Category Archives: Travel with kids

Girl’s Blouse and the Forward March of Time

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I was walking the dog the other day when I ran into one of the young neighbour girls. She’s the youngest of three and the last to fly the nest; she told me that she was headed to university in Ottawa at the end of the month. I cannot even begin to tell you how unexpectedly this information affected me. I teared up as I told my husband about it. I’ve know her since she was a BABY, I said tearfully, ALL of their girls are gone now. GONE. I’m pretty sure I’m projecting my feelings about fleeting time, empty nests, and the general preciousness of life on this unsuspecting 18 year old.

All of which is to say: can you even BELIEVE it’s August 9? August is my month to cling to the last vestiges of summer, such as it is, even while some of the leaves are starting to change and I’m organizing my thoughts as to what we need in terms of school supplies and pants that actually fit the boys, the boys being in that odd teenage stage where they are tall and skinny and good luck finding 29/34 jeans in any store.

August is also my month to realize that I’ve gained weight, probably due to the fact that we always take a trip to see my mother-in-law at the end of July. What can I say, booze. This happens every August, but it was a bit shocking to see that I’ve put on seven pounds since the end of June. I’m HOPING some of that was water retention, but the long and the short of it is that it’s time to cut back on the boozy coolers.

Seven pounds in a month is one thing, but I have been very active, and so it feels a bit like a slap in the face. I guess the old adage you can’t outrun a bad diet is very true, but still. You especially can’t outrun a bad liquid diet, but hey. Needs must.

We all hiked up Big White on our trip, which is over 11 kilometres and 500 metres of elevation. I was impressed with the kids’ endurance level and also happy that my hip was fine with it.

“Thoughtful Instagram pose”

This week since we’ve been back has been a strange combination of Back To Routine and Fun Activities, which is giving me an odd, time-warp kind of feeling. Yesterday my friend and I took the boys to the mountains for a short hike; apparently it was too short as they complained that it wasn’t enough of a challenge. Well, game on, boys. I guess from now on it’s all endurance all the time. The hike was pretty though.

Tuesday I went back to teaching, my husband went out of town on business, and the boys went to a sleepover birthday party. Ten years ago I would have committed any number of criminal activities in order to have an evening to myself, but now it just feels kind of dull. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed making a special dinner just for myself – Greek salad and pita on a Tuesday! – but while I was reading in complete silence I realized I miss the dull-roar noise level of our house. At any given time a) my younger son is practicing drums, b) my older son is playing Iron Man on his electric guitar with the amp up high, c) the kids are talking in their Outside Voices, d) my husband is talking in his Regular Voice, and e) my husband is listening to Bloomberg and/ or Sport Centre. It was pretty quiet with just me and Barkley. I spent my evening reading, with a “clarifying and polishing” face mask and my feet swathed in cotton socks to keep the lotion on. Hashtag: living the glamourous life.

The cut of those socks remind me so much of my grandma and her penchant for Isotoner slippers. It makes me miss her so much. I can just picture her in her kitchen, wearing light-blue Isotoner slippers, capri pants, and a flowered blouse.

Speaking of blouses, the boys and I have been re-watching all six seasons of Downton Abbey in preparation for the new movie coming in September. Although, knowing me, we will see the movie when it comes out on Netflix. Anyway, we all love Downton, probably because of the terrible soap-opera story lines and fluctuating awfulness/ brilliance of the characters. I mean, what is UP with how terrible Lord Grantham is in seasons 3-4? Won’t someone PLEASE give Lady Edith a little bit of support for once in her whole pathetic life? How many deaths can be attributed to Bates, really? What does all this have to do with blouses? Well, some of the old-timey British sayings are just too awesome to not incorporate into daily conversation. “I jolly well WILL!” “Splendid!” “Oh, crikey.” But the very best line comes from good old Murderer Bates himself, when chiding Jimmy for over-reacting about Thomas’ moves. “Why are you being such a big girl’s blouse about it?” Everyone in our house uses the term Girl’s Blouse several times a day now, as it is possibly the greatest semi-insult ever. One only needs complain about the slightest thing to be immediately named a Girl’s Blouse.

Boy: I’m a little tired today.

Any other member of the family: Stop being such a big girl’s blouse about it.

My husband: I have a lot of meetings today.

Me: Why do you have to be such a girl’s blouse?

And so on.

The city, as if to boost everyone’s self-esteem from being constantly referred to as a random article of women’s clothing, has put up signs everywhere with motivational sayings on them. “You can do it!” I’ll see as I’m driving down the freeway. “You made a difference today!” I’ll see posted as I’m coming out of the Superstore parking lot. I like the idea behind it but I’m puzzled as to where they came from. It’s like the world is conspiring to make us feel good about ourselves, which is lovely. I was unwrapping a vitamin C drop and noticed that it, also, is concerned about my self-esteem. “Don’t give up!” it told me. “March forward!” Well, crikey. I jolly well WILL march forward, thank you very much. But not too quickly; August is speeding away as it is.

Happy Friday everyone, xo.

Carpe the hell out of the diem

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Summer in Alberta: if there is a decent day, weather-wise, you had better carpe diem because you have no idea what will happen next. This is an important lesson I’ve learned in my lifetime. I took the boys up to my parents’ place on the lake because there was a single nice day – Wednesday – in the forecast this week and I wanted to get lots of outdoor activities done. And indeed, we did; we biked, paddleboarded, and boated all before three o’clock in the afternoon, when the kids collapsed for some downtime after all the forced fun, and I had margaritas on the deck with my parents. Sure enough, the storm rolled in shortly after that. Carpe diem.

The boys fake-posing for a thoughtful, instagram worthy-photo.

So much fun is exhausting.

Speaking of bikes, I was feeling very I-am-woman-hear-me-roar because prior to heading up to the lake I put the bike rack on the car all by myself. Now that I’ve written it down it doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment but believe me, it was. I am not at all mechanically-minded so it took me some time to figure out how a ratchet worked – I kept accidentally loosening the bolts – but I did eventually figure it out. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR AND WATCH ME LIFT THIS GIANT HEAVY BIKE RACK AND ATTACH IT TO MY VEHICLE.

We returned home yesterday and I took my older son with me to get groceries at Superstore. No sooner had we pulled into the garage when an enormous hailstorm started. I’m thankful we didn’t get home ten seconds later or the van might have been damaged; as it was my gardens were pretty much flattened:

WAH. Even this morning, there is still hail on the trampoline and it is quite chilly outside. The first person to complain about any heat in this city – if, indeed, any heat shows up this summer – is going to get a serious side-eye from me.

So it has been an eventful week in the Boyhouse; last Friday my husband and I went to see Zac Brown perform, which is always a good show. We had gone three years ago and although our seats were amazing this time around, I didn’t enjoy the show QUITE as much as I did back in 2016. Still, an absolutely fantastic performance and as an added bonus, I got to dress up in my Stampede wear:

A note about that bandanna: it dates back from my working days, back in 2000 or so. I was in Houston on business and some colleagues had taken me to The Taste of Texas, a restaurant that – among other things – allows you to go to a deli-like counter to choose your own meat to be cooked, and if you broke the record for eating a certain number of ounces of meat, you got your steak for free and had your photo put up on the wall. Obviously, those benefits did not apply to me, but I did get a bandanna tied around my neck for my inaugural visit to the restaurant. I don’t remember what I ate but it was probably a salad or some other dish that would have been disappointing to all the people around me.

Zac Brown played for a solid two hours and it was nearly midnight before I got home, exhausted and with swollen, cowboy-booted feet. I didn’t make it to my usual Saturday morning spin class and so I had a plethora of energy. My husband took the boys to the gym for their usual workout, and I started to clean the kitchen. I thought I would wash all the cupboard doors, which then had a snowball effect: by the time they got home I had cleaned the fridge and scrubbed down the shelves, polished all the granite and wood furniture in the house, cleaned the oven, wiped down every appliance, scrubbed the baseboards, and washed the floors. Fueled by coffee and without spin to contain me, I headed outside and gardened for a few hours, pruning shrubs and weeding, before taking the dog for a walk. I guess when I need to get things done around the house I should skip spin class.

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

Aunty Ant Takes Her Revenge

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Earlier in the week I was so tired; it was the kind of exhaustion that makes me wonder if something is seriously wrong. Why am I so tired? I kept saying, over and over, like the world’s most boring broken record. My husband gently reminded me that every so often I DO get this tired, and every time I get this tired I wonder why, and possibly I shouldn’t run myself at full throttle every single day? Well, it turns out he was correct. I am generally a Jack Russell terrier, but every so often I need to embrace my inner Basset hound. A few days of extra sleep and an afternoon spent gardening in the sunshine, and I seem to be back to my usual self.

Generally speaking, the more things I have to do, the more energized I get. It’s like I have my own little contest going on, trying to squeeze in one more thing every moment of every day. Can I bake a batch of muffins while washing the floor and folding the laundry? And then read this collection of short stories while I make pasta sauce? At some point I become like the airplane headed for Carnival in Rio in Richard Scarry’s Busy Busy World; I explode with the addition of Aunty Ant.

Looking back over the past couple of weeks, I realize that I might have been going at even higher speed than normal; every single day that the sun has shone I’ve been doing yard work on top of running 23 kilometres a week, spin classes, daily yoga practice, and dog walks, not to mention my teaching schedule. Oh, and grocery shopping, food preparation, running a household, parenting, and all of those things we all do every day without thought. A few days of rest is definitely a good thing; if I was talking to a friend or a student, I would tell them to be gentle to themselves and to take rest to restore their bodies and souls. Every once in a while I should really take my own advice.

This past long weekend we travelled to visit my mother-in-law, adding “packing” and “taking dog to kennel with all his prepackaged food and medication” to last week’s to-do list. Packing is a job that I find myself obsessing over; my husband packs his own things and my kids choose the clothes that they need, but my need for order and control means that I alone am in charge of the suitcases. Or, the Orange Suitcases of Sadness, as we call them in this house. The moment the Orange Suitcases of Sadness come out of storage, Barkley is on High Alert and will either be found sitting beside one or be completely underfoot, so that I’m tripping over him while unloading the dishwasher or stepping over him as I neatly roll up all the clothes in order to maximize packing space. I heard a woman talking on the plane about how her friend spent six weeks in Europe with only a single piece of carry on luggage, and I was amazed. A weekend away necessitates a huge suitcase plus carry on for me. I mean, how do you even pack enough toiletries without checked baggage? I guess there are pharmacies and shops in Europe but still.

My sister-in-law and I bonded this weekend with our mutual disdain for travellers who sneak too-large pieces of carry on luggage onto the plane and then cannot fit said pieces into the overhead compartments. Just spend the $25 and check your damn bag, I always think to myself, watching them nearly take out people as they swing their giant distended roller bags overhead. You people are the worst. Perhaps that’s how that woman got through six weeks; with a contraband oversized carry on.

I like to pack a lot even for a weekend, because as you well know, I love clothes. My friend Jen (HI JEN) mentioned that she is going to start her own One Year Shopping Challenge, and for a few minutes I wondered if I have been appreciating all my clothes enough; should I too do another challenge? Nothing makes you appreciate what you have like not being able to purchase new things. However, I am pretty sure my husband would stop speaking to me and my mother would disown me, so I won’t. Maybe I’ll quietly do my own six-month challenge, though, now that my wardrobe has been supplemented over the last nine months of restocking. Maybe.

Speaking of clothes, I noticed a few very interesting outfits yesterday. First, as I was walking the dog, I noticed an older gentleman mowing his lawn wearing nothing whatsoever but a pair of white shorts, the type favoured by basketball players in the 1970s, black socks, and work boots. This was especially odd given that the outside temperature was only about 15 degrees; it didn’t feel like “only shorts and nothing else” weather but then again, I tend to be cold most of the time. Then at my son’s drum lesson, a young boy came in wearing a Garfield hoodie and shorts set. It was bright yellow, adorned with the lasagne-loving cat, and the hood was made to look like Garfield’s head. This I found intriguing; is Garfield still relevant? I guess he must be somewhere, since the outfit looked quite new and bright. That is some longevity for a cartoon feline.

The most interesting outfit was really the third in a series. The young woman who gives voice lessons at the same place that my son takes drum lessons is absolutely fascinating to me. The first week I took him, she was dressed exactly as an anime character: shiny bobbed black hair with a hairband adorned with two big pompoms, a short colourful dress, and tall, shiny, white platform boots. The next week her hair was still black, but soft and wavy, and she was wearing a flowing flowered dress; the type your grandma might have worn as a housedress, but longer. Then yesterday her hair was greyish-lavender, curly except for straight bangs, and she was wearing a long grey and white see-through lace dress over top a short white dress, with black lipstick. I honestly can’t wait to see what happens next week. The mom of the Garfield-clad boy looked at me and said, “Every week, she looks different!” which seemed like a vast understatement.

I cannot recall ever purchasing anything from the Venus catalogue, and so it is for reasons unknown that I have been the recipient of said catalogue for many years. I find it fascinating just how many different iterations there are of star-spangled bikinis. The catalogue is mostly filled with swimwear and beach accessories, but a good third of it contains “street wear” and that, my friends, is the best part. Better even than star-spangled bikinis, the pages are filled with “butt-lifting” jeans and really startling spandex dresses and loosely-knit cropped sweaters worn over sparkly tank tops. There is also a whole section on “work wear” which very much differs from my idea of office-appropriate attire. Although, who’s to say work wear is synonymous with office wear? After all, my work wear consists of yoga pants and tank tops. Perhaps other people have jobs that necessitate cold-shoulder bell-sleeved blouses, off-the-shoulder wrap dresses, or wildly low-cut zipper-front sheath dresses. Who am I to say?

And the sun is shining so yard work is calling; off to embrace my inner Jack Russell. Enjoy the sunshine, sunshines. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Puerto Vallarta Edition

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I just got back from my THIRD grocery trip since returning home on Friday; Friday being five days ago. Back to reality and my part-time job of teaching yoga, along with my full-time job of feeding my family. You people are pigs! I may have said to myself as I pulled out ingredients for pumpkin loaf; the banana loaf and batch of blueberry muffins that I have baked in the days since returning are both mere memories. Yesterday I read a book I picked up on impulse at the library; it is actually a self-help book about pursuing your goals and dreams. Perhaps I should have read the back cover more thoroughly. Anyway, in it is a suggestion that a person should track every minute spent doing an activity every day for a week to get an idea of how to allocate time more wisely. I should do this; I would be interested to see just how much of my week is spent in food acquisition and preparation. Not to mention putting away the groceries! Maybe I do need a fitness tracker just to see how many steps are spent in that activity.

Well, life is good no matter how you slice it, and perhaps it’s because of my full-time-feed-family job that I really appreciated our vacation last week in Puerto Vallarta. When the kids got hungry they just popped over to the poolside grill for hotdogs and hamburgers. The biggest decision we made was which restaurant to eat at in the evenings and if we wanted Cabernet or Merlot for dinner. I mean, honestly. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Puerto Vallarta Edition

The Scenery

Puerto Vallarta is a beautiful place. On a guided beach walk it was brought to my attention that Puerto Vallarta, as we know it today, did not really exist until John Huston – who lived there part-time – decided to film The Night of the Iguana, starring Richard Burton. At the time he was having a steamy affair with Elizabeth Taylor; the gorgeous locale was exposed and became a lively tourist destination. It is GORGEOUS.

That’s my older son jumping off the rock in the last photo (the other two are unknowns). This was after a very dusty Razr ride, which I will circle back to. Isn’t it beautiful? Ocean, mountains, and jungle.

Sunsets

I am generally a sunrise girl; I am always up before the sun and I do love a good sunrise. But part of the benefit of being on the Pacific Ocean was the ability to really appreciate those gorgeous ocean sunsets. I mean, look at this:

Pool Service

Because I am a spoiled princess, I absolutely love pool service. Coming home was rough; by 2:00 on Saturday I thought what the hell, why has no one brought me a margarita yet? Ah, day drinking. One must stay hydrated in that hot Mexican sun, you know! My favourite drink was a mango margarita, on the rocks, no sugar, with a spicy rim. What? I’m Sally Allbright on vacation too. I have no photo of my drink so you must be contented with this shot of the pool:

One-Strapped Bikinis

I don’t know if they are called that or not; they are likely out of style now since I bought this on massive sale at La Vie En Rose last fall. I wasn’t sure what it would be like but I can tell you it is more comfortable and supportive than any other bikini top I have owned. I also love this because it’s black, naturally, but with a little zip of embroidered colour. If you buy one, be excessive with the sunscreen and shade or you’ll end up with a weird tan line. I am always excessive with sunscreen and shade, which is why no one can tell I was actually in Mexico.

This Lululemon Bag

Every vacation I buy a beach bag and by the end of every vacation, it’s completely trashed. I guess it’s my issue, since I like to carry lots of things in it, but isn’t that what a beach bag is for? I was tired of the waste, always having to throw out a bag that became damaged beyond repair just from taking it to the beach. Last fall I bought – on huge sale – this bag from Lululemon, and even though on sale it was still three times as expensive as a beach bag, it’s durable, waterproof, wipeable, and has a little pouch to keep room key, phone, tip money, and lip balm in.

Dressing for Dinner

I feel so glamourous after spending the day by the pool or beach, covered in sunscreen, salt, and sand, to get all prettied up for dinner. I love wearing dresses and fancy sandals and red lipstick to go out for dinner. It’s a far cry from my real life, where I am wearing yoga pants and end-of-day makeup to eat my homemade stir-fry.

Zip Lining!

I have always wanted to zip line, and this trip, we did! My husband booked us into a combination Razr 4×4 tour and zip line adventure, and it was just the best day. Well, not the Razr part. My husband grew up riding dirt bikes and utility vehicles and ATV’s and so is very comfortable taking hairpin turns on dusty mountain roads. I, however, kept picturing us all plummeting off the mountain to our deaths. Well, at least we’ll all go down together, I thought at one point. But we made it, safe and sound, and let me tell you about dust!

Can you feel my terror?

But zip lining! What a blast.

I think this was the best vacation of our lives; I am already thinking about when we can return! There was live music in the evenings, with much dancing and laughing. We went with our friends which always works out so well – all eight of us get along really well. And now it’s time for me to fold the laundry and do some yard clean-up – exciting news, by the time we had returned home, all our snow has melted. Like I said to one of my senior students yesterday, who just moved here from much warmer climates to be close to her grandchildren, spring can come and go in Calgary. So I shall enjoy it while it lasts, hanging on to those beautiful Mexican memories. xo

The Miracle That Is Air Travel

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When it comes to travelling, I am a person who immediately unpacks upon arrival home. We have been home less than eleven hours from a week away, and I’m on my second load of laundry. This might not seem like a big thing but we also got home at 8:30 last night, and I went to bed at ten. I have friends who leave their suitcases packed for DAYS after arrival; my insane need for order will not allow that. Everything was unpacked before 9, and the disgusting cesspool that was the contents of my sons’ suitcase was in the washing machine.

It was a wonderful, fun, relaxing week with friends in Puerto Vallarta; I will have much to say about it, but today I wanted to talk about travelling. I love travelling; I love seeing new places and experiencing new things and meeting new people. As you know, I am a person who will talk to pretty much anyone, and I generally find out an entire backstory, birthplace, and future travel plans of the people who are sitting poolside next to me. I discovered that the “roaming concierge” who cleaned my sunglasses is going to be visiting my husband’s hometown in the summer, I learned the young girl on the beach walk with me is graduating in June from a high school not far from where I teach yoga, I found out that the lady whose husband was wearing only a speedo and a do-rag lives in Calgary now, but grew up only half an hour away from my husband, and she also hates the slow highway into that town.

On a zip line adventure tour, I struck up a conversation with a friendly lady from Utah who I would guess was a few years older than me. She wore denim shorts, a Live Laugh Love t-shirt, and the kind of cornrows popularized by Bo Derek in “10” and seen on thousands of sunburned women and girls on any given beach in Mexico at any time. She and her husband were on an excursion from her Mexican cruise ship, and this, she informed me, was the longest stop on their trip, so she was excited to “do more than one thing.” I asked what else she was doing, besides being strapped onto a wire and sailing over mountainous jungle, and she told me that she hoped to do some shopping, although her husband didn’t like to shop. Oh! So many lovely little shops around! I said, although I myself had no intentions of visiting them. Yes, well, I am going to go to the Walmart she said.

I have pretty good radar when it comes to ascertaining if people are amenable to conversation or not, and that is why I DIDN’T strike up a conversation with the woman and little boy who were next to me on the plane home. At first I thought it was a grandmother/ grandson combination, but then realized that was an ageist assumption of mine; she was really his mother. It became clear that they were DEFINITELY DONE with vacation, and I get it: vacation with young kids isn’t always so relaxing, is it?

Remember in On The Shores of Silver Lake, when the Ingalls girls take their very first train ride, and it’s all so incredible? The soft velvety seats and big windows! The speed of travel, which was much faster and smoother than the covered wagon going through the prairies? The little tiny handle that was stuck to a wall and when you turned the handle, water miraculously came out of it? Laura and Carrie took turns using that amazing piece of equipment, filling up the communal water cup for the family. Water! Available with only a turn of the handle! I tried to remember that on the flight home, on the MIRACLE THAT IS AIR TRAVEL.

My husband, who also has an insane need for order but with travel, always books us seats so we can be at the front of the plane, and often we are in the row right behind the “Plus” section, so we can have full-on Plus envy. The Plus people get full meals, including snacks and desserts, while the rest of us get a choice between digestive cookies and pretzels. I mean, of course: they pay a lot more for those seats and also, I just spent a week choosing cabernet over merlot for dinner, and requesting a Sally Allbright-like drink in my lounger by the pool. I’m not so hard-done by, but I found myself envying them more than usual because of my seatmates.

Here’s the thing: to quote George Costanza, we are living in a society, people! We are supposed to act in a civilized way. And one of those ways, when you are in an enclosed space hurtling through the air, is to ensure that your child is not watching things on his iPad at full volume with no headphones. At first it was just a few little games, and I can certainly tune those out. But soon it was a Lego Ninjago – movie? TV show? I have no idea, but after two hours of this, I felt like I was going to lose my mind. I kept looking over at the woman, but she had her own headphones on and was completely absorbed in her own iPad. I looked around at the people around me, wondering if anyone felt as insane as I did. Every single other person had headphones on, so no one else was bothered. I felt like Groundskeeper Willie sitting on a mechanical bull. How come no one else’s chair is doing this? I don’t like to watch movies on planes, I wanted to read my book, but I was feeling pretty edgy by this time. Meanwhile, I could hear the flight attendant working in the Plus section, Would you like chardonnay or sauvingon blanc?

I was turning into a version of me that was really not pleasant. I kept saying to myself that this was ridiculous, why was I so bothered by a little noise? Where was my yogic inner peace? I had turned into a witch from Grimm’s fairy tales who murders children for her own cannibalistic pleasure.

I tapped my husband on the shoulder; he was across the aisle watching Bohemian Rhapsody with his noise-cancelling headphones, and I explained the situation. He immediately swapped seats with me and that’s when I discovered that it was WORSE across the aisle. It was almost like the tinny noise was amplified. And then my husband did what I probably should have done but I was too scared of the snappy woman to do it: he asked the kid to wear headphones. Which he did. It’s like he was the yogi and I was the person who has a reputation for being impatient with shoddy work and stupidity.

We swapped back. I felt ridiculous for not doing that in the first place, but in my defense a) the child kept picking at and wiping his runny nose with his hands and I didn’t want to have any more contact than absolutely necessary, and b) his mother really did not seem friendly and I worried that any kind of confrontation would lead to a very uncomfortable five hour flight. Also, I went to the washroom and when I came back neither were in their seats. Finally the little boy trundled back and politely said Excuse Me, so I moved to let him in. When his mother came back she tapped me on the shoulder without saying a word. I got up to let her back to her window seat and she snapped at her child to NOT MOVE JUST STAY THERE and then proceeded to climb over my seat and over her child to get to her seat. In bare feet. I don’t know what I found stranger, that someone put her bare feet on my seat or that someone was WALKING AROUND AN AIRPLANE WITH BARE FEET.

Who does that, though? She certainly KNEW her son was watching an iPad with no headphones, but didn’t correct him. I am not a person who judges parenting very often but MY GOD. I have sat next to crying babies, toddlers, and overly-chatty people with halitosis, and none of those things have ever bothered me. Would you like a mint? I say, offering my little box of Excel. But this was something else again.

Anyway. I have much more to say and share but it’s time to change the washer and get ready for spin class. After a week of pure hedonism, I need to hit the reset button! Hope you lovelies had a great spring break! xo

A Confession

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Aretha Franklin is, without a doubt, my favourite singer of all time; what a gift she was to the world. I love every single thing she has ever done, but I especially love this clip from 2015 because wow. Talk about owning it. I love how she swans out in a gigantic floor length fur coat, 2015 be damned, dripping with jewelry and in that absolutely fabulous dress, to belt out Natural Woman. That voice, not dimmed in the least by her age, which was 73. In fact, her voice may have been better than ever. I love how she just drops the coat to just finish it off. What a goddess.

Sirius is honouring her by making the Soul Town channel into a tribute to Aretha for the next week. This morning I heard her renditions of Satisfaction and Let It Be, and she makes the Stones and Beatles sound like absolute hacks. Go home, boys, you’ve been owned. That woman was a queen, let’s not ever forget that.

Speaking of Sirius, a few weeks ago I mentioned that after years of my declarations that I Do Not Need Sirius In My Car, I finally acquiesced and my husband had it installed, just in time for our Epic Road Trip. I am so glad we did because I don’t think I could have listened to our Summer Mix 2014! CD one more time. The only blip came when my husband, whose musical tastes are much more contemporary than my own, refused to listen to Seventies Soft Rock or Pop Hits of the Eighties, two of my staple channels. I am extremely open-minded about music in general – I enjoy a wide and eclectic variety of genres – and so I let the doggy have his bone, so to speak. This went fine until the last long leg, when I snapped and declared that I Could Not Listen To “The Middle” One More Time. Deadlock had been reached, and we ended up compromising by listening to Bloomberg for four straight hours, which was both fascinating and kind of depressing, as this was exactly when the Chinese trade sanctions were starting.

The other day I was scrolling through my news feed and I came across this:

Never before have I felt so seen by an Onion headline, not since this one:

Oh, remember those days when the kids were small and a vacation was not at all a vacation, but rather a trip, and one in which all regular chores and drudgery had to be done, just in less convenient circumstances? Thank god that passed. When the kids were little our “vacations” were exclusively limited to “trips to visit my in-laws” and I remember the sheer exhaustion of it all. In fact, when the kids were two and three I remember saying to a fellow preschool mom that I couldn’t imagine ever PAYING to go on a vacation just so I could be exhausted in a different place. Clearly my sleep deprivation was affecting me deeply; obviously I am in a different stage of life now, one in which I can sit by the pool with a drink and a book for hours before wondering casually if the kids were hungry yet. It gets better Current Me wants to tell Past Me. Whenever I see a woman on a plane with little ones in tow, and the look on her face says why am I doing this I always give an empathetic smile and a silent prayer for her that she will get five minutes to herself.

But back to the Guest Offering Help With Dishes. This is a confession, you guys, which means I am not proud of this, but instead I am telling you something a little bit shameful, and that is that I really cannot bear to have help in the kitchen. Well, that’s not exactly true; my younger son is my dish drier, my older son is the table-and-chair wiper, my husband scrapes plates and loads the dishwasher and packages up leftovers (but only in containers that I have approved, because I am an insane control freak). Guests, though. I want my guests to just enjoy another drink and relax, or chat with me while I do the dishes, but I do not under any circumstances want help.

I know, I know, it’s terrible. In fact, I wonder if it’s some kind of pathological illness. Why wouldn’t I welcome help? It’s perverse! After all, I happily help in other people’s kitchens. But when it comes to mine…well. A few months ago we had dear friends visiting, and after dinner my sweet, sweet friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) started stacking plates. She took one look at me and said “You don’t want me to do this, do you?” I shook my head and we burst out laughing at my weird mental deficiency. Then she had a glass of wine while I washed the dishes AND I WAS HAPPY.

When we were staying at our friends’ place in Vancouver (HI CHRIS!) I was helping in the kitchen by drying the dishes. I asked my friend where to put a particular knife, and he said “Oh, anywhere. It’s a small kitchen, I’ll find it.” People, I stood there for several seconds in shock because I had obviously found Bizarro Nicole. What, you don’t have a specific nonnegotiable spot for every single kitchen item and when said item is put away wrong, you don’t silently plot the murder of the individual responsible? Huh. 

Well, the world is a rich tapestry. It takes all kinds, as Grandma would say. My husband and I were chatting the other day and I said that I was “easy-going.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I am! I’m very easy-going!” I said defensively. He wordlessly went to the knife block and switched the knives around while my blood pressure skyrocketed and my eyes bulged out.

I’m easy-going about many things but the knife block is not one of them. Or the entire kitchen. Or the entire house. But otherwise! Very placid and carefree. Yes. Very.