Category Archives: Testosterone-y

Sweep, sweep, hurry, hard!

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You won’t believe it, but it has been actually hot here the past couple of days.  Not just warm, but HOT.  It’s beautiful.  Nothing teaches you to carpe diem like a hot day in Calgary.  It’s like the whole city is well aware that such a gift may not ever happen again, and so everyone is outside frantically enjoying the sunshine.  Seize the day, goddammit!  I’ve noticed a lot of sunburned faces around, which is also typical of this city where people take a few weeks to realize that yes, there is such a thing as sunscreen. 

A lot of those red faces were at the school.  Yesterday was Music Monday and I went to watch 430 students singing on the hill behind the school.  It couldn’t have been more perfect, and as a side note: is there anything that Chris Hadfield cannot do?  The guy is the whole package, moustache and all.  He writes songs, he orbits in space, he plays the guitar – seriously, what an amazing man.

I brought freezies to the playground yesterday after school and enjoyed feeling the sun while the kids played.  I checked Mark’s agenda and in there was a note reminding all parents about appropriate clothing for warm weather, reminders about hats, sunscreen, and water bottles.  There was also a reminder about shorts – how short is too short? – and that there are no spaghetti straps permitted in the classroom; tank top straps must be two-finger-widths at minimum.  I’d never received this particular note before, and I didn’t get one from Jake’s class, so I have to assume Grade 3/4 is the age when these rules start to be enforced.  After all, I’ve seen plenty of kindergarteners in sundresses with skinny straps. 

It reminded me so much of Swistle’s Middle School Dress Code post that I had to go read it again.  This is my very favourite paragraph from that post:

I can HEAR in the newsletter that the middle school staff does not WANT to make a dress code. They want to say, “Wear REASONABLE clothing, please, and let’s get on with the day.” But no: the children push and Push and PUSH, until the staff is FORCED to say things such as “Shoulders of tops must be at least three (3) inches wide.” I’m sure that in the beginning they were thinking, as I am, “What’s wrong with a tank top?” And many VERY HEADACHEY days later, it’s “three inches” and then needing to spell out that “three” = 3.

I just didn’t realize I would be facing this in Grade 3.  Of course, I can be as flip as I like about it, since my own children are wearing t-shirts that have the 2010 Vancouver Olympic mascots on them and nearly knee-length cargo shorts.  I am not likely ever going to have to worry about them wearing spaghetti straps and short shorts to school, and because of this I feel very fortunate.

Slight digression: I’ve always found sleeveless shirts on men to be kind of vile, outside of a gym or yoga studio or athletic activity.  I think it’s the armpit hair.  Anyone else feel this way, or is this going to be another of those issues that divides us, like shorts?  We can all still be friends, no matter what our view on shorts are.  This isn’t O Magazine.

There is one thing that is very trying about this weather, and that is the very dry dead grass that is everywhere.  Green grass is only just starting to sprout, and so the dead grass is literally everywhere.  It was all over my blanket that I took to Music Monday, it’s inexplicably all over the kids’ clothing, and the dog, the DOG keeps rolling around outside and bringing in vast quantities of it.  The dog isn’t due for his day at the groomer’s for another two weeks, and so his giant fuzziness is constantly shedding dead grass all the live long day.  I cannot stand the sight of it, which means I am sweeping the floor constantly.  “I’m in a battle with the grass,” I said casually to the boys, who immediately jumped on the word “battle”.  They immediately began describing the video game that could be based on my life.  Mom versus grass.  My weaponry is a broom and sometimes the vinegar-and-water spray bottle and mop.  Level up!  I swept up the grass.  There’s more grass!  I’m losing lives!  Get out the broom! 

Anyone want to get in on the lamest, most housewifely video game idea ever?  Anyone?  I was a little saddened by the apparent turn my life has taken here; I mean, my superpower is sweeping up dead grass with a broom.  This is what my life has come down to. 

Taxidermy! Food courts! Ukrainian Folk Dancing!

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Today I attended an assembly hosted by both Mark’s and Jake’s classes where there was a wide variety of Reader’s Theatre (Mark was Narrator #3) and also Ukrainian folk dancing.  Really, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen sixty five children wearing paper headbands and headdresses, dancing to Ukrainian folk music.  It was very entertaining.  I thought – unbiasedly, of course – that Mark was the very best of all the narrators, but also that he is most emphatically NOT a performer.  Or specifically, a dancer.  He seemed to gravitate towards the middle and back of the group, eyes on the ground, almost as though trying to disappear.  In fact, that was what he was doing, as he told me he was embarrassed to dance in front of the whole school.  Jake’s role was to do a sort of squat-kick spin-your-partner, except his partner was absent, so he spun himself.  I thought it was excellent, in a most unbiased and objective way.

On Friday I opened the childrens’ agendas and discovered that, for this assembly, they were required to wear dark pants and white shirts.  Now, I don’t know about you, but I have a policy about white shirts, and that is that we don’t have any.  I mean, my husband wears them to work, and I have a couple that I guard with aprons and extra care, but my children – no.  However, I didn’t want them to be the only two children without white shirts, and so I resigned myself to a mall excursion.  ON A WEEKEND.  I felt that since I was dipping my toe in anyway, I may as well just jump right in and also get shoes for Mark, given that his feet suddenly had a growth spurt and he was walking strangely in his old shoes, probably semi-crippled with shoe discomfort.

So there we were, the whole family, at the gigantic mall just outside the city.  Like I said, go big or go home, and so we made the trek to the place that houses the Skechers outlet.  We fairly expediently obtained the needed items, plus less expediently obtaining others (not for me, sadly) and then we went to the food court.

What is with kids and the food court?  They think this is the biggest treat of all time.  Any mention of a food court and they get so excited I worry about their little blood pressures.  FOOD COURT!  When I am on one of my rare evenings out, my husband will proclaim “It’s a BOY’S NIGHT!” and the children will lose their little minds with excitement, knowing that they are going to get to go to a mall and eat in a food court. 

After the super-exciting food court lunch, we started to head for the exit.  On the way, we passed Bass Pro and my husband asked the boys if they wanted to go in.  For those of you who don’t know, Bass Pro is a wretched, wretched place filled with a myriad of taxidermied animals.  I cannot even step past the taxidermied moose that mark the entrance without feeling alarm, which seems to be the exact opposite of my children, who enjoy looking at the taxidermied animals, as well as the camouflage hunting tents and whatnot.  Both boys immediately said that they did NOT want to go to the store because they didn’t want to lose Mom again.

Here’s the story: the last time we were at that mall, the kids wanted to go into Bass Pro and look at all the (dead) animals, and also the gigantic fish tank.  I, understandably, wanted to pass.  I said I would wait outside, but I got bored and started to wander around.  I texted my husband to tell him I was going to Jacob to look at black sweaters.  I texted him that I was now in a shoe store.  I texted him to say I was buying some boots.  I texted him to ask where are you?  God, I thought, they are taking forever.  I wandered some more and ran into him, white-faced and frantic.  It turns out that my husband didn’t have his phone with him, and thought I had disappeared.  Oops.  In any event, the boys were so traumatized that a) no one wants to ever go into Bass Pro again, and b) my husband doesn’t leave the house without his phone.

The last time I was in Bass Pro – many, many months ago – I snapped some photos:

Sexytimes!  A camouflage lingerie section, to go with the camouflage quad/ hunting tent combination, in case anyone’s in the market.


Moar Happyer; A Diversion

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“I don’t get it,” Mark said from the back of the minivan, the minivan that was rocking with hip tunes from the seventies.  “Why does that guy want to be a Fireside Girl?”  “Maybe he wants to sell those cupcakes or get badges.” Jake suggested.

For reference, this was the song that was on the radio.  I know, I should really listen to more current music, and I DO, I really do.  But sometimes I need a break from accidentally belting out the uncensored lyrics to “Thrift Shop” in front of my kids.  “Mom, that word is really bad.  It’s even worse than FRICKING.  It means the same thing as this,” the kids will say in their best reprimanding manner, raising their middle fingers so I can see for myself just how inappropriate it is.

In other words, I’ll keep my old-people radio station that advertises for Grey Power Insurance.  Related: it’s almost my birthday!  Time to break out the tiara, drink lots of wine, and eat cake!  So, pretty much like every weekend.  Last birthday I celebrated turning-older-than-Mrs-Robinson; this year is kind of anti-climactic since I don’t know what cougarish fictional character I’m going to be older than.  I have a good ten years before I will be older than Dallas from Suburgatory.

Although I do have one of these foam fingers, only it’s green:

My foam finger is highly underutilized in the bedroom department, however.
Speaking of sexytimes, Barkley has finally stopped attempting to, ahem, dominate a certain little Shih tzu dog named Freddie at the off leash park.  This is big news.  It is also the end of a short lived, yet very embarrassing era in which I would have to grab Barkley’s collar, yelling “Barkley, NO!” while simultaneously apologizing to the older lady to whom Freddie belongs.  I was somewhat curious why Barkley continued to try to have his way with Freddie given that a) Barkley is a eunich, and b) Freddie is male.  Perhaps Barkley is gay?  My friend Nan informed me that if Barkley is gay, then her dog, who regularly attempted to dominate pillows in a similar manner for many months, must be a foamosexual.
Foamosexual.  It’s a word that never fails to make me smile, although now that I posted a picture of a foam finger, it’s kind of disturbing.
Other cheerful things that are happening around here: Jake told me he loves school, and that is because in his mind school is a video game and whenever he accomplishes a goal or a difficult task, he considers it a “level completed”.  I feel like something is a bit off with that, but whatever works.  Level up, buddy.  Mark is finishing his last swim class today and I’m fairly sure he did not “level up”, as it were.  “I’m the slowest swimmer in my class!” he told me, to which I did NOT respond that I was consistently the second worst athlete in every single phys ed class growing up.  He should just be glad I procreated with his “Award of Excellence” father, just to get some athleticism genes.  I mean, that’s not the only reason I procreated with him.  He’s number one!  *raises foam finger*
It is also “Tacky Tourist” day at school, and I for one welcome this dress-up day as being much, much easier than “Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up” day or “Dress As Your Favourite Storybook Character” day, both of leave me bemused and devoid of all creative ideas.  At least, I thought it was easy.  This is what they looked like this morning:
Of course, we got to school and all the kids had crazy straw hats and sunglasses and cabana wear but STILL.  Maui t-shirts count for something, I think.

Lego, Eyelashes, and an IMPORTANT QUESTION

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This morning Jake was playing with his Star Wars Lego when I heard a frustrated yell.  The back window had fallen out of his Palpatine’s Arrest set, and when he tried to fix it, a couple of other pieces came off.  There was no time to figure things out before school, and so I decided I would try to fix it before he came home from lunch.

This is not, by any means, the first time I had attempted to build or fix Lego.  I will start by saying that I am not gifted in the Lego area.  I can barely build a simple box house, and those Star Wars sets are very complicated.  This is probably somehow related to my complete inability to catch a ball without flailing my arms and shrieking.  However, I remembered where all of the instructions manuals were kept, and so I flipped to what seemed to be the appropriate page and bravely began.

Shortly after that, I burst into tears. 

Happily, when Jake got home at lunch and I showed him my attempt, he said cheerfully that I did a great job, and he didn’t really need the window to open anyway.  He never really used that window anyway!

What a sweetheart.  I have a School Council meeting tonight, and I have a feeling his dad is going to be kept busy fixing the window.

Speaking of bursting into tears and having to subsequently fix my mascara, the other day I was shopping and saw a display for a mascara called “The Falsies”, and although the word “Falsies” makes me think of bra-stuffing, I was intrigued.  I had read a few reviews about this mascara and I thought I should try it.  I am going to have amazing, traffic stopping eyelashes, I thought, although to be honest I’m not sure how eyelashes would stop traffic, especially if a person has light sensitive eyes and wears sunglasses all the time, as I do.  Nonetheless!  I have a few girlfriends who regularly get false eyelashes applied – the kind that last for a few weeks – and they look amazing.  So amazing that when I’m talking to them I get completely distracted by their eyelashes and forget what we are talking about.  I’m like one of those guys who can’t take their eyes off your breasts, but with eyelashes.  I briefly thought about getting them myself but decided against it.  Although I’m high maintenance that is a line I just cannot cross, so this mascara called out to me.

Isn’t it funny what you think buying a product is going to be a glorious, life changing experience?  I get that sometimes.  A new pair of panties equals a new lease on life!  New lipstick?  Transformative.  I am a new woman because of this scented hand cream!  So I could hardly wait to try out my new mascara which would give me false lash glam instantly. 

People.  Building hopes up too high can only lead to disappointment in the end.  I wish I could say I was fluttering my enormous eyelashes at you right now, but I’m not.  I mean, the mascara is fine.  Possibly slightly better than my regular mascara.  There is nothing inherently wrong with the mascara, although there might be something wrong with me in falling for the advertising.  I tried to take a picture of my eyes, but have you ever tried to do that?  I looked like I was preparing to make my own tinfoil hat, or that I lived in a small apartment with one hundred pets who were all named Pookie.  So you will have to take my word for it; my eyelashes look nice, but not LIFE CHANGING.  Certainly not traffic stopping.  No one is going to become distracted by my eyelashes while talking to me.

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Some of you know that I’m currently working on a cookbook, filled to the brim with lovely vegan and vegetarian recipes.  It’s an exciting project, and now that Justin Timberlake is singing the praises of coming on down to Veganville, I hope it will be a popular project as well.  Nothing like a little advertising by JT.  In any case, I realized I have a very biased and warped view of the world since I have so many vegetarian and vegan friends; it’s like I live in my own little meatless bubble.  As my husband said to me the other night, most people actually eat meat, Nicole.  Not everyone loves beans as much as you do.  I’m beginning to realize this is true!  So my question for all you meat-eaters is this: how often, if ever, do you cook/serve/eat meatless meals?  If never, why not?  Please leave your answer in the comments.  Maybe we can make it a giveaway!  Random person will win a prize!  Prize to be determined, I promise it won’t be a can of beans, or a tube of mascara.

What kind of monster have I become?

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It’s a beautiful autumn day here in YYC!

Did you just cry a little?  Yeah, me too.  Less than two weeks ago, this was the scene:

Jake, climbing our tree, wearing shorts.  Not shown in this photograph is the total heart attack I was having and trying to conceal.  “Wow, honey, you’re a really great climber!” is what I said.  “I am going to dial 9-1 and wait to dial the other 1.  I think I’m having palpitations!” is what I was thinking.  That was silly of me, because Jake DID lose his footing, but instead of falling he gripped the tree with both arms and both legs, hanging upside down, boasting the whole time about his superior climbing and monkey skills. 

It’s funny, the things you never think you’ll do or say that you end up doing or saying.  Things such as “Get down from there or you’ll break your neck!”  Or cleaning your child’s dirty face with your own saliva.  Just writing that down, I am revolted with my own motherly self.  And yet who among us hasn’t done this?  Who among us hasn’t retorted with the ever-popular “Because I said so, THAT’S WHY.”  Who among us hasn’t pretended to listen to their child’s steady stream of chatter and nodded absently and unmindfully?

Sometimes I wonder about the person I have become.  I look at my life and I wonder what happened to me.  For example, yesterday I was at the mall.  The mall.  On a snowy, windy, October afternoon.  All I’m going to say is, so many crying babies.  Not that I’m judging – I’ve been there before, the young mom desperate just to get out of the house.  Still.  Anyway, I was at the mall, and I saw a pink Star Wars t-shirt in my size and I considered purchasing it.  I really did.  I actually picked it up, then after a minute, I set it down again, mourning the little piece of me that died when I considered buying a pink Star Wars t-shirt for my 37 year old self.

What have I become?  I also marvelled at myself when I intervened in an argument between the children.  They were, uncharacteristically, bickering when Jake suddenly burst into tears.  The reason for the outburst was that Mark told him that of all the planets, he hated Tattooine the most.  This soul-destroying information just couldn’t be unsaid.  I spoke with Mark, and my exact words, my EXACT WORDS were “Honey, that really hurt Jake’s feelings.  How would you feel if he said he hated Naboo?” 

Who am I?

Another example of my burgeoning lameness is that the other day I purchased a bottle of Mrs. Dash.  I have always associated Mrs. Dash with the elderly who have been required by their health care providers to adopt a low-sodium diet.  I am now, apparently, a person who seasons food with Mrs. Dash.  I don’t even know what to think of this, except that I sprinkled it on my avocado-and-tomato quesadilla yesterday, and it was delicious. 

Other things that my former self would not have conceived of doing: spending hours photocopying things and becoming proficient at fixing paper jams, secretly becoming panicky and tiger-momish when my child gets four points docked on a bar graph unit test for not showing all the work, becoming sad when unable to obtain oven mitts that match my apron, and wondering if the socks-over-jeans-but-under-boots would be a good look for me. 

When the cat’s away…

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My husband is briefly out of town, and you know what that means!  Salad for dinner, an episode of NYPD Blue, and going to bed at 8:45 pm!  When the cat’s away, this little mouse is going to get her party on.  A salad/NYPD Blue/early bedtime party. 

Yesterday I could feel a cold coming on.  I dosed up on oil of oregano, spinach smoothies, and an excessive amount of vitamin C, but I felt the only true remedy would be a good night’s sleep.  I have a piece of advice for you: if you ever want to slip into a coma, try Nighttime Benadryl.  Hoo boy.  I went to sleep at 7:30 and I woke up this morning at 6:45.  I felt mighty confused when I woke up – Who am I?  Where am I?  The nurses are stealing my money!  Get off my lawn! – however, I’m feeling much, much better. 

Other than the little case of the sniffles and the resulting unintended coma, I had a lovely weekend which included a date night AND a fabulous shopping experience, so a win all around.  I bought two new bras from Victoria’s Secret, and let me tell you, they are life-altering.  It’s not like I had never shopped there before, but this was my first venture to our local store – it’s still pretty new here – and the service was outstanding.  Who knew there were so many bra specialists? 

Natalia, the super cute and enthusiastic bra specialist assigned to me, informed me that my bra size had changed, which I do not understand.  I mean, I understand how weight gain/ weight loss/ pregnancy/ breastfeeding changes your bra size, but what if none of the above applies?  Anyway, Natalia fitted me in a sweet new “uplifting” bra and I will tell you, it’s hard to get anything done because I am now constantly distracted by my fabulous new rack.  I think I finally understand men!  I wore my new bra for our date and my husband agreed, it was ASTONISHING.  Ladies with deflated bosums, there is hope!  And that hope is Victoria’s Secret! 

I should probably note that I’m not getting compensated for gushing about Victoria’s Secret.  I AM JUST REALLY HAPPY WITH MY FABULOUS UPLIFTED BREASTS, OKAY?

Speaking of understanding men, the first time I heard of it the show Wipeout I thought “Who would ever watch that?”  Now I know.  Boys.  See also: my feelings on America’s Funniest Home Videos.  Nothing, I tell you, nothing is funnier to boys – and men – than seeing another guy get hit in the testicles with something.  In any case, the boys have been recording and watching episodes of Wipeout like it’s Mad Men.  They are obsessed with Wipeout.  They have, unfortunately for me, constructed a Wipeout-like course in our basement using exercise balls, a giant stuffed tiger, the couch, and light sabers.  I do not witness this game because I like to keep sane.  However, the other day they created a game called Family Wipeout which started with both of them on an exercise ball and ended when Jake came upstairs with blood gushing from his nose.  Sometimes I feel like I’m starring in my very own bizarre reality show.  Or maybe that’s just “reality”. 

Cupcakes, shopping, and Junior Mints

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I am pleased to report the happy news that there have been zero barfing incidents since the first day of school.  Although, writing that, I just broke out into a cold sweat thinking that I just jinxed everything and now my children will be up all night barfing.  Cue the Stevie Wonder riffs.

I really, really hope this doesn’t come to pass, and not just for the obvious reasons: tomorrow is Jake’s birthday party!  After the insanity of Mark’s last birthday party, I privately vowed to never host another birthday party as long as I live, but Jake very sweetly only wanted to invite five of his neighbourhood friends – whose mothers I am all friends with – to go play at the playground and then eat cupcakes.  I felt I could really get behind that idea!  And so that is exactly what we are going to do, and the weather is going to cooperate as well, it seems.  At this very moment I have cupcakes in the oven – these cupcakes, if you’re interested – with the promise of making extra peppermint frosting just for the birthday boy.  I’m also wearing my brand new apron:

Isn’t it adorable?  It has cupcakes on it and I’m MAKING CUPCAKES!  I’m going to feature it in an upcoming “Nicole’s Favourite Things” post, but strangely, like kale chips and 70s soft rock, I am the only one in my house who does not revile this sweet apron.  What is wrong with everyone I live with?  I put it on last night to show the kids, who stared at me, making “Uhhhhhhh” noises until Mark said “Mom?  It’s kind of lame.”  I showed my husband, who wasn’t shy about sharing his unfavourable opinion.  But what does he know?  He also said “I thought when you said you had a new apron, it was, you know, the kind that is black and lacy…”  It’s not a French maid outfit, husband.  I’m using it for actual baking, not “baking”.

That was the strangest euphemism for sex ever, no?

Anyway, so cupcakes are on the to-do list today, as well as putting together loot bags.  I went out yesterday specifically to buy loot bag treats, a replacement shirt for the one that was barfed on, and shoes for Mark.  I’m kicking myself a little because – I don’t mean to brag, here, people – I am the most organized person I know.  Yet I fell down on this one.  I bought indoor school shoes for the boys weeks ago, but since they were in sandals all summer, I failed to notice that Mark’s regular outdoor runners were a size too small until the first day of school.  ORGANIZATIONAL FAILURE.  He could barely walk in them, poor giant-flippered child.  So I thought I would just pick up a pair while running all my other errands.

And let me tell you, by the end of the day I was so frustrated and crabby that I was ready to burn the whole mall down.  I went to every single store that sold shoes and I purchased the only pair of boys’ runners in Mark’s size.  THE ONLY PAIR.  I have written many times about my frustration over the lack of selection for boys’ wear, but that really took the cake.  I ended up paying an exhorbitant price for a simple pair of running shoes which will likely be outgrown in six months, although thankfully they can be passed down to Jake as well.  BUT STILL.  Then I attempted to find party favours that were not embossed with Tinkerbell or Barbie, but again, this was futile.  I ended up going to the dollar store where I found not only Star Wars-themed Pez dispensers, but also Angry Birds-themed napkins and bags, and gigantic packages of candy, including Junior Mints!  I hope I don’t eat all the Junior Mints before I get them into the loot bags.  Who doesn’t like a Junior Mint?  They are so refreshing!

So the first week back at school has been full of excitement, hasn’t it?  There are a few other things going on around here that are amping things up a little, such as an in-law visit and preparing for the first school council meeting.  Suffice it to say I’m looking forward to my Friday night cocktails/wine/any alcohol at all.  How early is too early for a drink, really?