Category Archives: Testosterone-y

Lettuce pray.

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This morning I got home from yoga a bit earlier than normal, at about 6:20, and this is what my back yard looked like:

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One hour later I took “weed the garden” off my to-do list.

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Well, the snow’s stopped now and I’m sure it will be melted by the time I pick the kids up after school. I’d be more upset about it but really, we’ve had such a mild winter and a beautiful spring that it doesn’t seem to be getting me down at all. Maybe that’s because I have a new secret admirer.

Last week I received an email, from someone amiably named “Birky Tony”:

Hello,Am so sorry to have intrude in your privacy i sincerely like your profile picture on facebook it really caught  my attention. hope you don’t mind us knowing each other much better?.My Name is Birky, I’m from Austin texas.Am a 9 years widower,I live with my pet dogs.I am a Man with sense of humor,I am passionate and romantic,I have the fear of God in me, I have respect for my fellow human being.! It will be wonderful of you to send me a feedback if you want us to get along and know each other.I promise to make you happy and always put a smile on your face.Thanks and Cheers!

Regards,
Birky

It’s nice to know I have options, especially with regards to a person who has respect for his fellow human being, but apparently no respect for rules of punctuation and grammar. Any moment now, Birky is preparing to send a photo proving his masculinity, I just know it.

Did you have a nice weekend? I was much, much busier than normal, but in a good way. We all went to see Avengers: Age of Ultron on Saturday, and I found it to be even more of a snore than I normally find those types of movies. Zzzzz. I mean, really. All those men and the only one we see shirtless is Bruce Banner? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE. I enjoyed a) seeing Captain America in a tight t-shirt chopping wood, b) the on-screen romance between Natasha and the afore-mentioned Dr. Banner, and c) recognizing that Hawkeye’s pregnant wife is actually Sylvia from Mad Men. Other than that, I mostly thought of other things during the long, long movie that seemed to never end.

But I’m not the target audience, am I? It’s not like Joss Whedon is writing movies for people like me, but still, it would have been nice to see a little shirtless action.

And, of course, it was Mother’s Day, and I hope all you moms out there had a great day. Well, I hope everyone reading this had a great day, but you know what I’m saying. I got two awesome cards that I had spied in backpacks last week, a gorgeous blue Le Creuset canister to hold all my cooking utensils – huge improvement on the previous situation, in which I was constantly jamming in my numerous spoons and whisks and occasionally swearing about it – and a matching spatula! It was almost as exciting as last year’s giant bag of dirt, which is really saying something.

I say that without irony, by the way. I really was thrilled about my giant bag of dirt. The gardens are looking great this year already – and will look even better when the snow melts, I’m sure.

And speaking of gardens, my indoor grow lights are really paying off, and no, not like that. Look, it’s my first harvest!

lettuce

It’s mostly leaf lettuce, but there’s a bit of spinach and arugula in there as well. I’m pretty excited to plant more, because it was amazing. And it only took five weeks of concerted effort!

Taking care of business, blue job style.

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It all started last week when my husband was talking about the appointment he’d made to get the oil changed on my van. This, along with basically all car-related things, is a blue job. I don’t deal with car-related jobs, I just don’t. My husband is happy to do them and I’m happy to let him. I hadn’t taken a vehicle in to get an oil change since I got married, which really says something. I mean, it’s not the reason I got married or anything, but it’s handy.

But for this appointment, there were several conflicts. My husband had a number of things to do, the boys had karate and sparring, and it was just a big mess, so I offered to take the van in. It’s my van, after all, and it’s not like I’m actually changing the oil myself. We had an appointment, and the car dealership had assured my husband that the whole thing would take between an hour and ninety minutes to complete. I had ulterior motives to offering to take the van in; mainly, I wanted a free manicure.

When we bought the van in 2013, the fellow who was showing me all the features on the car (yes, including the lighted mirrors) informed me that when the car needed servicing, there was a nail bar for my girly convenience. Now, some might be outraged at the idea that the dealership was condescendingly catering towards their female clientele, but I say bring on the gel polish. This dealership has a kids’ play area complete with X-Box, a cappuccino machine, a flat-screen TV, free Wi-Fi, and a NAIL BAR. Sign me up and shut the front door.

I was a bit nervous about driving there, since it was in a part of the city I am unfamiliar with, but my husband walked me through it on the map, and off I went. As I was pulling up to the dealership I could hear my text messages going off, but because I am A VERY RESPONSIBLE DRIVER I did not check them. I just assumed it was my husband, probably worried that I was lost and had accidentally left town. This has actually happened before, so it’s a valid concern.

I pulled in, and chatted with the service manager. “Am I in the right place?” I asked, sweetly. “My husband usually brings the car in.” (USUALLY. Ha!) The service manager looked a little concerned, and asked if he was picking me up shortly. “Oh no,” I responded. “I’m just going to wait.” The service manager gravely said that it could be four hours until it was done, which took me by surprise, but since I was stranded at the dealership thirty minutes away from my house, I took it in stride. “You can get your nails done over there, while you wait.” he said, so I scurried off.

The texts were from my husband, and I called him to let him know that I would be here a while, at which point he kind of hit the roof  in a “What? Four hours? What the fuck? They said an hour! Why don’t you leave. Fuck this! I’m going to call and complain.” kind of way. I didn’t think leaving was particularly practical; we were going to have to get the oil changed sometime soon anyway, and I just drove for thirty minutes, and I wanted a manicure. So I settled in for the wait. I had brought some work with me and my phone, so it wouldn’t be too bad, I didn’t think.

I got my manicure – gel polish and all, this stuff is amazing. Then I settled in to a chair with some free mineral water and my phone, and did some reading. It was kind of boring, but not so bad. I wrote a pitch, I read some blogs, I played several games of Trivia Crack. I noticed the service manager looking at me a bit nervously, but didn’t think much of it.

I started to get hungry, but the only restaurant close by was Hooters, and so I drank more mineral water. I didn’t really want to go for a walk; the neighbourhood is kind of the hood, and so I wasn’t comfortable with wandering. Plus, with my sense of direction I could have ended up anywhere. I read a National Geographic about a Mexican food festival. The service manager kept looking at me.

Around three o’clock – two and a half hours after my arrival – the service manager came up to me and with a very serious face told me that the car was in the shop, now, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer. “Oh good!” I responded. “Any idea how much longer?” He shook his head and said he’d check and get back to me. I went back to my Trivia Crack.

At four o’clock, the manager came over to tell me that the car was finished – the computers were down, so he was giving me a handwritten receipt and would email the full receipt later. He said he knew how important it was that I get out of there, and apologized profusely. At this point it was three and a half hours, not four, so I considered myself fairly lucky. “It’s okay,” I said to the obviously-stressed-and-apologetic manager, “At least I got my nails done!” I smiled but he didn’t. Instead, he handed me a card, saying it was his personal business card, and the next time I needed servicing, I could call him and he would make sure everything went smoothly. He gave me a free emergency kit for the car, complete with flares. He apologized again, and I went on my merry way, feeling proud that a) I had driven to the dealership without incident, b) I had taken the car in for an oil change like a strong, invincible woman, and c) I knew how to get home without finding myself heading to Saskatchewan or the United States.

It turns out that when I was there, my husband had called to complain, just like he said he would. However, he complained in a much more, shall we say, angry way than I anticipated, using terms like “pissed off,” “never coming back,” and intimating that whoever handled the appointments was terrible at their job. So while I was happily getting my nails done and reading Tom and Lorenzo’s take on last week’s Mad Men, the manager was eyeing me like I was a ticking time bomb. Don’t mess with that woman; you don’t want to deal with her husband!

You guys, I was playing Good Cop/ Bad Cop and I didn’t even know it.

Nonetheless, I am willing to take the car in the next time it needs an oil change. My nails look GREAT.

nails nails

Robbing my children of joy and wonder since 2004.

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It’s only 12:45 and I feel like I’ve already accomplished SO MUCH today; one of those accomplishments was “going to Costco.” I have discovered the key to non-frustrating Costco trips – other than Shopping Cart Karma – and that is to go more frequently for fewer things. Of course, this would not be feasible if I lived in a rural area, but I’m 15 minutes away from my nearest Costco and so that half-hour round trip made more frequently is well worth it to not almost die from the physical exertion of pushing several hundred pounds of things through the parking lot, and then unloading all those things from the car and putting them away, necessitating several dozen trips up and down the stairs. Smaller frequent trips = Costco happiness.

Longtime readers will remember how I used to loathe Costco with all my might; I’d spend all the time shopping steeped in resentment, and also I would be deep breathing for fear all those gigantic boxes would suddenly let loose and fall on me, killing me instantly. This was a silly fear for in all these times, I’ve only been almost killed once by a falling pile of tampon boxes. Well, “almost killed” is probably an over-statement. In any case, I actually ENJOY my Costco trips now; possibly because the children are growing so rapidly that they eat every single thing in sight. They MIGHT even have eaten these, if I had deigned to buy them:

kalechia

Ha! Just kidding. They’d never eat those. Hell, I don’t think I would eat those, and I am exactly the target market for such things. Kale and chia tortilla chips. Please. That’s too sad even for me.

It was insanely busy in there, but I amused myself the way I usually do when I’m in a giant lineup: by surreptitiously peeking at other people’s cart contents. It’s so interesting. I often wonder what people are going to make/ cook/ do with the variety of items. It’s a fun little game. For example, the man in front of me had nothing whatever except a giant pork tenderloin and a 1000-count box of Splenda packets. I wonder if people are looking at my cart, wondering about me, although my cart was a little boring today: mostly fruit – fresh, frozen AND dried – nuts, and chocolate, with a flat of Perrier thrown in for balance.

I also bought a few candy-type things for loot bags because…we’re planning a birthday party for Mark! This is big news; we haven’t had a kid birthday party for a few years – neither boy has wanted one, but this year, Mark does. Mostly, it’s going to be eight kids “hanging out” in my basement. I’m not going to lie: I’m slightly nervous at the thought of having EIGHT KIDS IN MY BASEMENT FOR FOUR UNSTRUCTURED HOURS but maybe it will be fine. Mark isn’t interested in party games or the like, so the vague plan is for the kids to play Just Dance and watch a movie on DVD, but we shall see. Hopefully it will be fine; as long as I remember to put away my husband’s free weights and reiterate that no one is allowed on the elliptical machine, there should be few injuries, at least. I’m sure the kids will have fun – there’s going to be pizza and a DQ Treatzza Pizza so ALL WILL BE FINE, RIGHT?

One thing that we are doing, and have done in the past, is eliminate the gifts and instead ask guests to bring food bank donations. This works well for us; Mark is a pretty charitably-oriented guy, and really doesn’t need a whole bunch of gifts – he has two sets of doting grandparents, aunts, and uncles, plus gifts from us. But the other day I saw an article in Today’s Parent about “No Gifts, Please” and the Facebook comments were as full of anger and vitriol as a piece on measles outbreaks. I know, I know, don’t read the comments. But really, you would have thought that, instead of focusing more on “good times with friends” and less on “unwrapping a ton of things to add to the million things in the kids’ room” meant “depriving child of all joy and wonder in life.” Well, if that’s true, so be it. My children will look back on their childhoods and say well, it was pretty good, except for the total absence of joy and wonder.

Speaking of joy and wonder, yesterday I had my hair coloured and cut – a week late, due to my pressing commitments as Book Fair Lady – and today I am having the best hair day ever. Soft, bouncy, shiny…and the only witnesses were the people shopping at Costco and the girls at the dog park. Due to the miracles of the modern age we live in, you are now witness to Nicole’s Best Hair Day of March 2015. Yes, I’m calling it now, I don’t care if it is only the fourth.

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SO much better than the before photo, am I right?

Nicknolte

The joys of tween boys.

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Tweens, am I right? Parenting tweens is – I’m discovering – a funny business. There’s the newly found need for space, the sudden interest in girls, the need for me to tell the kids to GET OUT OF THE SHOWER, IT’S BEEN TWENTY MINUTES. There’s some emotional outbursts, although from what I can glean from my friends with daughters, the emotional outbursts that occur in my house are like a peaceful ocean wave compared with the Lieutenant Dan Fighting With God During Hurricane Carmen of Girl Emotions. Or, say, my Ladies’ Holiday Emotions. So, essentially what I’m saying is that if there is an emotional outburst, it’s more likely to come from me than anyone else, but I am finding that the tween years are slightly more emotional than the robot-level of emotion displayed by the boys in years past.

I will tell you the greatest thing ever about parenting tweens, at least in my house: they like to talk about what they are doing in school, and this translates into some very interesting and entertaining conversations. For example, today we were chatting about myths, and I told them the story of King Midas. They were fascinated; at first by the level of greed, and secondly about all the ways you could destroy the world with such a power.

Speaking of destruction, Mark has been learning chemistry at school, which makes me happy because I loved stoichiometry back in the day. Jake is a bit jealous about the chemistry unit, and has mentioned a few times that he cannot wait until he can take chemistry, so he can make experiments that blow up. Godspeed and wear your protective goggles, please. Anyway, Mark has been enjoying everything about chemistry: the periodic table, litmus papers, and the like. The other day, we were chatting about various fruits, and Jake reiterated his dislike for the following: fresh pineapple, oranges, and lemons.

Me: Jake, you really don’t like acidic fruits!

Mark: Jake’s just a basic kind of guy.

THAT’S MY BOY.

Mark had brought home his creative writing journal, and in it was an assignment in which the students use creative words to describe a person.

me

Orange hair is mentioned TWICE. Well, I cannot very well deny that it is true, given that any time I’m photographed in front of our burnt-orange walls, my hair fades into the background.

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I like that my son sees me as friendly, and I like his description of my clothing and jewelry, but is it strange to take exception at “wears pink lipstick”? I associate pink lipstick with either the frosted pink of the 1960s or the neon colours of 1987. Either way, it’s not a look I want to embrace. Nevertheless, I can hardly think that he will take well to my lessoning him on the different shades of lipstick in my purse – tween boys do have their limits, and I’m guessing he won’t be amenable to learning the difference between “pink” and “shell”.

Cash Cab, Here I Come.

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I’m so glad there are so many of you on the same page as me, in the “ladies’ holidays” way. It makes me feel much less insane, although the word “peri-menopause” is coming up a wee bit more than I would like it to. As an aside, my grandma had some very helpful advice regarding alleviating those menopausal symptoms: a late-in-life pregnancy. Apparently, getting pregnant in your mid-to-late 40s is a guarantee that your menopausal symptoms will be minimal.

I feel like this advice isn’t really going to work for me.

In any case, I am having a much better week and I’m in the throes of excitement since bright and early tomorrow, I leave for The Big Smoke, for the Blissdom Canada conference. All indications point to this being a very enjoyable time, except maybe from the point of view of my husband and children. The children in particular have said several times how SAD they are going to be and how much they are going to MISS ME, and while I appreciate the sentiment, it’s not like I’m throwing them to the wolves. Jake offered me the remaining quarter of his strawberry Tic-Tacs, and Mark gave me a partially consumed package of Ice Breaker Sours, so I would have something to eat on the plane; this, along with my husband offering me his fancy noise-cancelling headphones, makes me feel like I’m travelling in style.

Although the boys are going to MISS ME SO MUCH, they are pretty excited about one aspect of me visiting Toronto: Cash Cab. The Cash Cab is in Toronto and I will need a taxi, therefore I could be on Cash Cab. I don’t have the heart to tell them that the likelihood of a taxi at the airport being the actual Cash Cab is very small, since exhausted travellers would probably not take well to being dropped off in the middle of the highway with all their luggage, in the event that they give three incorrect answers. Secretly (or not so secretly) I wish I could be on Cash Cab. I think I would totally rock it.

The boys seem to have inherited my love of game shows. During the Christmas holidays I love to watch The Price is Right with them, and not just because Christmastime seems to be the time for Firefighter’s Day. Much to the irritation of my husband, we like to watch Wheel of Fortune and, less often, Jeopardy. I have never told them that I once was on a game show: Spelling Bee. Anyone who grew up in Calgary in the 1980s might remember our beloved Ed Whalen hosting the game show for kids. Our team made it three rounds before we were cut, and I’ve always been a little disappointed we didn’t go all the way. I’m not sure, exactly, what we would have won had we become Spelling Bee champions, but I’m sure it would have been amazing.

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon.

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Yesterday I was so melancholy; the summer was just so full of fun and sunshine and it felt, yesterday, like a plug had been pulled. Suddenly, it’s fall. Suddenly, it’s back to school. Suddenly, my children are all grown up with gangly limbs and giant teeth and floppy clown feet.

Of course, none of this was sudden at all. There’s been a slight chill in the air for the last ten days, the kids have had gangly limbs, giant teeth, and floppy clown feet for a while now, and as for back to school, well, it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. Fortunately getting back into routine is exactly like riding a bike; we have all adjusted exactly as if summer never happened. The only one in our family who hasn’t adjusted is the dog, who is moping weirdly around the house and then flopping sadly on the floor. Or maybe I’m projecting here.

It’s gloomy and drizzly, and so I decided to work on a savoury new pasta sauce. I turned on the radio to eliminate the creepy silence in the house, and as the warm smells of garlic and mushrooms filled the kitchen, Landslide came on the radio. LANDSLIDE. On the first day of school, as I live and breathe. Maybe the radio programmers have a maudlin sense of humour, because right after that was Talking In Your Sleep by Gordon Lightfoot, and really, what could be more melancholy than that combination? At least it wasn’t Cat’s in the Cradle, I guess.

This past weekend we attended another wedding, and a few days prior to that I took the kids up to stay at my parents’ place at the lake. Rarely do I do a solo road trip with the kids; I don’t like highway driving as a rule, and the QEII is a crazy speedway at the best of times. I headed out Thursday around lunchtime, and the light drizzle quickly turned into pouring rain. Two hours of driving in pouring rain with almost no visibility pretty much did me in. By the time I arrived at my parents’ place – at which the sun was shining and there was no rain whatsoever – my hands hurt from white-knuckling the steering wheel and I felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown. The kids, on the other hand, were completely oblivious to my plight, having donned their headphones to watch a movie in the back. I felt somewhat virtuous for shielding them from my driving angst, so immediately accepted a nice vodka cooler and a seat on the porch. I had to make the return trip all by myself a few days later – having left the kids with Grandma – and happily, it was completely uneventful.

So ends the summer, I guess. The first morning of Grade Four and Five seemed to go off without a hitch; everyone is happy with their teachers and their classes, so hopefully it’s a good omen for the year to come!

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The first time ever they have “dressed up” for school.

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Who’s excited? THIS GUY. Also the other guy.

Honey, I’m Home!

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I’ve had nearly two weeks of vacation – here, there, and everywhere – and I’m basking in the feeling of accomplishment that can only be achieved by unpacking everything, starting laundry, and grocery shopping. I am a person who needs to unpack immediately upon setting foot in the house. I get tense at the mere thought of unpacked suitcases, partially-emptied toiletry cases, and mountains of laundry which makes me a joy to be around. In related news, a very dear friend JUST emailed me about woolen dryer balls, knowing that I would enjoy that information in a hausfrau kind of way. And I do! I do enjoy household tips because I am apparently – and non-ironically – some kind of Heloise person.

The vacation itself was lovely, full of sun, water, and many alcoholic beverages. Also related: I need to go on a cleanse. Travel was smooth but profanity-laced, as always with any kind of road trip that my husband undertakes. In general, I tend to sing to myself while staring out the window blankly like David Putty and the airplane seatback, while my husband says things like “Mother-FUCKER. Get off the goddamn road, you cock-sucking moron. What the FUCK. No, don’t use your signal, you ASSHOLE.” Repeat as needed. It seems that the drivers that enrage him the most are: a) people who drive under the speed limit on two-lane roads and curves, but speed up so as to be unpassable while in passing zones, b) people who are doing a) while driving gargantuan recreational vehicles, and c) people who do not use their signal lights while changing lanes.

I actually became concerned about his blood pressure, what with all the swearing, however, he assured me that such vehement exclamations actually lowered his blood pressure and made him feel better. I myself feel that this is a zero-sum game, since my stress level seems to be affected by this, in what I call “Post Traumatic Swearing Contractor Syndrome“. I should probably mention that my children during these times are either completely oblivious due to their headphones, or extremely sympathetic. “That guy is a bad driver, right Dad?”

Also – I don’t know how it is in your house but my husband likes to make “good time”. On the way to my in-laws’ he decided that he had a goal to get there by noon. This goal was established at about 11:00 am, and was achieved, but not without much profanity. I tried to convince everyone in the car that no one was expecting us that early, and anyway arriving at 12:10 or even 12:30 would still be excellent, but no. We arrived at 11:59 and piled out of the car, where I immediately took my father-in-law up on his offer of a frosty alcoholic beverage.

I have many more tales to tell, but someone around here (ME) needs to make dinner before the kids get back from karate. Hey, when you leave at 5:30 in the morning, the happy result is that you have much of the day ahead of you when you arrive at your destination, and the kids were able to “relax” Frank Underwood-style for a while before heading to their class. I need to figure out how to incorporate zucchini into everything. My dear mother-in-law is the type of generous person who, when you say you like something, gives you massive amounts of that item. So, when I said “Sure, I’d love a couple of zucchinis!” I received twenty-one, in varying sizes. Fellow zucchini-lovers, please tune into Yummy Mummy Club over the next few weeks as I deal with my surplus zucchini.

Speaking of vegetables, on the way home I initiated our usual game of “Let’s pretend we’re 1970s truckers; what would be your CB name?” I chose Red Pepper for myself but then had to continually explain my choice, which was disappointing and tedious. What would you choose? Please tell me, I’ve missed this blog terribly!