Category Archives: Testosterone-y

I still don’t know who Li’l Pump is

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Stampede week is always full of strange things; it is the nature of living in a city with a ten-day party going on. Usually there are at least a few people passed out in the green space behind our house or in the alley, which incites my personal grim game: Dead or Drunk? I usually try to note how long someone is lying there and in what position, hoping to determine from a distance which one it is. Happily it’s always been Drunk, although I once called the police as a fellow was passed out in his parked car behind our house for several hours. It was a bit too long for my comfort, but it turns out he was just sleeping one off before driving home, which is the responsible thing to do, I guess.

But this week – perhaps due to the cool weather – there have only been one or two such episodes, although the week itself has not been without incident. For example, I was walking Barkley and a fellow asked me for a light. Then, perhaps to clarify, he said a cigarette lighter? No sir, I do not. I didn’t think I fit the profile of a smoker, but my husband thought perhaps the gentleman was trying to strike up a conversation with me, nifty number that I am. Forty-something suburban mom, walking her labradoodle, wearing a t-shirt with Namaste written on. Then shortly after that I noticed a fellow riding what appeared to be a ten-speed bike locked into the most difficult gear possible, pumping his legs with serious effort on our perfectly flat street. Maybe he was getting exercise as I saw him five minutes later on the street going in the other direction. Of note: he was wearing a down jacket and a toque, and although, like I said, it has been cool, it is not THAT cool.

Speaking of labradoodles, I had dropped Barkley off at doggy day-care on Wednesday; when I came to pick him up the girl told me that there was a chocolate doodle gang that day. Apparently there were three nearly-identical brown labradoodles at the day-care. Two things: a) it definitely WAS Barkley I picked up, and b) I really enjoyed her usage of the term “gang.” That must have been the cutest, most non-threatening gang ever: immensely fuzzy gang members who are constantly pressing up against peoples’ legs in order to get extra pats and snuggles, all of them obsessed with food.

I used the doggy day-care because I had decided that the boys and I needed a day in the mountains, and what a fun day it was. We hiked up Sulphur Mountain, a 5.5 kilometer hike with 744 meters of elevation gain; Barkley is too old and arthritic to even consider such a thing. Frankly, I was concerned that I was too old and arthritic for such a thing, but it turned out great; my hip held up perfectly with no pain whatsoever. The boys impressed me with their cardio strength and enthusiasm, even if they did talk constantly about YouTubers, lame video games, and how much Li’l Pump sucks. Who’s Li’l Pump was my question; I said I was too old to know these things, to which the boys answered that I was LUCKY and they wish they were too old to hear of Li’l Pump. I still have no idea, but I do know that when we are hiking we need not worry about bears as the boys make enough noise talking constantly to keep all wildlife away.

Sulphur Mountain – for those of you who are not local – is a very popular tourist destination as there is a gondola, which makes it a strange experience for hiking. While we were hiking, we saw other hikers maybe every 10-15 minutes, it was – other than the Li’l Pump discussion – quite peaceful. Then, at the top of the mountain, there are literally hundreds of people milling around, all of whom rode the gondola up. The views are among the best in the valley, and so it’s obvious why. We rode the gondola down the mountain – I wanted to make sure I didn’t overdo it on my hip, and I also thought the boys would enjoy it – with a very nice gentleman visiting from Barrie. He couldn’t BELIEVE anyone would hike up when there was a perfectly good gondola. He was going on a helicopter tour the next day, then to Calgary, and then – bizarrely enough – to Grande Prairie. I hope he had friends to visit up there or something, as it seems like not the greatest tourist destination.

We had a quick soak in the hot springs after our hike; it was quick because the boys had imagined something like the original Cave and Basin, a natural spring in a dark cave, not thinking about the impact millions of nearly-naked tourists would have on such a place. They were disappointed that it was just a pool, but hotter, and one they couldn’t really swim in. Well, I enjoyed it anyway.

Other important things of note: my roses FINALLY started to bloom. This is very late, even by Calgary standards, so I’m enjoying every second of these beauties. Hashtag: stop and smell the roses.

Also of note: remember the passport renewal saga? I have been in low-level anxiety that the one passport would be rejected due to the printer ink, and that I’d have to go through all this bureaucracy a second time, but happily, David the government agent is still error-free. The passports arrived this week, much to my great relief and also amusement, because as I mentioned in my other post, my children look like teenage thugs. Both were in great need of a haircut at the time, and that alongside their psychotic resting faces, well. If you saw them in their photos, you would cross the street, is all I’m saying.

Speaking of haircuts, I took this out from the library and we watched it last night.

I was surprised how well it held up, considering it’s not any kind of award-winning film. Plus, it’s only about ninety minutes long which is perfect for me.

Tonight my husband and I are going to see Zac Brown at the Stampede grounds, so party on, me. Party on, everyone. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The June/ “Why Is This Week So Weird” Edition

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What is it about the last week of school? The month of June – well, and April and May – flew by, but now this last week is taking an age to get through. It doesn’t help that I feel like I’m in a constant time warp, what with today being a PD day, and tomorrow being a “pick up report cards and generally do nothing for three hours” day, and the past two weeks being half days. Who am I? Where am I? What are we doing again? These are the questions I am constantly asking myself. I have to remind myself several times a day what day it is and what is happening.

A huge highlight having half days of school is that there are no lunches to pack. My kids are semi-famous in their group of friends for having The Best Lunches; clearly they are old enough and competent enough in the kitchen to make their own lunches, but I still do it as a semi-love letter to them. On weekends and holidays they are, for the most part, completely responsible for cobbling together their own lunches, but on school days they get a lunch prepared by me, the secret ingredient being Love.

About a year ago I was at a neighbourhood barbeque and one of the dads told me his son was constantly complaining about the quality of his lunches, saying that the ones my boys eat are far superior. This dad asked me to dial things back a bit, can’t I just slap a piece of bologna between two slices of bread? Has he met me? Of course I can’t. I still have zest for lunch making as a) the boys came home for lunch for all those elementary years and so I never really had to make any, b) I only pack three lunches a week, as Fridays are half days and Tuesdays are Chicken Caesar Salad day at the cafeteria. Here’s my secret: on pita pizza night, I make extra pizzas to have cold in their lunches, one day a week I put deli turkey with ranch dressing and lettuce in tortillas, then wrap, secure with toothpicks, and slice up, and on Mondays, they get whatever leftover roasted meat happened on Sunday, plus a couple of leftover waffles. Every lunch has veggies, fruit, and something I’ve baked in it as well. I AM THE LUNCH QUEEN.

So no lunches for the last two weeks; Monday I was mixing up cookie dough when my younger son came home, alone. Usually they come home together but he cagily said that his brother was just “a few minutes behind him.” When his brother came home he mentioned that he had parked an abandoned Walmart shopping cart behind our house.

Me: What.

Son: I just parked it out back. Don’t worry, it’s not behind the garage or anything.

Me: I don’t want an abandoned CART behind our HOUSE. Why did you PUT it there?

Son: Okay, I’ll go move it.

So many questions. So much to process. In the end the story went like this: the boys and their gang found three – THREE – abandoned shopping carts in one of the back alleys that they use to cut off thirty seconds from their commute. What’s a group of teenage boys to do when they find three – THREE – abandoned shopping carts? Climb in and race, of course.

When this was relayed to me, I had to turn to the sink full of dishes, close my eyes, and employ my ujjayi breath for a few moments. My initial reaction was to completely flip out but I didn’t because a) they actually related this to me, b) there are no real inclines or declines from that alley to our house, and so chances are no one was careening out of control, and c) teenage boys, honest to god, have no brains.

I did, however, ask them to please, in future, if they encounter abandoned shopping carts, to just leave them alone. I’m sure this is not the last of it, however. When my husband got home, he wondered what kind of idiot would leave an upside down shopping cart in the green space behind our house, to which my son responded “I am that idiot!” We cultivate self-awareness in this house, let me tell you. My husband then grabbed his truck keys and the two of them returned the cart to the Walmart parking lot, a somewhat happy ending to a story that I never, ever thought would be part of my life.

So IDIOCY is not my favourite thing but I do have a number of things I love about this month, time warp and all.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The June/ “Why Is This Week So Weird” Edition

Hunter Boots

I have wanted Hunter boots for YEARS but couldn’t justify them in my mind; I had a perfectly good pair of rain boots that, up to about seven weeks ago, served my purposes. After years of service they finally cracked; Browns had a 30% off sale on tall black Hunters, and there was ONE left in my size. What’s a girl to do? I bought them and immediately the weather turned dry and sunny. You’re welcome, Calgary! But the last few weeks have seen a huge amount of rain – summer solstice was the darkest, rainiest, longest day of the year – and so I’ve been enjoying my fashionable, dry feet.

Flowers

My Siberian irises have made the best showing ever this year, and they are popping up in places far from their original domain.

All my outdoor plants are making strides, but just look at this:

One of my dear students gave me that bouquet, and I am just in love with it. Bonus: it’s not triggering anyone’s allergies in the house!

Barkley

I know, he is just constantly one of my favourite things, but will you look at this:

I mean, come on.

My husband has been doing a lot of business travelling lately, and it’s all sadness when the suitcase comes out:

Poor puppers!

All That Food Is Paying Off

I’ve been the shortest in the house for a little while now, but today my fifteen-year-old took the title of Tallest in the House. The boys have both grown 1 1/2 – 2 inches since April 2, which really explains my grocery bills. Now I’m just looking forward to their brains catching up with all that growth.

Well, June is hectic, this week is even more so, and with that fun piece of news I will close. Happy end of school, friends! xo

Next Stop: The Glue Factory

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Last Friday, two days before my first road race, the road race I’ve been training for over these past many months, I went for a light run. My hip was a bit achy but I thought I would push through; this was apparently a big mistake as suddenly I had shooting and stabbing pain in my right leg and hip flexor. It took me a solid twenty minutes to get from the gym to the parking lot and once home, I couldn’t put weight on it at all. I had to crawl just to use the bathroom. I spent most of Friday lying on the couch, crying.

Needless to say, I didn’t run in my road race.

My very good friend, who is also a counsellor (HI TARYN) told me that the emotional toll of physical pain is often worse than the injury itself, especially for people who are very active. I believe it. I spent a lot of the time over the weekend feeling blue and also being in a lot of pain. There’s nothing like having to get your husband to help you PUT ON your underwear to make you appreciate your normal physical abilities.

My fear was that there was something really wrong with my hip joint and that I tore something, but I didn’t have bruising or swelling, so I didn’t THINK that was it. I have torn my groin before, just like a pro hockey player, and I knew what that looked like. It turns out that the ache in my hip was a nerve impingement which led to extreme muscle spasms. I’ve had a couple of appointments with dry needling, which is the weirdest and yet most instant-relief experience I’ve had. I have renewed optimism that maybe, just maybe, I just might make it after all.

“Next stop: the glue factory,” I said to my younger son, who just stared at me. “Like Boxer! Remember Boxer?” He continued to stare at me silently and then told me that yes, he remembers Boxer and that really, I wasn’t very funny.

The upside of all this is that on Friday the boys made dinner, including a vegetarian protein source just for me. It was a pasta salad – complete with creamy dressing made with vegan mayo – with edamame and all my favourite vegetables, and they sauteed themselves some chicken as well. AND THEY CLEANED UP, LIVING UP TO MY OWN RIGOROUS CLEANING STANDARDS. Why don’t I get them to make dinner more often? It was a highlight of what was a pretty bummer weekend.

Another highlight is my flowers arrived! I had ordered some planters and herbs from a fundraiser, and they are gorgeous. My husband brought a chair into the yard so I could direct the action as he put the flowers into pots for me. I have officially given up on trying to grow anything whatsoever except false Solomon’s seal in my very dry and very shaded front bed, and so for Mother’s Day he bought me three more big pots in which to grow annuals. I’m so happy with them! The Mayday is finally starting to bloom and the annuals are adding some very much needed colour to the landscape.

Remember last year when I talked about the surviving tulips and how terrible they looked? Well, nothing has changed on that front. The foliage is, again, all flopped over and looking terrible. How is this happening? The people just down the street have a glorious showing of tulips, all different colours, all in bloom. Why are my tulips so stupid? I was talking with one of my seniors and I told her that I have no interest, none whatsoever, in nurturing fragile plants. Our growing season is so short, I want plants that are hardy and happy and that would probably survive nuclear fallout. It’s why I have so many daylilies in my yard. It’s also probably an indication as to why I would not be a good nurse.

Speaking of nurses, god bless my husband and kids who have had to put up with me and my “confinement.” Nicole doesn’t really do well without exercise, my husband told his boss yesterday, which feels like a big understatement. I’m trying not to be too crabby about things – after all, there are so many worse things in the world. I’ve been going to physio and getting dry needled; if you’ve never had dry needling, let me tell you: it’s kind of a trip. It feels a lot like when you’re sleeping and you dream that you are falling and jerk yourself awake, but only with certain muscles.

In non-injury-related news, today is Barkley’s birthday! He’s 11! Later today he’s getting a special freeze-dried chicken treat, which he loves, and on the weekend I’ll bake a cake for the humans in the house. I was thinking carrot, but the boys think a brown cake would be more appropriate for a brown dog’s birthday, so I guess chocolate it is.

Happy birthday, Fuzzy MacFuzzfuzz. xo

But did you know when it snows my eyes become large

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Several times a week – sometimes even several times a day – I peer into the mirror and notice a smudge of mascara under my eyes. It’s only after I’ve taken a tissue with makeup remover to it that I realize the exercise is futile; that the smudge in question is not mascara at all, but it reflects the actual colour of the skin under my eyes. I’m not sure how many times I will dab at my under eye circles before I realize that they are not removable, but right now the number is high and growing.

Aging is a privilege and I never forget that for a moment, and so I should probably just embrace my haggard self with joy and acceptance. I have been using Neutrogena Rapid Wrinkle Repair Eye Cream for many months now, and I will say that it is great for under eye wrinkles; I have no crows’ feet and the lines are minimal. However, despite its claim that it “brightens the under eye area” and “reduces the look of dark circles” it has done nothing in that vein. Or perhaps – and this terrifying thought just came to me – perhaps it is doing a LOT and without it I would resemble an actual zombie.

Moving on.

It’s a short week around here and in the manner of short weeks, it feels excessively long. Part of this was that my husband was out of town; the kids are so easy now that it shouldn’t really make a difference, but it does. Last night – and last week as well, due to Mr’s long working hours – I took my younger son to his drum lesson. The drum lessons themselves are held on the second floor of a seedy-ish building, and the drum teacher seems to be constantly a little bit high. “Heyyyyyy, let’s play some DRUMS” is his general greeting, and with his beard and beanie and general demeanor, he is exactly the kind of person you might peg as a drum teacher. This is not in any way a judgement; I think he’s actually great. My son has really clicked with him and meanwhile, I’m listening to a lot of beats related to “Paint it Black” and “Gimme Some Lovin’.”

Speaking of beats, for Mother’s Day the boys gave me a tambourine. They all – this includes my husband, on the bass – jam downstairs, and since my own beloved instrument – the piano – is highly not portable, as well as being not conducive for jamming, they decided I needed something to be included. I now feel like my lifelong journey to Dancing Queen status is complete.

How was your Mother’s Day? The Saturday prior was my mom’s birthday, and so we went to my parents’ for the night. I made a cake and I was very happy with how it turned out, and that I am getting used to using my decorating tips:

I was particularly pleased since I wrapped her gift from the boys, and it looked like this:

Why don’t I just give it up and go for gift bags? Why do I always feel like I am a person who can actually use wrapping paper and tape effectively? I feel like I’m missing some sort of gene here, the gift wrapping gene. My husband looked at it and burst out laughing. “Why didn’t you trim the paper more?” he asked, like someone who is unaware that every time I do that I trim too much off and then end up taping pieces on the exposed box in order to compensate. I would never dream of starting over with a new piece, because I don’t want to waste all the paper that has already been inevitably crinkled up in my sad attempt to gift wrap.

Gift bags, I must embrace them.

The past week or two has been glorious in terms of temperature; the sun has been shining and I’ve gone for walks in only a sweater, with no gloves. In fact, it has been so nice that I have actually had the windows open in the house. This is a good thing and a bad thing: I like to listen to my Spotify playlist entitled Nicole Karaoke, and, as you may infer by the name, it contains songs that I love to sing along to. Well, I love to sing along to most songs, but these are my particular favourites. The negative part comes when I find myself really belting out the tunes and then realizing that my neighbours are likely out enjoying their yards and are probably privy to my passionate version of Kiss From a Rose or Eye in the Sky. BABY! I compare you to a KISS FROM A ROSE on the grey. OOOOOHhhh. As we all know, my zest for singing far outweighs my vocal talents, so thoughts and prayers for my neighbours. The one consolation is that my octogenarian next-door neighbour is a little deaf, so she’s probably safe from I am the EYE IN THE SKY, looking at YOUUUUUUU I CAN READ YOUR MIND. 

The rain and cold – and possible snow – started today. Knowing this was coming, yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine to go to the garden centre, purchase the hardy, frost-and-snow tolerant plants I wanted to add to the garden this year, and plant. Later when I walked Barkley, I noticed half the neighbourhood frantically working in the garden, trying to make hay while the sun shone, so to speak.

The rain (and possible snow) will be great at getting those plants settled in, anyway. Plants become stressed when planted in too-hot conditions, I heard a local expert say on the radio this morning, which, well, there is no fear of that. I plan on reading a lot this weekend.

On that note, I have lately been reading books with very heavy subject matter: a devastating memoir of a man with epilepsy who was the victim of gross medical incompetence, a memoir of a woman who was physically and emotionally abused in her arranged marriage, and The Tattooist of Auschwitz. After that trio, I needed a palate cleanser, and so I read this:

It was exactly what I needed, and it might be what you need too, if you are in the mood for a light and hilarious book with a real feel-good ending. I loved it so much I went straight to the library and picked up her first novel. Between that and some David Sedaris, I plan on having a long weekend with entertaining books.

I hope you all – you Canadians, anyway – have a wonderful long weekend! May you escape the snow. xo

We’re getting the band back together

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It’s official: I am in Full Spring Cleaning Mode. This includes the yard, the basement, and every closet in the house. Nothing is safe! Everything must go! Or at least everything must be in use or spark joy. About three years ago I did a full Kondo of my house – some of you may remember that – and that, along with my One Year Shopping Challenge, really changed the way I brought things into the house. I am much more mindful about purchases and I ensure that if I am buying something, it is very much needed and/ or wanted.

Still, things add up. Children outgrow their beds rendering many sets of twin sheets unnecessary, books and toys also get outgrown, clothes don’t fit or become too worn to be desirable anymore. I have a pair of platform slides that date back to the Nineties that I was keeping in my closet “just in case” but really, I think the Platform Slide Ship has sailed.

Part of my cleaning frenzy has been spurred by the soon-to-be acquisition of an item that requires a certain amount of space: a drum set. As a long-time pianist, I have been anxiously awaiting the day that my children would show interest in learning a musical instrument. In your face, Nicole, as one would say. So we now have a new drummer, along with a new electric guitar player. Could you please turn down the amp, can you hear me, please turn down the amp. In all seriousness I am actually thrilled at their interest; along with my younger son taking up drums and my older son taking up electric guitar, my husband has taken up the bass, and things have become much more musical around here. Loudly musical.

My son’s drum teacher informed him, much to my relief about hearing concerns, that earplugs must be worn at all times when drumming, so I assume that means I should probably have a set as well, since there is no door to the basement and our house reverberates with any noise from the basement. I have not yet met the drum teacher, but my husband says that he is exactly what you might expect a drum teacher to be like. I imagine him as a more modern Garth Algar.

That reminds me: our resort in Puerto Vallarta was Now Amber, and on the card key it said “Live in the Now” which made me think of the scene in Wayne’s World where Wayne is obsessed with an expensive guitar, and Garth says, Stop torturing yourself, man, you’ll never afford it! Live in the now! Every time I looked at the card key, I would hear that voice, even though I have not seen that movie since probably 1993.

LIVE IN THE NOW.

Great advice from a fictional character. Gardening and yard work is awesome for living in the now; it’s hard to multitask when you’re covered in dirt and physically active. Last week I was cleaning one of my most labour-intensive perennial beds when I discovered this little guy:

He was hidden under the silvermound plant. How did he get there? Where did he come from? No one knows. No one has seen him before or has any idea how he came into our yard. It’s a mystery and likely one to remain unsolved.

Full Spring Cleaning Mode notwithstanding, I’m going to keep this little guy. He’s cute!

On the weekend my husband and I cleaned out the gutters; a very gross but extremely satisfying job. It’s disgustingly fascinating, the way I imagine a colonic might be. OMG look at what’s coming out of there! I shrieked to my husband as I kept guard of the exit end of the gutter, as he maneuvered the hose, trying to locate the clog.

Speaking of the unspeakable, last week I had my annual physical. Don’t forget I need the large speculum! I cheerfully reminded the doctor, just in case it wasn’t on his chart. Also my cervix is tilted and really hard to find. Ah, the feminine mystique.

My physical was initially booked for a day in March, but several days prior a conflict came up. I called the office immediately and left a message; it was after hours but I wanted to get the phone call out of the way. The ball is in your court now, doctor’s strange assistant. Remember the assistant/ nurse who mistakenly booked my appointment at the wrong time, and then gave me the gears for not being at the appointment? I wanted to avoid another such confrontation. So I left a message and she later called me back and re-booked the appointment. No problem. I repeated the new date and time several times during our phone call; So that’s 2:00 on the 4th, okay. Perfect. Let me just write this down. 2:00. On April 4. 2:00. Great. April 4. All fine, full speed ahead. Then, a day later, I got one of those text reminders for the OLD appointment, the one in March, the type of reminder that allows you to type C for Confirm or 9 to cancel. I hit 9 on my phone and got the message to call the office to re-book. Well, I had already re-booked, so I just went about my day. This was, let me stress, still in March, and still before my old appointment.

By now you may imagine ominous foreshadowing music playing.

The day of my appointment (April 4!) I was in the middle of doing my hair when my phone rang; it was the doctor’s assistant, saying that she saw that I needed to re-book my appointment and TYPICALLY they ask for more than 24 hours notice and that there might be a fee involved…I interrupted her by saying I did NOT need to re-book and that I would see her today, April 4, at 2:00. Well, she said sharply, You typed 9 on your phone to cancel the appointment. I explained that I a) typed 9 over a month ago, and b) I did not even get a confirmation text for this booking. You did, you typed 9, I can see that this was sent, when was this sent…then she paused. Well, it doesn’t matter. See you this afternoon.

IN YOUR FACE! I did not say, but thought. See you this afternoon AT TWO O’CLOCK! I said instead, in what I hoped was a friendly and polite voice. I wondered if things would be awkward when I saw her that afternoon (the 4th! At 2:00!) but there was, happily, another nurse there who dealt with me, a very perky and cheerful young woman. After weighing, measuring, and doing my blood pressure, she asked if I still get my period. Lady, I’m 43. Things may be crazy in that department but I’m not in full-on menopause yet. Isn’t it interesting how we suddenly go from getting the question When was your last menstrual period and Is it possible you might be pregnant to Do you even GET your menstrual period anymore, you old crone? 

Well, the best part of this story is that I appear to be in good health, albeit three pounds heavier than at my last check-up. I BLAME MEXICO AND ALL THE DELICIOUSNESS THEREIN. My doctor was highly unconcerned and dismissive about the three pounds, thankfully, saying, Three pounds is just a bowel movement away from where you were last year. Well, possibly, but it’s more likely that six margaritas a day added up in the calorie department. Oh well, that’s what holidays are for, am I right? On that note, it’s time for my green smoothie. xo

Eating a Rainbow: Pita Pizzas, Wraps, and Tacos

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God bless the junior high teachers. Yesterday the boys brought home their gym clothes to be washed, and they were much more toxic than normal, thanks to a random kid spraying Axe body spray all over the boys’ locker room and in the tote boxes. My house is now a hazardous waste site. I thought back to my years in junior high and realized that the poor teachers must have put up with all the fumes from our Salon Selectives hairspray, which we would use between classes to keep our vertical bangs at an appropriate stiffness, plus all of our cheap drugstore perfumes, like Love’s Baby Soft and Exclamation. It takes a very special type of person to deal with that age group.

Happy March, everyone! Although it is minus 28 with windchill this morning, at least it isn’t minus 30. This is my new bar. The bar, it is low.

But who wants to talk about the weather? It’s boring and depressing and there is nothing we can do about it anyway, except perhaps sell everything and move to Maui which, frankly, isn’t really all that practical. Bundle up, buttercup. I’m considering a post that would contrast my normal weight with my weight when wearing all my winter gear. It would be an interesting, yet depressing, experiment. Maybe I could take a poll – how much does all my winter gear actually weigh? Well. This is a sad topic.

Let’s talk about food instead! As you know from my weekly meal plan, Wednesdays are generally pita pizza night, and Thursdays are for wraps or tacos. You may notice that as the week goes on my zest for cooking evaporates, so that by the time Thursday comes around, dinner is a very simple affair. Taco Thursday happens about once a month; the rest of the time it’s all about the wrap, which is the simplest dinner to make – literally we can go from zero prep to dinner on the table in about 25 minutes.

Pita Pizzas

No one needs a recipe for this. It is literally the easiest thing to make: buy pitas, put toppings on them, bake. Everyone can have whatever they want on their pizza, making this a very easy way to cater to vegetarians and meat-eaters. I always make extras so that the boys can take them cold in their lunches the next day. Do you know what makes a kid the lunchtime envy of all his friends? PIZZA FOR LUNCH. And these pizzas are way healthier than takeout, as well as being way cheaper. The only person who does not love pita pizza night is my husband, but we can’t have everything we love for dinner all the time. Well, we can, but only if we are making the dinner, and the only person making dinner is ME, which is why all the dinners are things that I personally enjoy. I am a Kitchen Dictator.

Because pita pizzas aren’t veggie-heavy on their own, I serve them with a giant – GIANT – plate of vegetables with dip. We are talking 1 pepper, 3 carrots, A FULL POUND of mushrooms, and broccoli.

I start dinner prep when the boys get home after school. They hang out in the kitchen and eat – as they are walking bottomless pits these days – and tell me about their day. Something about me being occupied with knives and vegetables allows them to open up and chat before they scatter to parts of the house that I am not in. If I could give one piece of parenting teen advice, it would be to figure out WHEN they are willing to chat, and then BE THERE at that time.

Back to the pizza. My own pizza is less of a pizza and more of a pita smothered with as many veggies as I can pile onto it, plus Daiya mozzarella shreds. Most vegan cheese tastes like sadness, but Daiya is…pretty okay. At least it kind of melts. It’s decent and serves the purpose, is what I’m saying. I also put sundried tomatoes on my pizza, which you can’t see, but which elevate the whole thing.

Wow, that does NOT photograph well. This picture reminds me of my Norwegian grandpa; he was, shall we say, not interested in consuming ethnic foods such as pizza. He was noted for saying, when viewing a pizza, “Who threw up on the lefse?” Oh, Grandpa. It’s not like all Norwegian cuisine is something to write home about; let’s not forget such atrocities as lutefisk. Whose idea was it to soak fish in lye and then EAT IT? Between my Norwegian and Scottish roots (HELLO HAGGIS) I’ve really covered all the Gross Food Bases here.

Wraps

Truly the easiest meal in the week; slice up vegetables and saute some chicken in olive oil for the guys. Serve with cheese and salsa for those who like it. I even buy shredded cheese which I never used to do but which ironically is less expensive in the long run as there is no waste, since only 2/4 of us actually eat cheese. I do not use Daiya on these because unmelted cold Daiya is pretty gross. Warm up tortillas and everyone serves themselves. Mine consist of a whole lot of avocado, pepper, and tomato, with heaping spoonfuls of salsa.

Will you look at that avocado? Is there anything better than a perfectly ripe avocado? Is there? Sex, I guess, but not too much else.

Taco Thursday

Not quite as simple as wraps, but almost, Taco Thursday is pretty popular. I use ground chicken for the guys, with just your standard package of taco seasoning. For me, I sprinkle black beans with completely unmeasured amounts of cumin, onion flakes, garlic powder, coriander, and chili powder. I just sprinkle until it looks good to me, and then I squirt some lime on top. Delicious and full of iron, protein, and all those good things that people ask about when you say you don’t eat meat. Where do you get your protein? Those questions always make me want to make ribald and scandalous jokes, but I generally try to refrain.

Today is Friday, which is my favourite meal of the week, and which also includes wine! Hooray! I’ll chat about that next time, and until then, stay warm, my friends! xo

File Under “Landslide”

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This week my older son and I went to the open house for the high school that he will be attending in less than eight months. It is a very strange feeling, having a child prepare for high school, and it is a feeling I will go through again next year at this time. Before you know it, the nest will be empty and I will have many extra hours a week, that are currently consumed by grocery shopping and food preparation.

This is very much a Landslide Moment; I recall my high school years vividly, and here we are. HERE WE ARE. I will say this though, as a neutral comment: elective classes are much, much more interesting than they used to be. I am actually very hard-pressed to remember what my electives were in high school; drama, I suppose, and French, perhaps? I don’t recall there being too much variety but at this school there are all sorts of things: mechanics and foods, robotics and computing, financial management and marketing, drama and music, sports medicine and yoga, cosmotology and design studies, and a number of languages including Mandarin. So it is an exciting time for a soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old. It’s exciting for me as well, to see his interests take off.

Also exciting for him is the Winter Camping Trip he’s going on next week, or, as the informative email subject line read, the ENVOE 9 Winter Adventure Overnight Trip. Adventure seems to be an apt term as a group of twelve Environmental and Outdoor Education students are being bussed to Yoho in BC, and then cross-country skiing twelve kilometers with elevation gain to a backcountry cabin, where they will melt snow for drinking water and build a snow shelter, with the option of sleeping in said snow shelter. I love cross-country skiing, I love the outdoors, I love Yoho, but my god, this trip sounds like my actual personal hell. All that would need to be added would be a thousand ice zombie moths and the nightmare would be complete. The kids are packing in everything that they will need, food included, for the two night trip and honestly, it sounds dreadful. My son, obviously much hardier than I am, is very much looking forward to it, and one of my girlfriends – whose son is also going on this trip – enthusiastically recalled a winter camping trip from her youth as being one of the highlights of her teen years. I am actively working on keeping an open mind, or more accurately, thinking better you than me, buddy. 

I will say that the parent information night did nothing to assuage my secret fears about this trip; if anything, it exacerbated them. The teachers in charge are both strong outdoor enthusiasts, the dads who are volunteering on the trip also seem similarly hardy and woodsy, but the following statement was not reassuring: I will have a satellite phone in case of emergencies, but I need to point out that due to our remote location, emergency crews will have a much longer response time. They SHOULD be able to get through via the fire road, but it will take longer. Also not great was pointing out that the area is considered “low risk” for avalanches, but the nearby lake is considered “Class 2 Higher Risk” but we probably won’t spend much time around there. PROBABLY?

I had to employ my ujjayi breathing techniques throughout the whole meeting, along with figuring out how to send lunch for Tuesday and Thursday, keeping in mind we don’t have any food storage facilities.” I stared at the What To Bring list with mounting panic, culminating in a long underwear, we need to buy long underwear, and OMG wool socks internal dialogue. Rather than feeling relief at the information divulged or excitement for the adventure to come, I just felt increasingly overwhelmed, which was manifesting in anxiety about the What To Bring list. Do we have a 60 L backpack, DO WE?

I am now eternally grateful for two things: that my husband never Kondo-ed his own drawers and therefore has all the high-quality, if dated, outdoor gear he purchased back in the nineties, and that he and my son are nearly the same height, albeit with a seventy-pound weight difference. As it turns out, he had every single thing that was needed on the list, to my great relief, and it ALL FIT, more or less.

We have been having an extraordinarily mild winter, so Wednesday’s blizzard, complete with white-out conditions and high windchill, felt like a bit of a shock. That also happened to be Grade Eight Ski and Snowboard Day, when my own grade eight child was to head to Canada Olympic Park for his introduction to snowboarding. All through the day I thought of the poor, frozen children on the ski hill. I loaded groceries into the car with the wind whipping my hood off my head, thinking sympathetically. I fully expected a poor report from said child but when he got home he raved about how much fun it was, how much he loved it, and no, he wasn’t cold, why do I ask?

Well, that’s another good reminder that we are not our children and also that an important part of parenting is to not project our feelings. Based on both the opting for Winter Adventures and the enthusiasm for snowboarding in terrible weather conditions, my children are much, much hardier than I am, not that I particularly needed further proof of that.

One of my biggest failings/ flaws is my inability to really roll with the punches. I am a highly organized individual, and I kind of fall apart when things change. Last week the orthodontist office called to reschedule an appointment, which has never happened before and which filled me with annoyance. By the way, what is it with orthodontists? Me: Could I get an appointment quite late in the day? Orthodontist office: Sure! The latest we have available is 1:30. Anyway, yesterday I took my son to get his impressions, in anticipation for getting braces on next Wednesday.

First: the appointment was rescheduled because the orthodontist, who just bought the entire practice from the former, retiring, well-established orthodontists, is no longer there. I tried very hard to be sympathetic – maybe he is terminally ill! Maybe he has a major family emergency! – but all signs point to maybe he has some major financial issues or possibly some sort of shady licensing thing going on. Let’s try very hard not to think of that too much. Second: the new orthodontist Does Things Differently and so when we showed up to the office, the office that was in total chaos because the staff only found out about this big change on Monday, we were told that impressions were not to be done. In fact, the braces were going to be put on NOW, THIS VERY MINUTE.

My internal dialogue went something like, now, omg, not now, my dinner plan for tonight doesn’t include soft foods, I’m not ready, no, not now, I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off whereas my son shrugged and said, “Okay, let’s do it, just put them on now.” I should be striving to be more like this, rather than waking up in the night and fretting that this man was actually not an orthodontist and what if the office closes forever and what will we do about my son’s braces?

Breathe. Just breathe. And rewrite the meal plan for the week. The children grow up to be their own people, and while I might be afraid of changing, they are not.