Category Archives: Romance

Childhood Books, and Who Moved My Cheese?

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On Friday, my husband was home from work early – there was an office move going on, and so the work day was cut short. He mentioned that he was thinking of going out to his favourite hamburger place with a work buddy, but decided to come home instead. I was charmed by this and referenced Paul Newman’s famous quote regarding marital fidelity – why go out for a hamburger when you can have steak at home – but my husband was puzzled by this. “So, why would I go out for a hamburger when I can have beans and some weird quinoa thing at home? Maybe some kale? The hamburger sounds better.”

Sigh.

But things did get a little romantic around here on Valentine’s Day, although we don’t exchange gifts or go out for dinner or even buy each other cards.

beefriends

We spent Saturday morning running errands with the kids, and somehow we ended up at the garden centre, where my husband bought grow lights for my brand new indoor herb garden! And before you get too excited, it’s an actual herb garden, not an “herb” garden; cilantro and basil and even some arugula! I may even start some bedding plants inside! It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of, in a seed-starting sort of way. My husband built a shelf and set up My Little Grow-Op and as someone who is not at all handy, I appreciate all over again how nice it is to be married to someone who is, someone who knows all the different kinds of screwdrivers and wrenches and tool-shed what-have-you.

Speaking of which, a friend posted a “50 Shades of Home Depot” photo on Facebook, and I can’t stop laughing at it. Aisle 15: Lubricants, Rope and Chain, Screws, Tie Downs. Hooray for Aisle 15! I wonder if someone has a crazy sense of humour over at Home Depot, or if that particular arrangement of items is company standard.

There has been much buzz about the 50 Shades of Grey movie, and I have to say, I really don’t care. I have not read the books nor will I, and I am not going to watch it either. I’m not interested in reading poorly written books; if I was, I’d have finished Who Moved My Cheese twelve years ago. I think 50 Shades of Grey sounds a lot like the BDSM equivalent of Who Moved My Cheese, actually; there seems to be a lot of common themes – change, denial, mice thriving in maze environments.

My cousin tagged me months – MONTHS – ago, regarding a meme of “10 Memorable Books You Read As A Child” – the definition of “child” being under age 12 and the definition of “memorable” as being books that stuck with you through the years. Without further ado, here are my 10 Memorable Childhood Books:

1) A Little Princess. I’ve written about this before, but A Little Princess was the book I read when I was seven and my younger brother was born. He was a sick baby, and I spent much time at my aunt’s house. I read this book to get out of playing with my younger cousin, deemed “annoying” by me. Of course, being seven, I didn’t really grasp the nuances of British Colonialism, nor did I understand why someone’s parents would be in India while the children were in school in England, and in fact I remember being confused by the words sahib and ayah. It’s such a wonderful book, though, full of hope in the saddest of circumstances. Riches to rags to riches.

2) Little Women. Oh, how I loved – and still love – this book. I read a biography of L. M. Alcott, and it turns out her life was very hard and sad; her own father was a terrible flake who was constantly leaving the family in dire economic circumstances, and it was her writing that pulled the family out of ruin. This is why, in Little Women, Mr. March is mostly absent – off at war – or portrayed in a very glossed-over light; she wanted to honour the good parts of her father, while also leaving him mainly out of the story. It’s a little bit like how Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote the wildly-descriptive food scenes in Farmer Boy – apparently it was her dream to recreate a childhood without hunger.

3) The Long Winter. Speaking of childhood hunger, this most dire of the Little House books was given to me as a birthday gift when I was about eight. If you ever want to feel appreciative of your life, read this book.

4) The Bobbsey Twins. There are two books in this series that I clearly remember – one was about a visit to the farm, and the other was about a visit to Africa. I cannot find any evidence of these books on the internet, or what they may be called. Anyone?

5) Deenie. I read this book when I was in fifth grade or so. I’m in the midst of recapping it over at Throwing It Back, if you too were obsessed with what exactly a Milwaukee brace looked like.

6) Every other Judy Blume book, but especially Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. Didn’t we all learn about our periods that way? Didn’t we all wonder what exactly was a belt for a sanitary napkin? There were a few other books that dealt more with male issues, and to this day I remember being absolutely horrified to learn that boys got erections, and sometimes it was during math class. Looking back, my horror level was such that it is evident I was too young to be reading those books.

7) Sweet Valley High. Remember Sweet Valley High? Oh, those Wakefield twins! Always up to something, in their flashy red Fiat Spider, with their perfect blonde hair. I remember reading those in fifth grade and thinking that high school was going to be just like that. HA HA HA.

8) Emily’s Quest. I loved the Emily books but I especially loved Emily’s Quest – it’s quite dark and adult in theme, in some ways. Unrequited love, preparing to settle with the boring old guy, falling down the stairs and facing leg amputation. Good stuff for a dramatic young girl to read, to be sure.

9) Elsie’s Holidays At Roseland. Good lord, have you read any Elsie books? The copy I have was my grandmother’s childhood book, and WOW is that some messed up shit. Literally, you couldn’t make up something weirder for a children’s book. Premise: two teenagers elope, have a baby, the girl dies, the father leaves the baby – Elsie – with his father’s family. Elsie is around 10 when we meet her. The family itself is so complicated you pretty much need a family tree or a graph to figure out who’s who. There’s a grandfather and a step-grandmother, they have teenage children and children Elsie’s age and younger, and they all live together. Elsie’s father comes back from a sojourn in Europe, and makes up for his absence by being completely domineering and pretty much awful, but Elsie loves him, so there you go. Then the father decides she isn’t submissive enough because she is too set in her Christian ways so he essentially estranges himself from her, and forces the family to treat her like a leper, until she can renounce her strict Christian principles and say that her father is the all-knowing being in her universe. He forces her to separate from her nursemaid, who has raised her, essentially, and Elsie has a nervous breakdown. Like, an almost-dying nervous breakdown. They have to cut off all her hair because of fever, and Elsie worries her father will be “vexed” at her new ‘do. It all ends happily, Elsie’s father decides God has saved her, becomes a good Christian, and all is well. He has a friend who has designs on Elsie, and in later books – it’s a series, my god – this friend of her father’s MARRIES ELSIE WTF IS THIS ACTUALLY A CHILDREN’S BOOK.

10) Heidi. On a much less disturbing, but still kind of disturbing note, Heidi is an orphan who is made to go live with her grandpa somewhere in the Swiss Alps because her aunt – who has been her guardian up to this point – has a job and doesn’t want to be hindered by a child anymore. Well then. Later, of course, she forces Heidi to go live in a city in Germany – Frankfurt,  maybe – to be a companion to a crippled little girl. I’m guessing the aunt was making money on this, I’m not sure. Anyway, ignoring those themes which are pretty gross by today’s standard, Heidi is a charming book. Who didn’t want to eat toasted goat cheese and bread, and sleep in a little hay-loft alcove? I sure did!

Play along, if you like! What childhood books stayed with you? Amazon accidentally sent me two copies of Margaret Atwood’s Stone Mattress, and so I have one to give away. To enter, leave a comment about your favourite childhood books. I think I’ll keep the contest to Canadian residents – shipping, you know – but I’d love to hear from all of you. xoxo

 

All that time spent searching, and it was right there in front of me.

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In further Adventures In My Back Alley, last week there was a dead rabbit. Now, my neighbourhood has a lot of big jackrabbits running (hopping?) around, and their numbers are exceeded only by the squirrel population. We are overrun. Anyway, given the large jackrabbit population, it is rare to see a dead one – they are quite street-smart, these rabbits – and so it is notable that there was a squashed one 100 feet away from my garage. I don’t know what was more upsetting, the squashed carcass or the massive flock of magpies eating it. It was quite distressing, since I drive past this carnage several times a day on my way to school, activities, groceries, etc. Then, one day, it was completely gone. Is it possible the magpies carried it away? Or is one of my neighbours much more strong-stomached than me, and felt it was his or her duty to the neighbourhood to clean it up? In any case, it’s gone, leaving only a stain on the ice behind.

It’s like a gross suburban nature show. I’m sort of surprised no one has made a reality series based on carrion and scavengers.

In much nicer news, I realized that my phone has a “Health” app on it. I know. I know. It’s all very five years ago, but I’ve spent some time in waiting rooms in the past week, and so due to extreme boredom I actually looked at the Health app. It features a step counter, which immediately made me feel inferior. Apparently, in order to keep up with my competitive nature, I need to start carrying my phone everywhere now. My steps are too low! If I walked 10,000 steps but the phone wasn’t there to capture it, did it really happen?

Speaking of Health, I’ve had lots of appointments lately, which makes me want to write a whole series of posts about Women’s Health. For example, last Friday I had a colposcopy, and the first thing I did was inform the gynecologist that the last time I was there, her partner couldn’t find my cervix, so I just wanted to let her know that I have a mysterious, hidden cervix. I used the words “cavernous wasteland” and I was talking pretty quickly because I was nervous, and feeling slightly exposed, what with my feet in the stirrups and no pants and anticipating a high level of discomfort. She listened to me, frowning, and looked at my chart. She looked at me, then at the chart again, and said “But I don’t have anything like that written down. Usually I note down any issues.”

I used my ujjayi breath, trying to stem the panic as she started the exam. “Huh.” she said, “Here’s your cervix. It’s…not hidden. Don’t worry. You’re not a wasteland.”

So that was relieving. Regarding womanhood, and women’s bodies, I found this very interesting, about changes in the “ideal female body” over the past 100 years. One conclusion that I think we can draw is that the “ideal female body” varies vastly from decade to decade, and we should all say “fuck it” and just celebrate our bodies the way they are. Right? Also, reading this I learned that I have the same bra size as both Jean Harlowe and Farrah Fawcett, which strikes me as gratifying, in a very strange way.

I told my husband this, since he was a big fan of Farrah back in the day, but he was less interested that I anticipated. “Isn’t she dead? How do you know her bra size?” Oh, honey. Just let me have my five minutes of weird same-bra-as-a-1970s-poster-girl moment.

I will now leave you with this photo, of Barkley dressed as an elderly lady who is judging you.

barkleybaba

Barkley is disappointed in your choices. He thinks you are wearing too much lipstick, and your skirt could be longer. He thinks that ladies do not talk about their cervix.

These are the people in my neighbourhood.

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Proving my theory that every single day is special, yesterday was International Kissing Day, followed by today’s festivities – International Chocolate Day. I think I can get behind this romantic turn of events. Just this morning as I was opening up my drapes, I noticed my across-the-street neighbour walking his girlfriend to her car, kissing her goodbye. Awwww! Sweet! My across-the-street neighbour is not exactly the grand prize to womanhood, so I’m very happy to see him with a lady friend. In related news, I am now in the running for the nosy neighbour on the street. I’m in competition with all of the octogenarians in the surrounding houses.

Years ago, one of my across-the-street neighbours was a man in his eighties, and he had a girlfriend who was probably about 65. They were both widowed, and every Saturday night they would go to 5:00 mass together, then to the Legion for dinner and dancing. It was one of the cutest things ever. One Sunday morning I was opening the drapes to witness Henry walking Frieda to her car and kiss her goodbye; moments later Henry’s adult children pulled up for a visit. It made the romance a little more illicit in my eyes. The moral of this story is that romance is ageless. This is good to know for those days in the future when I’m an orange-haired old lady with bleeding lipstick in my slacks-and-pumps with plastic white purse containing a roll of mints and a change purse.

Ah, romance. It’s everywhere, from the sanitation worker across the street to the teenaged ride operators at the amusement park, from the elderly man down the street who told me his secret to over half a century of happy marriage was saying “Yes, Dear” right to my own home. Yes, the romance is alive at the Boyhouse, even if no one appreciates my kale chips or my version of The Greatest Love of All.

I’ve been re-reading the Anne of Green Gables series, which I haven’t read since I was a kid. I love them as much now as I did then; maybe more. I love the old-timey romance and the descriptions of the college girls entertaining their gentleman callers decorously in the parlor, I love the descriptive details of the landscape and the furniture, but most of all I like how it follows a woman throughout what is really quite an ordinary life. All of us ordinary people are stars of our own stories; everybody’s life is book fodder.

The only thing that’s not great about the Anne books is all the ejaculating. “Anne, what do you think you’re doing?” Marilla ejaculated. Awkward!

It’s been warm and sunny here, happily enough. I’m driving around with the windows open in the car and wearing sleeveless shirts, and it feels wonderful. A man riding a motorbike was stopped in front of me at a red light, and he was wearing a shirt that said boldly, across the back, “Go Big Or Fuck Off”. It made me think of my across-the-alley neighbour who frequently wears a t-shirt that has a picture of a clock on it and the words “Fuck The Time”. I was driving the kids to school one day when he was wearing that shirt, having a conversation with the elderly lady from three doors down. He cheerfully waved; the boys were fascinated. Did you see his shirt, Mom? Do you think that Mrs. D noticed what it said? Yes, I did, and maybe? Then again, maybe she has cataracts.

The other day I was working in my back garden, and I could hear my next-door neighbour talking with her next-door neighbour – that’s Beeps’ “daddy”, for those of you who have been reading about the Boyhouse for a while. My ears perked up when I heard my name mentioned. Did Nicole change her hair? Beeps’ “daddy” asked loudly. Because it sure looks different. Was it always that colour? It seems awfully…red. I thought of Anne Shirley, and how she would flip whenever her hair was referred to as “red”, rather than “auburn”. I’m just glad mine wasn’t being referred to as “orange”. I wondered if I should make my presence known, but then I decided to stay quiet just in case they started gossiping about me. Sadly, the conversation moved on to tree pruning and the weather, so I never did find out about my hair’s approval rating in the neighbourhood.

calaway

For the record, I did not change my hair. But my roots ARE out of control.

I Smell Sex and…Tofu

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Yesterday I bit the inside of my lip very hard, so hard I drew blood, and that spot has swollen up in my mouth such that normal chewing has led to me accidentally re-biting it over and over again. At this point I am begging my own teeth for mercy and considering a liquids-only diet, if only to cut out chewing.

So far this week has been one long domestic duty after another. Yesterday I went to Costco and ran into a friend; we chatted for a while and then she glanced at my cart. “My god!” she said, “Is this a NORMAL trip for you? Do you always have so much fruit?” Well, yes. And my Costco produce trips are not going to get any smaller, since my husband just bought me a juicer as an early birthday gift! Juice for everyone! My liquids-only-no-more-chewing diet is going to really take off; now all I need is a few good recipes. Ideas and tips, all you intrepid juicers out there?

Today I was grocery shopping at my old-people Co-Op to pick up the things that I can’t get at Costco, and lo, there were two young people there. Young people! At the “all seniors all the time” Co-Op! Not only that but these two individuals were young men who were clearly unaccustomed to grocery shopping of any kind. I saw them in the dairy section, and then I saw them in the produce section. I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation as I scrutinized red peppers and packets of basil; from their discussion I realized that they were grocery shopping to make dinner for their girlfriends. It was absolutely adorable, and I felt that full-heart feeling I get when I witness young love, like I’m a withered up old crone who receives vicarious joy from others’ youth and romance.

“Now, the problem is, I don’t know how we’re going to find balsamic vinegar,” one said to the other after a prolonged discussion about whether these are Roma tomatoes or not, and is sheep’s feta okay? I leapt into action and said the balsamic vinegar is right over there, down that aisle. “That one right in front of us?” the other fellow asked, pointing at the cereal and peanut butter aisle. No. I showed them and told them exactly where in the aisle to find it. Hey, the Co-Op is designed for the elderly in my elderly community; they rearrange nothing, ever, and I have been frequenting that place for fourteen years. I could pretty much draw a map to every item available.

Back in our romantic courting days, my husband used to cook all the time. I rarely, if ever, made dinner back then. My husband would cook, and grocery shop, and my oh my, is it getting hot in here? There’s not much sexier than having dinner made for you, now is there? If that was his seduction plan then it worked, every time. These days he mostly grills giant cuts of meat on the barbeque for the kids, and bemoans my vegetarianism. Well, and he buys juicers and other small appliances for me, which is also very sexy in its own way. Especially since I somehow just bit my inner lip AGAIN and I’m not even eating anything.

The other day we were having breakfast-for-supper, a weekly occurrence in my house, and I made a tofu scramble. For those of you who don’t know, it’s like a vegan version of scrambled eggs. I was creating a recipe and so was throwing things together and making notes about additions. I served up a small portion for him to sample and, I will tell you, I was pretty startled at his reaction. “Damn! This is great! This is really good!” he said as I stared at him in disbelief. Given that he was just cooking a pound of bacon for himself and the boys, I felt this to be quite a testament to the tastiness of the dish. Either that or he was trying to get busy with me. Or – OR – he was bedazzled by my new Victoria’s Secret push-up bra. Either way. Tofu. Enjoyed by my husband.

If he had wanted to romance me he could hardly have improved upon this.

After I helped them find the balsamic vinegar, the young guys at Co-Op thanked me effusively. I smiled at them as they eagerly unloaded their groceries in the”12 Items Or Less” line, when I noticed one of them had a giant hickey on his neck. Aww. Godspeed, young man. May your dinner be excellent.

I AM Lady Mary!

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Did you know that Bill Clinton is vegan? Probably you did, but it was news to me. Between him and Justin Timberlake I feel like I can make a case to my husband that not all vegans are crazy hobos. Now, how to get them to start reading my Yummy Mummy blog…although chances are neither of them are actually in the kitchen preparing their own quinoa.

Yesterday I was walking the dog and I met up with an older woman who I often see at the offleash. We chatted for a while and I mentioned something about the boys. She looked a bit taken aback and asked me how old my children are; when I answered she told me that she was shocked because she thought I was a 21 year old university student. That was both startling and flattering, although I did wonder a teensy bit if she is in need of cataract removal. In any event I shall take a compliment however it comes.

It is ridiculous, but I’m really into those Buzzfeed quizzes right now. Apparently the actress most suited to play me in the movie version of my life is Emma Stone. Emma Stone! I wonder who the other options are and also how boring a movie about my life would be. Hoo boy! I can’t imagine that being a box office smash. According to Buzzfeed I am also a saucy combination of Lady Mary, Brigette Bardot, and R2D2. I actually think I’m more of a C-3P0 than R2 but let’s not split hairs here.

The other day I was at the hair salon, reading In Style and thinking such intellectual thoughts such as I thought Sarah Jessica Parker already HAD a shoe line, and Eva Longoria looks better without bangs. I came across this advertisement for Guess jeans and I was completely disoriented as to the date of publication.

Guess

 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not out to judge anyone, mostly because I probably did have a (less-cleavage-revealing) outfit like this in the early nineties. Admit it, you did too. But in this day and age! Have we learned nothing? Are we doomed to repeat the same fashion mistakes over and over? Denim.Overall.Shorts. What is next for humanity? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.

Not to mention the return of the high waisted pants. They are everywhere. Witness this evidence from my local mall:

highwaist jumper YOgapants

 

We are mere moments away from tapestry vests and pleated jeans, mark my words. ONE DAY SOON we will be going out for girls’ night out and it’s going to look like this:

 

mom-jeans

 

Speaking of nine-inch zippers, it’s almost my wedding anniversary! We will have been married for twelve years, which – thank you, Lynn, for pointing this out – is our silk/ linen anniversary. I wonder if my husband would like a silk shirt, circa 1991. I’m going to go ahead and guess NO on that one. The modern gift for the twelfth anniversary is pearl. Heh. Feels like it has all the makings of a good dirty joke but I shall refrain. However, notice the jewelry I’m wearing here:

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All Baking and No Eating Makes Nicole Go Something Something

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Happy Monday, I say from my perch on the office chair with a big coffee next to me. It’s Day…I don’t know how many days it’s been painfully cold but suffice it to say it was an indoorsy kind of weekend. Jake came down with a cold – probably because I’d JUST finished saying how lucky we’ve been and how we haven’t even had a cold in the house since late September – and so the boys did not even go to karate class on Saturday. Quiet weekend indeed. I baked some cookies in honour of Valentine’s Day.

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SOME cookies. Eighty four, to be exact. Sadly, they are almost exclusively made of butter so I cannot eat them.

I also shot a couple of videos for Yummy Mummy Club:

Quinoa

The video on how to make quinoa as a breakfast cereal is right here. I’m wearing the apron my mom bought me for Christmas, from a lingerie store. The last video I shot I wore my old cupcake apron and my mom’s feelings were VERY HURT that I wasn’t featuring my lingerie apron. See Mom? I’m wearing it! I just like to switch things up a little.

Speaking of lingerie, I had a post all planned about thongs, but it will have to wait a day or two because my dear friend Kimberly from Make Mommy Go Something Something tagged me in a meme! And it’s Meme Monday so really, what could be better? NOTHING, that’s what!

1) If Jane had 3 apples and John had 78 nails, how many layers of clothing are you wearing (how is the weather in your neck of the woods?)?

Well, Kimberly, I am currently wearing jeans, a turtleneck, a huge sweater, and I’m sitting in front of a space heater because it’s OMG MY FACE HURTS cold outside. It’s the kind of cold that I always think “That’ll wake you up in the morning!” when I drop the kids off at school. Seriously. Every time. Oh, and I’m wearing my favourite thigh high thick grey socks OVER my jeans and fuzzy slippers.

socks2

I’m bringing sexy back…to the store for a refund.

2. What is keeping you sane during these long winter months?

Honestly, I’m at the point where I can’t remember what grass looks like. I’ve probably already lost my sanity. Oh! But I’ve been on a Margaret Atwood binge lately. Last night I picked up Cat’s Eye and remembered how hard it is to put down. *yawn* Which means I stayed up until 9:30 last night reading. 9:30! Clearly I HAVE lost my sanity!

3. If you were on a boat with a box of chocolate and your Mother In Law, who would you throw overboard?

What kind of chocolate? I kid, I kid. My mother-in-law has been knitting up a storm for me this winter and honestly, it’s made a huge difference in my quality of life. So far I’ve amassed six scarves and four pairs of legwarmers – plus she is currently working on an infinity scarf for me. To add to the sweetness, she sends them to me all wrapped up in ribbons with a note that says “Custom Made For Nicole”. Cute! So I’ll toss the chocolate and keep my mother in law and her knitting needles.

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4. What’s in your underwear drawer besides underwear?

I have so many of those bra inserts that come in yoga tops. I don’t like wearing the inserts, but yet I feel like I MIGHT want to some day. I like to keep my options open. So I have about forty of those inserts taking up valuable panty space…I should go throw them out RIGHT NOW. I won’t, but I should. WHAT IF I NEED THEM?

5. Do you trust yourself with sharp objects near your face? (as in, do you pluck your own eyebrows? Do you have any eyebrow horror stories?)

I do pluck my own eyebrows because if I had to wait 4-6 weeks to get waxed, it would be a nightmare. I’d look like Martin Scorcese crossed with Frida Kahlo. It would not be a good look for me. And here’s a secret…I also pluck my upper lip. I KNOW. The feminine mystique takes quite a beating as we age, doesn’t it? Now, my husband has seen me give birth – twice – and yet I will not allow him in the room if I’m plucking my upper lip because I want to keep the romance alive, people. Feeling like your wife might look like a 70s rocker or possibly Magnum PI without the help of a tweezer is probably not conducive to romantic thoughts.

6. I am terrified of dead bodies, spiders, and the dentist. What are you scared of?

Moths. Good lord I just typed “moths” and I think I had heart palpitations. Either that or I’ve had too much coffee. THIS is what happens when I stay up until 9:30 on a Sunday night!

7. Does your husband cut up the back of your legs with his long toenails when you sleep?

Um, no. No he doesn’t.

All right, it’s my turn to think of seven questions and tag seven people but you know, I like Kimberly’s questions, except for the toenail one. I’ll keep those and add the last question: are you wearing nail polish? And if so, what colour? (I have red on my toenails and pale pink on my fingernails, FYI). I tag the following wonderful bloggers:

Hannah from Hodgepodge and Strawberries

Allison from Bibliomama

Sarah from No Whey, Mama

Swistle from Swistle

Lynn from Turtlehead

Alex from I Don’t Blog

Peady from Tempered With Kindness

You don’t have to be a blogger to answer these questions – feel free to comment on any of the above. Have fun! Happy Meme Monday! xo

This Post Is Steeped

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Today I received an email from an insurance broker about a mix-up, and she very earnestly apologized for the “incontinence”, which has been making me smile all day. I’m sure her coworkers would be more in need of an apology than me, given the puddles and all.

I’ve been re-reading Alias Grace, and in the language of the 1850s, she describes sweeping under a bed and finding a ton of slut’s wool, which is apparently what they used to call dust bunnies, sluts back then being lazy housekeepers and not the whores we think of today. In my own bid to be a fabulous housewife, I moved the couch for the first time in many weeks to sweep behind it and I myself found enough slut’s wool to create my own dusty sheep, so I feel a kinship with all those nineteenth-century sluts.

When Jake started Grade One full time, I had several people ask me what will I do with all my TIME, intimating that I should consider going “back to work”. Did you know I used to have a career? One where I wore pantyhose and high heels and worked on a trade floor for twelve hours a day on average, and I used to cry in the bathroom sometimes, and once a guy flipped out so much that he banged his phone on his desk until it broke and he had to take an anger management course? Good times. Anyway, I never really considered going back to work in that capacity after I left, and it’s good that I didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be available for my current career of “school volunteer”, not to mention my role of slutty housewife.

Yesterday I was a judge at the school science fair, and let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a volunteer capacity. I highly recommend it. I was easily the most excited judge around, walking with my clipboard and asking VERY SERIOUS scientific questions. I loved all the students with their science-y joy and ideas. Changing the world, one science project at a time. One kid was so into his topic of waves and resonance, and so engaged and excited, that I mentioned he might want to consider taking more science once he was in junior high and high school, which subsequently made him even more engaged and excited, that I thought he might spin off the planet right then and there.

Sadly, there was not one baking soda volcano among the bunch. Not one! However, someone had built a Lego robot, and the boys assured me that it was one of the most popular tables, when their classes visited, along with a research project about venom and its uses. Venom! There’s nothing like a potentially deadly substance to get a bunch of third-and-fourth grade boys interested in scientific applications.

And hey, one week until Valentine’s Day! Apparently I will be making approximately one million heart-shaped cookies for the boys’ classes next week, in lieu of cards which they say are “lame” and “stupid”. Well, cookies are the opposite of lame and stupid! Remember that old Tim Hortons’ commercial in which the teenage son bought his mom a tea and said it was steeped, after which she thought “steeped” was the new word to say for something that was cool and used it in all sorts of situations? That’s totally me. I am that mother. Also, cookies in lieu of cards for Valentine’s Day is steeped. STEEPED I SAY.

Someone was asking the other day what men like to receive for Valentine’s Day and I blinked a couple of times. Blink. Blink. I can really only think of two things, and they are pretty obvious: sex and blowjobs. It’s perfect, you don’t need to wrap anything, you don’t need to buy anything, you don’t even need to leave the comfort of your own home. Alternately, you could make a batch of my aphrodisiac blondies. Blondes have more fun, my sweet young blonde yoga friend is always telling me, and I…don’t know if that’s true or not. But these blondies are very fun. Personally I’m hoping for a teddy bear wearing a bee costume emblazoned with “Bee Mine” but I’m not sure if I’ll get that or not. I might have to be satisfied with smooches and general romantic feelings. And maybe a bottle of wine.