Category Archives: Rexing Ball

March Madness

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Marching Into March

In many parts of the world, March marks the arrival of spring, but in Calgary, March is firmly a Winter Month. My birthday is in the last third of April, and I feel like that is the tentative start to spring, although it can certainly snow in any month of the year. Yes, you read that correctly. I have experienced snow – in the air, not on the ground – in both July and August. March is typically the snowiest month of the year, which has brought great joy to Rex, and a lot of lower back stretches to my classes, to alleviate any pain from shovelling. Most of my ladies outsource that job, but I think lower back stretches are always appreciated.

Calgarians have a strange tendency to disparage climates in other locations, probably to make ourselves feel better about our six, seven, eight months of winter. Any mention of typically beautiful cities with short winters – particularly cities in BC – will conjure up a “well, it’s horrible and cloudy there in the winter,” and while that may be true, and Calgary does have lovely blue skies often, it feels very much like sour grapes to me. Also, while we do enjoy a lot of sunshine, our winters are very long and very cold, and we also have a lot of this:

It’s cloudy here too, people.

All of which is to say that while I am embracing the season, friluftsliv, hygge, et cetera, I am also enjoying photos of spring in other parts of the world. It will be a while before my garden boxes are green, and in the meantime, I need to break Rex of this very bad habit:

All By Myself

It has been a bit of a strange weekend, here in the Boyhouse. My husband was out of town for the first time in months, my older son was working closing shifts Friday and Sunday, and my younger son was at the high school wrestling City Championships. Friday night, it was just me and Rex at home for dinner, which felt very odd. I think the last time I was home alone for dinner was when the guys took a trip through Yukon and Alaska in 2019. I had my usual favourite dinner of Greek salad with pita and hummus, plus some red wine and tortilla chips and salsa, because I am a girl who knows how to enjoy herself. I topped it all of by watching the first two episodes of Season One NYPD Blue. I used to love that show, and I still do, but I wanted to see what it would look like thirty years after its release. It turns out, it is a great timepiece of New York in the early 90s, and the camera work is just as interesting as I remembered.

Now, these days I do not watch much television (do we still call it television? I mean shows in general) so let’s just take this observation with a grain of salt, but there really aren’t many non-beautiful people cast in TV or movies anymore. It seems like everyone on-screen now is gorgeous, and has perfect teeth, and boy, that was not the case back in the early 90s and prior. I think 90% of the cast of NYPD Blue is pretty average looking, if not downright unattractive, which is kind of remarkable by today’s standards. All these regular-looking people, living full – if dramatic – lives, having romances, friendships, successes and failures.

I feel like it was the advent of Friends that kicked off the whole We All Look Fantastic And We Have This Amazing New York Apartment; but before Friends, we had this:

Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon

Speaking of popular culture from the 90s, I watched Pulp Fiction with the boys on Saturday night. My older son had seen it recently and, hearing a story about how the first time I saw it I was on a date and I fainted during the scene where Mia gets an adrenaline shot in the heart (spoiler alert for an almost thirty year old movie), asked if I wanted to rewatch it with him. My younger son, exhausted from a full two days of wrestling, decided to join, asking first what the movie is about. We looked at each other for a moment and I said I don’t know. It’s kind of plotless? I still don’t know how to describe the plot but it really holds up. I am not a Tarantino fan, but this movie is the exception. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a hitman who has a spiritual awakening. Also, the soundtrack, as the kids say, slaps.

Memories of Barkley

I was at the library this week, and a young, lovely librarian lit up when she saw me. Hi! she said excitedly. How is your sweet dog? I must have looked a little blank for a moment, and she continued to chatter about the days of curbside pickup, and how she loved bringing my books out and seeing that cute brown labradoodle, I have a brown labradoodle, right, and he is just like a stuffed animal, so cute?

Oh.

You know that moment when you’re going to say something that will cause awkward feelings, but you have to do it anyway? Her face fell as I explained that he died, but I loved that she remembered him so well.

The very next day I was walking Rex, and to mix up his route I walked down a street that was part of Barkley’s loop to the library. A woman was shovelling snow and she stopped to ask if she could say hi to Rex. I didn’t recognize her but clearly she recognized me as she asked how long ago Barkley died, and how sorry she was, and how she always liked seeing the two of us on our walks.

It was really nice to hear these two women – both kind of strangers – talk about Barkley in such a sweet way. The last couple years of his life were so fraught; I walked him every single day to keep him ambulatory, and every single day a stranger would comment on his appearance, generally in a “what’s wrong with your dog” kind of way. Every single day. I had people stop their cars on the street, roll down their windows, and ask about him. I had people ask if I was aware he had a lump on his side, as if it could have possibly been missed. I had one man ask when I was going to put him down. It was all very hard, but these two women were so kind, and so sweet, that it really helped erase all the sad feelings I had about that time.

Library Thievery

The reason I was talking to the librarian in the first place was because I had gone in to pick up a book I had put on hold, and it wasn’t on the Holds shelf. I wondered if it was still on the cart, although I had received notification that the book was in the day before. It wasn’t, and this led to a lot of searching and typing on the computer, and the librarian sighed deeply. “It’s a popular book,” she said, “and sometimes people see these popular books on the cart, and they TAKE THEM.” I honestly was startled at the thought of looking at the holds cart, seeing a book with a name receipt to indicate the person who had put it on hold, and then, shrugging at the rules, taking the book out. Of all the places for breaking the rules, I never think of the library as one of them, but the librarian told me gravely that this happens all the time. It’s one of the issues with the self-checkout. WHO KNEW. Certainly not me! I am a rule follower generally, and so it would never occur to me to sneak a popular book off of the Holds cart that wasn’t for me. Consider me shocked.

Weekly Reading

This feels like a good time to segue into weekly reading. I had a couple of real winners this week!

Girls They Write Songs About. Oh wow, this book! I was mesmerized. I read this very slowly because I needed to absorb every single word, and I reread many pages a few times. But how to describe this? There’s not really a plot. But it’s a story about women, about choices and relationships and work and becoming. The narrator is around my age and the story begins in NYC in 1997, and I could see myself in this story, the multiverse version of me, that is. It’s just an incredibly written, beautiful, raw, dark book that is also affirming and uplifting, but very real. I was on a real high after finishing this book; I could not stop thinking about it, so I logged into Goodreads to see if there were others who felt this way. This was a big mistake. There were so many negative reviews that I immediately logged back out, because I did not want to be brought down. What I am saying, then, is that while I absolutely loved this book, it seems like many people do not, so, you know. Your mileage may vary.

The Marriage Portrait. I had put this on hold, but unsurely; historical fiction is a tricky genre for me as I feel it is so hard to do it well. Often I find that modern values will be placed in historical fiction, to the detriment of the plot, and the dialogue can feel very off. Also, there was a lot of buzz about this book and that doesn’t always translate to me to be an enjoyable read. I mean, sometimes it does, but often I am disappointed. I read the jacket before starting the book and two things stood out: I had read and enjoyed this author’s memoir about her multiple brushes with death, and The Marriage Portrait was an imagining of the life of the subject of the portrait in Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess. I, along with everyone else, probably, read and dissected this poem in university; I really liked it and at that moment, I was in. I did enjoy this book about a young Florentine woman married off to the Duke of Ferrara; and some of it was a little heavy-handed with the imagery, and I quibble with the ending, but for the most part it was a sweeping story that really hooked me in. I was in the perfect mental space to be transported by this novel.

Happy first week of March, everyone! I wish you all an abundance of blue skies, good books, fun shows, and maybe something growing in your garden besides a 95 pound dog. xo

Getting Controversial In The Boyhouse

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It was so cold here last week, with an enormous dump of fresh snow; it looked really pretty, in contrast to my Walking Outfit, which was not so pretty. Snow pants! Toque! Giant fake-fur hood! Frosted-over eyelashes! Teenage me, who wore tiny skirts with tights that were Just as warm as pants, Mom, would have been horrified.

Speaking of horrified, I have a complaint. It may be more of a personal pet peeve, but it is something that bothers me greatly, and that is when people state subjective opinions as objective facts. Or, more accurately, when people state negative subjective opinions as objective facts. There is a big difference between saying I hate chickpeas, and chickpeas are gross. When a person states an opinion as a well-known fact, such as Alice Munro’s writing is boring, I get my back up: no, YOU THINK it’s boring. There is a big difference between a person’s perception and the actual quality of the item in question. You can think whatever you want to about whatever you want, but opinions aren’t facts.

And I love hearing other people’s opinions, even negative ones! But words matter to me, and hearing Top Gun is a terrible movie is not the same as I hate Top Gun. Hate away! Opine that it’s terrible! But that is not an objective fact. There are many things that I don’t like, but that doesn’t make them objectively terrible; for example, I dislike action movies and books by Jody Picoult, but objectively, those are not bad things. They are just things that I dislike. I might THINK they are bad, but they are not, objectively.

Interestingly enough, my impassioned opinion about opinions-as-facts does not encompass positive opinions. If someone said to me ketchup chips are the finest chip ever invented or dogs are god’s greatest creatures, I would not be offended, particularly since those are two opinions I share, but even if I did not share them, I would be happy that someone else found joy in weird Canadian salty snacks and puppers. Therefore, all you Cat People reading this might be thinking How dare! Cats are god’s greatest creatures! and although I won’t agree I will just be happy for you and your purring companions. Enjoy your kitties! I’ll be over here with my fuzzy favourite, who may be wondering if I am indeed somewhere inside all those layers.

Anyway, I was thinking of this – my opinion pet peeve – because in my not-so-recent Ask Me Anything, Stephany (HI STEPHANY) asked what controversial opinion do you hold? I thought about this for a long time, because I didn’t think I hold any controversial opinions. I believe that people are all equal and deserve to be treated as such, regardless of gender, skin colour, sexuality, religious beliefs, or abilities, and that all people should have autonomy over their own bodies and be able to make choices that best suit their own life journeys; these seem to be topics that generate controversy for reasons I cannot fathom, but to me, equality and autonomy are not a matter of opinion.

This weekend I realized that I do indeed have a very controversial opinion, and that is that I hate pie. Yes, all kinds. To me, pie is a grievous waste of fruit at best, and a flaky monstrosity at worst. Cake all the way, baby. Cake all the way. With the same passion that I hate pie, I love cake; yes, all kinds. I even love grocery store sheet cakes that are universally considered to be subpar, with frosting that is universally considered to be too sweet. If one of them was in my house right now, I would cut myself a giant corner piece just to get the extra frosting, and arrange it so I could get an extra frosting flower on my piece as well.

Usually when I voice this extremely controversial Anti-Pie opinion, someone will ask what about pumpkin, what about rhubarb, what about apple? No, no, no. And I am not yucking anyone’s yum, here, but the thought of biting into a soft piece of cooked apple makes me physically shudder. Listen, I love apples. There’s nothing like a fresh, tart Macintosh to make my heart sing. However. I do not love COOKED apples. I don’t like pastry in general, but the thought of eating a piece of pie with soft, mushy apple in it…I can’t. I have always been this way and probably always will be this way.

So I hate pie, but I love my guys, and they love pie, so I make one for them every so often, and one of those occasions was this weekend.

Many perfectly good apples were sacrificed in the making of this dessert.

Speaking of desserts and Ask Me Anything, my lovely friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what are your top recommendations for baked goods? This was fun to think about because I bake something at least twice a week, often more. Usually that baking is a snack loaf or muffins for the boys, but sometimes I throw together a batch of cookies or a cake. I am absolutely loving Julie van Rosendaal’s cake cookbook, and her pumpkin snack loaf is in regular rotation around here. The Lutheran Ladies have an amazing banana muffin recipe that I use frequently, as well as an oatmeal chocolate chip muffin that I based this recipe off of.

I wrote a weekly food blog at YMC from 2013-2017, and I have all of the recipes, plus some that I wrote on this blog, listed here. It is split into sections and one of those sections is Baked Goodies; I think my favourites from that list are the Pot of Gold Cupcakes, the Chocolate Chunk Coconut Cookies, Old Fashioned Oatmeal Cookies, and, of course, my Grandma’s Gingersnaps. My mom’s Sugar Cookies never fail, and are a holiday staple around here.

I do love baking, but I should note that all of the above recipes are my own variations of the original. I never follow a recipe to the letter, because I am a wild rebel when it comes to baked goods. I mean, why limit ourselves to a teaspoon of vanilla when two teaspoons would be more delicious? Why use a whole cup of sugar when you can cut it to three-quarters and no one notices? Why not try coconut oil or add some extra chocolate chips? It’s a fun way to play with baking, and when the weather is dipping into the minus-a-lot, it feels like a nice, cozy activity.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of cozy activities, it was a good week for getting some reading and puzzling done.

Mary Jane. I was born in the year in which this book was set – 1975 – so I can’t say from experience, but it seems to me that people in the 70s were really separated into Establishment and Counterculture. This book – a sweet, cute coming of age story – deals with a young girl who is hired to be a summer nanny at a house that is definitely Counterculture. They smoke pot! The doctor is a psychiatrist, not a medical doctor! The wife doesn’t cook or clean and the house is a disaster! The girl is from a strict Presbyterian home that, inexplicably, has a framed picture of President Ford in its dining room. Anyway. The girl – Mary Jane – brings her mother’s housewifery skills into the chaotic household, and she learns what it is to be accepted, and becomes part of the family. It’s a sweet little book, although I found the dialogue to be stilted and contrived, but light and enjoyable nonetheless. One thing I really liked, which is quite unusual, is that at one point Mary Jane thanks her mother for teaching her all her skills, and says how much she values them. In my own life, I spend a great deal of time creating a calm household with lots of delicious food in it – see above! – and sometimes I wonder if this is time well spent. It was nice to see it valued in a book that was very tongue-in-cheek in name.

Navigating The Messy Middle. Many many years ago I read Ann Douglas’ Mother of All Pregnancy/ Baby/ Toddler Books, and I loved them. Canadian content! I feel like I’ve come full circle, reading her book about being a woman in midlife. Well, maybe not full circle; perhaps in 20 years I’ll read about being a woman in the golden years. Anyhoo. This is a book that is almost entirely made up of interviews with other women, and it is incredibly inclusive and diverse. Because of the interviews, it reads like a series of long-form old-school magazine articles, if that makes sense. It makes for a nice fast read. I don’t know if there’s anything particularly new or earth-shattering here, but it is such an affirming book. Because of the diverse viewpoints, it really made me feel both seem and like we are all on a journey, with different paths, but together. Very uplifting and encouraging: from being a sandwich generation to body changes! I really liked the sections in friendship, relationships, and “raising” young adult children.

BFF. When I started reading this, I thought this seems familiar, and that is because the author also wrote the memoir Group, and there are a few overlaps between the characters and stories in that memoir and this one, about the author and another women who lived their whole lives with a lot of difficulties maintaining female friendships, but who become very close friends. Here’s the thing: I didn’t love Group, and I didn’t love this book, which is probably on me – note to self: read the synopsis BEFORE blindly putting a book on my library list. I didn’t love BFF for the same reason that I didn’t love Group, and that was that I found the author to be incredibly frustrating. Yes, I realize that flaws and foibles are what makes for a good memoir, however, get it together, author. I guess her particular flaws and foibles were just especially upsetting to me. However, this wasn’t wasted time; there were some thought-provoking parts, particularly about female friendship triangles, and the end of the book had some really insightful thoughts about the pandemic and how it helped the author reconnect with long-lost friends.

You guys, Wednesday is MARCH! March! What a whirlwind life is, even when not much is going on. I hope you all have a cozy week, doing things you love, and maybe even eating some cake – or pie, I won’t judge! My aversion means more pie for all of you! xo

Boyhouse Year In Review 2022

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Happy Almost New Year! I hope you have all been having a restful and restorative week! I have been enjoying myself immensely; lots of sleep, puzzles, books, food, and wine. We spent a few days at my parents, which is always fun, and involves games and food and more wine.

As is usual at this time of year, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the year that’s passed and the year that is to come. One of the biggest benefits to having a blog is the ability to look back, and wow, have we come a long way since this time last year. Late December/ early January were an absolute low point; things were dismal. Happily, on our Roller Coaster of Life, things have been more up than down; so let’s take a look at what happened in the Boyhouse in 2022.

January

The New Year started off pretty bleak and grim, with winter break extended and all diploma exams cancelled, and to distract myself from complete despair I talked about my concepts and mantras I try to live by every day, the kids did go back to school and I decided to stop reading the news, I talked about actual quantifiable goals that I work towards every day, I talked about how much I hate filtered photos, how I actually thought about Botox, and how I was unfriended by a high school acquaintance not once but twice, and I had a roller-coaster of a week that included new neighbours, a cancelled trip, a mouse in the house, and a possible hoarding issue with macadamia nut milk. This month’s Favourite Things were of the Hygge variety, appropriately enough.

February

I talked about all the fun physical changes that come in one’s forties, including but not limited to moustaches and chin hair, I had massive gratitude for all the Galentines in my life, I showed you a Week of Winter Outfits (spoiler: lots of sweaters and legwarmers), and I talked about automatic car starters and marital mismatches. I also told you all about the daily choices I make to show myself some love.

March

All Covid restrictions were dropped, and I went to Costco and lost my mind, it was exactly two years since the pandemic started, and we celebrated my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, two years and one week in, we got Covid, and we eventually recovered enough to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary with a Banff getaway, and my son turned 18. While we were isolated, I talked about the things that made my recovery happier.

April

I talked about the juxtaposition of my desire to wave at every neighbour and my reluctance to talk to them and hear insensitive comments about Barkley (god, that was hard for me to read), there were many signs of spring in my life, Salvadore came into my life and brought so much gnome-related happiness, we had a massive snowstorm and I scheduled appointments like a boss. It was my birthday and I talked about 47 things I love.

May

I was absolutely exhausted from the neighbour’s construction, our internet went out for seven hours and somehow we all survived, we had a lot of snow and I went to the garden centre, I shared my Week of Spring Outfits, and my son had his high school graduation ceremony, dance, and banquet, none of which I thought would happen, and I am eternally grateful. At that point I stopped my Weekly Covid Count. I also shared with you my makeup routine, and included my 4:00 am bare face.

June

I lived on the edge and planted my tomatoes slightly early while the construction guys listened to Dick in a Box, I had a weird medical mystery, my midlife crisis manifested in me giving Salvadore an actual bubble bath, and I confessed to having Low Level Shame about ghosting my long-time hair stylist. I also joined my husband in Banff for a Fancy Conference. Well, I was there for the Fancy part, he was there for the Conference part.

July

On June 30, we said goodbye to Barkley, and we were all brokenhearted. We started off the summer with some visiting relatives from California – including my teenage pen pal – and our usual trip to the lake for Canada Day, I found solace in hiking, my garden, and cooking, and I also snapped at door-to-door solicitors, I talked about Cart Karma, I started a Big Project and Curated my Closet, and in the face of a Calgary Heat Wave, I shared my Week of Summer Outfits. It was also the Ten Year Anniversary of Nicole’s Favourite Things!

August

We went on vacation, I read a lot, I vowed to have Just One Backup of everything in the house and kind of failed, I got all nostalgic, my husband and I went to Mexico where I spoke broken Spanish and sang karaoke, and I read a lot more. Notably and for the first time ever, I travelled with ONLY carryon, and I can never go back, proving that YOU SHOULD NEVER JUDGE.

September

Life has its ups and downs, and to that end there were mice in the house and the boys drank our expensive Patron mixed with Dr Pepper, on the same day I cleaned my kitchen with a toothbrush, the Queen died, my son turned 17 and when I went grocery shopping I realized I had some kind of Psychological Long Covid, and I thought about house staging and photo filtering, and showed photos of my unstaged, unfiltered home. My son went backcountry camping and to distract myself from thoughts of giardiasis I talked about a variety of Favourite September-Related Things.

October

My son did not get giardiasis, but we had a number of run-ins with local wildlife, one of my students introduced me to the concept that Gratitude Is The First Step To Joy, and I listed off some of the things I am grateful for, Rex came into our lives and has brought us so much happiness, I shared my Week of Fall Outfits, I talked about body changes and the concept of “flattering” when it comes to clothes, and I prepared for Halloween like a crazy person. I also celebrated all things fall-related!

November

I rapidly shifted into Winter and Tiny Secret Festive Season, we celebrated our one-month Rex-aversary, I finished my Christmas shopping, I joined all the cool kids in doing a Day in the Life post, I revealed my longtime desire to join a flash mob, and my son decided to join the throngs of men who observe Movember. I talked about Christmassy favourites and just regular favourites.

December

We all started Advent calendars, and mine was a puzzle one, I went to an actual holiday party with actual people and actual fancy clothes, I answered your questions about the holidays, I took the car in for servicing and it was a huge ordeal, I revealed my favourite childhood gifts, and I celebrated my girlfriends. On Festivus I talked about my favourite holiday things and also how I jerry-rigged the furnace.

It has been quite a year! 2023 will be a year of change for me; I’m not great with change, and I love my life as it is, but change is part of life, so here we go! Time to jump in. Happy New Year to all of you. Thanks for being here on this journey with me. xo

Sisters From Other Misters

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It’s Fun Mail Season! It’s so nice to open the mailbox to see something other than flyers – which I still get because the fellow who delivers them is developmentally disabled and I will NOT put him out of a job, I just recycle them upon receipt – and the occasional request for funding. Fun Mail Season reminds me of when I was a Sweet Young Thing and used to get letters from all my pen pals, and sometimes even LOVE LETTERS from far-away would-be suitors, which makes me sound like I’m in a Jane Austen novel, but the letters often contained descriptions about parties attended and how their friends drank themselves senseless, which I am pretty sure Marianne Dashwood never had to hear about.

I have long thought of the blogging community and social media as being today’s pen pal equivalent. Some say that such friendships are Not Real, but I beg to differ. Social media has allowed me to stay in the lives of people who I would have lost touch with over time, in a different era, and that is a real gift. It is said that friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, and I used to think in this Friendship Venn Diagram, none of the circles would be overlapping. Now, though, I think they can and often do. Perhaps I am not in a Going For Coffee relationship with my best friend from first grade, but I am on Facebook with her, and that’s nice too. In this way I am in touch with my far-away cousins, people I used to work with, and almost my entire high school graduating class; it might be “connection-lite,” but it’s still connection, and it’s still valid.

One of the books I read this week spoke very disparagingly of such connections, but I think there is a real place for them in our lives. After all, not everyone can bring you a casserole in times of hardship, but words can lift you up just the same. Sometimes I think of elephants and big horned sheep, and how when one of their herd is injured or in need, the rest of them form a circle to keep them safe. That is what social media and blogging friendships feel like to me; it seems to me that when friends are experiencing real losses and hardships, particularly in the last few years, our online community gathers and forms that strong circle until the person on the inside can get back on her feet.

I have two brothers and growing up, I never wanted for a sister; in fact, I relished the role of Only Girl, and all the special treatment that came with it. As I got older and pursued education and a career in a male-dominated area, and then had sons, I started to long for a sister. I have many wonderful girlfriends and have been blessed to be a part of many beautiful circles, and I have cultivated a few friendships that I consider Chosen Sisters. These Sisters fill up my cup and visits with them are always beneficial to me; we can be completely real and open with each other, and we never judge. Two of them live far away but we touch base nearly every day (HI HANNAH, HI ALLISON), and one of them is my motivator and cheerleader on every level who I see as often as our schedules permit (HI JANET). One Sister is someone I see a few times a year with her family, and we all used to travel together pre-Covid (HI JEN). Her family feels like my family, and as our kids start to prepare to leave us with an empty nest, I hope that we can continue to travel. Another Sister is also my neighbour, and she has been a surrogate-aunt-next-door to my kids (HI TARYN).

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships and the role that certain women play in my life lately. In my recent Ask Me Anything, Suz (HI SUZ) asked Who is your oldest friend (how many years?) and do you have one best friend/ soul sister? I just saw my oldest close friend this weekend (HI TARA)! On the very first day of grade nine, back in 1989, I noticed a new girl in homeroom, with the thickest, curliest, most beautiful red hair you have ever seen. I bounced over to her and said “Hi! I’m Nicole! I love your hair!” and we have been close friends ever since. These days we only see each other twice annually, on our birthdays, but we are able to pick up exactly where we left off. Tara gave me a baby shower when my oldest was born, and when she introduced herself to the guests, she said Nicole and I have been through our life stages together, and those words really stayed with me. It’s really special to think of friends going through the same stages at the same time over the years. We are now in the thick of Young Adult Parenting, and Almost Empty Nest Life, and perhaps at some point in the future we will be lucky enough to be Living La Vida Mother-In-Law and perhaps even Grandma World.

This brings me to my second question of the day, from Colleen (HI COLLEEN), which is a two-parter. How do you feel about your boys dating? What kind of mother-in-law and/ or grandma do you want to be? I feel just fine about my boys dating. I think they are smart and respectful and that they will make good boyfriends and, possibly, husbands. We have had only a few girlfriends and dates around here, and I think they were really great in terms of growth and learning. Many years ago a friend of mine had said conversationally in terms of her son dating that no one is ever really good enough for your kid, and I vehemently disagree with that. I think that, right there, is the reason mothers-in-law have the kind of reputation they have. I would like to be a very Here For You mother-in-law, and one who is open-minded to different ways of living and doing things. If I am lucky enough to be a grandma, I hope to be a hands-on one who is helpful. My mother was so helpful to me when the kids were small; I want to be just as helpful to my sons and their future spouses. I hope to be a good listener, and someone who meets spouses and grandchildren exactly where they are, without judgement or thoughts of how to change them.

I recently read something that said unsolicited advice is the same as judgement and that is something that I have been rolling around in my mind this week. It’s something to keep in mind for everything, I think, from navigating friendships to changing family dynamics. The key to all relationships, for me, is to stay open and to remember that there is room for everyone. From besties to random Instagram follows, the world is richer when we open up to allow people in.

Weekly Reading

Mean Baby. I had heard this was a good memoir, and then when I picked it up, I realized I had no idea who this woman is. I haven’t seen anything she’s done, but no matter. This is an extremely compelling and terribly sad book about her lifelong demons, her toxic relationships – particularly with her mother, multiple sexual assaults, alcoholism, and, finally, a diagnosis of MS. So, trigger warning? I tore through it but it is dreadfully sad. It is advertised as being “bitingly funny,” which makes me wonder about the reviewer. I found nothing in this book to be funny.

The Hotel Nantucket. Mid-December might not be the most typical time for a beach read but hey, library holds come in when library holds come in/ the heart wants what it wants. This was a very fun read about the employees and guests at a hotel in Nantucket…a haunted hotel! A friendly ghost floats around, watching the affairs and scandals that abound. It was entertaining and satisfying, with engaging characters and back stories. I’m not typically one for ghost stories, but I found this just so charming and fun. I am going to seek out more from this author, for more mood-lifting reads.

This Wild And Precious Life. I picked up this book because I heard a review about it that was positive, and also the title is taken from one of my very favourite poet’s most famous poem. And I will say that this book does contain many very good points. But. It is not often I regret the time I spend reading a book but wow, I regret reading this. The very good points – the climate crisis, building connections with people, the beauty of hiking in nature – were, for me, completely offset by the extremely off-putting and incredibly judgmental writing style of this very privileged author. As an example, the author relates MANY anecdotes in the book in which she confronts, shames, and berates strangers for not having a reusable cup in a coffee shop or consuming anything that utilizes single-use plastics. Then she talks about her post-hike ritual of buying a bag of potato chips. Presumably, the potato chips are in a single-use bag. She flies around the world to hike but rants about horrors of car ownership, then in the next chapter mentions a road trip. In a car. While I do agree with consuming less and that we should all be doing our part to combat the climate crisis, I found myself bristling constantly while reading this, which is the opposite of what this book should be doing. If the thesis is to motivate people to climate activism, then the message should not be “no matter what you do, it will never be enough, and you are a scourge to our collective environmental well-being.” I kept wanting to stop reading but I also wanted to be open-minded; in the end I do not feel that I was enlightened in the least, but instead felt that I wasted several hours that I will never get back.

It is shaping up to be a very cold week here, this week before Christmas. As I write this, it’s minus 40 with windchill, and I am wondering how long Rex is going to want to walk for. Well, I have my heated mittens and my snowpants for just such occasions. I hope wherever you are, you are staying warm, and able to seek out moments of calm in what is typically a very busy week. xo

Five For Friday: The Best Gifts Ever Edition

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‘Tis the season for gift guides! There are so many lovely ones out there and I love to peruse them all. Funnily enough, I almost never buy anything that was featured in a gift guide, because by the time the guides come out I have already completed my shopping, and I will NOT deviate from my early-shopping habits, no matter how tempting the offerings may be. I do, however, like to imagine that I might note certain items for the following year. If only I could remember them all.

Gifts are fun to give and fun to receive, and in my recent plea to Ask Me Anything, Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked: What are some of the Very Best Gifts you have ever received? Well, Suzanne, as I’ve mentioned before I am pretty much always delighted with any gift, but I thought that today I would talk about my Very Best Childhood Gifts.

There is a reason I lost my mind and blacked out with excitement when my friend Elise (HI ELISE) sent me a reprinted Sears catalogue: I was OBSESSED with the Sears catalogue as a child, all of them throughout the year, but most of all, the Wish Book. When did the Wish Book come out? It must have been in plenty of time before Christmas – the fall, maybe? – because items took a while to order (by phone!) and then arrive, but I have no real idea. In any case, I would page through it with the seriousness of a scholar, circling things and making notes. I loved everything about it; I loved the “Gifts Under $10” section, I loved the little wintry ensembles that would be in the clothing section, I could barely imagine being fancy enough to get cubic zirconia tennis bracelets or bottles of Poison perfume. What would my life be like if I had that matching beret, scarf, and glove set? I would wonder and then SOMEONE WOULD GIVE ME SUCH A SET and my life was pretty much the same, but with fancy matching winter accessories.

One thing I coveted desperately but never received was a Snoopy Sno Cone machine, but to be honest, it’s probably for the best. It was most likely garbage that would yield nothing like the delectable delights tasted only at the shopping mall parking lot fairs of my youth, or the Calgary Stampede, and so I can just let it live in glory in my dreams. This is not unlike Easy Bake Ovens: they seemed so wonderful and miraculous, and yet were a recipe not for delicious tiny cakes but for third-degree burns and crunchy-edged but pudding-centred disasters.

Circling back to the Best Gifts Ever Received, here are the Top Five from my childhood and adolescence. I was the recipient of many wonderful things, but these are the ones that stand out the most.

  • Kora Candi, my Cabbage Patch Kid. Remember when Cabbage Patch Kids first came out, there was a run on them and they became Tickle Me Elmo before there was even an Elmo to tickle. It was INTENSE business. I desperately wanted one, and my mother was probably a ball of nerves about it. First, she had to put her name on a wait list at Zellers, and then when she received the top-secret phone call that THERE WAS A DOLL FOR HER, she had to go into a special back room to get it, and it was quadruple-bagged so that no one would know she had it and murder her for it in the parking lot. The things moms do to make Christmas magical. My mom faced death, or at least mugging, just so I could open up Kora Candi on Christmas morning. How I loved that doll! She had brown hair and brown eyes, just like me, and I very seriously glued her adoption certificate into my very special album that had all my scratch and sniff stickers in it. My grandma bought and made all sorts of clothes for her as well, and how fun was that to dress her for the day’s activities. I had friends who had not one but several Cabbage Patch Kids, and I could not understand that. I only had energy and love enough for one. I poured all my love into Kora, and then, later, into Bitsy, my Pound Puppy. What was with all the adoptable dolls in the 80s? It was a thing, for sure.
  • Welcome To My Dollhouse. When I was very young, maybe four, my grandpa built me my very own dollhouse. It was even better than anything I pored over in the Sears catalogue. It was a two-story white house with plastic wrap to simulate glass in all the windows; Grandpa built a lot of the furniture and put pieces of carpet on the floors and wallpaper on the walls. Some of the furniture was purchased – likely by Grandma – and I spent many hours rearranging things and playing with my little dolls. There was even a little stove and a toilet with a tiny toilet paper roll, which is a weird detail but important. Dolls need to use the facilities just like anyone else.

If you look past the Kool-Aid stained face, you can see the dollhouse to the left. Fun fact: my grandma – the same one who aided and abetted my grandpa in the making of the dollhouse – made that quilt for me. It featured girls in costumes from other countries, because I loved thinking of girls just like me, but in different places all around the world. What would their lives be like? I would wonder, looking at the clogs on the girl from the Netherlands.

This photo cracks me up. I am holding some tiny dollhouse furniture – A TV! A lamp! I love lamp! – with such intense focus. Who is the man on the couch? I mean, probably my dad, but who can say really. Although everyone in the world had that couch, I know from the throw pillows that this was at my grandma’s house. It’s possible that could be an uncle behind me. NO ONE KNOWS. The 70s was a bad time for decent photos, and a bad time for my hair.

  • Princess Diana Everything. The Royal Wedding took place the summer that I was six, and at that time I was visiting my other grandparents. My grandma woke me up at 2:30 in the morning so we could watch it together, and from that moment on I was obsessed with Princess Di. OBSESSED. Do you know what the great thing is about having a complete and utter obsession? There is a theme to all your gifts for years to come; all relatives know exactly what to get for you. I have an enormous stack of coffee table books all about Princess Di, her clothes, and the Royal Wedding. Looking at it now, it’s startling to think such a young woman wore such objectively frumpy clothes, but the 80s were a strange time in fashion. The Very Best Gift I received from this era was a Princess Di paper doll book. Princess Di and clothes, two of my favourite things. I actually received two of those books, one of which I used to cut out and one I saved. I will say that cutting out that wedding dress, with all those lace points? It was HARD WORK, especially for someone who was supposed to be using safety scissors.

Diana had some sassy shapewear.

The dress! There is a little slit on the front, and that held her bouquet.

Aw, it’s sad to think of now, the hopefulness of a young woman, only to end in terrible sadness and tragedy. Well, the world was richer with her in it.

  • Makeup and Accessories. My dad had two younger sisters, who were twins, and collectively they were known as The Girls or The Aunties, both with the initial C. My dad is, how shall I say this, a fairly conservative person and he wasn’t thrilled with his daughter doing things like wearing makeup or getting her ears pierced, but The Aunties broke through that wall. One of The Aunties was famous in my mind for showing me the cover of Born in the USA and telling me that the Boss had a butt that I should look for in any future relationships, and also that my mom could “do the looking but SHE would do the touching” when it came to my handsome grade six teacher, on the evening of our school Christmas performance. The other Aunty C took me to get my ears pierced when I was nine and she also, a few years later, gave me the gift of makeup; it was one of those huge mirrored boxes with a ton of different eyeshadows and lip colours. I still think of it with longing; how fun to try on everything under the sun, and Dad couldn’t say anything, because he didn’t like to hurt his sister’s feelings. I also loved receiving bath beads or salts, and those gift packs with scented soaps and body washes, particularly if they came from The Body Shop, which was the height of elegance and wealth for me in those days.

My first day of grade seven, making use of all that makeup. See what I mean about the couch? Tell me you didn’t have one too.

  • The Mists of Avalon. I was – well, am – a bookworm, and I always love to receive a book as a gift. My Aunt J gave me The Mists of Avalon when I was fifteen, and I have to say, that was a bold move. For one thing, I personally would have no idea at all what kind of book to give a fifteen-year-old girl, and for another, I would be nervous that such a bookworm would not only have already read any book I could choose, but would own it. This is what makes the receipt of The Mists of Avalon so marvelous; not only had I never read it, but I had never even heard of it, and so would not have specifically requested it, even if I was allowed to specifically request gifts from relatives. I must have read this giant tome about fifty times; it is the only fantasy-adjacent book I have ever been interested in. It is all about the story of King Arthur, but told from the women’s point of view, and it is incredible on so many levels. I loved it so much that I excitedly bought the prequel, Lady of Avalon, years later, but I couldn’t make it past the first chapter. There was just no recapturing the magic of the mists.

I told my son about my love for this book, saying It isn’t really about King Arthur at all, it’s all about the women, to which he replied That’s really on-brand for you. Isn’t it?

Do you remember your Very Best Gifts Ever? It doesn’t have to be from childhood, of course! This is where I will also mention that the Very Best Non-Childhood Gift is Rex, who was groomed this week and looks exactly like a stuffed-animal replica of himself.

I mean, come on. How am I not dead from cuteness overload?

As a reminder, if you have questions, I have answers! Just fill out this form. If you don’t have questions, just fill me in on gifts you’ve loved, gifts you’ve given, even gifts that you hated! There are no rules here. xo

I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Never Taking The Car In For Servicing Again

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There are some chores, or “care tasks,” that only I do around the house. For example, I and I alone obtain groceries and make dinner Every Single Day, clean the hard-water marks off the shower doors, and take the Dove soap box from the bathroom countertop and place it in the recycling when a new bar is put into the shower, no matter who puts the new bar into the shower, even though every single person walks by the recycling bin many times a day. Sometimes when I feel resentful about these little chores, I remember that there are many things that happen around the house with no intervention on my part. I don’t think that I have changed a lightbulb since the 90s, for example. The dishwasher is almost always emptied by one of my sons, sometimes very late at night when they nosing around the kitchen for a snack, but hey, I don’t have to do it. The lawn gets mowed and the sidewalks get shoveled, the gutters are cleaned, and toilet paper rolls are always replaced and, mysteriously, the old cardboard roll is recycled at least half the time, rather than left to sit on the bathroom countertop like its friend the Dove soap box.

The biggest task that I do not ever deal with, however, is vehicular maintenance. I have a mental block when it comes to cars and it is only recently that a light can come on in the car and I do NOT start breathing rapidly and blinking away tears. Between my handy younger son and my husband, the snow and all-season tires are put on, taken off, and rotated when needed, and all the maintenance is taken care of. I don’t even know how to open the hood of the car, let alone check my oil, and I do not want to learn.

About a month ago my husband took my car out and said in an alarmed way that it was overdue for an oil change. At the dealership where we bought the car in 2013, we get free oil changes for…life? I don’t know. My husband has been under a lot of stress with his job; this is nothing new, he has been under incredible stress with his job since 2018, but it has been significantly ramped up in the last few months, which is how he missed his internal alarm that somehow knows when all the cars need to get oil changes.

Well. I am woman! I am strong! I am invincible! I decided that I would call the dealership to see if we needed an appointment for an oil change, or if I could just drive through, like in the pre-Covid days. I spoke with a very nice person who looked up my car history and said that I was actually due for maintenance, and that they were booking into December, and so I scheduled an appointment for last Tuesday, December 6 at 9:00 am. I hung up feeling very proud of myself until my husband asked do we really need maintenance or were you upsold. Well. How would I know. HOW WOULD I KNOW. My feelings of self-satisfaction were immediately eclipsed by feelings of rage and resentment that this was even a question for me AFTER I CALLED THE DEALERSHIP ALL BY MYSELF BECAUSE I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

The car WAS due for maintenance, by the way.

Here’s a funny thing about Calgary weather, for those of you who don’t know: it is extremely volatile. Temperatures can rise and fall twenty degrees in a twenty-four hour period. We can go from mild to painfully cold and back again in no time at all. It just so happened to be a very volatile week, temperature-wise, and Tuesday just happened to be the day that was marked by Extreme Cold, Snow, and Blowing Snow. Basically, a blizzard.

My younger son needed to be at school early, as his gym class was going curling, and so I dropped him off at 8:05 in time to get the bus. It is generally a twenty-minute drive to the dealership, but conditions were bad, and I thought that even if I got to the dealership before nine, I could just drop the car early. My husband thought that the appointment would be a quick one, and that I should take a book with me in case I just wanted to stay there for an hour. That sounded great to me; an uninterrupted hour of reading, while drinking probably bad coffee? Lovely.

My twenty-minute drive turned into fifty minutes of white-knuckle driving on roads that were either black ice or with lanes completely obscured by snow. There was so much morning traffic, the sun was barely coming up, and the snow was blowing, making visibility very low. By the time I got to the dealership, it was just before nine, and I was completely frazzled. I was also appreciative of the very handsome, bearded young man who checked my car in to its appointment; it is unusual for me to encounter such a person, let alone in the morning. I asked him approximately how long it would take, thinking that if it was only an hour I’d be happy to alternate looking at him and reading my book, but he said it would be three hours and he would order me an Uber.

This is where I should note that this was my first Uber ride ever, and I have joined the modern age at last. I also knew from listening to Were You Raised By Wolves that if someone else orders an Uber for you, then even the tip is taken care of, so I was doubly excited. My Uber driver was very friendly, and we ended up in a long and involved conversation about the merits of Calgary weather versus that of Winnipeg, where he originally hailed from, as well as crime rates, housing prices, and gangs. The conversation got so involved that he missed my exit, which, you guys, maybe I need to talk less? I am aware that I am the architect of my own problems, like my ninety-minute dental appointments and, apparently, Uber drivers missing turnoffs. With the conditions, it was not easy to adjust for the wrong turn, but eventually I did make it home, close to ten o’clock.

I quickly put on all the layers to walk Rex, thinking I only had a couple of hours to do that and then shower before I would have to head out again. I zoomed around, and then waited. And waited. Three hours became four, and then five, at which point I called the dealership and they said it was still in the shop. By this time my older son was home and offered to drive me when I needed it, rather than taking an Uber. Possibly he worried that if I took another Uber, I would end up chatting too much and would never make it to the dealership. I don’t know. I waited.

Finally, nearly seven hours after dropping off the car, my son came into the living room, texting. Dad says it’s time for us to go now. Wait, what. The dealership did not call me, but instead called my husband, to tell him that the car needed brake pads along with something else, you know what, I have no idea what it was. It was probably better that they called him but still I felt slighted. What happened to being woman and hearing me roar? Then, my husband just texted my SON to tell him to take me to the dealership, and no one thought to text ME. Well, anyway, after a day of waiting around, I was happy to finally have some closure, and we went for another hair-raising drive on icy, snow-covered roads with little visibility, and now it was getting dark, too.

By the time we got there, it was well after four o’clock, and I was hoping to get home before the sun went down completely. I found my car in the lot, only to discover that it had been in the very warm shop and then taken out into the minus 23 degree weather, which meant that the windows were all completely frosted over ON THE INSIDE. Have you ever tried to scrape windows from the inside, with a long-handled scraper that is curved FOR USE ON THE OUTSIDE? It was not easy. Between my near-useless scraping, trying not to take out my own eye with the end of the snow brush, and the defrost on high, I finally had enough visibility to get back on the road, fifteen minutes later. By this point, the sunset had happened, and I was driving in the dark, in the blowing snow, on ice and in rush-hour traffic.

The sole upside was that by the time I was near home, my son was almost done wrestling practice, so I swung by the school to pick him up. While I waited, I stared out the window, completely exhausted, and vowed to never do another car maintenance thing ever again. I can roar in other ways. Maybe I’ll change a lightbulb.

Weekly Reading

Phosphorescence. After a prolonged illness and several surgeries, the author of this incredibly interesting and well-researched book started to consider phosphorescence, or the things that make the world light up. Including ourselves, from within. She discusses modern lives and the lack of nature, how paying attention to life brings joy, and introduces the concept of freudenfruede, the idea that others’ successes bring us personal happiness – the opposite of schadenfreude. As Moira from Schitts’ Creek says, when one of us shines, we all shine. Also, note for Erin (HI ERIN) there is a Yiddish word, nachas, which indicates pride in someone else’s accomplishments, usually our children. I really liked that part; there is enough for all of us, success isn’t part of a finite pie, and we can derive joy from others’ happiness. We are not in a zero-sum game, here.

One thing I did not like in this book was the author’s discussion about complaining about small problems in our lives, and how we should never do it. I get it. When you are near-death, or are experiencing a devastating illness and day-to-day agonizing pain, I am sure you would welcome all the little daily irritants as just proof that you’re alive. Nevertheless I don’t think it’s healthy to say that no one should complain ever because that seems like a recipe for ulcers and mental illness. Of course, this is coming from a person who just wrote 1500 words about taking her car in for servicing. STILL. A paper cut isn’t a broken leg, but it still hurts, and we can acknowledge that. Taking a car in for servicing during a blizzard isn’t mourning the loss of a loved one, but we can still talk about it.

Other than that, the book really was lovely. As a memoir, well, I’d say only about a third at most can be considered memoir, but it’s a fascinating look at faith, grace, justice, and the pursuit of silence. 

This Time Tomorrow.
If you know how I feel about time travel as a literary device and concept (I loathe it) you might be surprised that I picked this book up at all, as the premise is a woman travelling from her 40th birthday to her 16th, and back again. I really like the author so I read it. I still don’t like time travel but I did enjoy this book despite that. It’s thought provoking in that the trajectory of our lives can change so easily. I often think, if I had done this instead of that, would I still be here? It’s interesting to think of all the little paths that we choose and don’t choose, and how they create our lives.

Saturday was our two month Rex-aversary, and it’s hard to remember what it was like without him! Well, my reading glasses didn’t constantly get wagged off the coffee table, I guess that was what it was like. I hope you all have a cozy week – with no vehicular issues! – with lots of treats and other lovely things. xo

Three For Thursday: The “Do You Remember The (very first) Night of December” Edition

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She Puzzled And Puzzled ‘Til Her Puzzler Was Sore, Then Nicole Thought Of Something She Hadn’t Before. Happy December! One of the very most exciting things about December First is the start of Advent calendars. I don’t know about you, but for me, growing up in the 80s, Advent calendars as they are seen today just weren’t in existence. Nowadays there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of different kinds of Advent calendars – chocolates! booze! tiny samples of cosmetics and skin care products! hot drinks! and more! – but when I was a kid, there were two kinds: the cardboard ones in which you opened a door to reveal a Christmas-themed picture, as seen on Christmas Vacation, and the kind that your mom might buy in the grocery store after much pleading, which contained a centimetre-square of waxy chocolate in the shape of stockings, trees, and, on Christmas Eve, a star. We had both kinds, but the chocolate ones I had to share with my two brothers.

All of which is to say that my Very Pampered Family enjoys the Very Fancy Lindor calendars, and no one has to share, because Pampered. I have always wanted the excitement of my own calendar, but a chocolate one did not appeal to me. You would think that, being me, I would love a cosmetic or skin care calendar, but no. Samples are wasted on me because I stick with what I like and I don’t love to deviate, especially for just one day. Last year I bought myself a tea calendar, which was an utter failure; with maybe three exceptions, I hated the flavours.

So when I saw this puzzle calendar at Costco – at the beginning of October, but if you know anything about Costco, you snap up what you see because you may never see it again, and indeed I have NOT – I knew this was the calendar for me. A daily puzzle! Featuring DOGS. In SANTA HATS. If there is a more perfect calendar, I do not know what it is.

It’s A Wrap. My older son was so excited when I got home the other day, to tell me that Spotify Wrapped was out! This is a big day in the Boyhouse, let me tell you. I immediately opened the app to see my top songs and artists, and it was just as amazing as I thought it might be. I never have any idea what song I have listened to the most over the year; it is a constant surprise.

I absolutely love that my top song was Everyday People by Sly and the Family Stone, followed by i by Kendrick Lamar. I mean. I feel like this says something about me. Midnight Train To Georgia was last year’s number one song, so I wasn’t surprised to see it – I do love that song – but who knew I listened to You Can Call Me Al so much? I did not! Rounding out the list is the Marshall Tucker Band, which probably tells you a lot about the eclectic nature of my playlists.

My son is very put out that Spotify Wrapped only goes until October 31; that’s two MONTHS of data that is missing in a year. To be honest, it’s probably good because once November 12 hits, I play nothing but my Nicole Christmas playlist, which has 97 songs on it but many are just different versions of the same song. For example, I have five versions each of Baby, It’s Cold Outside (no, not the modern one, I prefer the weird hey what’s in this drink version) and Last Christmas (naturally). There are three versions each of Driving Home For Christmas, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, River, This Christmas, and Santa Baby. I have four Little Drummer Boys, as well, and several other duplicates. This doesn’t even take into account the Jazzy Christmas, Mellow Piano Christmas, Michael Buble Christmas, and Charlie Brown Christmas that are in constant rotation. In other words, should November and December be included, my data would be very skewed.

I Got Mugged. The lovely and kind Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) sent me a beautiful package for the #SecretSantaMugSwap2022, hosted as always by the wonderful community builder San (HI SAN). Just look at these wonderful treats! What a joy to delve into. Thank you so much, Elisabeth! I am especially intrigued by Hot Honey, and in fact I may start calling my husband Hot Honey. Or insist that he call me that. We shall see! I was thrilled with each and every item in this very fun package! December is Fun Mail Month, and I feel like Elisabeth has started things off with a bang.

Speaking of my wonderful, supportive, and inclusive blog community, so many of you participated in NaBloPoMo, where bloggers post every day in the month of November, and many of you did Ask Me Anything posts. To be honest, I had a little bit of FOMO; I wanted to do one of my own, but I thought it would be better for me to wait until December, when the flood of posts faded to a mere stream. So do you have questions for me? Fill out this form! I will answer them to the best of my ability! I have no shame! Literally anything!

Congratulations to all of you NaBloPoMo participants! What an accomplishment by you all! I know one of you in particular is quite sad it’s over – HI ENGIE – and I thought of you as I wrote this, on December 1. I thought you may never speak to me again if I didn’t include a few fuzzy photos, so don’t worry, I will not disappoint my readership. Happy December, everyone. Baby, it’s cold outside here, so I hope wherever you are you are cozy and warm. xo

Rex will not share his doughnut with you, so don’t even ask.

Rex loves to lie in the corner where the tree is currently residing. His second choice is to wedge himself between the table and the wall. Maybe he thinks he’s a gift under the tree? If so, he’s right. Best gift ever.