Category Archives: Testosterone-y

One of these days these feet are going to walk all over you.

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I found out that Billy Idol just turned sixty this week, and when I mentioned my surprise to my husband, he was nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t you think he’d be sixty?” he asked. “His big hits all came out in the early 80s.”

That wasn’t what I meant, though. It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe his age, per se, it’s just I cannot believe he’s actually lived this long. I believe he was the epitome of “live fast die young” given his penchant for overdosing and also having sex with multiple prostitutes and/or groupies at a time. You’d think something would have done him in by now, but no. I call that amazing.

Also of note: the boys graded at karate this weekend and are now green belts. It’s not as incredible as Billy Idol living three decades longer than anyone might have guessed, but I still think it’s pretty great.

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They look a little like black belts in that photo, but really, they are green.

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I should have maybe photoshopped out the dirty foot. Those dojo floors are never as clean as you might hope. Once Jake came home with glitter on the soles of his feet, and wondered what exactly happened in the dojo when they weren’t there.

Speaking of feet, I was at the hair salon the other day, and there was a woman speaking about her recent experience at a newly-opened day spa. The experience was not, shall we say, ideal. I shamelessly eavesdropped as she discussed the plumbing issues, the jackhammering noise, and the massage therapists that walked around all wearing gladiator-style sandals. What’s the big deal with gladiator-style sandals, you might wonder, other than being not as flattering as some footwear. Well.

The woman was lying on the massage table, and all seemed normal at first. Then, she said, something changed. The massage felt very different somehow. It didn’t feel like hands, and it didn’t feel like elbows. The woman turned her head – no mean feat on a massage table – and the massage therapist was USING HER FEET TO MASSAGE HER BACK.

This is where the gladiator sandals detail becomes pertinent. If someone is putting their feet on my body, I would like those feet to be as clean as possible. Also, I would not like anyone’s feet on my body. Unless, I suppose, my husband is playing a game of footsie, but THAT IS IT. No other feet, please.

The woman’s hair stylist stopped with the foils and looked at her. “What do you…mean, exactly? Was she…walking on you?”

This was also my question, but I didn’t feel like I could ask, since I was, after all, eavesdropping.

No, it turns out, the massage therapist was kneeling on the bed with one foot rubbing the woman’s back. Her upper back, near her hair. Her hair. Feet. Near her hair. I don’t think I’m a germaphobe – well, maybe just a little – but this seems to me to be especially gross.

I don’t get massages anyway, since I am not someone who enjoys other people rubbing my back with more than feather-strength. Yet, I felt it was valuable information to have. Usually the only information I gain from the salon is from reading People magazine. For example, the reason David Beckham was named is because he vacuums, and that Carly Simon is still in love with James Taylor, who hasn’t spoken to her for many years. Now, I love James Taylor’s music but his shoddy treatment of the adoring Carly Simon is enough to make me not sing along to Fire and Rain. Oh, who am I kidding. I’m still going to sing along but it’s not the same.

Lessons to learn.

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When the boys were babies, it was so fun dressing them in ridiculous little outfits; tiny sweater vests, wee little golf shirts, khaki pants and those teensy running shoes for their fat, unused feet.

Come to think of it, I dressed my children like miniature Chandler Bings.

Anyway, when they were small getting them out of their precious little footie pajamas and into their outfit of the day was a great joy for me. If we were going out, I’d coordinate both their outfits and sometimes even my own, because a lonely, overwhelmed, stay at home mother of two under two entertains herself any way she can.

As they got older, I noticed something. I noticed that the selection of boys’ clothing was much, much smaller than that of girls’ clothing. What this meant was that a lot of the time, the boys would have the exact same outfit but in different colours, not because I was trying to coordinate them, but because that was what was available to me. Shoes, especially, were difficult: frequently the boys would have the exact same pair of shoes, and I would put coloured stickers inside them to indicate which pair was for whom.

This year I took the boys to Mountain Equipment Co-Op to get fall jackets. There were two styles available, and only one style had their sizes, which has resulted in the boys wearing the exact same jacket to school. They don’t mind this at all, but I find it kind of strange to see them walking together in their identical jackets.

All of which is to say that shopping for boys is a utilitarian experience. My children in particular live in jeans and t-shirts: long-sleeved for winter, short-sleeved for warm weather. When I shop for them I do it online; I show them the colours of t-shirts available and they choose a few. One of my favourite stores to shop online is Old Navy – they almost always have a discount code, they have “slim fit” jeans for my beanpoles, and their clothes are pretty durable. I normally order things in bundles a few times a year; this system works well and we are all happy with it.

But this week I realized that the boys had outgrown a good number of their jeans, or – in the case of one child who climbed over a fence and got his back pocket caught on the chain link – had a massive hole in the seat. They still had a few pair thanks to some bulk shopping I had done last spring, but they were desperately in need of a couple. I didn’t have time to wait the 7-10 days for free shipping, so yesterday, I ventured into the mall to buy some more.

As they say in Pretty Woman, Big mistake. BIG mistake. HUGE.

Old Navy online: easy, fast, organized. Old Navy physical store: a disorganized, soul-crushing experience.

First of all, the boys’ section is the smallest in the entire store. It’s tiny, and there are piles and piles of clothes stacked everywhere. And the jeans. THE JEANS. There is no sizing order, so I needed to dig through piles to find size 10 and 12, and because I wanted “slim fit” I had to dig even more. Finally I found a pair of slim fit size 12, but when I picked it up, it was clearly not what the tag said. I read the label actually inside the jeans and discovered it was a size 12 “husky fit” into which I could have fit two of my children. A solid fifteen minutes of going through every pair of jeans on the shelves, I found two pair in the appropriate sizes. Then I went to the cashier.

People, the cash register and surrounding area reminded me of a yard sale gone awry. There were clothes everywhere, stacked around the register, behind the register, and surrounding the “line up starts here” shelving. There were two girls working and they both looked extremely harassed. I felt sorry for them as they slowly worked their way through the lineup. Each person took forever to check out, and when it was my turn I discovered why: they were taking down and confirming email addresses for every single person in what appeared to be the least efficient process ever. I tried to bypass it – I’m already on your mailing list. I am! – but the girl would have none of it. Because I generally don’t want to make someone’s day harder, and I’ve worked in retail, I submitted to the process, feeling badly for the eight people behind me in line.

I don’t know why some lessons need to be re-learned constantly. The lesson for this week: shop online.

Hail the conquering hero!

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There’s just something so satisfying about conquering something that you had previously thought unconquerable. Climbing the mountain, running the marathon, or – in my case – going on a field trip.

As you know, over the years I’ve been incredibly adverse to field trips, with the single exception being the preschool trip to the fire hall. I think we all can understand why, without my getting into any details about the heroically strong firefighters. In fact, the last field trip that I chaperoned was nearly three years ago and I volunteered under extreme duress. It was just as terrible as I had thought it would be; given the sheer amount of volunteering I do at the school, I felt that it was perfectly acceptable to say no more field trips. Never again.

But there have been several changes in my life since the ill-fated trip to the museum. For one thing, I am no longer chairing the school council and parent association, which has left me with extra time. For another thing, my children are now in grades five and six, and children this age are much less likely to run away or get separated from the group, and that paranoia of losing someone else’s child has long kept me from chaperoning field trips. Buoyed up by my friends Catherine (HI CATHERINE) and Allison (HI ALLISON), who are seasoned field-trip veterans, I signed up for a walking trip to the nearby Whispering Woods, a nature park attached to a nearby school, which features an outdoor classroom, several pathways, and interpretive signs.

I was assigned a group of nine boys, and I am just going to go out on a limb here and say that my group was superior to other groups. For one thing, these nine boys were quite studious and full of information that they seemed to enjoy divulging to me, from their country of origin and interesting things about it to the house with big windows that was listed for sale that we all admired on the way to the woods. Other than one slightly hyper boy who enjoyed randomly squirting his water bottle on the sidewalk and then laughing hysterically, the group was – I thought – extraordinarily calm and well behaved.

As a small digression, I can’t help but note that the girl-heavy groups were the ones who were constantly eye-rolling and making sarcastic comments about the useless-ness of the information gathered and the field trip in general. Also, while we were in the outdoor classroom supposedly making notes about what defines a tree, a daddy-long-legs spider crawled beside one of the girls, who took that opportunity to FLIP THE FUCK OUT, thus inciting a general scream-fest with the other girls in the class.

So I was pleased with my group, and they were pleased with me, as I overheard a few of them say to Mark “You have a really nice mom! You’re so lucky!” which spurred me to rashly volunteer for more upcoming trips, including one in a few weeks with Jake’s class, in which I will have to ride on the school bus. I feel I will have much more to say on that topic at a later date.

The field trip itself only had one snag – other than the spidery scream-fest – and that is that it was evident, upon wandering through the paths, that some of the itinerant population seem to be camping in the little woods. It was further evidenced by the appearance of human feces, plus toilet paper, right on one of the middle paths, at which I could only think, really? We can talk about social issues and homelessness, but seriously? Right in the middle of a path frequented by children? In a woods attached to an elementary school and within walking distance to four other schools? Could we not go off the path to defecate, homeless people?

Anyway. I’m sorry to bring up such a gross topic, let’s take our minds off that with a socially awkward moment of mine. Last night was the Welcome Back BBQ at the school, which is a great opportunity to meet the teachers or – if you’re like me – just chat with all the teachers and parents in a casual, sunny setting. The boys had mentioned to me that the assistant principal had changed her name, to which information Mark added “I guess she got married.” Of course, as soon as I saw her last night, I said in my most effusive and excited tones, “Oh, I hear congratulations are in order!”

She looked at me somewhat blankly and asked why. At this point I knew. I knew exactly where this was going to go and what mistake I had made. I stumbled blankly for a moment, saying that I thought I’d heard, well, her name changed…at which point she said “Oh no, I didn’t get married. I got divorced!”

I had a deer-in-headlights look for a moment, considering my awkward social gaffe. She was extremely gracious, saying that it was a GOOD thing and that I probably COULD congratulate her on it, and everything was FINE, but still. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a rewind button? Note to self, check out left hand PRIOR to congratulating someone on their recent nuptials.

Back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I’m no fool.

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I know it’s the big “first day of school” for a lot of you, but we are already into our second week. The boys were pretty happy to start school last week; we are all enjoying that “back to routine” feeling. The children have been relentlessly quoting Billy Madison: back to school, back to school, to prove to my dad that I’m no fool. Over and over.

I, for one, have been incredibly productive and busy since they’ve been back at school, which is a good feeling. I mean, I miss them – and today I miss them more since they are staying for lunch for the first school patrol meeting of the year – but it’s kind of nice to get things done, too, and to hear later all about the exciting news of the day. “We’re going to be learning about Ancient Greece and the origins of democracy!” said Mark happily, along with “We’ll be looking for moss in our forestry unit!” Jake excitedly talked about the Math Question of the Week, which had to do with being trapped and tied up in a room with a ticking time bomb, and a rat chewing the knots on the rope, and would you be freed in time, or blow up? Jake loves math anyway but the semi-violent and gross Question of the Week took it over the top for him. Math AND explosions? How can one go wrong? Needless to say, the first week was pretty great.

Barkley’s not as happy with the change in season, though:

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Look at that sad, fuzzy face.

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Poor Barkley.

Other than Barkley’s depression, things have been fine so far; I’m thrilled with the boys’ teachers and classroom sizes, and they are too. I’m less thrilled that Mark has already had a cold and so spent the long weekend coughing and lethargic, although the weekend was cold and rainy – and even a bit snowy – so it could always be worse. He could have been coughing and lethargic on a nice weekend. As it was, we spent most of the weekend at my parents’ place for an early Jake-birthday celebration.

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This week I’m apparently going to be chaperoning a walking field trip to a nearby natural park, dubbed “Whispering Woods.” The boys’ teachers are really on the ball and are very technologically-oriented, and so I received a message detailing all scheduled field trips for the upcoming year. The upside of this is that the boys will both be exposed to some excellent learning opportunities, such as a week long trip to something called the “Open Minds” arts centre. The downside is that each of them will require parent volunteers for a week for the trip to the aforementioned “Open Minds” arts centre. I have a feeling my mind is going to be opened. Opened, like a gift, or a flower, or something.

In any case, I received the request for volunteers for this week’s field trip, and in a moment of weakness I capitulated. After all, as I told my husband perkily, now that I’m not chairing the School Council or Parent Association, I have extra time for these in-class requests. “Or,” he said ominously, “You could just say that you’ve done enough volunteering to last a lifetime and have someone else do it.” True.

In any event, I’m happy to say that the forecast is not for snow, nor rain, during the scheduled field trip, although I am wondering what I was thinking. Three hours in the Whispering Woods with 53 fifth-and-sixth graders? Looking at various plants and – if Mark is to be believed – moss? This doesn’t sound like the best idea I’ve ever had.

Lazy pants and life mottos.

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You guys, did you know Ashley Madison was a thing? I always feel badly for hacked websites but I had no idea this was a thing and I am as shocked as a little old lady learning for the first time about Brazilian bikini waxes. They do what?

The boys now have a two week break from karate; last Friday they had a mini-tournament to finish off their camp week, and then there was a shiah on Saturday. I was a bit worried since Mark had what I thought was the beginning of a cold, but which I now think was maybe a bad allergy attack. Thursday night he was up coughing much of the night, and for those of you who have known me for a while, I have some kind of PTSD from when he had pneumonia at age 7, and so I didn’t sleep at all. This also coincided with my hormonal pre-ladies’-holiday insomnia, so I felt like I had been run over by a truck on Friday.

Does anyone else suffer from this? I find about a week or ten days before Ladies’ Holidays, I have a few nights where I can hardly sleep at all. This is very unusual for me since I’m generally a solid sleeper, albeit one who wakes up at four in the morning. Anyway, I find this hormonal insomnia very annoying and it makes me fear for my menopausal days.

Thursday and Friday were terribly cold – 8 degrees Celsius – and rainy and windy as well. One of my heavy lawn chairs blew over and rain came down in sheets. Therefore, I was a bit surprised to hear that they went swimming at the outdoor pool at camp on Thursday. I feel fairly sure this didn’t help Mark’s cough, but after almost twelve hours of sleep on Friday night he was basically recovered and full of his usual energy.

Hilariously, because of the cold, the boys had to forego their shorts for track pants. They wear track pants very rarely; basically only for long plane trips and not much else, but they were perfect for cold days at camp. Mark sighed a bit when he came home, and said “I like track pants, but they really make me feel lazy.” I thought this idea could be extrapolated to any elasticized pants: yoga, track, sweat. In fact, maybe this could be a classification system: lazy pants versus non-lazy pants. I am currently still wearing this morning’s sweaty yoga pants. I know of what I speak.

Speaking of camp, my husband took the kids actual TENT CAMPING yesterday. He is a fairly outdoorsy kind of guy, and being married to me probably doesn’t help his outdoorsy-ness. A few months ago the boys decided that an annual boys’ camping trip would be a fun idea, starting now and continuing, apparently, for the rest of time. It sounded good to me, especially since I wasn’t really invited. They’ve been preparing for this for the past few weeks, gathering the things that they need and making lists of the food they wanted (all meat, all the time). Amidst all this merry chatter, my husband looked at me with concern and wondered if I was feeling sad or left out. Um. No. It’s no hardship for me not to go camping.

It is a hardship for someone in our house, and that someone is Barkley. Poor puppy. They’ve been gone less than 24 hours and they will be coming home soon, but such a sad thing has never happened to him in his life. WHERE IS EVERYBODY. Every weeknight at 6:30, Barkley sits at the top of the steps and stares out the back door window, waiting for my husband to come home. He did this yesterday, slowly slumping to the floor by 8:30 pm, when I decided enough was enough and put him to bed. This morning he went to all the empty bedrooms and flopped sadly back into his crate. It’s heartbreaking!

Meanwhile I’ve enjoyed my solo time by eating food no one else really likes (kale salad and roasted chickpeas), watching TV shows no one else wants to watch (NYPD Blue), and reading Gone With The Wind. I last read Gone With The Wind in 1989, when I was fourteen, and I can safely say it reads very different now. For one thing, when I was fourteen I had zero concept of US politics, the economy, or industrialization. I mostly just focused on the sexy romantic parts, of which there are many. I’m finding that I feel a bond with Scarlett, which is something I have sort of mixed feelings about. It’s not like we are the same person, but the line “Even if you think such things, why do you say them? If you’d just think what you please but keep your mouth shut, everything would be so much nicer.” speaks to me. I feel like that could be the entire basis of a life motto. Maybe Margaret Mitchell was clairvoyant, seeing into the internet age and the comments sections of sociopolitical columns.

Just June

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After today, there is only one and a half days left of school, and excitement is mounting! Is it me, or did June fly by? Maybe it’s my life that is flying by and I should just lie down and sing “Cat’s in the Cradle,” “Landslide,” and “Sunrise Sunset” over and over for a while.

The last few weeks of school are pretty hilarious, aren’t they? Everybody’s just mailing it in at this point. Mark’s at a field trip to the zoo today, which is remarkable because it’s sunny and warm. I think this is the first field trip ever that it hasn’t been pouring rain or unseasonably cold or something. Jake’s class has an “in-class” field trip involving Light and Shadows, and I asked if he wanted me to volunteer in the class. He politely suggested that there were more than enough volunteers, and when I said no, the teacher was still looking for some, he said that he’d really rather I not. Well, I’d rather not as well, so I GUESS that worked out.

Jake’s class hasn’t exactly been easy street for the past few weeks though; Jake’s teacher is notorious for keeping the learning going until the bitter end. Mark had her for a teacher a few years ago and it was the same. For example, Mark’s class has watched four movies over the past four days, and has another movie scheduled for tomorrow. Jake had four spelling tests in the past two days. Monday night he came home with six pieces of paper on which he was supposed to write down THIRTY interesting sentences about the research topic they’ve been working on for the past month, and then glue the pieces of paper into a cube, all due the following morning. At first I wondered if he had slacked off in class, but no. It turns out everyone was given this assignment at the end of the day, so the last Monday night of the school year was spent doing this without notes because no one was allowed to bring their notebooks home. I felt a bit indignant; the busy work could have been kept for school time, in my opinion, but Jake was determined to finish strong.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I like the teacher; she’s a no-nonsense kind of lady. But I felt like that project could have been used to fill class time, especially since Jake came home with the cube the very next day. WHAT IS THE POINT.

Hilariously, Jake’s research project was on beavers. My children and their obsession with beavers. Be careful what you google.

Speaking of which, the last couple of weeks have been a learning time in one area: Sex Ed, or, as they call it now, H.S., and there has been some discussion about the horrifying nature of reproduction and the human body. I’ve learned too much.

So we’re all gearing up for summer, and I’m pretty excited about it. I need to remember that the lack of schedule takes a few days for the kids to get used to – Mom, should we do some worksheets? Can we make our own Freezie business? – and that there’s always a lot of emotions on the last day of school. This week has coincided with Ladies’ Holidays, which has made for an interesting couple of days. For example, yesterday I decided to make jam for the first time in my life. Long story short, I way overcooked the raspberries and ended up with raspberry-flavoured cement. I had to remind myself about what I remind the kids, in the yoga way – practice, practice, all is coming – and started over. The second batch turned out perfectly, and Jake had non-cement-like raspberry jam on his peanut-butter toast for breakfast.

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Perfection! Happy start-of-summer, everyone! xo

Spring Flings, and Love The One You’re With

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You guys! Remember the shampoo incident wherein I went to Costco, didn’t buy shampoo because it wasn’t on my list, and then that very night my child informed me that we were out of shampoo, and I discovered I didn’t have any in the pantry, and I had a premenstrually-induced semi-breakdown? The other morning I was drinking my first of many cups of coffee when my husband called to me from the bathroom. He was in the shower and I hurried in to see what was so urgent. Was he okay? Was he having a heart attack? No, he just wanted to let me know that we were getting low on shampoo and could I check to see if we had more, if not, could we put it on the Costco list? He didn’t, he said, want me to get upset again.

He said this while giving me a look that one might give when encountering an armed-and-dangerous, mentally disturbed prisoner on the lam.

Many years ago, we had a rickety wooden deck outside our back door; when Mark was a baby my husband decided to take it out and replant the area with grass. There was a great deal of gravel, but did I mention Mark was a baby? We were quite sleep deprived, so he put top soil over the gravel, planted grass, and regretted it for the next eleven years. The grass always started out the season just fine, but would dry up and go brown once the warm weather hit, and no amount of rain or watering would change that.

My husband talked about digging it up but I confess, I discouraged such action. The affected area was maybe 30 square feet, and I just didn’t feel like it was worth it. Translation: digging out gravel is hard. But this year my husband was determined, and since we have two boys who are – as yet – eager to help out with any and all yardwork, I went out one evening and came home to the three of them digging up the grass. The die was cast, and the next few days, every spare moment was devoted to the Project. I even helped, although my gravel shovelling skills are somewhat suspect.

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Many wheelbarrows full of gravel, loam, and sod later…

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So that was exciting. The boys and I also bought some more flowers, mainly for the front yard containers. I allowed the children to choose and Jake wanted to buy white geraniums for a particular container, which I gently tried to discourage, as I prefer more colour. He insisted and I capitulated, thinking what the hell, it’s only flowers, and how many more years is he really going to want to be at the garden centre with his mother? It turned out really nicely, as they go with the snowdrop anemones, and will look lovely once the white-and-green variegated hostas come up.

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Speaking of hostas, my backyard is south facing; the garden in front of my detached garage is north facing, and gets almost zero sun exposure since the house shades it in the morning, when the north-facing gardens usually get some sun. It’s planted with hostas, and I fill in the spaces with impatiens, and it’s just beautiful – for about three months out of the year. This is the garden that I look at the most often, since it faces my kitchen window, and this is what it currently looks like:

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In other words, the least attractive garden is the one I look at the most. I have beautiful colour and plants all over the front and back yards…except there. Tragic!

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Speaking of tragedies, Jake brought home The Big Book Of Why from the library, and he and Mark have been enjoying reading it in the evenings. Mark was deep into one of the “whys” when he asked me who was William Shakespeare? Well! I chatted on and on about playwrights and the Elizabethan era, and then talked about some of his plays. “Have you heard of Romeo and Juliet?” I asked, and when the boys said they’d heard of it, but didn’t know anything about it, I gave them a brief synopsis. At the conclusion, they were silent for a minute.

Jake then blurted out, “That is SO STUPID. I mean, the parents are jerks so you KILL YOURSELF? That’s so dumb! Why don’t you just get a new girlfriend? There’s so many girls!”

I sense that we do NOT have a future playwright in our house. I also sense that Jake is going to be a “love the one you’re with” sort of guy.