Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy

Posted on April 3, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

I hear that it has been the coldest, longest, grossest winter since 1978, nation-wide. I think all those people who cheerily say how much they love winter are even down in the dumps about it. So I’m a little shy to say that I skipped out on the last two weeks – missing snow and minus-double-digit temperatures – to go on vacation.

I flew home on the red-eye last night and I’m playing the Eye of the Tiger in my mind to JUST KEEP GOING. So far, on VERY little sleep, I’ve managed to unpack, put away the suitcases, buy groceries, get the boys to school for the afternoon, go to the bank, pick up the dog, do some laundry, and return a few urgent phone calls. Is it me or does anyone else find it strange to answer phone calls in this day and age? Don’t we just text?

We got home to a depressing icy grey fog in the air, the grey sky matching the grey ground and my hands are already cracked and peeling. However! It was a wonderful vacation in the sun, the best yet, and I feel very blessed to have gone. It was wonderful and warm, and this is the vacation that the children will remember that their mother a) boogie boarded, and b) swam underwater. I know! Crazy talk. Evidently I need to do these things more frequently not only because they are fun, but also because my boys were amazed at my mad swimming skilz. “I didn’t KNOW you could swim!” they kept saying, like I had just crossed the English Channel, rather than swam under their legs in a pool.

I’ll have lots of things to share with you but quite frankly I’m having a hard time stringing two words together. We got to the Maui airport at 7:15 last night and were in line for an hour waiting just to drop our bags, since we’d already checked in online. The lineup for people checking in was insane, and one sunburned man in a pink golf shirt with a giant fanny pack emblazoned with the Masters logo tried to cut the queue. He was sent back, much to his chagrin, and then started yelling at the OTHER people in the lineup to GO GO GO when it was their turn. Later I saw him screaming at an airport employee because it erroneously said that our flight had already boarded and departed, although clearly it had not. Imagine my alarm, then, when that same man sat in the seat next to me and Jake. However he was extremely cordial and jovial with me, which is when I could smell his breath. He was obviously very drunk which really explained his erratic behaviour, although it did not lessen my alarm. Whenever Jake shifted in his sleep and got too close to Mr. Goodtimez, I startled awake to ensure that he didn’t accidentally kick him or raise his ire in any way. It was not restful in the least, especially when Mr. Goodtimez fell asleep with his hand clutching a drink. I couldn’t imagine the results being very pleasant if Jake happened to wake him up by accidental elbow nudging. In fact closer to our arrival at YYC, he ate a couple snack bags of Cheezies, licked his fingers grossly, then threw the empty balled up bags at his wife in the row ahead of us to get her attention.

I was very happy to land, although I am now exhausted. My to-do list for the day is mostly done, however, and part of it is that I packed lightly so naturally there is not much to unpack. Of course, my definition of “pack lightly” is a bit different than my husband’s.

Can you tell whose pile is whose?

And I did not buy either of these shirts, but I wanted to, so very badly.

Oh! And I had an Elvis sighting.

I AM Lady Mary!

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Did you know that Bill Clinton is vegan? Probably you did, but it was news to me. Between him and Justin Timberlake I feel like I can make a case to my husband that not all vegans are crazy hobos. Now, how to get them to start reading my Yummy Mummy blog…although chances are neither of them are actually in the kitchen preparing their own quinoa.

Yesterday I was walking the dog and I met up with an older woman who I often see at the offleash. We chatted for a while and I mentioned something about the boys. She looked a bit taken aback and asked me how old my children are; when I answered she told me that she was shocked because she thought I was a 21 year old university student. That was both startling and flattering, although I did wonder a teensy bit if she is in need of cataract removal. In any event I shall take a compliment however it comes.

It is ridiculous, but I’m really into those Buzzfeed quizzes right now. Apparently the actress most suited to play me in the movie version of my life is Emma Stone. Emma Stone! I wonder who the other options are and also how boring a movie about my life would be. Hoo boy! I can’t imagine that being a box office smash. According to Buzzfeed I am also a saucy combination of Lady Mary, Brigette Bardot, and R2D2. I actually think I’m more of a C-3P0 than R2 but let’s not split hairs here.

The other day I was at the hair salon, reading In Style and thinking such intellectual thoughts such as I thought Sarah Jessica Parker already HAD a shoe line, and Eva Longoria looks better without bangs. I came across this advertisement for Guess jeans and I was completely disoriented as to the date of publication.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not out to judge anyone, mostly because I probably did have a (less-cleavage-revealing) outfit like this in the early nineties. Admit it, you did too. But in this day and age! Have we learned nothing? Are we doomed to repeat the same fashion mistakes over and over? Denim.Overall.Shorts. What is next for humanity? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.

Not to mention the return of the high waisted pants. They are everywhere. Witness this evidence from my local mall:

We are mere moments away from tapestry vests and pleated jeans, mark my words. ONE DAY SOON we will be going out for girls’ night out and it’s going to look like this:

Speaking of nine-inch zippers, it’s almost my wedding anniversary! We will have been married for twelve years, which – thank you, Lynn, for pointing this out – is our silk/ linen anniversary. I wonder if my husband would like a silk shirt, circa 1991. I’m going to go ahead and guess NO on that one. The modern gift for the twelfth anniversary is pearl. Heh. Feels like it has all the makings of a good dirty joke but I shall refrain. However, notice the jewelry I’m wearing here:

I still kind of hate The Diary of a Wimpy Kid though.

Posted on March 13, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Anyone else exhausted this week? I would blame it on the time change but I was gently chided by a few people – including my husband, for whom time change is meaningless and unimportant, apparently, despite the fact that it turns his wife into a rage-against-the-machine crusader – for complaining too much about said time change. All right then, I will blame it on the fact that I wake up at 4:30 am, which is really 3:30 am by last week’s standards. I will also blame it on the fact that the children are now giggly and full of mirth and hilarity at 9:00 pm and are having trouble falling asleep and then are strangely and uncharacteristically snappy with one another all day, and have been since the time change. I am sure these are unrelated phenomena. I admit, my rage against this outworn and useless concept is completely impotent and futile, and yet rage and complain I continue to do. Some people complain about government policies, some people complain about attitudes towards breast feeding and home births, still others complain about Lululemon, the education system, parking fees, animal rights, rescue dogs, and icy walkways. I COMPLAIN ABOUT TIME CHANGE.

I’m so tired. The battery died in the clock downstairs, where my office is, and I keep forgetting to change it. The clock is stuck at 10:37, and as a creature of habit I continue to look at it every five minutes throughout the day. Each time I am startled anew that it says 10:37, and then remind myself that it is incorrect. But then yesterday morning it actually WAS 10:37 when I looked at the clock, and I was completely disoriented for a while.

Every year for Mother’s Day my mom and I go together to get pedicures at our favourite spa, and every year I forget that I need to book early or the whole month of May is completely reserved and we end up getting our Mother’s Day pedicures in June. Not this year! I remembered to book early – although Mother’s Day weekend is completely full, I did reserve us a time in May. While I had the receptionist on the phone, I thought to confirm my wax appointment for next week. It was all settled. “Thank you!” I said cheerfully, “See you next Tuesday!” I hung up the phone, realized what I had said, and wondered what the receptionist’s reaction was, if any.

I just looked at the clock again. I really need to change the battery.

Time change did coincide with some lovely weather: suddenly the frigid air has disappeared and the snow is all melting into giant, lakelike puddles and rivers. I take Barkley for a walk and when we return the top half of him is huge and fluffy, and the bottom half is bedraggled and soggy. The water runs like a miniature river down the pathway at the offleash, and in the mornings it’s frozen and treacherous. I’m leaving the house wearing my lightweight winter coat and lined rain boots, and it feels like a miracle.

It feels like the days when the kids were little and the weather would finally break and I could take them outside. We would walk around the block, the boys wearing rubber boots and warm layers, and they would puddle jump. After a winter of being inside, it felt like a miracle to be out and walking around; those long endless days that ended.

That was what we would do for fun, on an early spring afternoon. And now I have these big little kids who greet me after school and then rush away into the slushy school field to play some obscure game featuring battlefields and snakes, who get just as soaked as when they were small but the difference is now I don’t have to carry them home, their wet boots leaving mud on my jeans. Now I have these guys who argue about the correct word for a seven-sided shape, who talk incessantly about Minecraft at the dinner table, who ask me serious questions about being popular and what is my favourite gemstone, who want to be black belts and grow up and make lots of money to buy a flashier car than the one their dad drives, but who still want me to read to them from The Diary of a Wimpy kid at bedtime. They still want me to give them brief, man-like hugs before they head to their line-ups in the morning, and they fist-bump me to say goodbye. It breaks my heart just the tiniest bit, but it also makes my heart grow when I see what they’re growing up to be. And when I’m tired, so tired like this, they tell me to take it easy, maybe go to bed early, and not worry about them, they’re fine. They really are.

Rising up, back on the street.

Posted on February 20, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

This morning I finally could breathe through my nose, and so I went to yoga for the first time since Sunday. When I was driving home, Eye of the Tiger was playing on the radio. It felt appropriate. I feel like I should play it on a continuous loop over the next few days as I prepare for Book Fair and all that entails. Rising up to the challenge of our rival and all that.

Not only am I running the Book Fair next week, but my children’s classes are hosting an assembly, in which they are going to play recorders. I cannot imagine just how badly this is going to go. The kazoo performance was one thing, but both boys have mentioned that they – and their classmates – are not very good at the recorder, which seems like an understatement of the largest order. I’m starting to be concerned for the music teacher’s mental health. The very few times that the boys have actually practiced the recorder at home have ended with the dog whimpering in his crate and me reaching for the wine bottle. Of course, the other day I was singing a spirited rendition of The Greatest Love of All and the dog ran and hid in his crate, which I am going to assume was just a coincidence. I went the distance, and I’m not going to stop.

The recorder, though. I know of only one person who has actually enjoyed her child playing the recorder, and I’m fairly certain that child has much, much more musical talent than the vast majority of children. In general it is truly a wretched instrument, which is not to say that I do not understand why the recorder is so widely used by elementary music teachers everywhere. It’s light, inexpensive, and appropriate for small hands and YET. One year I was running the Book Fair in the room beside the music room, and I heard recorder music for the entire day, to the detriment of my sanity. I hope that doesn’t happen next week. I’m just a girl with a will to survive.

The other day I came across an article that declared high waisted jeans are the biggest trend for this spring and I died a little on the inside. There has to be a happy medium between showing the world that you really do need a bikini wax and waistbands that end just below your ribcage. Why, world, why? We ladies of a certain age remember donning our high waisted jeans with our bodysuits underneath to head out to the bar to go what is now called “clubbing”, shaking our amply-denim-covered booties to I Saw The Sign and I Like To Move It Move It. We don’t need to relive those days, at least not with such unflattering clothes. Don’t lose your grip on your dreams from the past, but there’s no need to fight just to keep them alive.

Speaking of unflattering fashions, the other day I was in the mall and I saw this:

I wonder if it’s a hot seller. It might be nice for wearing while jogging and singing Eye of the Tiger, which is something I should keep in mind in the unlikely event that I take up jogging. Although maybe it’s meant for evening loungewear? I don’t really know. Stalking prey in the night.

Everyday is Family Day in the Boyhouse

Posted on February 18, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Depending where you are, today is a Tuesday that feels like a Monday. Yesterday was Family Day in Alberta – thanks Ralph! – and I spent it nursing a cold. This is karma, because not two weeks ago I said – OUT LOUD – that we have been super lucky this winter, no one has had a cold since early October. Ten years into this parenting gig, you would think I would know better. The very next day Jake came home from school with the sniffles. Thankfully this seems to be a quick moving virus; one day of feeling like mediocre hell, then on the mend the next day. Today I’m feeling much better, although that may be the medication talking.

Other than becoming BFF’s with my neti pot, we had a very lovely and relaxed long weekend. It was a five-day weekend due to Teacher’s Conventions, and the boys spent a high percentage of that weekend in their pajamas. It’s nice to just be lazy once in a while, no? We did ditch the jammies for regular clothes on Saturday to see The Lego Movie. If you haven’t seen it, you should, even if you don’t have children. It’s so clever and original, and very, very funny.

The kids playing Lego last summer.

Did you hear about the woman who wrote how she hates when her kids do chores, because they don’t do them correctly, or they do them slowly, or they have to be TAUGHT them? I feel like I should be outraged about this, but I’m actually a bit empathetic. My kids do lots of chores; they keep their rooms neat, they tidy up their thousands of Pokemon cards when they scatter them all over the downstairs rec room in some semblance of a “game”, they clear the table and help set the table and feed the dog. They help with yard work and snow shovelling when necessary, and they earn an allowance for these things. They get docked allowance for not doing chores OR for bad behaviour, although to be honest, we’ve never had to follow through on this. The threat of docking their allowance is enough for them to pull up their socks, the mercenary little darlings. It’s so important that kids learn chores, and cooking, and how to do laundry because let’s face it: we don’t really want our children living at home when they are thirty, or bringing their laundry to us, or being generally useless when they fly the nest, do we? I know I don’t, and so I give impromptu cooking lessons and show them how to turn on the washer and wipe down sinks.

And yet, I really understand where the author is coming from. My kids make their beds first thing every morning, and every morning I have to will myself not to remake them. Every morning I look at the lumpy beds that have stuffed animals in them or blankets askew, and I have to tell myself not to fix it. Is there anything more de-motivating than knowing that your work is always going to get redone by someone who does it better? NO, there is not. And so I think to myself, they are the ones that will have to sleep in the lumpy bed with the twisted blankets, they’ll figure it out. Om shanti. The fact that this bothers me is indicative of my own craziness.

Speaking of craziness, sometimes I wonder why I’m even allowed to leave the house. I wanted to go visit my new little niece, and I popped into the car equipped with only the vehicle GPS. MISTAKE NUMBER ONE. I should know that my sense of direction is so terrible I should have a map and written directions both to and from destinations, in addition to GPS. But no. I relied on technology and this is what happened: I ended up on a dirt road outside the city. In my (minor) defense the new infrastructure in that part of the city is not available on GPS so the chirpy little voice kept telling me to turn right when there was no road, and turn left off of an overpass. The GPS is trying to kill me! I ended up phoning my husband, sobbing hysterically. My husband is one of those people who could be dropped from a helicopter in the middle of nowhere and could navigate himself home using only the direction of the sun and his own inner directional instincts. I have no such instincts. My instinct, when lost, is to panic completely, pull over, and cry, and that is exactly what I did. I never did get to see my niece; ninety minutes of driving later I cautiously headed on a northbound road and, with my husband talking on my hands-free phone, made it home. My very sweet sister-in-law suggested that perhaps, next time we could just meet at the mall near my house.

The Stages of Costco

Posted on January 8, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

It’s true, I’ve never run a marathon, but shopping at Costco in the winter sure makes me feel like I had. This is probably an indication that I should never, ever run a marathon, but really, that wasn’t on my list anyway.

Because even the thought of Costco during the month of December makes me curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth, I generally make a large shopping trip in November and then avoid it until all the Costco related items in the house are essentially gone. Today, I found myself pushing a part with a few hundred pounds’ worth of groceries through the soft slushy snow in the parking lot, then doing the requisite dozen trips to get it all into the house and up and down the stairs to put said items in the basement pantry and main-floor kitchen. I felt like I had an actual intense cardiovascular workout, and to be honest, I probably haven’t done one of those since I took up “spinning” and step aerobics, back in the nineties. Whew! The good news is, I’m all warm. The bad news is, I need some Robaxecet. Lifting giant flats of sparkling water and boxes of coconut milk is core-strength building, I kept telling myself.

There is a group of people that I find amazing – everyday heroes, if you will – and that group consists of people who can go to Costco and purchase one item. How this is possible I do not know. An elderly gentleman was behind me in line, holding a single package of hydrating hand cream. I implored him to go ahead of me, me with my 300 pound cart, and he courteously argued with me for a moment. “I’m sure you have much more to do today, and I don’t.” he said. After a few moments’ conversation, he DID go ahead of me and we chatted happily about the need for super hydrating hand cream at this time of year.

A few weeks ago, a friend mentioned the “stages of Costco shopping”, and I found it brilliant, to be honest.

Stage One: NO COSTCO

At this stage, you do not think that you will actually purchase enough groceries to warrant the membership fees.

Stage Two: Reluctant Member

After some deliberation, and possibly spousal pressure, you relent and get the membership. You go through fear, loathing, and denial every time you go, but still you cannot turn down the giant wheel of cheese for $10.

Stage Three: Over Purchasing

This stage can last a while. Wow, that’s such a good deal! you may think as you purchase giant vats of everything from Greek yogurt to shampoo, which leads to….

Stage Four: Regret

At some point, we all purchase something we instantly regret, we know we’ll never use up, and that our grandchildren will have to deal with when they are cleaning out our homes for the estate sale. In my case, this is an enormous two-pack of plastic wrap and a gigantic box of 100-calorie packages of Snapea Crisps.

Stage Five: Acceptance and Reality

Happily, this is the stage I’m at now, where I can actually bypass an item – no matter how great a deal it is – by thinking that I might end up on one of those hoarding reality shows, with thirty tubes of toothpaste stashed beside 100 bars of soap. This doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t currently have two giant jars of coconut oil and three enormous bags of chocolate chips in the pantry. What, I bake a lot! I’ll use it! Really! I don’t want to run out!

Speaking of running out of things, the other day I noticed that I had almost run out of hand sanitizer, which filled me with great panic. At this time of year, and especially with the insane media play about the flu – which has led to mass panic and vaccine shortages – it feels like one can never have enough hand sanitizer. Here’s a tip – Costco only sells hand sanitizer OVER THE COUNTER and also, it’s alcohol free. Why does it need to be over the counter? I don’t know. Maybe it’s like in my local old-people Co-Op, where they have to keep the tooth whitening strips at the customer service desk because of thievery. Are people making off with the giant bottles of sanitizer? This seems unlikely, but maybe during the cold and flu season there is a hoarding problem that would lead to – like the flu shot – shortages and panic. Well, I can understand that.

Boyhouse Year in Review 2013

Posted on December 30, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

I know, it isn’t QUITE the end of the year and something totally thrilling and blog worthy COULD happen in the next 36 hours, but I am posting my Boyhouse Year in Review today. There are some exciting changes afoot in the Boyhouse, mainly that this blog is going to be moving! Yes, soon you will be able to find me at www.girlinaboyhouse.com, and those of you who find my blog via the search term “girl in a boy house” are going to be pleased with my new address. For those of you who have found my blog via the search term “braless in white shirt” and “milf fur coat”, well, I guess it won’t help. To be honest, if that’s how you found this blog, I’m unsure I would be able to help anyway.

But let’s look back at 2013 in the Boyhouse, shall we?

January

I recovered from a debilitating – albeit cleansing – bout of norovirus, aided by freezies and watching The Price is Right. I watched a lot of Breaking Bad and I talked about the MILF diet.