Category Archives: Playtime

Oh, HAI.

Posted on by

Where, you may be wondering, have I been?  Or perhaps you were not wondering that at all.  In any case, I’m just back from a sunny vacation during which the following momentous events occurred: Jake went from a reluctant, life-jacket wearing child to one who jumped into the pool and swam across it without the assistance of floatation devices, I ate four tomatoes a day fresh from my mother-in-law’s garden, the boys and I spent many hours honing our engineering skills with respect to sand sculptures, and I got, awkwardly enough, approached by my sister-in-law’s swinging single male neighbour.  Sugar daddy!  Oh wait.  I think I already have one of those.

So it was a great vacation, and I even have a suntan.  I am also completely sapped from the drive home.  It is surprisingly energy consuming to sit in the passenger seat and hand out snacks for eight hours.  It is also energy consuming to listen with sympathy and interest to the various conversations coming at me from three different directions.  From Mark came incessant questions about the exact number of minutes until we would arrive at our destination, along with a near-constant commentary on the nature and names of the various bodies of water we were passing.  Jake alternated between playing and snacking quietly in his seat, and becoming filled with Hulk-like rage over sitting in his seat for hours.  My husband, in the tradition of the last thirteen years of our road trips together, and perhaps for even longer than that, released an irate barrage of curses on three types of drivers: the elderly, those driving motorhomes and/or trailers, and people from the prairies who drive twenty kilometers an hour below the speed limit on curvy roads, but insanely fast on straightaways and passing lanes so that passing was impossible.  God help us all if a driver happened to belong to all three catogories.  It is happy that he doesn’t have voodoo dolls; if he did, drivers all along the TransCanada would suddenly have their eyes popping out of their heads or suffer instant heart failure. 

So what did I miss while I was away?  Tell me everything. xo

I can’t hear a word they’re saying, only the echos of my mind

Posted on by

I am currently wondering if it is possible to be talked to death.  Or talked into submission.  In any case, I think my children are trying to break some sort of record, a talking record.  The biggest issue, as I see it, is that each’s child’s speech is a set in a Venn diagram, but their sets are not overlapping in the least, and so the conversation is going like this:

Mark: Isn’t it so cool we saw river otters at the zoo today?

Jake (wielding a small light sabre): Do you think that my powers can defeat this sword?

Mark: It would be so cool if river otters lived in the Bow River.

Jake: AIEEEEEEE!  I’m going to DESTROY the sword!

Mark: It’s neat that the Bow River eventually flows into the Hudson Bay.  I mean, after it turns into all those other rivers.

Jake: MOM GUESS WHAT MOM GUESS WHAT MOM MOM MOM MOM I’M BATTLING THIS SWORD WITH FIRE!  FIIIIIIRRRRRRREEEEE!

Mark: Hey Mom?

Me: Yes?

Mark: Hey Mom?

Me: Yes, Mark?

Mark: Um.  Um.  I forgot what I was going to tell you.

Jake: BATTLE GEAR BOOOOOOOOSSSSSSTTTT!

We spent most of the day at the zoo and, in spite of the sunshine and exercise, the boys seem invigorated rather than tired.  The house looks like a toy-filled bomb went off, or, alternately, a giant pinata filled with Legos and Ben 10 aliens was smashed with a baseball bat in my living room.  The noise level is currently approaching “deafening”. 

Update: the sets in the Venn diagram are now overlapping!  Mark has joined into Jake’s bizarre game of destruction and now they are both screaming loudly and running laps around the house.

Right now, giving up alcohol on weeknights seems like a terrible lapse in judgement.

It doesn’t help that my husband has been working a lot lately, in fact we were supposed to be on vacation right now but obviously, we are not.  When the boys were babies my husband was at a different job and he would leave the house at seven in the morning and return after seven at night.  That was essentially the hours that the boys were awake, and so my whole day would be spent alone with little people.  Now, of course, things are different and getting a phone call from my husband saying that he is going to be late does not reduce me to tears.  But still.  It’s loud. 

Yee-haw

Posted on by

The rain that has been coming down since Monday has stopped, and, in the manner of mothers everywhere, I have just sighed with relief and shooed my children outside.  The noise level has been unbelievable around here.  We played Go Fish and the sounds emanating from my children were ear-shattering.  Mark dislikes “winning” games, and so we played Go Fish as a game in which we were rescuing animals; anyone getting a pair rescued the animals displayed on the cards.  It was like a cooperative, super-politically-correct version of Go Fish.  My friend asked me if saying Go Fish was verbatim from an animal-cruelty perspective, and in fact Mark DID make everyone say “Go Rescue” instead.

Jake continued to say Go Fish throughout the game.

It is not a coincidence that I am drinking a beer right now.  Not just because of the, to quote the Grinch, “Noise! Noise! Noise!”, but also because it’s Stampede week!  For those of you who are not familiar, Stampede is not just a rodeo/midway/excuse to come up with ever-more disgusting food products.  Doughnut burgers are a new thing this year, and I wish, I WISH I was joking about this.  A maple dipped doughnut is the bun.  Meat in the middle.  It makes me fear for society.

Speaking of fearing for society, I wonder if carnies still try to cop a feel while adjusting safety restraints.  Or is sexual harassment via midway entertainment so twenty years ago?  It’s hard to say. 

But Stampede is more than just that.  Stampede is ten days of drunken debauchery for a large percentage of Calgarians and those who may be visiting Calgary during this time.  Divorce lawyers are busy as bees in the weeks following Stampede, and pregnancy rates go up.  My own first born was conceived during a Stampede week, and so was almost every other baby in my prenatal class.  (My second born was conceived during the Christmas season, and September is also a busy time in the delivery room.  Was Mommy kissing Santa Claus?  Why yes, she was.)

More than that, Stampede is a time where bad fashion rears its ugly head.  This was especially apparent to me back in the days when I worked in an office.  Men with whom I had a professional relationship and who would normally be clad in khakis and golf shirts would come to work clad in tight Wrangler jeans and shirts with wolves on them.  Or sunsets.  Or eagles.  And the women!  My friend Rita wrote a brilliant piece on Stampede fashion and I cannot even attempt to replicate her accurate descriptions, and so I will just direct you to read the piece.  Hootchie Mama indeed, Rita, you hit the nail on the head.

Odds and Ends and a Royal Zoo Trip

Posted on by
It has been a busy few days in the Boy House.  Last Thursday I found myself at the hair therapist’s without a book, and so I picked up People magazine to learn all about Bachelor Brad’s breakup with Emily.  Here’s the reason they broke up: Emily became jealous after watching the actual broadcast of The Bachelor – week after week she realized that Brad was romancing all the other women who were “vying for his love” and she didn’t feel special anymore – and the strain from watching her fiance get it on with other women wasn’t something Brad could “physically comfort her” about since they were not allowed to see each other in the months following the show’s taping.  Here’s a plan, people: if you want to actually have a healthy relationship, don’t go on a reality dating show.  I don’t know.  It’s just an idea.  I mean, if you want to be on the cover of People magazine talking about your failed relationship, well then, be my guest. 
The girl who shampooed my hair said, with regards to this Bachelor information, “I guess the show brought them together AND tore them apart!”  Very astute.
Speaking of breakups, I had a very awkward moment when I greeted a woman I hadn’t seen for a while by asking about her puppy.  Last I saw her she had a beautiful Lab puppy.  Wouldn’t you know, she and her boyfriend had broken up and now he has custody of the puppy.  I think next time I’m going to just stick with “Hi.”

Friday a friend and I decided to take our kids to the zoo.  The timing was not accidental – we had heard that Will and Kate were going to be visiting the zoo that day.  A chance to see the Duke and Duchess while also seeing wolves and Foggy the hippo?  Irresistible.  I have had an annual zoo pass since Mark was a baby, but I didn’t immediately renew it this year because the zoo has increased their prices considerably.  In the past four years, the price of childrens’ passes have more than doubled, and adult passes have almost doubled.  Plus, the zoo had eliminated free parking without purchase of an expensive pass.  One of the things I really hate about this city – besides the atrocious weather – is the cost of parking.  But I did eventually suck it up and purchase passes and – what do you know – we had a great day and it was well worth cost of admission.  Jake got to see Foggy and received his telepathic communication (“He said Hi Jake, I love you!” Jake informed me after staring at the hippo for some time).  Mark got to see his favourite Canadian wild animals although not, alas, a beaver.  We saw some active grizzly bears:

and some mascot grizzly bears, oddly enough.

Then we saw the royal motorcade!  Oh happy day!

And despite what it looks like, we were not creeping out in the bushes.  We were standing at the gorilla viewing area!
My husband asked why I find the royal couple so appealing, and I will tell you: they seem so HAPPY.  I really like seeing happy people, as opposed to those people who have little black clouds over their heads at all times.  Plus, I am coveting every single one of Kate’s outfits including her fabulous shoes.  Where would I wear them is another question.  The playground?  School drop-off?  THE ZOO?  Perhaps not.
This weekend I was at a yoga workshop which was both inspiring and exhausting, and so last night I found myself curled up on the couch, drinking wine and watching Sex and the City reruns.  Speaking of which, I have a recipe for cosmopolitans up at the cooking website.  Yes, the recipe of the week is a drink, but what can I say, it’s Stampede time in Calgary which is code for “a whole lot of drinking and debauchery”.  Festive AND appropriate! 

Bond. James Bond.

Posted on by

Mark, seeing a commercial on a US television station, asked me what “Independence Day” means.  I was tired and did not feel up for a historical discussion, so I simply said that it was like Canada Day, but for the United States.  Later I felt that this lazy and somewhat inaccurate explanation would probably be met by a shudder by any American.
But happy Fourth of July to all my American friends!  There is always much discussion about the differences between the two countries, and truthfully I feel a small culture shock any time I visit the States.  No French writing on packaging, the food is different, fruits and vegetables are better, and people don’t say “sorry” when they bump into you in a crowd.  I used to travel to Houston quite often, back in my working girl days, as opposed to my days of being a lady of leisure, and every single time I would show my identification at the airport or the car rental place, someone would say “Oh, you’re from Canada?  I LOVE Celine Dion!”  My conclusion is twofold: that people in Houston really like Celine Dion, and that Americans are a very friendly people.
Friday was Canada Day and I celebrated by taking the kids to the local amusement park with a friend and her daughters.  We had fun, as we always do, and near the end of our visit we went to the games section.  The kids bring their allowance to play these games, and I’m always a bit mixed about it: on the one hand, that is what their allowance is FOR, to spend on special activities, but on the other hand, how many crappy, cheap stuffed animals do we want in the house?  They always play the games where you win a prize every time, and that prize is always a crappy, cheap stuffed animal. 
Last year Jake won a little blue dog, immediately named Woof Woof.  He loved it instantly, hugging it and saying “I finally have a pet of my very own!”  I was strongly in favour of this attachment, since prior to that he was obsessed with EGGPLANTS, of all things.  Every time we would go to the grocery store he would beg me to buy an eggplant, not to eat, no, but to be his pet.  His pet doomed to soften and rot and be thrown out.  So his happiness with Woof Woof meant happiness for me, in that I could take him to the grocery store with relatively little harassment.
Woof Woof was a fairly creative name, as far as my kids go.  Other stuffed animals in our house are named things such as Hippopotamussy, Moosie, Bear Bear, and Tigey.  So on Friday, when Jake lucked out and won a LARGE prize, a stuffed octopus, he immediately christened it Octopussy.
I have been stifling the urge to giggle and call him 007, but at least it goes well with Mark’s beaver, Beavery.
Jake and Octopussy

Octopussy and Woof Woof

Kids’ Yoga – Summer of Awesome

Posted on by

The cashier at the grocery store asked me how my weekend was.  “Great!” I said cheerfully.  “Oh yeah?  What did you do?” he asked.  I stood silently for a minute.  I couldn’t recall one single thing that I had done.  I started feeling idiotic, standing there quietly, so I replied “Um, not much, I guess.  Some yardwork?”  He smiled and nodded, clearly thinking I was perhaps the most boring person on earth.  

I don’t find my life boring to live, but I often think it might sound fairly boring to the average person.  I mean, yardwork?  And yardwork wasn’t even TRUE, other than watering my plants, but I couldn’t think of anything to say and the best I could come up with was yardwork.  Here are some of the things that I DID do on Saturday: walked the dog, baked a banana bread, made salsa and discovered, not for the first time, that breathing while putting onions and jalapenos in the food processor is not a good idea, as my burning eyes told me for the next few hours.  My Saturday night was spent drinking wine, by myself, while watching the NYPD Blue episode where Kelly collars a rogue cop in order to save Martinez from wearing a wire and becoming part of the rat squad, and while I enjoyed all those activities I do not necessarily think that they are all that compelling, once I have written them down.

This weekend marked the last of the kids’ yoga class.  During the month of June, the boys have taken a Sunday afternoon yoga class for kids at the studio I go to.  Have you ever forced your children to do something extracurricular that they did not want to do?  Until this month, I had not.  I believe that my children need a lot of unscheduled time to just play, and so other than soccer they have been registered in no extracurricular activities.  When my studio started offering classes for children, I mentioned it to my kids every once in a while, and they were always unequivocally not interested.  Then one day Mark mentioned that he would like to try it.  Bam!  I immediately registered both of them for the four week session in June, much to Jake’s chagrin.  He didn’t want to take a yoga class, he was scared to take a yoga class, it would be boring to take a yoga class.  I coaxed and cajoled and promised that if he just tried it, if he just tried three classes and he still didn’t like it, he didn’t have to go to the last class and he would never have to do it again.

Jake has a tendency to be anxious in new situations.  He is outgoing, he makes friends easily and plays happily, but when it comes to trying something new, he hesitates.  But I thought this would be a good fit; I thought the breathing techniques would help him if he was nervous and I thought the postures would be good for his, how shall I put this, lack of coordination.  I emailed the teacher, a lovely and sweet young friend of mine, beautiful on the inside and out, and on the first day her face lit up when she saw my boys.  She asked Jake to set up his mat next to hers.  I waited the 45 minutes for the class to end and when he came out of the studio, he was glowing and happy.  “I think I want to come back next week, please” he said.

When the session ended on Sunday, Jake spiralled into sadness.  He was sad to leave the studio, he was sad to leave his teacher.  He sobbed on the drive home, until he picked up the little flower that the teacher had made for each of the kids.  “When I’m sad or mad or nervous I’m supposed to smell this flower,” he said, and started taking calming deep breaths, smelling the flower, not crying anymore.  

Jake in Turtle pose.
Mark in Tree.

Downward dogs.

Fun benefit of kids’ yoga – seeing them do yoga in their pajamas!  Mark in Bow.

Jake in Butterfly.

We’re all going to die! But hopefully not at the zoo.

Posted on by
The other day, there was a study that reported that watching over two hours of television per day increased one’s risk of death.  I hate to get all caught up in the details, but the risk of death is 100%.  I’m going to just go ahead and assume that the study meant premature death.

Speaking of the risk of death, injury, and dismemberment, Jake is going on a field trip to the zoo!  There is so much paperwork to be filled out these days, and of course a field trip in which kindergarteners are going to be riding the bus is full of potential hazards which need to be addressed.  Not that I have a problem with signing these papers; on the contrary I fully understand the need to release the school board of liability even if I think that “death” is not an acceptable outcome from a field trip. 


I scanned the list of potential hazards.  There were the usual ones: possible bus-related accidents, possible tripping and falling while walking, possible rain, possible reactions to environmentally-related allergens.  Then something caught my eye: under the list of possible hazards the box labeled “Wild Animals” was checked, with the note that “All wild animals should be contained in their enclosures.”  I should hope so.  When I considered the field trip, the possibility of the animals escaping from their cages and trampling/mauling/eating alive the children was not actually on my radar screen.

Remember that guy who got drunk and snuck into the Siberian tiger enclosure at the Calgary Zoo after hours and, strangely enough, got mauled?  There are now signs all over the zoo warning people against attempting to climb into the enclosures.  This has to be spelled out now, I guess, in case someone else has a hankering to get up close and personal with a vicious carnivore.  Whenever I’m at the zoo with the boys, I always point out those signs: “Remember guys, DON’T climb into the tiger’s cage!  Don’t forget!” 


In any case, Jake is looking forward to his field trip.  There are only nine school days left, not including today, and I think that all academic work has gone out the window.  For example, Mark is spending the afternoon watching James and the Giant Peach.  The class just finished reading the book – one I remember fondly from my own childhood – and so they are celebrating by watching a movie and bringing in snacks.  I actually purchased a large bag of potato chips for Mark’s contribution and I did not eat it myself!  The bag stayed unopened on my counter for almost twenty four hours!  I consider that to be a huge victory in what a good friend is calling “Operation Muffin Top”. 

I never, ever buy things like potato chips because my self-control is so low when it comes to salty snack foods.  I am liable to eat a jumbo family-size bag of chips within a five minute window if the opportunity arises, then I am a bloated, headachy mess.  My method dealing with this lack of control is to never walk down the chip aisle.  It’s for the best anyway, because I’m pretty sure that kind of consumption would increase my risk of death.