Category Archives: Playtime

Chocolate and no more moustaches

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This week has been frantically busy and it’s only Tuesday. Actually, it’s only 6:30 in the morning, on Tuesday, but it feels like it should be at least Thursday. Not to mention it’s December 1; I feel simultaneously like it’s still mid-November but it’s also almost Christmas, so it’s confusing to be in my brain right now.

December 1 marks the unveiling of the Advent calendars! I had bought the boys each a Lindor one, forgetting that my mother-in-law sends them each a calendar as well, so they will be doing fine on the chocolate front. She sent them Kinder Surprise calendars, which makes me feel like I have some kind of contraband. I guess we are not in the US, so it’s not really contraband. Did I mention it’s 6:30 in the morning?

We have a wooden calendar as well, and I used to fill it with treats, and then later I copied Lynn’s idea (HI LYNN) of putting in little slips of paper with fun Christmassy activities for us to do together. However, my creative juices went dry and I would write “go sledding after school” or “read a Christmas book” on at least 50% of the days. Then last year I came up with the idea to write down nice things I noticed about each boy, and put it in the calendar for them to read later. For example “Today I was so happy when you emptied your laundry basket without being asked,” or “Today I liked when you gave your brother a hug when he was feeling down.” I found that by the end of the month they were doing a lot of extra things around the house, so it turned out quite nicely.

I’ve noticed this year some people are doing reverse Advent calendars – putting food for the Food Bank in empty wine cases – or “Acts of Kindness” calendars, and I might try that another year. For now, I’ll stick with this one.

Another great thing about December 1 is that it’s the end of Movember! There are a lot of men who look fine in moustaches; mostly men of my father’s generation or possibly older, and the occasional football coach/ police officer type. Sam Elliott still rocks a moustache, and so does Tom Selleck, but I do still find Movember a bit startling.

 

Hall and Oates

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I had to include Hall and Oates in there.

Happy December, everyone! Time to get on with my day. xo

Hashtag: Boner Killer

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In lo, these many years since my children have been in the public school system – and even before that, when they were in a privately-run preschool – I have seen my share of Spirit Days. From Twin Day to Olympic Day to my much-loathed Dress As Your Favourite Story Book Character Day and it’s equally-loathed Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up Day, I’ve seen them all. I am a veteran of Spirit Days.

Having said that, my children have never once participated in Crazy Hair Day.

Do not get me wrong; Crazy Hair Day is greatly preferred to Crazy Hat Day. Crazy Hat Day was almost always followed by Lice Notice Day, which is no one’s favourite day. We have been very lucky; the boys have less than an inch of hair at any given time, and have – so far, knock on wood and throw salt around – never been afflicted by lice. I’d like to keep it that way.

Yes, the boys have haircuts you could set a watch to, by their own choosing. Once, Jake thought he’d grow his hair out a bit; by the time he had 3/4 of an inch of hair on his forehead he was begging to get it cut. They go into the barbershop like they’re ordering Chinese takeout: I’d like the number 2 on the sides and number 4 on top, please.

But today they decided they would participate in Crazy Hair Day, so they went into the bathroom with a bottle of gel and after a solid twelve minutes of effort, came out looking like this:

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 SETTLE DOWN THERE, BOYS. No need to get so wild.

Speaking of wild, a set of Golden Girls panties came out on the market, and I was notified by no fewer than six people. God, I love my friends: people see “Golden Girls panties” and they immediately think “Nicole would like those.”

 goldengirls

NOTE: The Blanche ones are crotchless.

I ALMOST want to shell out the $160 for the set and then get some boudoir photos taken to give to my husband at Christmas. Sssshhh…don’t tell him. I’m sure he would be thrilled.

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Rod Stewart performs Sound of Music favourites, and other reasons to live.

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This weekend I got so much done; in addition to all my usual things, I also made sugar cookie dough, gingerbread dough, gingersnaps, banana muffins, and squares. I cleaned the house and we put up the Christmas tree and decorations – no, it’s not too early! – and I was about to finish up addressing my cards when I suddenly started feeling very unwell. I was feeling so unwell that my husband commented on it. Are you okay? Because you don’t look okay. You look terrible.

I’d be insulted if I wasn’t so grateful that he noticed my plight. It turns out that I had suddenly come down with the virus that had the rest of the family down a week earlier: sore throat, tight chest, and fatigue.

Fatigue! Yesterday I felt like I was in a fog; I wandered around the house for five minutes trying to figure out what I needed to do. It turns out, I needed to put a load of laundry in, but the thought process to get there was so taxing I wasn’t sure I could make it. I actually napped, which I never do. Ninety minutes of napping, and then it took me several minutes to figure out how to use my vegetable peeler while I prepped dinner. I was, alarmingly, reminded of Still Alice. It’s just a cold, I’m not coming down with early onset Alzheimer’s…or am I? I thought this over and over until I forgot about it and stared blankly at the sink for a while.

Happily, I feel much better today. I shovelled the snow from the sidewalk and only felt a little bit like dying.

This whole weekend, while I was in festive production mode, I was listening to the Sirius Holly channel, that I mentioned previously. For the most part, it is delightful. I can easily hear multiple renditions of the same song in a three-hour time period, and I will sing along with all of them. I even enjoyed ROD STEWART singing My Favourite Things, which is one of the more bizarre sentences I have written. Me, rolling gingersnap dough in sugar: Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are…hey, this sounds like Rod Stewart. It IS Rod Stewart! That’s weird.

Until this weekend, I would have said that I enjoy all Christmas music immensely, with only one exception: Paul McCartney’s Simply Having A Wonderful Christmastime. That song, to me, is the festive equivalent of Might As Well Go For A Soda. I start to twitch like someone is scratching their nails down a chalkboard. Does anyone actually have chalkboards anymore? You know what I mean.

Anyway, I had always thought that was the worst ever Christmas song. I have a very high tolerance – nay, adoration – of cheesy Christmas songs such as Barry Manilow’s White Christmas or Neil Diamond’s Little Drummer Boy. But once that “Simply having…OH GOD MAKE IT STOP” gets in my head, I feel like I need some kind of medication/ alcohol to remedy the situation. However, from listening to Sirius Holly, I have discovered something even worse.

It’s called Christmas Wrapping.

It is the most tuneless song ever with the most insipid lyrics – and this is coming from someone who goes NUTS to hear Last Christmas by Wham! so I know a little something about insipid holiday lyrics – and it is six and a half minutes long. It also is played on Sirius Holly FREQUENTLY.

My weekend with Christmas Wrapping:

Me, the first time I hear it: Is this song still playing? Wow, it’s really long.

Me, the second time I hear it: Oh god, it’s that song again. What the hell is this song?

Me, the third time I hear it: What the hell? Why are they playing this again?

Me, the fourth time I hear it: THAT IS IT. I AM WRITING AN ANGRY LETTER TO SIRIUS. RIGHT AFTER I FINISH THIS GINGERBREAD.

Me, the fifth time I hear it: I’m losing the will to live.

Me, the sixth time I hear it: *changes channel*

So I’m a little slow. Clearly, I should have gone with step six in the first place. But then I might have missed Bruce Springsteen’s Baby Please Come Home, and that would have been tragic.

Just keep swimming…

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YOU GUYS. It’s been a whirlwind of activity around here. We took a four day weekend to see my in-laws’ over the Thanksgiving holidays, which was great, except that I had one day after returning home to get my bearings, and then leave for Toronto. I flew out of Calgary Wednesday morning, and then flew back home Thursday morning. I got home in time to make dinner and take the kids to karate, and now today I’m trying to catch up on laundry and prepare for a party I’m hosting at my house tomorrow night for forty people. I’m completely swampled, as a friend I used to work with and I would say. (HI CARMEN).

Ten days or so ago, I mentioned my travel plans and party plans and my day-to-day work to a friend, saying I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and exhausted by it all. She said that when she feels overwhelmed by life, she thinks of Dory: Just Keep Swimming. So until everything is cleaned up Sunday afternoon, that is my motto: just keep swimming. Yesterday when I got home I was so tired that it seemed too much to fill out Mark’s swim forms for school; holding a pen seemed like an effort that I didn’t want to make, but I just kept swimming. Like a shark, if I stop, I will die. Or, to be less dramatic, not want to get up off the couch ever again.

Oh, but the trips were very very good. My in-laws are well, and I ended up taking home about forty pounds of apples, in addition to the ones my dear mother-in-law had sent to me via Greyhound bus a few weeks ago. We are apple-licious around here. I mostly have McIntosh apples because they are my favourite, and I just smiled and nodded when my mother-in-law sang praises of my beloved Macs: they are perfect for pie and applesauce, she said. Ha! Pie and applesauce my foot. I’ll be eating every one of these apples, just the way nature intended, and I won’t even have to share because no one else really likes McIntosh apples. Not to mention that apple pie is an abomination, in my humble opinion.

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Apple bottom!

The trip to Toronto was great too. It just so happened that the annual Yummy Mummy Club meeting was the same day as the deciding game for the Blue Jays, and the meeting room was right beside this:

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The CN Tower!

Very exciting! When the Blue Jays won, you could hear the “woo-ing” from the streets, and when our meeting/ party was finished near midnight, there were still many fans wobbling around. On my flight to Toronto, I was sitting next to a young man who was heading out for the game. He was very nice and as we chatted I mentioned how exciting it was when the Blue Jays won the World Series. It turned out that during that exciting time in baseball, he wasn’t yet born.

All that celebrating must have been something, because the next day our flight was delayed since our co-pilot had called in sick. I BET YOU’RE REALLY SICK, BUDDY. We were sitting on the plane for quite a while, waiting for the replacement to make his way through the gigantic Toronto airport.

As an aside, Calgary is a city of over 1.1 million people, and yet I felt like a complete country bumpkin as I made my way through the terminal. My sweet friend and YMC colleague Katja (HI KATJA) had very kindly offered to pick me up at the airport and drive me to the meeting with Jeni (HI JENI) the Editor-in-Chief, who is also a wonderful friend. I stopped off after deplaning, to wash up and fix my makeup and brush my teeth, assuming that I would be able to just pop outside to meet her. I ended up walking twenty minutes through the terminal, weaving in and out of the throng of people, up and down stairs. Fortunately I was not late to meet her, but I did feel silly that I didn’t realize how big the airport (that I’ve been to twice before) is. I was just happy I was wearing low heels, and counted it as my steps for the day.

Anyway, as we waited for the replacement co-pilot, I wondered how the flight was going to go. The flight was completely full and there were quite a lot of the “under two” set. The couple beside me had with them little Arlo, who was a twenty-three-month-old butterball. He was just adorable, but the wait was going on and on and I hoped – for the parents’ sake, not mine, I couldn’t care less about crying babies so long as they’re not my own – that he would be okay. Things weren’t looking promising at first, because he was HOT but he did NOT want to take his sweater off. In fact, taking his sweater off was the WORST THING EVER. But being HOT was also THE WORST THING EVER. Arlo had a snack and then slept on his mother’s chest for a while, and after that he was just fine.

Toddlers, am I right? So cute and yet so exhausting. He showed me his trains, and his Thomas lift-the-flap book, and he told me about feeding ducks and that they quacked at him, and I almost died of the cuteness. He even sat on my lap for a few minutes to look out the window. He also spent a lot of time running down the aisle with one of his parents in tow, which reminded me of how physically draining it is to have a toddler, not to mention how physically draining it is to TRAVEL with one. I’m drained enough this week!

All of which is to say I’ve got to go keep swimming, at least for another 48 hours. Wish me luck!

 

NO COFFEE NO PRANA

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That’s something that Ashtanga yogis like to say a lot – no coffee, no prana – because it was said by Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, who was apparently a coffee lover. I say it to myself every day when I’m waiting for the coffee maker – no coffee, no prana. I also sing Linda Put The Coffee On, but with “Nicole” substituted for “Linda” which pretty much sums me up nicely.

All of which is to say that today is, apparently, National Coffee Day. One fun little perk about my job at Yummy Mummy Club is that I’m always in the know about what kind of special day it is. Did you know that every day is a special day, and not just in a Romper Room, Mr. Rogers, carpe diem kind of way? Every day celebrates something, which is fun, even if it’s totally random. It’s always National Drink Beer Day or National Love Your Dog Day or National Guacamole Day or National Weiner Schnitzel Day. September 4th is National Hug Your Boss Day, which seems kind of unprofessional, but it’s also National Newspaper Carrier Day. Every second Tuesday in September is National Ants on a Log Day, and tomorrow is both National Chewing Gum Day and National Mud Pack Day.

So today is National Coffee Day, although in my house, every day is National Coffee Day. If it wasn’t, it would be National Oh-My-God-I’m-So-Bitchy Day, so let’s just let me enjoy my coffee. Mmmkay?

As an aside, yesterday I was told that the term “Bitchy Resting Face” is an anti-feminist thing to say. Sure, we probably don’t say that old men with furrowed brows have Bitchy Resting Face, but we might think they look like jerky assholes, so I think we are probably even on that front. BRF just rolls off the tongue more than “wow, that guy looks like a jerky asshole who wants to burn the whole city down, maybe he should smile more.” Meh. I am not anti-feminist – obviously – but I have to tell you, there are reasons I smile in photos. Here’s the biggest reason:

BRF

 

You might say, no, that’s just your face, it’s not bitchy, to which I would respond that the above photo illustrates why I smile a lot. I look like I’m going to murder someone if they say ONE MORE WORD and the truth is, I was probably just looking at a tree. I don’t like looking like this on the outside when I feel like this on the inside:

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Photo from my very talented friend Lucas http://lucasramage.com/

 

You know who doesn’t have Bitchy Resting Face? Barkley. We went away for the weekend and when I picked him up from the “spa” he just couldn’t stop smiling.

BarkleySmile

Just like me, smiling is his favourite. But I guess he wouldn’t have Bitchy Resting Face anyway, because he’s a male dog and as such is literally not a bitch.

But I digress. I meant to write about our weekend away and got caught up in drinking a pot of coffee and writing about National Coffee Day. Our trip was fantastic. We were on the very west coast of Vancouver Island, in Tofino. The weather was perfect. The travel was perfect. We had a hot tub on our deck and were right beside the beach. Even the flights were serendipitous – we had boarded our flight to the Island, and were informed we were going to be early when the pilot announced that there was an issue with the cargo door and we wouldn’t be able to take off. But! There was an EMPTY PLANE RIGHT BESIDE US, so we flew in that. That never happens, so I felt like it was a good omen for the weekend.

It’s great to go away and great to be home, and yesterday I caught up on all the laundry, and groceries, and work that had piled up, but it all feels good. The leaves have all changed colour, suddenly, and the city is a gorgeous mix of blue skies with yellow, red, and orange leaves. The cosmos I planted two years ago have self seeded and are in full bloom, amazingly, and all is well in the world. Many, many reasons to smile.

boys boys2 forest splash sun tofino tofino2

No half measures.

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This morning my husband went back to work after three weeks off, and on that festive note, I headed to the dentist for a cleaning and checkup. What better way to start out a week after so much fun family time? I’m happy to have modern dentistry at my disposal and I like having non-rotten teeth, but good lord teeth scaling is AGONIZING. Something about having a variety of metal picks scraping my teeth and occasionally jabbing my gums for the better part of an hour makes my hands clench and my entire body tense up. I would much rather undergo a pelvic exam given by Keyshawn Johnson than get my teeth scaled.

Oh well, at least my teeth are nice and shiny now. And Monday morning isn’t all bad: Judy Blume tweeted me! I’d like to say that it was because she loved my Deenie and Are you there God? It’s me Margaret. recaps over on Throwing It Back, but it was in response to a comment about her latest book, In The Unlikely Event. In case you’re in doubt, it’s a very good read and I highly recommend it.

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I was already a Fangirl, now I’m a SuperFangirl.

This weekend was not without excitement, either. We were at my parents’ place at the lake, and the weather was perfect. On Saturday my mother and I went into town to do a little shopping, and as we were walking down the street, I heard the thumping strains of Thunderstruck slowly approaching. I turned to see where it was coming from, and there, slowly cruising the main drag, was a shiny, pimped-up Dodge Challenger, windows rolled down to reveal a middle-aged man in a ball cap. It was so awesome I actually laughed in delight, and received a glance and a nod. I don’t get many glances-and-nods these days so that just made it better. We saw him again later, this time blasting Hells Bells. Was he just cruising the strip? Was he looking for a parking space and just happened to have ACDC blaring? Was he driving in loops, enjoying his tricked-out muscle car? We will never know the answer.

The other notable thing that happened this weekend is that I went for a bike ride with my husband. My husband has given up golf in favour of cycling, and he isn’t one of those “half-measures” kind of people.

Digression: “half-measures” always makes me think of Mike from Breaking Bad. Will any other show ever be as well written/ heart-palpitation inducing?

Anyway, my husband has taken up cycling, and during our time at the in-laws’ he clocked more than 120 kilometers. On Friday night he asked if I wanted to go for a “little ride” with him and I accepted, having stepped on the scale earlier that day and being horrified by the result (more on that later). The “little ride” turned into an hour and a half and 17 kilometers, which is the longest ride I have gone on for many, many years. Possibly ever. I was a little sore the next day – my butt! – but I welcomed the extra exercise.

Another digression: my friend Lyn (HI LYN) thought that, taken out of context, saying my husband took me for an hour and a half ride is really quite funny and not safe for work. Pretty sure THAT kind of physical activity would leave me even more sore.

In my last post I mentioned I was a victim of Shrinking Pants Syndrome, but I didn’t realize how bad things had become until I stepped on the scale. People, I have gained seven pounds since June. Seven pounds. In less than two months. Some of you might think this is no big deal, but believe me, it’s a huge deal. For one thing, I have an extensive wardrobe but all my clothes are the same size. Nothing fits right now and I am very uncomfortable. Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to subject you to my new diet-and-exercise program, because that will just bore and depress us both. But I am thinking there will be more evening bike rides in my future.

Hashtag “Blessed”

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Yesterday the kids really wanted to go to the amusement park, and although that meant TWO big outings in one week, I agreed. It’s Stampede Week and the amusement park is always quiet at this time of the year, we have season’s passes, and also it was a beautiful sunny day. I was preparing snacks and water bottles when I got a call from my husband: his building had a small fire and the office was closed for the day, so he was on his way back home.

Score!

As soon as he got in the door the kids immediately begged him to come with us. This NEVER happens, since we usually do our outings during the week when he’s at work. The four of us piled into the car and headed off, and we had the best time. There’s nothing like going to the amusement park with both parents to showcase which one of us is the “fun one” (hint: it’s not me). I did, however, agree to go on the bumper cars with the kids and although at times I felt like Marge Simpson, driving neatly in a clockwise direction, it was a blast.

I maintain that there cannot feasibly be two really fun parents in a relationship, and I’m okay with not being the fun one. I don’t really want to go on the log ride, for example, and I certainly don’t want to get shot with water in the bumper boats. And yet sometimes this can be hard on my non-cool ego. A few weeks ago we were discussing over dinner which Star Wars character best represented each person in our family. The boys had agreed that their father was most like Han Solo, Jake was most like Luke, and Mark was just like Anakin prior to going over to the Dark Side. When I asked which character I was most like, they both thought for a moment, and then agreed – IN UNISON – that I was most like C-3PO.

I related this to my friend Hannah, who soothed my soul by saying I was Princess Leia in a gold bikini, and I shouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise. I would like to think that I could choke a giant slug with my neck chain, but sadly I’m now convinced that I am most like the second-lamest character in the entire Star Wars series.

Leia copy

Have you ever had the experience of sharing something from your childhood with your own children, and you build it up and build it up and then it’s a total letdown because they are bored or uninterested or politely concede that it’s “okay?” I’ve had that experience numerous times, but this week was different. I discovered Top Gun is now on Canadian Netflix.

Longtime readers know how I feel about Top Gun. If not, please read this post right now. I’ll wait.

I decided to watch it Wednesday evening, since my husband was going to be at a Stampede event and I wanted something fun for myself. I asked the boys if they wanted to watch it with me, and they said yes. Mark watched and enjoyed the first and last thirty minutes, wandering off mid-movie to do something else, as is his wont. But Jake. Jake LOVED it. He loved the story line. He loved the flight scenes. He loved the call signs and the lessons learned and Maverick turning into a Team Player after all. I skipped through the sex scene, but other than that he watched the whole movie and was glued to it the whole time. He analyzed it extensively, saying things like “I don’t think Maverick is really mad at Sundown. He’s just upset because Goose is gone now.”

We have now perfected the double high-five – up high, and backwards down low, and he says that he wants this to be our playground goodbye, instead of the fist-bump that we’ve been doing for years. He is now saying things to me such as “Mom, you can be my wingman anytime.” It brings tears of joy to my eyes.

This morning, when he woke up, he asked if we could watch Top Gun together again soon.

YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES.