out of the woodwork with siren songs coaxing you to come over to the dark side. Frankly, I find it distasteful, but I also find it amusing to think of extreme Paleo people in the same room as extreme Vegan people, or Low-Carb people with Low-Fat people, maybe all of them attending a potluck function. Chaos and calamity would ensue! It would surely be interesting – maybe therein lie the makings of a reality television show – because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that “dietary extremism” and “sense of humour” seem to be mutually exclusive. Here’s the thing: I follow a vegan diet, but not strictly so – the occasional dairy product or egg finds its way in, and my neighbour the urban beekeeper supplies me with honey that was helped along by my flower gardens. I also cook all sorts of non-vegan things for my family, although I do try to ensure that these things come from healthy, non-factory-farmed sources. I would rather use butter than margarine, vegan though the margarine may be. I prefer whole, unprocessed foods when possible but I also reach for the breakfast cereal every day. We are so fortunate to have a choice, you know? So many people don’t, due to time constraints or financial situations or inaccessibility to good food sources.

It’s a good thing to remember at this time of year, when we’re smoothing out the first few pages on our new day-timers, thinking about what 2014 will bring. I think that we can all resolve to just do our best, whatever our best may be, and keep the thought that everyone else is also doing their best, whatever that best may be. It’s a nice perspective.