Category Archives: Mind Songs

It’s Festivus Eve! Grievance time!

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All this Christmas sentiment is getting to me, I thought.  Two nights ago, I became increasingly irritable throughout the evening; everything was getting under my skin.  My husband was, I thought, an unbearable asshole and the kids were insane, obnoxious, and loud.  I crabbed around the house then said, at 7:45, that I was going to bed, much to the relief of everyone in my house.  I crawled into bed, only to tell my husband that I must be getting sick, since I was so tired and achy and sad.  My husband thought for a minute, then asked if it was possible I was getting my period.  Hey!  Suddenly everything made sense!

Pre-Christmas sentimentality plus upcoming ladies’ holidays equals a supremely irritable, weepy, emotional wreck.
I spent yesterday morning listening to White Wine in the Sun and Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas on repeat, and crying.  They’ll be drinking white wine in the sun…I sang along, chokingly, tears running down my face as I chopped vegetables.  Mercifully my fingers are all still intact.  This is not unlike when I was 14 and would be horribly depressed about the awfulness of life in junior high, and then sit in my dark room listening to Leonard Cohen, or Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here.  Cathartic?  Possibly.  Helpful?  No.

Fortunately my girlfriends suggested a nice long walk with our dogs in the afternoon, with the sun shining and the blue sky so lovely against the snow.  That, along with a peppermint Lindor, lifted me right out of my weepy lunacy.
Also somewhat cheering is the sight out my front window.  My single male neighbour seems to be exercising his artistic side by making snow sculptures:
Look closely.  The female snowman has giant snow breasts.  And even though my neighbour lives alone and possibly always will, the sight of this snowman couple, with the giant breasts and the coffee cup, makes me smile.  Actually, on another level it’s a bit depressing, but let’s just gloss over that for now.  A snow couple!  Happy!  Happy thoughts!  Let your heart be light….
Here we are on the eve of Festivus!  Festivus for the rest of us.  And in the spirit of Festivus, I shall air my current grievance – and no, it has nothing to do with the idea that maybe that snowwoman has had some work done.  It is that I was watching the news (or “news”) on Monday morning, and the caption for one of the breaking news stories was “Kim John Il Dead”.  JOHN.  Kim JOHN Il.  Global Calgary, try proof reading.  It’s awesome.  I expect better from you; you aren’t Breakfast Television. 
In general, spelling and grammatical errors are a grievance to me.  We all make the occasional mistake, but generally, I feel all HULK SMASH when words are used incorrectly or misspelled.  Especially if those words are in a Christmas newsletter.  It’s not spelled HOLLIDAY, extended family member who shall remain anonymous.  And it’s “oops”, not “opps”.  And punctuation is there for a reason! 
Time for some calming ujjayi breaths, I think.  But tell me, in the spirit of Festivus, do you have any grievances to air? 

Tell me now, baby, is he good to you? Can he do to you the things that I do?

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I received an invitation for the school’s Volunteer Appreciation Tea.  I smiled happily until I realized that the date coincides with the next book fair, which I am running.  I cannot attend the Volunteer Appreciation Tea because I’m too busy volunteering.
Some days are just like that.
I have not been sleeping well lately and I am feeling very, very tired.  I’ve been waking up at my usual early time and I feel great for about two hours; then it all goes downhill.  I’m pretty much mainlining coffee by mid-morning.  My poor sleep is not helped by Mark’s barking, seasonal allergy-related cough, which apparently does not affect his sleep one iota, but keeps me up at night.  Also, I heard “I’m on Fire” yesterday, so last night I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling while the following soundtrack looped through my head:
Did he go and leave you all alone, mmmm….What if that cough isn’t allergies?  Should I do something?…Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul…What if it’s croup?  Croup probably sounds like that….At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head…But could someone have croup with absolutely no other symptoms?…Only you can cool my desire…Maybe I should get up and google croup.  No, that’s probably a bad idea.  Remember when I googled fifth disease and thought everyone had it?…Whoooooo I’m on fire…
Last night the boys had soccer for the second time since April 19, and it was actually quite nice.  My new goal is to not complain about freezing to death on the soccer field, and so last night I dressed up in five layers of clothing, boots, and gloves, and I felt quite comfortable.  The boys are both in teams with blue uniforms, and so the kids generally name the teams in a way that coordinates with the colour.  Jake’s team name, for example, is the Blue Berries.  One year Mark was with the Blue Bubble Gums, and last year they were both in the Green Geckos.  I happened to be listening in when Mark’s team was asked for name suggestions.  The first one out of the gate was from one of his teammates, who suggested the Burning Blue Balls.  The coach, a friend of mine, deserves everlasting credit for nodding seriously and saying, “Okay.  Anyone…else?”  Fortunately they went with another suggestion – the Blue Jays – so I don’t have to cheer for the Blue Balls. 
Since my run-in with the dog boarder-who-no-longer-boards-overnight-but-who-still-will-groom-my-dog-for-the-low-price-of-$80-plus-tip, I have been on the search for a new groomer.  Evidently this is a difficult task.  There is a place close to my house that has a two month waiting list.  To get my dog groomed.  Now, my hair salon also has a two month waiting list, but while I don’t mind making several advance appointments for myself, I would like a little more flexibility for the member of the family who likes to eat his own frozen fecal matter and roll in the dusty dead grass.  Maybe that’s just me.  So I found yet another place, which will take him next week, and I’m only slightly unnerved by the fact that I need to have a consult with the groomer.  If this consult is more detailed than “give him the kennel number 3 cut” I am going to just give up and lock myself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine for a while.  Maybe it will help me sleep.

Cheerful thoughts for a crappy weekend

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It has been a dull, dreary weekend.  It started for me at 6:20 am on Saturday when Mark woke me up with the words no one likes to hear, “Mom, I feel like I’m going to barf.”  Fortunately no barfing ensued, but unfortunately he spent the weekend feverish, lethargic, and without an appetite.  Then the snow continued to fall, the endless snow in this endless winter.  I feel like Laura Ingalls in The Long Winter but without the actual hardships; no one is starving, freezing to death, or spending days either grinding wheat to make bread or twisting hay into fuel to keep warm.  I’m actually wondering if the snow will never stop.  Maybe a woolly mammoth will take up residence in my yard.  That would be interesting, to say the least. 
So I spent much of the weekend monitoring Mark’s temperature, staring sadly at the grey sky and masses of snow and obsessively refreshing the online weather forecast, and wallowing around nursing hurt feelings from perceived slights by a variety of sources.  Poor me!  It was like a little black cloud was following me around, and I spent many hours in a state of gloom.  When I feel gloomy like this, there are a few ways for me to turn things around: wine, yummy food, and thinking of cheering things. 
Here are the cheering things from this weekend:
1)      Yesterday, while I was getting my roots done in the salon, the perky, very young new shampoo girl chatted with me about her weekend plans.  She was telling me that she was going to go dancing that evening, and then proceeded to ask me, startlingly, if I ever went to her favourite nightclub.  When I responded, she exclaimed “Why not?  It’s so fun and they play GREAT dance music!”  I refrained from mentioning that the last time I “went dancing” was the last time bodysuits and high-waisted coloured jeans were in style; likely I was wearing those with my Rachel haircut, drinking $3 triple vodka slimes.  Probably the dance music was along the lines of “I Like To Move It (Move It)” and “What Is Love (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)”.  She proceeded to discuss the pros and cons of clubbing: on the one hand, if you get there before ten o’clock you avoid the lineups, on the other hand, if you go that early then the dance floor is dead.  Just completely dead.  I had an image of me completely asleep in a corner by the time the club started shaking; besides which I have no idea what people actually wear to clubs anymore.  Maybe bodysuits and high-waisted coloured jeans are actually back in style.  Nonetheless, I did appreciate her high-energy chatter even if I felt like I was ninety years old.  What do the kids like to do on Saturday nights nowadays?  As it was, my husband and I watched The 40 Year Old Virgin, which never fails to make me laugh.  “Now you let your seed blossom into a plant.  Then you fuck the plant.”  Good times.
2)      My husband was watching golf this weekend, and the announcer said “I’ve really been impressed by the way he stroked it.”  I’m sure Clarence Carter was very pleased.  Ah, there’s nothing like sports related unintended sexual innuendo.  Of course there’s curling – “Hurry!  Hard!  Hard! HAAAARRRRRRRDDDD!  WHOA.  Whooooaaaa.” – and football – “Now that’s some really good penetration” – but golf, I find, is the most amusing.  On a non-sports-related front, a friend mentioned that he finds the new “chip” credit cards entertaining – “Just go ahead and stick it in the bottom”. 
3)      A friend of mine wrote an article about undergarments, specifically shapewear, and just casually mentioned that nothing gets between Oprah and her Spanx.  That image is alarming, to say the least, but in the cover photo of this month’s O Magazine, you can really tell that it’s true!  Ewww!
4)      It’s my birthday in four days!  I can hardly believe it because a) it’s really really cold, and b) I missed about a week, mentally, due to my surgery so I keep thinking it’s only March.  No.  It’s BIRTHDAY TIME!  I need to find myself a tiara and dust off my “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY” sandwich board.  As an early gift, my husband made me a mixed CD – a mix tape!  Squee! – and it’s chock full of my favourite types of music, including, but not limited to, the Tina and Ike version of Proud Mary and the song Baby Come Back.  You can blame it ALL ON ME.  I was wrong, and I just can’t live WITHOUT YOU! 
And now you can blame me for putting that song in your head.  Tell me some cheering things, come on, tell me something good!

Blue Monday Cures

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Today is Blue Monday, the day that is scientifically and mathematically proven to be the most depressing of the year.  So let’s fight the power, shall we? 
If the best way to spread Christmas cheer is by singing (implied: Christmas songs) loud for all to hear, then C(x) = f(singing), then it follows that the best way to spread non-Christmas cheer is by singing (implied: non-Christmas songs) loud for all to hear, i.e., NC(x) = f(singing N).  So here is your challenge, if you choose to accept it and you are feeling the effects of Blue Monday: sing Tonight’s the Night as loudly, earnestly, and passionately as possible.  You’ll feel better immediately.
 Whenever I think of Tonight’s the Night I always visualize the vinyl record playing, a guy clad only in his leopard print briefs, swaying his hips sensually to the music, blow drying his feathery hair with a large roller brush, singing passionately.  Tonight’s the night, gonna be all right, cause I’m in love with you and ain’t nobody gonna STOP US NOW.  Sometimes I imagine a poster of a red bathing suit clad Farrah Fawcett in the background, or maybe a KISS poster. 
I always wonder if Rod Stewart sings his songs to his various girlfriends/wives.  I wonder if he sang it to this woman just before he impregnated her:
Photo from The Daily Mail

That article shows why it would be difficult to be a celebrity, or married to a celebrity (since I’m not actually sure if she is a celebrity or not).  She looks gorgeous, right?  Yet the comment from The Daily Mail is

Although it was the perfect dress to give her bump plenty of room, it was less than supportive around her bosom which has massively increased as the pregnancy has developed.
Well, thank you Daily Mail.  Bosom?  This is not the 1800’s, we don’t generally refer to it as “bosom” anymore.  Also, clearly the author has never been pregnant, because if there is one thing pregnant women agree on unequivocally, it is the gigantic increase in their bra sizes.  We are all shocked and often dismayed at the enormous breasts we grow, and the bra sizes that we thought were mythical are ours.  Even my one girlfriend who was amazed that she was finally in a B cup, even she was astonished at the massive increase in her bosom.
Honestly, I give this woman kudos for being a gorgeous, ripely pregnant woman being out and about and not wearing a muumuu, house slippers and a pained expression, the garb of any woman in their ninth month of pregnancy.  The article goes on to say 
She didn’t appear to be feeling the cool weather either…(she) went bare-legged and wore flip-flops.
Again, really?  Pregnancy was the one and only time in my life that I wasn’t perpetually cold, and remember how difficult it was to put on shoes?  So yes, Daily Mail, I suppose she probably wasn’t feeling the cool weather as being pregnant is akin to having your own internal furnace turned to “the fires of hell”.  But maybe that’s just me.
On reading this “article”, such as it is, two other things strike me: a) Rod Stewart is 66, and b) he has seven other children, including a five year old.  That’s spreading the musical genes around, no?  I think it would be strange to have such a spread in age between children, but then again I suppose that he is not likely the one who is doing the night feeding and diaper changing.  But maybe he is, I shouldn’t judge.
I shouldn’t judge because I do like his music, sadly.  I especially love to sing If You Want My Body in a Scottish accent, a la Mike Myers in So I Married An Axe Murderer.  I was doing that in my car recently when my friend, of jewelry and belt buckle making fame, walked by.  That was humbling, although she was very non-judgemental about the whole situation.  But I say to you, if you are blue today, on this bluest of Mondays, try it.  Watch this video, sing along, and see if you don’t feel immediately well and happy.        

Nicole the Elf! What’s your favourite song?

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Today is the last day of school before the break, and I’m relieved.  There was a time when I did not understand this phenomenon, but I do now.  It’s not like our mornings are crazily rushed – by the time the school bell rings the kids have been up for a minimum of two hours, and I’ve been up for at least four.  This is a good thing because to save my sanity I inform Jake that he must start getting dressed at 8:00, so by the time we leave the house at 8:45 he is generally dressed.  Except for socks, which for some reason must only be put on right before boots and with much encouragement from me. 
But oh, I am ready for a break!  My holiday spirit took a little bit of a beating this week and it was all because of the pediatric dentist.  I now have reminders to never again make a dental appointment in December.  The dentist’s office shares a parking lot with Wal-Mart.  Have you attempted to find parking in a Wal-Mart parking lot at 1:00 in the afternoon ten days before Christmas?  I do not recommend it.  There are angry people everywhere.  Very, very angry people.  So I was feeling a bit flustered even before the appointment, which in itself is a trying experience: I have one child who sits quietly, mouth wide open, for the entire process, and one who seems to have some sort of sensory integration issues the minute the chair goes back as he starts to go stiff, hold his breath, and gag.  It’s sad because he is truly trying his best, he really is, he sits perfectly still for x-rays and teeth counting but the second the hygienist snaps that little toothpaste container on her finger, he goes a little nuts.  So that was fun. 
Then, the dentist came in.  Remember the dentist?  The very attractive dentist?  Well, evidently the past six months have not been good to him because I would not now describe him as the hot, crush-inspiring pediatric dentist he once was.  Of course, that is very shallow and superficial of me but come on.  I’m a stay-at-home mom.  I wore my nice jeans and my good lipstick.  Throw me a bone, here, people.
By the end of the appointment, I had a choice: I could just keep Mark home for the remainder of the afternoon, or I could rush him back to school in time for him to have recess and sing carols, only to rush back to the school to pick him up.  Lazy mom that I am, I just went home.  I was in need of some holiday spirit.  So I decided to make gingerbread people with the kids and listen to Christmas carols.
What’s your favourite Christmas song?  Mine is – despite assertions from certain people that this song causes brain aneurisms – the Wham! Christmas song.  I listened to it a number of times and felt much better.  Also on my list, Santa Baby, which I know is commercial and everything I try not to be but hey, it is so much fun to sing.  I like to sing it in a slutty, I’m-a-lounge-singer-who-is-lying-on-a-grand-piano-wearing-a-spangly-dress-slit-up-the-side kind of way.  With a long cigarette holder.  You get the picture.  Although I have to wonder, what is the market for sables like these days?  Is the fur industry even around anymore?  I don’t know.  Tied for third are Feliz Navidad and Mele Kalikimaka: “Hey!” Mark said, “I think that means Merry Christmas in another language!”
So tell me, what do you like to listen to around the holidays?  The one song I cannot stand is I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.  It is just way too creepy.  It just conjures up images of, how shall I put this politely, a child stumbling into an intimate situation involving lap sitting and queries of “Have you been a good girl this year?”  If you know what I’m saying. 
On that note, here are some g-rated pictures of me attempting to get the children to a) look at me and b) smile while making gingerbread.  You can see how well I succeeded.
“Okay guys, look at me.”

“Guys, look at me.”

“Okay, good, Jake, but maybe with a less angry face.”

“Um.”

“Mark, I meant to look and smile, not start eating the cookies.”

Yeah.  So I didn’t get the picture I was hoping for.  But it was fun!

Baby It’s Cold Outside, aka The Holiday Date-Rape Song

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I was sick this week with a weird little illness that manifested itself as a sore throat, tight chest, and overwhelming exhaustion.  Today is the first day I haven’t felt as though if I closed my eyes for more than a blink, I would succumb to narcoleptic urges.  Unfortunately I woke up with no voice – NO VOICE; how to communicate with children? – but it has started to come back now so I can issue commands without the children ignoring me unconsciously (as opposed to the conscious ignoring) or having them answer “What?  WHAT?  I can’t hear you!”
The boys have been in swimming lessons with their school all week, and this always seems perverse to me: swimming in the frigid city-run pools, then walking back to the school in sub-zero temperatures.  The boys seem to be completely depleted by these lessons, or else they have what I have, because this whole week they have become progressively more and more tired.  At lunchtime yesterday, Mark started asking if he had to go back to school in the afternoon; he was soooo tired.  Normally I would have just kept him home, as it was very cold out and the thought of getting everyone dressed and out the door, again, was just too tiring.  After all, how much actual schooling gets done on a Friday afternoon (which is only 80 minutes long) one week before winter break?  This is where homeschoolers have the win.  THE WIN.  However, both his snowpants and backpack were still at school, the boys had haircuts after school, then we had to pick the dog up from the groomers…and I convinced Mark to “just keep going” and promised that after all of that we would just curl up on the couch and watch The Charlie Brown Christmas.  As it turns out, Mark’s class just went to his Grade Five “Buddy” class – the school pairs up older kids with younger ones in a buddy system – and watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  Clearly a LOT of schooling goes on a Friday afternoon one week before winter break.  While Mark was learning about reindeer and their exclusionary tactics, I set Jake up with Starfall on my laptop and proceeded to make all the beds with flannel sheets fresh from the dryer.  Is that a good idea when one is exhausted?  No, it is not.  It took every ounce of willpower not to crawl between those sheets, those cozy, fuzzy, warm-from-the-dryer sheets.
I’m happy to have some energy back today. 
I have great holiday mojo, holiday chores do not get me down, with one exception: gift wrapping.  I decided that I must wrap gifts today, and THREE HOURS later, I finished.  I considered throwing in the proverbial towel and forcing my husband to do it, but he was busy repainting our bedroom, so I kind of felt like I should be doing something productive.  So I wrapped gifts for three hours.  The issue isn’t the number of gifts I have to wrap, it is that I am completely incompetent with gift wrap.  It looks like a three-year-old wrapped my gifts and I don’t even have a three-year-old in the house.  In fact, the two gifts that Jake helped me wrap look significantly better than anything I did on my own.  I don’t know what my problem is.  I always have way too much paper, or not enough, and my hair evidently falls out from the strain because strands of it are always stuck in the tape, or the tape gets stuck on my nails and takes off my nail polish, and then the ribbon.  My word, the ribbon.  How does one make a bow that doesn’t look like something my dog chewed on or, alternately, some kind of poky, pointy, Sputnik-like object that one stuck on an oblong, weirdly shaped, strange cornered parcel?  WHAT IS THE SECRET TO TYING A PRETTY BOW???  By the time I was nearing the end of the gifts, I was pretty much like “FUCK THIS.  NO MORE BOWS.  I HATE ALL OF YOU.  NO BOWS FOR ANYONE.”
So maybe not the Christmas spirit.  I really need my voice to come back full force so I can start with my White Christmas rendition, or Mele Kalikimaka, or even Baby It’s Cold Outside (or as I like to call it, the Holiday Date-Rape Song!).  After all, the best way to spread Christmas cheer is by singing loud for all to hear!  And maybe having a glass of wine.  That should bolster my spirits.

And…we’re back.

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Wow, was I just on vacation?  I have that weird, not-unfamiliar feeling that I was in a completely alternate universe many months ago, although we’ve been home for only a few days.  It’s funny how one day a person can spend hours in a complete state of relaxation, eating sublime food, walking on a beach, and reading the O list and recommendations on how to “live your best life”, and then the next day finds that same person in a state of agitation, baking and frosting eight dozen sugar cookies in varying spooky shapes, with a shirt covered in flour and a harried expression.  And getting extremely irritable should anyone attempt to sample one of the cookies that is not in the designated sampling container.
The weather has taken a definite turn for the wintry: snow on the ground yesterday, flakes in the air today, grey sky and cold, cold wind.  My current fervent hope is that it will warm up for Halloween.  Not that I am the parent on Trick or Treat duty – in fact my children have requested that I stay home to hand out candy to our (presumably, if history is any indication) few Trick or Treaters.  But milder weather would be much appreciated prior to Sunday. 
A few days ago I was relaxing in a beautiful place next to the Pacific Ocean, and right now my kids are sneaking up on me wearing vampire teeth screaming “BOO!  I’m a vampire!  Did I scare you?”, and putting together puzzles between such fearsome episodes, the television is on, and I just saw the following headline: Charlie Sheen found naked, incoherent with escort in NYC hotel room.  Surreal.  Also surreal is the fact that I don’t see that headline every single day.  I mean, is that really news?
To add to it, yesterday I heard the song Love is a Battlefield at 5:15 am and it stayed with me all day.  All day I was bursting out with “We are young!  Heartache to heartache we stand!”  ALL DAY.  That tune also followed me into the night, when I woke up in a cold sweat at three in the morning after a nightmare which involved – of all things – running out of draw tickets for the upcoming Scholastic Book Fair.  Which just goes to show, not for the first time, that I am kind of lame.
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On a serious note: someone I know is currently going through a terrible time with her very young daughter, who has a frightening, rare, and very difficult to treat illness.  This family is going through hell; I cannot even begin to imagine.  Please, if you are the praying type, send out some prayers and thoughts for them.  And if you’re reading this, know that people care about you.