Category Archives: Luckiness

12 Days of Christmas Started Two Days Ago

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

It’s the end of the school year as we know it (and I feel fine)

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Hello there! It feels like a long time since I’ve posted, so I’m hopping right back in the saddle. Things have been busy around here. I’ve oscillated from overwhelming love for the city and all the generous and kind people in it, and overwhelming despair that it will never be enough, no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to help. It’s a silly feeling because of course change is the sum effort of individuals, and every little bit matters, and with that attitude I bake more cookies and muffins, buy more diapers, offer to do laundry, etc., etc. Things are improving, but it’s taking time, of course.

Because of the flood school was cancelled until today, which is a half day merely to say goodbye, clean out desks, and pick up report cards. It was very strange to go back to school today; almost as strange as not being in school for four days just before summer vacation.

 
 
As usual at the end of the school year I’m a little verklempt at the thought that they are now FINISHED another grade, in this case Grade Two and Three. On the one hand, it feels like all the awesomeness of having older kids, who I am closer and closer to launching into the great big world, and I feel like I’m doing well with preparing them for that. On the other hand, time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older tooooooooo….
 
A while back I read this fantastic post by my friend Swistle that really summarized how I feel. It’s ALWAYS the Best and Worst of Times is extremely apt when talking about children, right? There has been some discussion lately about favourite ages and least-favourite ages and I can say, firmly, that I don’t have a favourite or least favourite. Part of this is because I don’t remember the stages very well. I think this is due, in part at least, to extreme sleep deprivation over the years 2004-2010. You would think that such sleep deprivation would lead me to say that those years were not great, but you would be wrong. Such memory lapses means that I can be like one of those sweet old ladies who only remember nice things and not the horrible ones. Sure, there were gross diaper blow outs and incessant crying and no sleep and terrible worries about introducing vegetables before fruits and would that ruin their eating for the rest of their life OMG he is trying to eat playground gravel. But there was also this:
 
 
 

And this

 
Also this
 
 


Actually, that last picture reminds me of the baby screaming while I tried to bathe him and the very young toddler falling off the stool while trying to help and everyone crying and…well…I like my biggish kids very much.

In any case, we can’t stop time so we may as well enjoy it! Here’s to another great summer!

Did you know November is Gratitude Month?

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Well, it is!  I don’t know who comes up with these specialty months; probably the same people who come up with “Grandparents’ Day”.  For the record, every day is Grandparents’ Day, just like every month should be Gratitude Month.  Right?  It’s like I tell my kids when they are coveting something new immediately after a birthday, we should be grateful and enjoy the things we have, right now.  And then I go and spoil it all by purchasing a new black sweater or a yoga top.

But truly, I have so much to be grateful for, every day, and not just the obvious things like health, family, drawers full of black sweaters, etc. 

Things I am grateful for:

1) Jake can sing Gangnam Style, and his mastery of Korean lyrics is comparable to his mastery of English ones.  Heeeeyyyyy, sexy lay-day.  His rendition is equal, if not greater than, his rendition of I’m Sexy And I Know It.  There’s nothing quite so inappropriately cute as a seven year old boy singing “I’ve got action in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it”.  He is pretty fly. 

2) The boys both like to dance Gangnam Style, although it is really just their regular dance moves, which leads me to believe that Psy stole their moves.  Imitation, sincerest form of flattery, etc. 

3) I went to an assembly at the kids’ school yesterday where there was a visit from several Calgary Stampeders and cheerleaders.  I wasn’t going to go but I ran into a friend who was going and she totally peer pressured me.  It turned out to be hugely fun, complete with student MC who, in a completely robot-like monotone, said how exciting it was to have the football players visit our school, and Go Stamps.  Then the Ralph the Dog mascot pretended to lick the principal, and hilarity ensued. 

4) Prior to attending the assembly, I was at the school photocopying things for next week’s book fair – what else do you do with a Master’s in Economics these days? – and a kid ran down the hall and barfed all over the hallway, because, as he said between retches to a teacher who was passing by, he couldn’t make it to the bathroom.  I am very grateful that child is not in class with either of mine and we have – so far, knock wood and knock back more vitamins – not had the barfing plague hit our house.

5) I am ever-so-grateful for PVR technology.  It is the technological advancement of our time.  Better than sliced bread, voice mail, and the printing press, although not superior to automatic washers and dryers, email, or the wheel.  I recorded Top Gun on TV and I’m thinking of watching it and live-blogging.  While drinking wine.  Don’t you think that would be fun?  Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash.  In any event, my husband noticed that I was recording it and asked why.  NO REASON.  I like the dialogue?  Now, where is that aviator suit? 

6) People is going to come out with it’s Sexiest Man Alive, which means BLOGGING MANIA.  Remember my list from last year, and the accompanying addendum?  Well, my friend Nan just took it to a whole new level.  Her post made my whole entire day.  And my day started off with a friend buying me a soy latte with sugar-free vanilla so it was already pretty damn good.  Go read it, and just think – NICK NOLTE won?  Whaaaa?  Where were all the other men in the world that year?

To be fair, his win was prior to this sexy photo, but still.  Still.

7) I heard Rock Me Amadeus on the radio today.  AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS AMADEUS.

8) I bought a new cocoa-butter handcream for my hands which are so dry and cracked that clothing snags on them.  The cream works a treat, and it also smells exactly like a cocoa-butter stick I used on my giant pregnant belly back in the day.  The scent takes me back, in a very good way.  I know it’s unpopular to say so, but I loved being pregnant.  I wasn’t ever sick, and I loved getting Princess Treatment.  I loved how people would express concern over me lifting a finger doing anything, I loved how the guys I worked with constantly brought me snacks and worried about me working too hard, I loved how people opened doors for me and helped me cross the street like a whale-like octogenarian.  The cocoa-butter smell makes me feel all the warm fuzziness about being pregnant, without the inconvenience of actually being pregnant.

9) I am so grateful my kids are old enough to have normal, and frequently actually interesting conversations, they are old enough to do most things independently, and yet they still like to receive hugs, albeit not in public.  I am grateful I can look back at pictures like this with nostalgia:

Remember the days that sitting up was too much effort due to massive sleep deprivation?  I’m grateful to sleep.  While I’m in the business of cute old pictures:

Jake has a wee little Tom Brady jersey on!  Death by cuteness!

Look at the cute little bookworm!  We seem to have the same facial expression, and it’s saying “Fuck off, we’re trying to read here.”  And we can’t forget Barkley-when-he-was-a-puppy:

He is watching the Dog Whisperer!!!!

10) I am ever-so-grateful for you lovely readers, as always.  xoxo

So tell me, darlings, what are you grateful for?

What kind of monster have I become?

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It’s a beautiful autumn day here in YYC!

Did you just cry a little?  Yeah, me too.  Less than two weeks ago, this was the scene:

Jake, climbing our tree, wearing shorts.  Not shown in this photograph is the total heart attack I was having and trying to conceal.  “Wow, honey, you’re a really great climber!” is what I said.  “I am going to dial 9-1 and wait to dial the other 1.  I think I’m having palpitations!” is what I was thinking.  That was silly of me, because Jake DID lose his footing, but instead of falling he gripped the tree with both arms and both legs, hanging upside down, boasting the whole time about his superior climbing and monkey skills. 

It’s funny, the things you never think you’ll do or say that you end up doing or saying.  Things such as “Get down from there or you’ll break your neck!”  Or cleaning your child’s dirty face with your own saliva.  Just writing that down, I am revolted with my own motherly self.  And yet who among us hasn’t done this?  Who among us hasn’t retorted with the ever-popular “Because I said so, THAT’S WHY.”  Who among us hasn’t pretended to listen to their child’s steady stream of chatter and nodded absently and unmindfully?

Sometimes I wonder about the person I have become.  I look at my life and I wonder what happened to me.  For example, yesterday I was at the mall.  The mall.  On a snowy, windy, October afternoon.  All I’m going to say is, so many crying babies.  Not that I’m judging – I’ve been there before, the young mom desperate just to get out of the house.  Still.  Anyway, I was at the mall, and I saw a pink Star Wars t-shirt in my size and I considered purchasing it.  I really did.  I actually picked it up, then after a minute, I set it down again, mourning the little piece of me that died when I considered buying a pink Star Wars t-shirt for my 37 year old self.

What have I become?  I also marvelled at myself when I intervened in an argument between the children.  They were, uncharacteristically, bickering when Jake suddenly burst into tears.  The reason for the outburst was that Mark told him that of all the planets, he hated Tattooine the most.  This soul-destroying information just couldn’t be unsaid.  I spoke with Mark, and my exact words, my EXACT WORDS were “Honey, that really hurt Jake’s feelings.  How would you feel if he said he hated Naboo?” 

Who am I?

Another example of my burgeoning lameness is that the other day I purchased a bottle of Mrs. Dash.  I have always associated Mrs. Dash with the elderly who have been required by their health care providers to adopt a low-sodium diet.  I am now, apparently, a person who seasons food with Mrs. Dash.  I don’t even know what to think of this, except that I sprinkled it on my avocado-and-tomato quesadilla yesterday, and it was delicious. 

Other things that my former self would not have conceived of doing: spending hours photocopying things and becoming proficient at fixing paper jams, secretly becoming panicky and tiger-momish when my child gets four points docked on a bar graph unit test for not showing all the work, becoming sad when unable to obtain oven mitts that match my apron, and wondering if the socks-over-jeans-but-under-boots would be a good look for me. 

Santa’s coming! Santa! I know him!

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True confessions: I have never taken my children to a mall to “meet Santa”.  I’m going to really put myself out there for a moment and say that it has always seemed a little skeevy to me, to set my babies on this dressed-up stranger’s lap, this stranger masquerading as Santa, only to have them shriek in terror for the photographer elf.  This website, devoted to creepy Santa photos and terrified children, kind of kills me. 

Plus, it’s not even the REAL Santa!  Every time I see a photo of children with Santa, I think only of Buddy the Elf and his excitement to see Santa, followed by: You stink.  You smell like beef and cheese.  You don’t smell like Santa.  You sit on a throne of lies!  I also think of my husband, who figured out at age three or four the myth that is Santa by visiting more than one shopping mall in a day and seeing more than one Santa.  The gig is up, fat guy.

It’s a strange ritual, isn’t it?  The thought of going to the mall right now makes me hyperventilate, but the thought of going to the mall and standing in line for an hour with small children just so they can freak out on Santa’s lap?  Ca-razy.

I realize I’m in the minority here.  I’m also probably in the minority for thinking it’s kind of funny that my kids keep singing, to the tune of Jingle Bells, “911, 911, Santa Claus is dead!  Rudolph got a dollar to shoot him in the head!”  Ah, where would we be without Rudolph-as-depicted-as-a-hitman songs?

Despite our anti-Santa sentiment around here – my kids are non-believers, would you guess? – the excitement about Christmas is escalating.  I went to the grocery store yesterday to purchase a few items for Christmas Eve and for some special festive brunches, and realized that the bus from the local seniors’ residence now always comes Mondays at nine.  In other words, at the exact same time I do my shopping.  This means, clearly, I need to find another morning in which to procure my weekly groceries, because I simply can’t take it anymore.  I cannot take the grumbling about the amount of cash registers that are open, I cannot take the accidental bumping of my legs by grocery cart absentmindedly leaned upon by an elderly lady, I cannot take the crabbing to cashiers about the scandalously high price of butter.  I was thinking this, impatiently, as I saw the crowd of mainly elderly women obtaining their carts and looking critically at the “Festive Solutions” display.

But then I saw an old man fumbling around in the cookie section, with his cart full of eggs and bread and ice cream, I saw him carefully choose a bag of “Dad’s” oatmeal cookies and set it in his cart.  I caught his eye and smiled.  I thought that he looked sad, and lonely.  I wondered if this was the first Christmas he was doing the grocery shopping.  I wondered if he was all alone this Christmas, if his wife was gone and he was just doing the best he could.  It reminded me – not for the first time – how very difficult this time of year can be, how joyless and bleak it can seem, and I felt unworthy of all the luck and happiness in my life. 

I went home and unloaded all my groceries, then headed to the school to pick up my boys for lunch.  They ran across the snowy playground to meet me, singing about dead Santa and murderous Rudolph and Robin laying an egg.  My luck and my happiness.

Don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuueeee.

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So I’ve been blue, due to a number of factors, the most pressing being disappointment over not being offered a writing contract that I had my heart set on.  I’ve been in mourning about it, wallowing and eating all manner of bad things, and reading my most favourite comfort book, Diary of a Provincial Lady.  That book never fails to cheer me up.  It’s like chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese for the mind.  It is possibly the wittiest book ever written, and contains such gems as:

Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature.  I ask if he has published anything lately.  He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication.  Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.

Right?  Mark said “I’m sorry you’re sad you can’t write for those people.  But you can still write at home!  On your computer!”  True. 

Do you have a comfort book?  I once dated a guy who had a comfort movie.  Whenever he was feeling ill or down, he would watch Rudy.  The thought of it makes me snicker, and not in the kindest way.  Remember the scene – if you ever had the misfortune to watch said film – when all the players brought their jerseys to the coach.  “It’s for Rudy, Coach.” 

It just occurred to me: maybe I’m like Rudy.  I do have a lot of heart.  That’s depressing.

It also occurs to me that perhaps I just need an excuse, at this time of year, to have an emotional breakdown.  Remember last year?  When I had a complete breakdown at the fact that my printer wasn’t working and ended up sobbing, on the phone for hours with the Dell representative who kept speaking in soothing tones and asking if maybe I should get myself a drink of water and not to worry, he was going to to take care of everything?  I’m a mental case.

Not helping matters is the fact that we are all a tiny bit sick.  Nothing full blown, nothing major, but the boys both woke up Friday morning with slight runny noses.  Two things: a) that was fast, normally the first cold of the year occurs within the second week of school, not the second day, and b) five years old is NOT too young for a man-cold.  Jake became completely indignant that he was going to go to school, despite a tiny sniffle and slightly watery eyes.  “I can’t BELIEVE this,” he said, “This is the SECOND TIME I’ve gone to school like this!”  I related this amusing anecdote to my husband but ended up having to explain the concept of the man-cold to him, which was somewhat awkward.  I tried to make the explanation as general as possible.

And how was the first day of school?  It was excellent.  Both boys are, as anticipated, in the same class at school.  The benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the negatives, not the least of which is that I don’t have to be room parent for two separate classrooms and, with any luck, I will only receive ONE copy of all the notices that come home from school.  Also the boys are ecstatic to be together, and their teacher is fabulous, one in a million.

On the way home from dropping the boys at school, I saw a woman with a very small boy, standing on the sidewalk watching a wood chipper at work.  That brought me back, intensely.  I don’t know how many hours I spent watching various large machinery at work, boys in tow.  I don’t know how many times I would take them outside to watch the garbage truck pick up the trash, or watch sidewalk repairs, or to the nearby construction site where a large office building was being built.  “Diggies!  Diggies!  Happy!  Happy!” one-year-old Jake would say from the stroller, clapping his hands.  A gas station in our neighbourhood was demolished, and believe me, I spent days watching the machinery tear down the buildings and dig out the contaminated soil.  It got so that the crew would wave when they saw the three of us walking up the street.  My jeans would be caked with mud from carrying Jake, his muddy rubber boots bumping against my thighs.  I would be tired, so tired, but would stand there with my fascinated boys, daydreaming about other things.  And now we’re in a whole new chapter.

  

“What grade are you guys in?”

T minus 7

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My husband has been away on a golf trip and yesterday I did something I haven’t done since my single-girl days: I had popcorn for dinner.  I announced it to the kids that we were going to have pancakes and popcorn for dinner, and that announcement was met with silent, nervous smiles.  “Do you mean, we’re going to have breakfast for dinner and THEN have popcorn later?” Jake ventured.  No.  I assured him that popcorn was on the menu, and there was some mild cheering, followed by “Okay, but you said we’re having pancakes too, right?  I mean, popcorn for dinner doesn’t really sound that HEALTHY.”

I’d feel much more smug about their health conscious attitudes if these weren’t the same children who would, if allowed, eat chicken fingers and fries daily for the rest of their lives.

It’s just one week until school starts and I feel somewhat compelled to cram as much fun as possible into the remaining days, and so yesterday we had a lovely day with friends at the local amusement park.  It was hot and sunny, the kids had a blast, and the day was only slightly marred by the disappointing “prize” won by Mark at the fishing game.  Instead of a hoped-for tiny, crappy stuffed animal, he won a pair of crappy, star-shaped glasses.  Much sadness followed, as well as a vow to never play the fishing game again.  Would that I could believe that.
It was unusually hot, and so the boys played in the sprinkler for hours after we got home.  I sat on the deck with a cold beer and watched them, thinking that this is truly the life.  There are times when being a stay-at-home mom can feel like some kind of sentence, but summer days like that are pure gold.

Speaking of gold, prior to my husband’s golf trip we took the boys for a day trip to Lake Louise and Moraine Lake; quite possibly the most beautiful area in the world, and one that we haven’t visited with kids before.  It was a great day, although it was much, much colder than the city.  Fortunately I had packed jackets.  I also packed my thirteen year old, heavy duty leather hiking boots.  My husband looked askance at them.  “We’re not really doing hard-core hiking”, he said “Why don’t you just pack some practical shoes?”  Um, because I have no practical shoes?  Perhaps it’s time to go shopping.