Category Archives: Schoolgirl Crushes

Together Again

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The Boys Are Back In Town

My husband and son have returned from their hiking trip in Scotland! They hiked the West Highland Way, which worked out to be 154 kilometres over eight days, and they enjoyed Edinburgh as well. It was quite the adventure, and it’s great to have them home.

After two weeks of eating out, they were pretty excited for some, as my husband put it, home cooking. For some reason that phrase feels like a weird sexual euphemism, I blame Paul Newman. In any case, both of them requested a Big Fun Salad, and I was only too happy to comply.

Salad Days

They had great timing, as it turned out, because I just cut what was the last of the kale and spinach. I have pulled the plants and will be reseeding in a few weeks, when the bulk of the hot weather has subsided for the year, and hopefully I will have a nice fall harvest.

I guess it will be farm market kale and spinach for me until mid-September, but in the meantime, I am not short of tomatoes or zucchini.

Zen and the Art of Gardening and Piano Playing

These vegetables don’t grow themselves, people. Well, the zucchinis kind of do. But the garden itself takes a lot of work and I spend at least an hour a day tending to it, the perennials, and my flower pots. I always leave my phone in the house and just concentrate on the plants, and it is a very zen practice. There is something so meditative about weeding, which, along with laundry, is one of the most Sisyphean tasks ever. Other Sisyphean garden tasks include picking tomatoes and zucchini, but those tasks at least result in yumminess.

I read The Connection Cure this week – more about that in the Weekly Reading section – and it sparked a lot of thinking about the things we do for our mental and physical health. Gardening is one of them for me, but I don’t know if I would say that I am always in the moment while doing it. More likely, while I weed or deadhead or harvest, my mind is wandering about what the hell am I going to do with all these tomatoes, do I have time to roast them later to freeze, and how long will it take to grate up all these zucchinis, and also what am I going to write about this week, and would anyone be interested in a deep dive on The Duchess, and how sexy was Ralph Fiennes, and I wonder if The English Patient is on Netflix and would it be weird to just fast-forward to all the sexy scenes, and how Lady Chatterley’s Lover was basically soft-core porn, and also they changed the ending, and oh my god, look at that butterfly!

Similar things happen in my brain when I’m walking or cooking or doing anything household-task-related, but almost never while I’m exercising or practicing yoga. The one time I can guarantee that I will 100% be in the moment is when I’m playing piano. I have seen people carry on conversations while playing, but I absolutely cannot. I don’t even think about the next note, I am only ever thinking about the note I am playing the second that I am playing it, which makes it, for me, the most Zen practice of them all. I mean, if I so much as thought of Ralph Fiennes I would lose my place in the music, let alone any idle thoughts about my husband pretending to be a gamekeeper on a large English estate, asking me if I would like coarser treatment.

Freshen Your Drink, Governor?

As I mentioned last week, I have taken the opportunity of alone time to watch several British period dramas, and they have not disappointed. Despite my general dislike of book-to-screen adaptations, I rewatched Sense and Sensibility, which, along with Emma and Pride and Prejudice, cycles in and out of being my Number One Jane Austen Favourite Book. I also watched the aforementioned Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which contains not only full frontal nudity but also such graphic sex scenes that I did wonder how they could possibly be filmed without actual penetration, or at least a massive boner on the part of the gamekeeper. I score pretty much zero on the Kinsey scale, and yet I never want to see full frontal male nudity on the big screen, even when the screen is just my TV. As Elaine Benes said, The female body is a work of art. The male body is utilitarian. It’s for getting around, like a Jeep.

Nudity or not, the movie was completely engrossing, as was The Duchess – so good! – and The Other Boleyn Girl, which, along with a rewatch of the first three episodes of Downton Abbey, completed my British Period Drama Fortnight.

There is a growing movement among streaming services to cater to what is called second-screening, which is the phenomenon of watching TV while being on a phone. Streaming services are creating shows that are meant to be watched while distracted, and so there will be a lot of repeated dialogue and summarization of events.

I put the blame entirely on the glorification of multitasking, which I consider to be an incredibly harmful and focus-fracturing concept. Just like I cannot talk and play piano simultaneously, no one, but no one, can actually put mental energy into two things at the same time. It’s just not possible! Sure, we are all listening to podcasts while folding laundry, but I would submit that folding laundry requires very little mental energy. The idea that we can scroll on our phones while watching a movie and absorb any information at all is ridiculous. Bring back single-tasking! Let’s just focus on doing one thing at a time! Including watching TV!

I’m Your Biggest Fan, This Is Stan

Something that almost always absorbs all my attention is a good book; I love that feeling of just sinking into a delicious state of reading. If you follow me on Instagram you know that I post all of my book reviews over there, and I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I want to be honest in all my reviews, but on the other hand, I don’t want to be mean or negative if I don’t enjoy a book. It’s a tricky balance, but on the flip side, I want everyone to know when I truly love a book, and if you remember from last week, I posted a glowing review about Standard Deviation by one of my favourite authors, Katherine Heiny.

I casually logged into Instagram to see that I had a new follower, and friends, I cannot be calm or casual about this: KATHERINE HEINY HAD FOLLOWED ME. Not only that, but she sent me a direct message saying that she was “flattered to be anyone’s writing goals, but you are very funny already.” OH MY GOD PEOPLE.

I might have passed out for a moment. Katherine Heiny! Sent me a message! I have all of her books on my Favourites Shelf! I am as starstruck as a person could be! Katherine Heiny, who I adore and whose writing is over-the-top incredible!

NO I CANNOT CHILL.

And speaking of books…

Weekly Reading

The Connection Cure. I heard this author interviewed on the Ologies podcast, and I found her so fascinating that I knew I would have to read her book. Social prescriptions are growing around the world, and address environmental factors in wellness; instead of asking “what is the matter with you,”’ the question is “what matters to you.” There is a growing body of empirical evidence that links positive health outcomes with movement, time in nature, artistic endeavours, acts of service, and a feeling of belonging. It is all very common sense, but still it was shocking to me to read about the loneliness epidemic, how it has increased since 2020, and the debilitating impacts it can have on health. An important note is that social prescriptions – finding a community, helping a person discover a feeling of belonging, or joy through art, along with movement practices and time in nature – are to be used in conjunction with modern medicines and therapies. Overall an interesting read.

How To Be Married. Jo Piazza is a pretty buzzy author these days, but this book – part memoir, part non-fiction dive into how marriage is viewed in other countries and cultures – came out in 2017, before the buzz. It’s been a while since I myself was a newlywed – in fact, I don’t really remember what our first year of marriage was like – but I found this to be an entertaining and touching read. The tagline mentions her “really hard” first year of marriage, and my thoughts ran to infidelity, dark secrets, and disagreements about loading the dishwasher, but the reality was much sadder. Four months after she was married, the author learned that she had the genetic mutation for muscular dystrophy, which had left her own father extremely disabled and her mother – his caretaker – to have a nervous breakdown from the stress and resentment that comes from being a caretaker. She also lost her job right after they signed a mortgage on a house in San Francisco, a notoriously expensive city. I found the book very interesting and the peek into other cultures to be fascinating. Apparently I am like a Frenchwoman, I learned, as I would never in a million years use the toilet with the door open. Some things, as the Frenchwomen said, should be private.

The God of Small Things. My friend Maya (HI MAYA) had mentioned this book and I was surprised that I hadn’t already read it, as it was published in 1997. It is a heartbreaking, beautifully written book about a family in Kerlala, a terrible tragedy, and the shocking aftermath. It concerns caste, family ties, and dark secrets, and it is so moving and absolutely compelling. The story jumps timelines which might be confusing to some, but I found I was completely immersed, and so I was able to absorb it in stride.

I’ve wanted to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat for thirty years, and on Friday I finally did! We were in the front row, which meant two of my girlfriends ended up receiving leis from one of the cast members – cue getting lei’d jokes – and it was a really great night out. As a child, the story of Joseph was one that was incredibly wild and disturbing to me – parental favouritism, selling one’s sibling to slavery, tricking another sibling into thinking he was going to be imprisoned or killed – but the musical itself is a hoot. I hope your week is filled with delight and music, and doing only one thing at a time. xo

Does anyone still read print magazines or is it just me?

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Thank you to everyone for your kind words about Barkley! I’m happy to report he’s pretty much all better, except for having to take pills and eat really, really gross looking canned dog food for a few more days. One huge benefit of having a Labradoodle is that he will happily eat the pills with no coaxing at all, just pushed into a little bit of the aforementioned gross looking canned dog food. It’s a good thing that he is better and today – according to the powers that be – is National Dog Day!

Bokey

He just got groomed and his ear was excitedly flipped back – don’t worry, he still has ears. I tried to take a selfie with him but he tried to lick me AND the phone, so I just took one of myself.

MeToday

I also got groomed this week, in that I got my hair cut and coloured. I flipped through a Hello! magazine and a People magazine, and honestly, I’ve reached Old Lady Status where I really don’t know who any of the famous people are or why they are famous, other than the British Royal Family.

Well, that’s not totally true. I know who this guy is.

hughjackman

And this guy too:

chrishemsworth

And also these three:

threeguys

So I guess I’ve just reached Pervy Old Lady Status.

That magazine, by the way, is one my husband subscribed to during the school’s magazine campaign, and I will renew it for him until the end of time. IT IS FULL OF VERY INFORMATIVE ARTICLES AND COMMENDABLE RESEARCH.

Speaking of old ladies, I was reminded of my dear grandma when I saw this in the grocery store:

jonbenet

My grandma was very interested in the JonBenet Ramsey case, and followed it closely back in the day. I cannot believe this case is still unsolved. I remember my grandma reading everything about it and discussing it with her, and then my dad raised her ire by suggesting that JonBenet’s mother was the guilty party. Hoo boy, I learned a lesson: do not suggest such a thing to my grandma.

Anyway, one thing that I learned – circling back to recent Hello! and People magazines that I flipped through at the salon – is that history, as usual, is doomed to repeat itself. By this I mean fashion history. I have also noted this at places where Young People Gather. Current fashion is favouring the outfits that I myself wore in my teen years, regrettably short denim cutoffs with very high waists, crop tops, body suits, acid wash, and – alarmingly – overalls.

How do you stand on fashions that you remember The First Time Around? I lean toward the camp that says if you wore it once, you shouldn’t again, but possibly it depends on what age you wore it the first time. Or if the fashion is a modification of the earlier one, perhaps that would be fine. I mean, there’s no way I’d wear this again:

NicoleVogueing

There is NO part of that outfit I would wear again, really. That move I am doing is vogue-ing, for those of you who remember vogue-ing.

And on that note I shall sign off for the weekend. Happy Friday, everyone! xo

Hashtag “Blessed”

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

Score!

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

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

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

Leia copy

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

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

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

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

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

YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES.

I’ve got 99 problems, and excessive caffeine consumption is one of them.

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Today was the Volunteer Appreciation Tea at the school, and guess what?

swag

SWAG

Not only did I win a door prize – Bath and Body Works stuff, which I LOVE – but I also got a “special recognition” for being the Chair and also the Book Fair Lady. I was pretty touched by the whole thing, and in fact I gave a tiny impromptu speech about how amazing the school is, how amazing the staff was, how amazing everything is…basically I was like the drunk guy with an open mic at a wedding. I can’t resist an audience and a microphone, I guess.

But I kind of WAS impaired, and in retrospect I probably shouldn’t have had six cups of coffee BEFORE leaving the house for the tea. The earnest and eager Grade Six coffee servers were very attentive, and I said yes every single time they visited my table. I’ve probably had about twelve cups of coffee today and TWELVE CUPS OF COFFEE IS JUST TOO MUCH COFFEE. I feel like a hummingbird on cocaine. I feel like Ben Stiller in Starsky and Hutch, when he thinks that the cocaine is sugar and uses a ton of it in his coffee and rubs it on his gums and then enters a disco dance-off. Thinking about it now, I’m kind of proud I didn’t start a dance-off in the middle of the handbell performance, or the choir singing of a Voyageur song.

At the end of the tea, the kids had a morning recess and the teachers swanned in to visit a bit with the parents, sort of like when you’re in Vegas and the Elvis and Buddy Holly impersonators go and chat with the audience. I felt a teensy bit like the completely wasted party girl, when everyone else has just had a sip of champagne; talking to my kids’ teachers with gun-fire rapidity, congratulating Jake’s math teacher on his upcoming entry into fatherhood, chatting with another teacher about the weather in Nevada, hugging my friend who had won the CBE “Volunteer of the Year” award. I practically felt like going for a 10K run, but fortunately for my knees I went home instead and tried to work, mistyping everything and flitting from task to task.

Currently, I’m in the “caffeine hangover” stage, and I still have the focus of Apu on 3 days of no sleep. I just paused writing this to do a Buzzfeed quiz to find out who would be my book husband. I would have said with 100% certainty that it must be Mr. Darcy, but it was actually Atticus Finch.

atticus

I’ll take it!

My actual, non-book husband is also “passionate, dedicated, intelligent and a true fighter at heart.” This is especially true when it comes to telephone soliciting. We seem to get a lot of phone calls lately, but since no one I know actually calls me, with the exception of my mother and mother-in-law, I never answer the phone. If it’s not a telephone solicitor, I assume the caller will leave a message – which never happens. Ergo, the only people who call me are telephone solicitors. I’m used to this barrage of phone ringing, but my husband was home alone the other evening and actually answered the calls. By the time I got home he was ripping a strip off the latest telephone solicitor, who was the fourth to call in forty-five minutes.

Now, I’m generally of the mindset that it’s “just a person with a crappy job” and if, on the off chance I do pick up the phone and end up talking with someone who wants to know if I’d like my furnace cleaned, I’m generally short but polite. My husband, on the other hand, was at the end of his rope by the fourth caller.

Then, last night I did answer the phone. I was home alone, and the same number had called multiple times throughout the day. The caller asked for my husband, and when I said he wasn’t home, they asked when they could reach him.

Me: I’m going to do you a favour. My husband becomes incensed by telephone soliciting, so if this is a solicitation, don’t call back.

Telephone Solicitor: Well. Let me tell YOU something. This is Shamal Brown and your husband is going to WANT to talk to me.

Me: Oh, he is, is he? He knows you?

Telephone Solicitor: He’s really going to want to talk to me.

Me: What is this regarding?

Telephone Solicitor: When can I reach him?

Me: Why don’t you give me your number.

Telephone Solicitor: No. I’m going to call him back.

Me: I’m warning you. He really doesn’t like unsolicited phone calls.

Telephone Solicitor: Listen, he will really want to talk to me.

Me: I really don’t think so. He doesn’t know you.

Telephone Solicitor: Is he there? Right now? Now that you know I am Shamal Brown?

Me: HE IS NOT.

Telephone Solicitor: He’s there, isn’t he? Can I talk to him?

Me: *hangs up*

People, this morning at 8:15 am the phone rang – and it was the same number! I picked it up, wondering if Shamal Brown would be on the other line so we could continue this ridiculous conversation, but sadly, it was just a very young sounding girl. She said she’d call back tonight so let’s cross our fingers that my husband and Shamal Brown can connect, because nothing says “great marketing practices” like being harassed by Shamal Brown.

 

Lordy, lordy

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I turned forty yesterday, and if the past few days are an indication of the decade to come, then I think my forties are going to be amazing.

We had a party on the weekend, and the only downside is that I’m probably getting wrinklier by the minute, given that my face was like this for most of it:

Happy

You will note that I am wearing a sash. I had a matching tiara as well; the same friend who brought those two items also brought a bottle of Baby Duck and at around 1:45 am, I partied like I was 16 years old:

087 088 089

Wow, that stuff is bad. And yes, you read that right – 1:45 am. I STAYED UP PAST TWO IN THE MORNING OMG.

So, it was a memorable birthday, made even more memorable by my husband’s friends serenading me in the manner of Maverick and Goose in Top Gun, which has long been a dream of mine. FINALLY THE DREAM CAME TRUE. From the moment I heard you never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips to the final ba dum, ba dum, ba dum dum DUM, I was on cloud nine. Much, much more to be said about this on the throwback blog next week.

By the way, if you’re not reading Throwing It Back, you should. So far I’ve recapped Deenie by Judy Blume, Allison has talked Mr. Dressup and Girl Guide Camp, and, most recently, Hannah recalls with fondness “Wok With Yan,” which may have somehow inspired my love of apron culture. I have it on good authority that we’ll see something about Gilbert Blythe tomorrow.

Gilbert! He seemed to be the first crush of every Canadian girl growing up in the Eighties, and I was no exception. In fact, he made it on my Sexiest Men Of Years Past list, a.k.a., the guys I used to crush on. RIP Jonathan Crombie. We will always be Carrots to you.

In other news, it is really and truly spring in Calgary. I know! I haven’t wanted to say anything because I haven’t wanted to jinx it, but we have had a mild, dry winter and it’s been a warm, dry spring. There are downsides – grass fires ahoy! – but the past few days I have been working in the garden and my perennials are all growing – with the exception of the hostas, which never make an appearance before May. Although, perhaps I shouldn’t say that because my clematis is already up – and that never happens until May – and it is also, strangely, showing new growth on the old vines. THE APOCALYPSE IS NIGH. Well, I’ll take it, especially after last year’s Planet Hoth-like winter.

 Speaking of the beauty of Mother Nature and also Planet Hoth, it’s Earth Day today and besides feeling slightly smug because my kids ALWAYS have litterless lunches and snacks, I participated in the Google Doodle quiz about what kind of animal I am. I cannot resist such quizzes; whether it be what Downton Abbey character I am or what genre of music represents me best, what is my age based on the men I find attractive (28, what is up with that) or what US city should I live in based on my astrological sign, I will always take the quiz. And so I participated in Google’s quiz and found out the following:

woollymammoth

If anyone needs any heavy lifting, my giant tusks and I are here for you. xo

Here’s Looking At You, Kid

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Well, hello there, December! It’s absurd to say that a date snuck up on me, what with the availability of calendars and all, but the date snuck up on me. This morning the boys cracked open their Advent calendars, and here we are. December. I have so much to chat about!

First: Sexiest Man Not Alive. It turns out there is an entire tumblr account dedicated to this exact thing, called “My Daguerreotype Boyfriend” and I do not recommend visiting it unless you want to be sucked down the rabbit hole of captivating men of yesteryear. There are some very attractive not-alive men on that account but this fellow is my favourite:

notalive

That is one sexy criminal. A bad boy in need of reform and possibly temperance? He went to jail for “stealing a fur necklet”. What does that mean. I do not know. Anyway, go look at http://mydaguerreotypeboyfriend.tumblr.com for more fun.

 

The only problem with looking at sexy dead guys is that I know with 100% certainty they would have smelled bad, and although I’m happily married and just looking at men that died a century or two ago, it still affects my feelings for them. I mean really, how often would these guys bathe? And their dental hygiene would be abhorrent.

Speaking of sexy dead guys, I’ve been re-reading an autobiography of Lauren Bacall. I read it years ago and I’m finding it different now, from my almost-forty vantage point. For one thing, they started their affair when she was 19 and he was 44, which requires no further comment, I think. But the big issue I’ve had from reading this book is that I’ve had Key Largo stuck in my head for a week now. I had mentioned this book to my friend, who said “Wasn’t there a song about Bogie and Bacall?” ONE WEEK LATER I’m still randomly singing lyrics: I was your hero. You were my LEADING LAAYYY-DEEEE. I’ve tried to replace the song with all sorts of music from Uptown Funk to Mele Kalikimaka, and it only works for a while. Moments later: We had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall. Starring in our own late late show. Sail away to Key Largo. And repeat.

The other day Might As Well Go For A Soda came on the radio, so I quickly switched the station, denouncing the song along with the much-loathed Patio Lanterns. My older son took umbrage at my labelling of those two songs as the “worst ever”, saying that the B52’s Rock Lobster was “way worse”. We got into quite an involved discussion about it; the upshot was that once Mark had that song stuck in his head for two days. MY BOY. “I couldn’t even concentrate on SCHOOL,” he said, “Because I just kept thinking of that song.” Well, I can certainly empathize. I once had “Getting Jiggy With It” stuck in my head while writing my microeconomics final in grad school, so I know pain. Who’s the kid in the back? Who else – Will Smith! Living that life some consider a myth.

And speaking of getting jiggy with it, this past Friday was our school’s Costume Carnival, and I was in charge of the bake sale.

carnival2

Pre-Festivities

bakesale

So much baking.

People had brought the most interesting and creative baked goods, and it made me think I need to up my cupcake game a little – perhaps I need to FINALLY buy a pastry bag and some of those decorating tips, or at least add some gummy candies to my frosting because DAMN those candy-covered cupcakes are hot items at a bake sale.

I was a little worried that I would end up with this entire table of baked goods, because Friday was minus 30 with blizzard conditions. I drove through white-out conditions to set up at 3:00, and I only live a few minutes away from the school. I was a bit nervous that we would host this carnival and the only people there would be me and the other two organizers, but happily we did have a reasonable turnout, mostly from people in the neighbourhood. A good time was had by all, and the DJ even played a few songs at the end to get the parents up and dancing: I Like To Move It (Move It), Cotton Eye Joe, and, of course, the YMCA. You could almost see his thought process: If I play songs from the parents’ clubbing years, they will get up and dance. Hilariously, the DJ was the same DJ that played at my husband’s office Christmas party the very next night. I wondered if it was kind of weird for him to go from playing Shake It Off and Let It Go to playing music appropriate for a largely middle-aged crowd, i.e., Billie Jean. We left before Cotton Eye Joe could make it’s appearance.

Achievement Unlocked

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Over the last few weeks I’ve been doing a nice mix of online shopping and blast-through-the-mall shopping, and I can proudly announce that I am all done Christmas shopping, including teacher’s gifts and stocking stuffers. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED. I think this is a new record for me, but I don’t think I’ll be breaking this record any time soon. November 4th is probably as early as I’m going to get.

One reason I wanted to get my shopping out of the way is that next week is the Scholastic Book Fair, and I am running it for the sixth year in a row, making this my thirteenth book fair. Thirteenth! I wonder if it’s unlucky. Maybe they’ll forget to send us the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid, or extra supplies of cake pop erasers. That would be unlucky indeed. In any case, next week is spoken for, and so this morning I had a little bit of time so I hit the mall with a vengeance. I only got distracted once, by the Sorel boot display at Town Shoes. If there had been a saleslady around to answer my question as to the cold-rating of some very cute and non-clunky boots, I would have been poorer in money but richer in boots. Alas, it was not to be.

My usual reason for getting my shopping done in November is that Christmas shopping in December is completely depressing and soul-destroying. It all starts with the parking. The mall parking lot is always full, with cars creeping behind pedestrians to see where they are parked and parking-lot-rage-infused people who wait with their signal lights flickering only to have someone else sneak in to the desired spot. There is always a lot of honking, and people wandering in front of cars, and a general feeling of “this must be what hell is like”. Actually inside the mall is terrible too: it’s freezing outside and so you have your winter coat and boots on, but the thermostat is set to “Hades” inside. There are insane lineups, crying children, and extraordinarily tense adults. It’s like all the bad parts of Disneyland without the fun of Dole Whip and the Jungle Cruise. It’s all the exhausted princess-gowned and mouse-eared children, sobbing in limp, over-stimulated piles, being dragged along by the arm by parents with grim, let’s-just-get-through-this expressions, and hour-long lineups and relentless heat, and tinny music on repeat, without the joy of churros and corny jokes about rhinoceroses.

154

Disneyland Joy!

166

Jungle Cruise Joy!

197

Pluto Joy!

202

Goddammit, why don’t they sell booze at Disneyland?

That’s what Christmas shopping in December makes me feel like.

Speaking of which, I was looking for blind bags for the kids’ stockings. Do you know what blind bags are? They are the plastic bags that have a toy – like Lego – inside and it’s a surprise as to what it is. Jake had wanted some for his birthday but I was unable to find them at Toys R Us, so I searched for some online. Online shopping – greatest invention ever, except for when looking for blind bags on the internet. For lo, what did my search results yield? A “Deluxe Grade Deer Carcass Bag”, complete with illustrated picture of a deer with x’s for eyes. “Holds one deer carcass OR one elk quarter!” the description added cheerily, and while I’m sure these are very useful items for people who hunt, it was not the kind of blind bag I was looking for. These are not the blind bags you are looking for. So, yesterday when I hit the mall I looked again for these apparently elusive items and found quite a number of them, so I’m guessing blind bags are a popular stocking stuffer, but less popular for those September babies. I also found this:

Han

Bow chicka wow wow.

I did not buy it, but I did stare at it admiringly for a few minutes. Is it weird to have a crush on an inanimate object?

Last night the boys had a hip-hop performance at the school. Part of the funds raised by the Parent Association go towards artists-in-residency, and this year the school hired a fellow to teach hip-hop. The first time I saw this dance teacher, when I was doing some volunteer work at the school, I did a double-take. I wondered if he was a parent, and if so, for what class?

132

In addition to being an enthusiastic and engaging dance teacher, this guy has fashion sense.

rj

Seriously, it takes a certain something-something to really pull this off!

Then I remembered about the residency and asked the boys their thoughts about this dance teacher. They were very enthusiastic, which isn’t something I normally say about their reactions to dance. The performance was unbelievably great, and involved a very cleaned-up version of Thrift Shop. (This smells like my…soccer cleats. What? It was 99 cents!) If you’re a Parent Association person in the area, and are looking for artists-in-residency options, have I got a recommendation for you! It’s not every day I get to see my kids throw down the moves like stars. It’s also not every day I get to see acid-washed jean overalls paired with a leopard-print shirt, and it WORKS. For some, it works.