Category Archives: My failing sanity

Strange Things Afoot In The Boyhouse

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Somebody’s Got a Case of the Mondays

In general, ever since I quit my Monday/ Tuesday morning teaching job at a studio across the city, I very much enjoy Monday mornings. I like having the time, before my Monday afternoon class, to organize things from the weekend, time to write and time to bake things and run errands and, sometimes, even sit down to play the piano. However, today feels like the most Monday-ish of Mondays, and not in a happy way. I feel like I could possibly blame this on a combination of the greyness of the day and my menstrual cycle, but let’s face it: at this age who knows what a menstrual cycle actually is. It’s like the cycle piece of my Garmin app is about to self-destruct from frustration about the lack of any predictability. How can I blame my period when it could be anywhere from three weeks to three months? Maybe I’m just a crabby bitch.

It’s The Last Week of February

I said to one of my students last week that it feels like it was just New Year’s, and now next week is March. MARCH. I logically know that there are 24 hours in every day and 7 days in every week, but it still feels startling, how fast time goes. I also acknowledge that, for most people, January and February go by with snail-like speed, but I honestly cannot believe how fast the time has gone. NEXT WEEK IS MARCH. Which brings me to…

What Is Going On With The Principal?

My younger son is going on a West Coast sailing trip at the end of March, directly after Spring Break. He’s flying out to the coast, and sailing on a tall ship for five days. It will be a great experience I’m sure, and yet I cannot help but worry that we have had no parent meetings for this trip since the one in October, in which the principal showed us a video of the trip he took in 1999, told us to pressure other kids into going on the trip, and brought up my much-despised poinsettia fundraiser. I have no other information, other than a pack list obtained from my son. The kids have had weekly meetings to go over important learn-to-sail-what-to-do-if-there-is-a-man-overboard but there has been no other information emailed out. I mean, I don’t even know what flight he is going to be on or any of the times. This, from a principal who is kind of famous for sending out many, many emails.

Last week the kids made sandwiches for a shelter, which they do every year, and for which they rely on parent donations of sandwich items and plastic bags. We received the email about this the evening before the five-day weekend, for items to be received on the morning the kids got back to school. A little notice would have been nice, particularly since I had already done my shopping for the week and had to make a special trip just to obtain my required sandwich bags. In addition, there was no reminder email about booking parent-teacher conferences. It’s so out of character, I’m wondering if there is a serious issue with the principal, or if he’s preparing for retirement or something. Have you seen him? I asked my son. Is he still…around?

Speaking of parent-teacher conferences, the booking process is all online, which I love. Bookings opened at 7:00 am last Tuesday, and at 6:58 I was at the computer, obsessively refreshing my screen. I like to book all the teachers one after another, and I wanted a specific time, so I was happy that my obsessive-refreshing paid off. I realized with a start that this was my last parent-teacher conference booking ever, which did not at all make me feel mournful and Landslide-y, but instead incredibly joyful. As god is my witness, I will never be obsessively refreshing the conference-booking-site again.

Seriously, though. Why no parent meetings? March is a short month, school-wise, with March break and the annual musical theatre performance…there are not that many days available for a parent meeting. What is going on.

Am I Actually Karl Lagerfeld?

I have been successfully doing the February Clothing Challenge, where I wear a different outfit every day. I started to take photos of each outfit to keep track, but became extremely bored of it, mostly because even when I’m wearing a different outfit daily, my outfits are all very similar. I mean, how many photos do I need of me wearing yoga pants and tank underneath a long-sleeved tee with one of nine drapey black cardigans? Sure, sometimes I wear one of ten black non-cardigan-sweaters, and sometimes I – crazily enough – wear a sweater/ cardigan that is grey or cream, and on non-teaching days I wear jeans, but honestly, I feel like I am one of those people who wear basically the same thing every day.

I used to see those articles about people wearing the same clothes every day, and I would think that was gross – because I had the mistaken idea that they were literally wearing the same exact clothes daily – and also boring. But I guess I am one of those people, along with Karl Lagerfeld, Mark Zuckerberg, Simon Cowell, and the late Steve Jobs. Well, no one has accused me of being particularly exciting or of living on the edge, so I guess I’ll just keep on keeping on.

Why Does Autocorrect Want Me To Yell At You?

Ever since I got my new phone, it does the strangest thing: when I start typing a name, any name at all, it autocorrects the name to all capitals. Let me be clear: I’m not misspelling the name, or not usually, anyway. This has been irritating as I either have to delete and retype the name, or I send the text or message in a way that looks like I am yelling at the recipient. Why is this happening? I really don’t know and I don’t know how to fix it. I guess what I am saying is that if I send you a text and you think I’m yelling, I’m not. I swear.

Well. I feel less crabby now that I’ve written all this down; I guess it’s time to go out into the grey, cold day. Happy Last-Week-of-February, everyone! xo

Maybe they are “regular”

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I am absolutely a morning person, and yet I’ve had a few strange occurrences over the past few days that have caused me to figuratively tilt my head and raise my eyebrows at myself. On Saturday I started the coffee without noticing that the pot was on an angle, and by the time I finished washing my face, brushing my teeth, and feeding the dog there was half a pot of coffee that had spilled out on my countertop. Half a pot of coffee is a lot of coffee on a flat surface; it took me many minutes and many dish clothes to clean the mess up. I had to move all the small appliances and twenty-five bananas out of the pool of coffee and, of course, the angled pot had pressed up onto the filter and so there were grounds all through my coffee maker as well. My coffee maker was in need of a vinegar cleaning anyway – I am not sure if I’ve EVER given it a vinegar cleaning, and I have had this coffee maker since at least 2012 – but still. It was not, I thought, the best way to start a new month.

Then, this morning I went to yoga practice with my pants inside out. I didn’t even notice until I was two-thirds of the way through; if they were black I’m sure I would have never noticed, but they were blue, with a black gusset, and so it was fairly obvious.

Despite these two occurrences, February seems to be off to a good start. Saturday my husband and I had a date to The Casbah, where I had the single best meal of my life. I am not exaggerating. It was epic. If you are in Calgary, you really must go. Not only is the food incredible – I’m serious, it was the best meal I have ever consumed – the atmosphere is wonderfully romantic and lovely. I have always wanted to visit Morocco; one day I will and I will eat all the chickpeas and tajines and couscous you can imagine.

Then yesterday, in addition to being a palindrome, Kansas City won the Superbowl, which I was excited about. I also made a delicious dessert that I hadn’t made for a while, strawberry daiquiri pie. It’s the easiest thing in the world: a few days before, put two cans of full-fat coconut milk in the fridge. Scoop out the thick and creamy part to use, whirl it in a food processor with three cups of sliced strawberries (I used thawed frozen ones), two tablespoons of lime juice, and 1/2 cup honey. Pour it into a graham cracker crust (1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs with 1/4 cup melted coconut oil). Freeze, eat with magic shell chocolate (2/3 cup coconut oil melted with 1 cup chocolate, add 1 teaspoon vanilla and 1 tablespoon honey).

Most importantly, though, today my son went back to school. Hurrah to the end of exam break, all is back to normal in the Boyhouse.

So February is great so far, and I am happy to report that I am no longer hearing Honky Cat on a loop in my head. I was talking to the boys about this and my younger son pointed out it was excellent that I didn’t have Bennie and the Jets stuck in my head, because no one knows the words to it. I realized with a start that this was true. I don’t know the words to Bennie and the Jets; I would venture to say that no one does*. I would say that the entire population might know “Hey Kids,” followed by a great deal of mumbling, then “She’s got electric boots,” more mumbling that culminates in “B-b-b-bennie and the Jets.” But nothing else.

My son told me he had looked up the lyrics and it was worth doing; if you are interested you should do this because whoa nelly, none of those words a) make sense, and b) sound like anything at all in the song.

Speaking of things that don’t make sense, I had to go to Walmart for a few Walmart-y type things, one of which was Advil. The Pain Relief aisle is the same as the Family Planning aisle – huh, let’s not think too much about this – and there was a man there, talking with one of the employees. The employee – who was, I feel it is important to mention, female – had a box of condoms in her hand and was reading it.

Employee: This says “Extra Large.”

Man: No, no, that’s not what I need. Is there an “Extra SMALL?”

At this point I seriously considered browsing through the KY jellies and multiple personal lubricants just to hear the rest of the exchange. Mostly, though, I was impressed with this man. I mean, who has the confidence to ask for extra small condoms in a normal, non-whispery voice? Who has the confidence to actually go to a physical store to look for extra small condoms, rather than special order them online? May we all hold ourselves in such esteem.

Also? I’m pretty sure they DON’T have extra small condoms. I am pretty sure that the condom companies would never market them that way. It’s probably like in Starbucks, where a small is a Tall.

Well, there’s no good way to segue into this, but look at what I saw in the Co-Op the other day:

CANNED HAGGIS. Who knew there was such a thing? Not me, that’s for sure. As if haggis itself isn’t gross enough – “I think all of Scottish cuisine is based on a dare,” Mike Myers – CANNED haggis? Who would buy this? Let alone who would pay $13.29 for a can of haggis? No Scottish person, that’s for sure. If there is one thing that unites us as a people, it is frugality.

As a note I have never actually eaten haggis, canned or no, and I never will. But I just can’t imagine it being good in any capacity, even if I wasn’t vegetarian. Note the mushy peas next to it. Shudder, shudder, shudder.

I have decided that I WILL challenge myself to wear a different outfit every day in February. Let’s see how this goes. Today is cold and snowy and grey, which is a very February kind of day, I think. So why not brighten it up by digging through my closet to come up with different things? If there’s one thing I love, it’s clothes. And Moroccan food. And Elton John.

Here are my first three outfits of the month: date night, my only football-themed top for Superbowl Sunday, and a very typical “teaching day” outfit.

*Technically it is not no one; other than Elton John, my friend’s husband does actually know the words, which is a very excellent party trick in my opinion.

Until I saw your city lights, honey I was blind.

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I tend to avoid bragging about my kids; not that they are not braggable, but because I think it’s bad form. However, this all changes now. I am here to tell you that their knowledge of Elton John lyrics is second only to my own, which is to say, excellent. In point of fact, their knowledge was close to besting mine, as there was some involved discussion whether or not the line was I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife or life. It turns out that we were both right, as the line is “life” in the movie, but “wife” in the OG version, as the kids say.

I realized their lyrical knowledge had skyrocketed from Fine to Astonishing when we watched Rocketman on Saturday night. It was so much fun to watch with them; the three of us singing heartily throughout the movie. I’m not sure if my husband, the lone non-singer, found it quite as charming, but whatever. I can’t wait to watch Bohemian Rhapsody with them: I see a little silhouette-a of a man…

The sole issue from our fun singsong party-of-three is that I have had Honky Cat stuck in my head, on a loop, ever since. If I was to list my top ten Elton John songs, Honky Cat would not make the list. I don’t even think it would be in my top TWENTY. But here I am, nearly a week later, singing snippets of it all the livelong day. Get back, Honky Cat, better get back to the woods…at what point do I declare myself insane? Soon, I think. Living in the city ain’t where it’s at…

While I’m bragging, on Monday two unprecedented things happen. Now, before I go into those things, I will say that my boys are very helpful around the house; they have set chores and those chores are always done, they always are willing – usually cheerfully – to help out with any household/ yard/ snow shoveling task when asked, they keep the house and all the areas they inhabit in the house very tidy and clean. However, and I know every woman out there can relate to this, they often don’t See Things That Need To Be Done The Way I See Those Things, and I could get into a whole thing about Emotional Labour but I will not. Anyway, two things on Monday happened that have made me singing Looks Like We’ve Made It, interspersed with, of course, Honky Cat. I quit those days and my redneck ways… 

Monday morning I was writing at my desk and I could hear the clanking of dishes and silverware from the kitchen (YES IT IS WEEK THREE OF EXAM BREAK, LET US NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN). When I finished what I was doing, I realized that my older son (EXAM BREAK OMGGGG) had eaten his breakfast, realized that the dishwasher was finished its cycle, UNLOADED THE DISHWASHER and then PUT HIS OWN DISHES INTO IT. Yes, of course my kids always put their dishes in the dishwasher when they are finished with them, they are not barbarians, but to unload the dishwasher without being asked? UNPRECEDENTED.

Later, that very same day, my younger son changed the roll of toilet paper; this is nothing new, the guys always do this, it is unremarkable in and of itself. But he took the empty roll out of the bathroom and put it in the recycle bin, rather than leave it on the countertop in the bathroom. Also unprecedented! And just as astonishing!

So I am bragging about my wunderkinds; even if neither of those things ever happen again, well, we will always have Paris, so to speak.

Thank you all for your comments regarding gel pedicures; especial thank-you goes out to Samantha (HI SAMANTHA) for her comment about gel polish being bad for the nails. Long time readers will remember the time I got a manicure when I was stuck at the car dealership for many, many hours. That was a gel manicure and a few weeks after getting it, the polish peeled off, leaving my nails thin and weak. It took a long time for my nails to get back to normal; thank you, Samantha, for reminding me of this. I ended up cancelling my pedicure; I considered taking in my own polish, but that felt weird and overly controlling. I also considered getting no polish, but, to be honest, my feet are not, as my friend Taryn (HI TARYN) says, “manky,” so it felt like a waste of money just to get them soaked and scrubbed, which I can do at home. I figure I can Support Local Business in other ways. For example, waxing. A hirsute girl such as myself can well keep a business going.

Non-manky but Reynaud’s purple.

Oooh, maybe the next Favourite Things will be all about foot products. Sorry to keep you all on the edge of your seat! But you will have to wait.

I cannot believe tomorrow is February, this is the fastest moving January in all history, or at least in all of MY history. There are a few really good things I want to tell you about, to round the month off.

Sweater Discovery

I was rearranging the top shelf of my closet, where I keep things my gym sweatshirts and lesser-worn but much-loved items such as sweater dresses. Behold, underneath my pile of sweater dresses was this sweater:

It has pockets!

This is a significant discovery – the sweater, not the pockets – not only because I’ve had this sweater for many years and love it, but I completely forgot about its existence. When did I last wear it? Who knows! I LITERALLY forgot that I owned it. It was like finding something brand-new, although this sweater is the opposite of brand-new. What an exciting discovery. The very fact that I found something that a) I haven’t worn in years, and b) I love, made me think, once again, that my Sweater Situation is Ample.

Maybe I’ll do a February Challenge! Maybe I’ll try to wear a different outfit for each day in February, sweater-wise, at least. February is a short month, I should be able to do that. Obviously there will be some repeats in the form of jeans or black yoga pants – I have a number of those, too, but not enough to get me through the month without re-wearing.

Cilantro

I gave my little herb garden a break for a month or so, when I discovered fruit flies (fruit flies! In November!) that were infesting my cilantro. Or maybe they were aphids? I don’t know, but I did not want to eat infested cilantro. I don’t think that’s vegetarian. Also, gross. As you know, I cannot – CANNOT – go back to grocery store cilantro, so I have been doing without. I decided all was fine now, bug wise, so I planted some cilantro seeds, but it was just before the extreme cold snap. Even with the grow lights, it was too cold for the seeds to really sprout. Well, happily they are sprouted now and I am only a couple of weeks away from harvest. I can’t wait! The pleasure will be all the greater for the waiting, as old-timey suitors might have said about a reticent lady friend who finally agreed to an engagement.

Winter Fashion

It’s been so mild that on three occasions in the past ten days, I’ve worn my cute, stylish, flattering, lightweight winter coat. Don’t worry! I haven’t put away my sleeping-bag-with-sleeves, and in fact, I’m wearing it more often than not, but I have felt like a Winter Fashion Plate on those three occasions. I have paired my coat with a big blanket scarf and my tall, lace-up-but-with-a-zipper-on-the-side boots, and have felt like a Very Fancy Lady, one who lives in a much less harsh climate, who can look forward to “winter.” Or maybe one of those high class ladies down in New Orleans…

Photos courtesy of my older son who – have I mentioned this already? – has had NO CLASSES FOR THREE WEEKS THREE WEEKS PEOPLE. Cue up:

It’s like trying to drink whiskey from a bottle of wine…

It’s Friday, people! Let’s drink wine from a bottle of wine (or whiskey, I won’t judge) and enjoy the weekend. xo

Happy Thoughts and Pedicure Stress

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January is usually such a drawn-out drag of a month; I don’t know WHAT is going on, but this January is just flying by. I mean, it is the LAST WEEK OF JANUARY and it feels like I only just put up my puppy wall calendar, admiring the photo of the cute golden retriever puppy with a stick in his mouth. In just a few short days there will be a new puppy to look at and I cannot believe it. Could it be because since the polar vortex broke, it’s been beautifully pleasant outside? Could it be the bizarre three weeks of no classes my older son has been experiencing, for his alleged Exam Break? Could it be my busy new schedule of classes that makes the week speed by? Who can say?

I’m currently reading a historical fiction book about Zelda Fitzgerald, and I have been thinking about all the Women Who Have Come Before Us. Sometimes, when I think I’m having a bad day, I think of my grandmother who was widowed with six children under the age of 12, with literally no money at all. I think of her working at night so that the older boys would be home with the toddler twin girls, I think of her taking in boarders to make ends meet, I think of her walking a two mile round trip to milk her neighbour’s cow so that the girls could have milk. I have a wonderful life, full stop, no caveat necessary. Yes, life in this day and age has its peculiar challenges, but really. Really.

All of which is to segue into something that is bizarrely giving me a low-level anxious feeling, and it is the most Princess Problem of all Princess Problems. It’s right up there with my tiara is slightly too tight and this diamond ring is too heavy for my finger. Here is the issue, if we can even call it an issue: I have a pedicure booked for this Saturday. I am a person who does her own pedicures, with the exception of my annual Mother’s Day treat when my mom and I go to a fancy spa to get one done. I keep my toenails polished and my feet pumice-d and lotion-ed. My feet are on display almost every day because of my job, and so I like to keep them looking nice. Well, that’s not entirely true, the job really doesn’t have much to do with it. I’ve always kept my feet looking nice; it’s like wearing pretty underwear, even if I am the only person who knows about it, it gives me a boost.

So back to the Princess Problem. There is a cute little day spa that opened up in my neighbourhood, and I have fully switched from my usual place where I get waxes to this new place. This spa charges half the amount the other one did for a wax, the job is just as good, and I can walk there in five minutes. I really like the esthetician who does my waxes, and I impulsively booked a pedicure with her, even though I a) do my own and b) it isn’t Mother’s Day.

At this point you are probably wondering where I’m going with this. What is the big deal? Well, the thing that is causing me low-level anxiety is that the new cute day spa only does gel pedicures, and I normally get regular polish.

Who even cares, you might be thinking, but the thing is I’ve never had a gel pedicure and I don’t know what I will do if a) the polish chips or b) how to even remove the polish if it starts to grow out and look weird. I’ve seen ladies get gel polish removed at the spa and it seems like such an ordeal: toes wrapped in foil, some kind of buffing tool, etc. Now that I’m writing it down, it looks like possibly the stupidest blog topic ever, and that includes the time I wrote about buying the wrong scent of bathroom cleanser. 

Well. I guess I’m worried that it will chip and I won’t be able to fix it on my own and I will have figuratively thrown money out the window. Even though the price of the pedicure is 52% of the price of a pedicure at the fancy spa, it’s still money being spent on something completely frivolous and will it be wasted due to a polish chip? I guess we will wait and see. I’m also worried I’m going to love it so much that I will be one of those people who stops doing her own pedicures and becomes addicted to having them done and then I will be wasting money left, right, and centre.

I COULD just call and cancel, I guess, but I’m in a Support Local Business Mode and I do, I really DO want to be that kind of person that Supports Local Businesses. Plus, as I said, I like the esthetician on a personal level, and well. I have probably spent more than enough brain power thinking about this. Moving on!

What if they don’t have the kind of red I like for…NO, I AM MOVING ON FROM THIS TOPIC.

This morning Swistle asked her readers what they think of when they wake up in the middle of the night; good things, soothing things. If you are not a person who is experiencing peri-menopause and you sleep solidly through the night, congratulations and I am envious! I think most women of my age have some sort of sleep interruption, and usually when I find myself awake I try to focus on my breathing (INHALE….EXHALE….) but I also remember something I read that even just lying in bed is resting my body. Instead of looking at the clock and frantically thinking If I fell asleep this minute I would still get five and a half hours of sleep…okay now it’s five hours and twenty-nine minutes, I think Even if I don’t fall asleep, my body is resting. My body is getting rest. I find that soothing enough that I usually do drift off.

Most days I find myself awake a good half hour before I need/ want to be, and we all know that the worst thing is falling dead asleep just before your alarm goes off, rendering you disoriented and useless. So when I do find myself awake, I think happy things about the day ahead (not, apparently, about pedicures). The happy things I focus on are: what I’m making for dinner that night, according to my Unchanging Eating a Rainbow Meal Plan (tonight: pasta and cauliflower!), what dessert I am going to make for upcoming Sunday dinner, what class(es) I am teaching that day and which students will be there (Yay, I get to see the seniors! Yay, we are working on lower backs!), and, if it is a Planned Workout Day, what that workout will be. If I find myself awake near a weekend, I think about what wine I will have on Friday and Saturday, and I will think about any plans we might have. It all helps to keep me from falling disastrously back asleep and gets me excited about the day ahead.

Oh, that reminds me! My Saturday morning spin class fell on Robbie Burns Day, which inspired our instructor to add BAGPIPE MUSIC to our warmup. It was strangely invigorating. Also included in the class playlist was The Pointer Sisters, Neil Young, Bruno Mars, and – even more invigorating than the bagpipe music – a dance remix of many classical songs, including Ode to Joy and the Hallelujah chorus from Handel. I do like a good eclectic playlist, but my own will have to wait for another day. I need to go start the pasta sauce (it’s Monday!) before I go teach my afternoon class (backbends!). Happy Last Week of January, everyone. xo

Boyhouse Year In Review 2019

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The cold and dark at this time of year practically demands cozyness during the winter holidays. We’ve all been sleeping late and letting the days unspool slowly, with no real big goals or activities. The first couple of days of winter break, I did nothing except read and watch movies, slowly increasing my activity levels as I felt myself become restored.

Self-reflection and striving for improvement is always a good thing, I think. It’s good to look back on the year and look forward to the new one dawning. This year, Christmas has felt different; for one thing – and this will surprise many of you – I have not yet taken down my tree or decorations. Usually I pounce on it shortly after Christmas, but it still stands there merrily, and I have made no move to change things. Christmas cards are on every surface in the living room, and I have no urge to pack them away and dust those surfaces. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to slow down time in a Landslide-type way? I don’t know. All I know is I have the strong urge not to rush anything and to be present, which is my goal for this and every year.

My husband booked tickets to see the new Little Women movie Saturday night, and so last week I set aside my library pile to re-read the books. I say “books” because I include Good Wives as a separate book, which I’m sure could be the cause of many really boring arguments. Anyway, I’m glad I re-read them because the new movie is so true to the books; as well it is very cleverly shot and the characters are shown as being far more complex than they are in the usual heart-warming adaptations. It’s a little dark in places, which is quite true to Louisa May Alcott’s life; she had quite a dreadful, impoverished, and difficult life.

Has anyone seen the movie yet? I need to talk about it. Specifically, I need to talk about the juxtaposition of the scene of Meg at Sallie Moffat’s ball and the scene where she and John are discussing finances and her purchase of $50 worth of silk. And every other little thing about the movie.

Near the end of the movie, Amy has a line in which she says that writing about things – specifically, domestic, everyday things – is what makes them important. Is there anything better description for a blog? Here are the things that were important to me this year:

January

I talked about life’s little luxuries, someone told me that I reminded him of Charlene Prickett, and in an eerie bid of foreshadowing, I rescheduled my son’s appointment to get his braces on, which turned out to be very serendipitous. My older son also went winter camping and I wrote about cozy things.

February

I discovered that Johnny Rotten’s name came from his gross dental health and scheduled myself a dental cleaning (also, he’s still alive – who knew?), I started my Eating a Rainbow series in which I discuss my completely rigid meal plan, and my son’s orthodontist turned out to be an actual criminal. It was also the coldest February on record, so I had to search for my inner sunshine.

March

I had more than usual time-change-related-exhaustion, I cleaned my oven, and while traveling to and from Puerto Vallarta, I was seated beside the World’s Worst Airplane Seatmates. Literally. I also made a Seinfeld-themed birthday cake for my Seinfeld-obsessed son.

April

I went into full-on spring cleaning mode, including, weirdly, booking a Pap test, I got a Garmin watch and went into full-on David Sedaris mode, and I celebrated my birthday! I also talked about my trip to Puerto Vallarta and how I finally realized my dream of ziplining.

May

I bought a scrunchie, I took my son to his drum lessons and met his unintentionally-hilarious drum teacher, and I badly injured myself only two days before my first road race. Also, Barkley turned 11!

June

I applied to renew my sons’ passports, and met David, the employee with the most zest for his job and pride in his work that I have ever seen, government or not, I replaced the battery on my Daylight Magnifying Mirror, and my sons decided to give me even more grey hair by racing around in abandoned shopping carts. I also, weirdly enough, volunteered to make mini-cupcakes for the teachers.

July

I had an empty nest for a week, I hiked with the kids and listened to them talk about Li’l Pump, and we got two days of nice weather so I carped the diem. I also went to a concert and got dressed up in my Stampede Wear.

August

We discovered the term “girl’s blouse,”the kids watched The Shining and thought it was a comedy, and I found a moth in my water glass. My husband took the kids to Alaska and I was home alone for TEN DAYS so I hiked a lot with my friend.

September

The kids went back to school – my older one started high school! – I spent far too long wondering if I should grow my hair long, and I wondered what it would be like to be followed by the paparazzi. Also my younger son turned 14 and we hosted many, many teen boys at our house for a barbeque.

October

I re-read The Handmaid’s Tale and realized I am less a Handmaid and more a Wife or Martha, I became low-level outraged about crappy fundraisers (POINSETTIAS, I AM LOOKING AT YOU), and it was Halloween! I also got reading glasses.

November

I got excited about Christmas and continued to be low-level outraged about poinsettias, I got more excited about Christmas, and I – un-Christmaslike – read Helter Skelter. Shudder. The decorations were put up, and are STILL NOT TAKEN DOWN WHO AM I.

December

More outdoor decorations were purchased and displayed, including a Christmas walrus, I broke out the decorative tins, and my son broke my cutting board by crushing candy canes with a rubber mallet.

2019 – that’s a wrap! Happy New Year to all of you. xo

We Will Assimilate You

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It feels like, in this stage of life, that every single week we think next week things will slow down over and over until we drop dead from exhaustion, but I am optimistic that this week, THIS VERY WEEK, things will indeed slow down.

Well, maybe. At the very least, it is the last week of school – and for me, work – before a few weeks off, and those weeks off will be very welcome and – hopefully – slow. I have big plans to watch movies and read books, to drink coffee with almond Bailey’s in it, and to recruit my husband in to coming with me to help with what grocery shopping will need to be done. I am strong, invincible woman, but grocery shopping – particularly in the winter, particularly when shopping for people who WILL NOT STOP EATING – is physically exhausting.

I go weekly to Superstore, and bi-weekly to Costco, and because Wednesday is my designated Errand Day, those two chores happen on the same day every two weeks. Last Wednesday it started to snow, huge fluffy thick flakes, and I had to really brace myself for the Epic Grocery Day. If you’ve ever pushed a giant cart full to the brim with groceries through a snowy, unplowed parking lot, not once but twice in a two-hour span, you will understand how physically depleted I was by the time I pulled into my garage. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have gone for a 6.5 km run BEFORE doing that, but how was I to know it would start snowing immediately before heading out for Epic Grocery Day? I am not a meteorologist.

Pushing the cart aside, the biggest problem with grocery shopping during the day is that no one is home to help unload the car and put things away; it took a solid 50 minutes of non-stop work to do this. Who needs to go to the gym when you can just provide food for teenage boys?

Oh, the life of a domestic goddess. Last Friday I was having coffee with my friend Janet (HI JANET) when I noticed that the clasp of my beloved Christmas bracelet had come undone, and my little Christmas tree was missing. I checked my clothes, the coffee shop, the car…and then came to the sad conclusion that it was gone forever, probably lost in the snow. I taught my class and sadly came home; I washed the dishes in the sink and when I took the dish gloves off there was a little clunk on the floor – my Christmas tree! Of course! I had washed the dishes immediately before leaving the house, because apparently washing dishes is a huge part of my life, and the clasp must have come undone then. I was so thankful that the little tree didn’t go down the drain, or that more charms didn’t fall off the bracelet.

Luckily the clasp didn’t come undone when I was out mailing a card. You know the scene from When Harry Met Sally, when Sally is mailing a pile of letters and checks the chute after every single one? That’s me to a tee, and my husband always laughs at me. “It’s on a slant, of course the letter is going to go down into the box.” Well. WELL. I will tell you that the following events vindicated me forever. When I went to mail the card, I opened the chute to see at least six envelopes sitting there. Someone didn’t check! The mailbox was very full, which was preventing the envelopes from going down into the mailbox, and so I did my best to force them down, hoping I wasn’t crushing important things like photos or anything. It was crammed full, and so my entire arm was in the mailbox, trying to coax the envelopes down. I hoped no one was watching me, thinking I was committing mail fraud or theft. I briefly remembered the scene in The Simpsons where Homer gets his arm stuck in the pop machine, and there is discussion of amputation, when it is revealed that the reason his arm is stuck is because he will not let go of the can of pop. What if my arm gets stuck in this mailbox. Will I have to be rescued. If so, will the fire department arrive. If so, is it worth getting my arm stuck.

Speaking of pop machines, when I was at Costco for my Epic Grocery Day, I noticed that the pop machines were all equipped with credit card readers. Does no one carry change anymore? What an age we live in.

It was another weekend of treat-making to wrap up the season. I am now DONE. I think. There was a party at the studio and so I made cupcakes:

Because it was a yoga party, I wanted the cupcakes to be vegan. In the past I’ve used coconut oil to make vegan frosting, but it is not exactly ideal. For one thing, it either seizes or melts, and there is always a residual coconut taste, unless I use refined coconut oil, in which the taste is too bland. So, I bought a hippie vegan butter (or, “butter”) and I will tell you: I had my doubts. For one thing, after I had left it on the counter, as I would with regular butter, it was so soft that I had to scrape it out of its wrapping. It also tasted a lot like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. But I am here to tell you that it was the absolute best for frosting. I didn’t have to add any “milk,” it whipped up into perfect creaminess, and it set up nicely. It was much easier to work with than real butter, and much better tasting than coconut oil frosting, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter taste aside. I used the remainder of the decimated candy canes to make it festive.

I baked 115 gingerbread men on Thursday for Friday decorating with the boys, and it went exactly as expected.

Sometimes it’s better not to ask questions, you know?

A hammer and sickle. Note the cookie is broken, “just like Communism.” Symbolism in gingerbread decorating.

This is “Okay Boomer” cookie, which the boys say to each other, and also to me. “I’m not a Boomer!” I’ll say, to which they respond “Okay Boomer.”

Well, I think we can all read what that one says.

Self explanatory.

My army of gingerbread men. I would like everyone to note that a) mine are the only ones that actually get eaten, as no one can stand eating as much artificial icing as the boys put on their cookies, and b) I am a machine. Of the 115 cookies, the vast majority are exactly like this. We will assimilate you.

Here’s to a – maybe? – slower, quieter week. Only one week until Christmas Eve! May your days be merry and bright, friends, and cookie-filled too. xo

He just doesn’t know his own strength

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The past few days have seen me unusually irritated and agitated about things that would not normally irritate or agitate me. I’ve been having feelings of being completely overwhelmed, and no amount of list-making has assuaged those feelings. Is it this time of year? Have I over-extended myself? Am I having a breakdown? All of those questions and more were answered when my phone buzzed with a notification that it is Almost That Time Of The Month Again! Oh! Well. I’m glad my phone knows what’s what.

Honestly, I feel like everything would be at a normal level of busyness, but for all the little things that keep popping up. Call vet to refill Barkley’s eye drops. Figure out when I can get the boys in for their dental checkups at the new, non-pediatric-but-still-convenient dentist. Take Barkley to the groomer. Reschedule last week’s wax appointment. Make an appointment with our (very hot, I’m serious, this guy is a looker) plumber to come and look at our thermostat, since the furnace is coming on but not always to the right temperature.

This last one almost broke me. Who wants to find a free afternoon to wait at home for someone to come and look at the thermostat? Well, as I said, at least he’s nice to look at, and besides, I can get a start on my gingerbread men.

My email just popped up with an article entitled Why You’re Eating The Wrong Cinnamon and I am NOT clicking on that.

Even without the furnace/ dog/ dental scheduling, the last week has been a whirlwind of activity and treat-making and teaching and just generally scurrying around. I’ve been packaging up treats for my students and playing tetris with my downstairs fridge:

Me: it will be fine once I roast the cauliflower, there will be room in the fridge.

Oops.

I spent much of Sunday making gingersnaps:

More decorative tins!

I had left the candy canes for my younger son to crush, in order for me to make peppermint bark. I wanted to have the candy cane crushing completed by Monday, so I could package them up in little bags for a different group of students. My son got out the rubber mallet and the cutting board, and asked me just how crushed I wanted them to be. Chunks? Little pieces? Decimate them! I said to him in my Fun Mom voice.

One thing you should know about my younger son is that he Follows Directions. Remember in Game of Thrones when Sam cures Jorah of greyscale, and when asked about it he said that he read the instructions in some ancient manuscript and then followed those instructions? If only more people could be like that. It is my regret that Sam was not Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, because with that attitude, he should have been. Anyway, that is my son to a tee. He is the king of step-by-step directions, and you never have to tell him something twice. I probably should have kept this in mind when I told him I wanted the candy canes decimated.

He presented me with three bags of candy cane POWDER. Quite honestly that works really well in bark, as there are fewer tooth-chipping hunks of peppermint candy. There are a few small chunks in there too, as I had also said “a few small pieces would be nice.” As you can see:

But mostly, it’s powder.

In addition to decimating the candy canes, he also decimated my cutting board. It cracked into thirds. I can’t be mad about it, though, because he was just following directions. He is much less remorseful about the loss of my cutting board than he is impressed with his own sheer brute strength. Well, he does work out a lot, and YET I feel that perhaps a little less vigor would have yielded similar, but non-cutting-board-destroying results. I agreed with him that, Hulk-like, he just doesn’t know his own strength, while duct-taping together the cutting board for use next year. No sense breaking another cutting board next Christmas.

I went to Canadian Tire to buy a new one, and for those of you who are not Canadian, CT is one of our big national brands. Not only does it sell tires and other automobile-related things, but it also has a garden centre, household items, paint, kitchenware, and sporting goods, as well as all things Christmas-related. It is one of those stores that I love – because it frequently has incredibly good sales – and also hate, because the store itself is often a disorganized jumble. I ended up with a cutting board that was on sale for half-price, which I didn’t know until I went to pay, and if I HAD known, I probably would have bought two. Not that I’m complaining.

Before my CT trip, I put gas in the car and, due to my inability to see out the back window, washed it. There was no snow in the forecast, I swear, I checked my weather app twice, but not 30 minutes after washing the car, the snow started to fall and continued for the entire day. Did I curse the city? Possibly. The entire day, I kept looking at my weather app, which said “cloudy” but at no time did it call for snow, even when the snow was coming down. My Monday afternoon students, after I related this story, thought that perhaps the rest of the city was completely dry and that a snow cloud was just following me around, like a character in Winnie the Pooh. The long and short of it is that I had a clean car for about 30 minutes, and now I can’t see out the back window again.

Well, it’s only two weeks until Christmas, but my dear, dear, dear friend and neighbour (HI TARYN) surprised me with this beautiful gift:

Isn’t it gorgeous? I love it so much.

I hope you are all having a wonderful week; it can be stressful this time of year (THE FURNACE) but hopefully you are experiencing some joys and beauty of the season. xo