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The Ten Year Challenge

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One of the perks of my husband’s job is that we often get invitations to private screenings for popular movies; on Saturday we headed out to see the new Star Wars. Facebook memories had let me know that five years ago we went to The Force Awakens, and is there anything that inspires a person to start singing Landslide in a shaky, sobbing voice than Facebook memories?

A month or so ago I noticed a social media “10 year challenge” in which people posted photos of themselves from 2009 and 2019. I guess this is because a new decade is dawning, but the weirdo in me kept obsessing on 2009. If we are looking at how we have changed over the decade, shouldn’t we start in 2010? Because that was when the decade began. Maybe New Year’s Eve 2009, I could get behind.

Anyway, it’s interesting to see the changes in ourselves over the decade: hairstyles, clothing, and also how we have all learned how to take a good selfie. And use filters. I think that is the biggest change for every single person throughout the decade: we have learned how to use lighting to our advantage

January 2010 versus December 2019

Why stop there? Why not look at photos throughout the decade? And so I give you ME, year-by-year over the past decade.

2010

2010 was the year I went from Book Fair Lady-in-Waiting to full-on Book Fair Lady; it was the year one son finished kindergarten and the other started, and it was the first year we took our kids on a winter vacation. We went to visit my parents in Palm Desert, and the kids were extremely excited that you could get on an airplane in a place filled with snow and ice, and get off an airplane to actual grass and flowers outside. It was also the Olympics, and the start of my children’s obsession with the Vancouver mascots.

My husband and I took a trip to Tofino for his birthday, which is where this photo was taken. We left the kids with my parents for three days, which was the first time I had ever been away from them for more than 24 hours. Side note: I still have – and wear – this little black dress.

2011

In 2011 I made the leap to becoming Chair of the School Council/ Parent Association, and if I had known I would hold that position for four years, I maybe wouldn’t have. We took the kids to Disneyland, and I got my varicose veins stripped.

This photo was taken after my varicose-vein-stripping, when I was able to walk around semi-normally but was still so scarred and bruised that boots and tights were a necessity. I still have those boots and that skirt, but sadly, not the top. I like that top! I wish I still had it.

2012

This was a big year of change in the Boyhouse. We celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary, took a trip to Maui – which we would subsequently visit four more times in the coming years – my husband unexpectedly changed jobs, and we renovated our house.

I also discovered I love umbrella drinks. I still have that tank top but not the skirt or scarf.

2013

I landed a paying (or “paying”) job at Yummy Mummy Club, as the Meatless Mummy. I would go on to write many, many, many vegan and vegetarian recipes for the site over the next four years. It was a fun time in my life, if poorly paid, and I wore a lot of cute aprons.

2014

More aprons, more food, and longer hair. Hundreds of recipes written, more book fairs organized and run, much drama in the School Council/ Parent Association, and a solo trip to Toronto.

2015

I turned 40! This is my favourite photo of all time. It was taken when my husband’s colleague found my husband’s Top Gun flight suit (doesn’t everyone have one?) in our front closet, put it on, and started singing You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling. It was always my dream to be serenaded in that fashion. Dreams do come true, people. Don’t ever forget it.

What with my 40th and my husband’s 50th, 2015 was a big year for travel: we went to Maui, Tofino, and Disney World. I also learned that sadly, a switch goes off when a person turns 40, and so I started implementing cardio workouts into my life in order to fit into my clothes.

2016

I started yoga teacher training, which was a very excellent decision. It was a really big step for me to do something for myself that didn’t include the children. I also started transitioning out of being Book Fair Lady and School Council Chair, as my younger son was in his last year at the elementary school. The posters are five dollars.

2017

This was the year I started teaching a lot, and I also quit my job at Yummy Mummy Club. Both kids were in junior high, and I really embraced the teaching life. I also abruptly stopped volunteering for the school due to massive volunteer burnout. I started running, my older son took a week-long trip to Quebec, and we went to Mexico instead of Maui.

2018

I discovered life with two teenagers is busy and fun, and mostly consists of food acquisition and preparation. I also continued to teach a lot, including new classes for seniors, which I love. We visited Mexico again, and also took a wonderful road trip from Jasper to Vancouver, and discovered that the kids really prefer trips in “nature” than trips to a city.

2019

Here we are at the end of the decade!

Definitely more lines in my face, and my roots show up three weeks after colouring. Life is good, my friends. What will the new decade bring? xo

We Will Assimilate You

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It feels like, in this stage of life, that every single week we think next week things will slow down over and over until we drop dead from exhaustion, but I am optimistic that this week, THIS VERY WEEK, things will indeed slow down.

Well, maybe. At the very least, it is the last week of school – and for me, work – before a few weeks off, and those weeks off will be very welcome and – hopefully – slow. I have big plans to watch movies and read books, to drink coffee with almond Bailey’s in it, and to recruit my husband in to coming with me to help with what grocery shopping will need to be done. I am strong, invincible woman, but grocery shopping – particularly in the winter, particularly when shopping for people who WILL NOT STOP EATING – is physically exhausting.

I go weekly to Superstore, and bi-weekly to Costco, and because Wednesday is my designated Errand Day, those two chores happen on the same day every two weeks. Last Wednesday it started to snow, huge fluffy thick flakes, and I had to really brace myself for the Epic Grocery Day. If you’ve ever pushed a giant cart full to the brim with groceries through a snowy, unplowed parking lot, not once but twice in a two-hour span, you will understand how physically depleted I was by the time I pulled into my garage. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have gone for a 6.5 km run BEFORE doing that, but how was I to know it would start snowing immediately before heading out for Epic Grocery Day? I am not a meteorologist.

Pushing the cart aside, the biggest problem with grocery shopping during the day is that no one is home to help unload the car and put things away; it took a solid 50 minutes of non-stop work to do this. Who needs to go to the gym when you can just provide food for teenage boys?

Oh, the life of a domestic goddess. Last Friday I was having coffee with my friend Janet (HI JANET) when I noticed that the clasp of my beloved Christmas bracelet had come undone, and my little Christmas tree was missing. I checked my clothes, the coffee shop, the car…and then came to the sad conclusion that it was gone forever, probably lost in the snow. I taught my class and sadly came home; I washed the dishes in the sink and when I took the dish gloves off there was a little clunk on the floor – my Christmas tree! Of course! I had washed the dishes immediately before leaving the house, because apparently washing dishes is a huge part of my life, and the clasp must have come undone then. I was so thankful that the little tree didn’t go down the drain, or that more charms didn’t fall off the bracelet.

Luckily the clasp didn’t come undone when I was out mailing a card. You know the scene from When Harry Met Sally, when Sally is mailing a pile of letters and checks the chute after every single one? That’s me to a tee, and my husband always laughs at me. “It’s on a slant, of course the letter is going to go down into the box.” Well. WELL. I will tell you that the following events vindicated me forever. When I went to mail the card, I opened the chute to see at least six envelopes sitting there. Someone didn’t check! The mailbox was very full, which was preventing the envelopes from going down into the mailbox, and so I did my best to force them down, hoping I wasn’t crushing important things like photos or anything. It was crammed full, and so my entire arm was in the mailbox, trying to coax the envelopes down. I hoped no one was watching me, thinking I was committing mail fraud or theft. I briefly remembered the scene in The Simpsons where Homer gets his arm stuck in the pop machine, and there is discussion of amputation, when it is revealed that the reason his arm is stuck is because he will not let go of the can of pop. What if my arm gets stuck in this mailbox. Will I have to be rescued. If so, will the fire department arrive. If so, is it worth getting my arm stuck.

Speaking of pop machines, when I was at Costco for my Epic Grocery Day, I noticed that the pop machines were all equipped with credit card readers. Does no one carry change anymore? What an age we live in.

It was another weekend of treat-making to wrap up the season. I am now DONE. I think. There was a party at the studio and so I made cupcakes:

Because it was a yoga party, I wanted the cupcakes to be vegan. In the past I’ve used coconut oil to make vegan frosting, but it is not exactly ideal. For one thing, it either seizes or melts, and there is always a residual coconut taste, unless I use refined coconut oil, in which the taste is too bland. So, I bought a hippie vegan butter (or, “butter”) and I will tell you: I had my doubts. For one thing, after I had left it on the counter, as I would with regular butter, it was so soft that I had to scrape it out of its wrapping. It also tasted a lot like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. But I am here to tell you that it was the absolute best for frosting. I didn’t have to add any “milk,” it whipped up into perfect creaminess, and it set up nicely. It was much easier to work with than real butter, and much better tasting than coconut oil frosting, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter taste aside. I used the remainder of the decimated candy canes to make it festive.

I baked 115 gingerbread men on Thursday for Friday decorating with the boys, and it went exactly as expected.

Sometimes it’s better not to ask questions, you know?

A hammer and sickle. Note the cookie is broken, “just like Communism.” Symbolism in gingerbread decorating.

This is “Okay Boomer” cookie, which the boys say to each other, and also to me. “I’m not a Boomer!” I’ll say, to which they respond “Okay Boomer.”

Well, I think we can all read what that one says.

Self explanatory.

My army of gingerbread men. I would like everyone to note that a) mine are the only ones that actually get eaten, as no one can stand eating as much artificial icing as the boys put on their cookies, and b) I am a machine. Of the 115 cookies, the vast majority are exactly like this. We will assimilate you.

Here’s to a – maybe? – slower, quieter week. Only one week until Christmas Eve! May your days be merry and bright, friends, and cookie-filled too. xo

He just doesn’t know his own strength

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The past few days have seen me unusually irritated and agitated about things that would not normally irritate or agitate me. I’ve been having feelings of being completely overwhelmed, and no amount of list-making has assuaged those feelings. Is it this time of year? Have I over-extended myself? Am I having a breakdown? All of those questions and more were answered when my phone buzzed with a notification that it is Almost That Time Of The Month Again! Oh! Well. I’m glad my phone knows what’s what.

Honestly, I feel like everything would be at a normal level of busyness, but for all the little things that keep popping up. Call vet to refill Barkley’s eye drops. Figure out when I can get the boys in for their dental checkups at the new, non-pediatric-but-still-convenient dentist. Take Barkley to the groomer. Reschedule last week’s wax appointment. Make an appointment with our (very hot, I’m serious, this guy is a looker) plumber to come and look at our thermostat, since the furnace is coming on but not always to the right temperature.

This last one almost broke me. Who wants to find a free afternoon to wait at home for someone to come and look at the thermostat? Well, as I said, at least he’s nice to look at, and besides, I can get a start on my gingerbread men.

My email just popped up with an article entitled Why You’re Eating The Wrong Cinnamon and I am NOT clicking on that.

Even without the furnace/ dog/ dental scheduling, the last week has been a whirlwind of activity and treat-making and teaching and just generally scurrying around. I’ve been packaging up treats for my students and playing tetris with my downstairs fridge:

Me: it will be fine once I roast the cauliflower, there will be room in the fridge.

Oops.

I spent much of Sunday making gingersnaps:

More decorative tins!

I had left the candy canes for my younger son to crush, in order for me to make peppermint bark. I wanted to have the candy cane crushing completed by Monday, so I could package them up in little bags for a different group of students. My son got out the rubber mallet and the cutting board, and asked me just how crushed I wanted them to be. Chunks? Little pieces? Decimate them! I said to him in my Fun Mom voice.

One thing you should know about my younger son is that he Follows Directions. Remember in Game of Thrones when Sam cures Jorah of greyscale, and when asked about it he said that he read the instructions in some ancient manuscript and then followed those instructions? If only more people could be like that. It is my regret that Sam was not Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, because with that attitude, he should have been. Anyway, that is my son to a tee. He is the king of step-by-step directions, and you never have to tell him something twice. I probably should have kept this in mind when I told him I wanted the candy canes decimated.

He presented me with three bags of candy cane POWDER. Quite honestly that works really well in bark, as there are fewer tooth-chipping hunks of peppermint candy. There are a few small chunks in there too, as I had also said “a few small pieces would be nice.” As you can see:

But mostly, it’s powder.

In addition to decimating the candy canes, he also decimated my cutting board. It cracked into thirds. I can’t be mad about it, though, because he was just following directions. He is much less remorseful about the loss of my cutting board than he is impressed with his own sheer brute strength. Well, he does work out a lot, and YET I feel that perhaps a little less vigor would have yielded similar, but non-cutting-board-destroying results. I agreed with him that, Hulk-like, he just doesn’t know his own strength, while duct-taping together the cutting board for use next year. No sense breaking another cutting board next Christmas.

I went to Canadian Tire to buy a new one, and for those of you who are not Canadian, CT is one of our big national brands. Not only does it sell tires and other automobile-related things, but it also has a garden centre, household items, paint, kitchenware, and sporting goods, as well as all things Christmas-related. It is one of those stores that I love – because it frequently has incredibly good sales – and also hate, because the store itself is often a disorganized jumble. I ended up with a cutting board that was on sale for half-price, which I didn’t know until I went to pay, and if I HAD known, I probably would have bought two. Not that I’m complaining.

Before my CT trip, I put gas in the car and, due to my inability to see out the back window, washed it. There was no snow in the forecast, I swear, I checked my weather app twice, but not 30 minutes after washing the car, the snow started to fall and continued for the entire day. Did I curse the city? Possibly. The entire day, I kept looking at my weather app, which said “cloudy” but at no time did it call for snow, even when the snow was coming down. My Monday afternoon students, after I related this story, thought that perhaps the rest of the city was completely dry and that a snow cloud was just following me around, like a character in Winnie the Pooh. The long and short of it is that I had a clean car for about 30 minutes, and now I can’t see out the back window again.

Well, it’s only two weeks until Christmas, but my dear, dear, dear friend and neighbour (HI TARYN) surprised me with this beautiful gift:

Isn’t it gorgeous? I love it so much.

I hope you are all having a wonderful week; it can be stressful this time of year (THE FURNACE) but hopefully you are experiencing some joys and beauty of the season. xo

It’s Decorative Tin Season!

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On Thursday I came home to THREE messages on my old-school landline answering machine. I have an actual, physical answering machine, you guys. Anyway. This is not a story about how I am barreling into the next decade with not only a landline and answering machine, but also an iPhone 5s that does not hold a charge and cannot be physically powered off because the power button is broken, but I don’t want to start over again with all the apps and passwords and so I hold onto it like a security blanket. This is a story about suddenly having a free afternoon.

Usually when I get messages on my answering machine it’s an automated call saying that this is the credit card company calling and I’m heading straight to jail, or similar. But on Thursday, one of the messages was from the new day spa down the street, where I had an appointment for a wax. “Had” being the operative word, since the panicked voice on the machine was telling me that the wax had to be rescheduled, and that this was the only number that they had for me, and please call them back. All of which I found strange, as I never give out my home number, only my cell, and I know for SURE that when I filled out the strange waiver you get with a new esthetician that I put my cell down for my contact. I mean, how DID they get my home number? Well, it doesn’t matter. I called and it was indeed, mysteriously, the spa, and not some scam in which people call and leave messages saying that their appointments had been cancelled. Can you imagine if that WAS a scam? It would be the strangest scam ever.

Anyway, apparently my esthetician “put her back out” and so was unable to wax my bikini line. Let’s not think too much about how that happened or the strain my bikini line might give a person. The point is, I had a free afternoon.

That never happens! I literally stood there for a solid minute, staring at my old-school landline answering machine, thinking about the hours that stretched ahead of me. What to do first? I tackled my least-liked Christmas job, which is gift wrapping. I hate gift wrapping. I am terrible at gift wrapping. I somehow lack the spatial skills that are required to cut an appropriate amount of paper for the size of the gift and then I also lack the coordination to fold and wrap without it looking like a jumble. My hair seems to fall out from the stress of it all, as there is almost always strands of my hair stuck in the tape. But in any case, it is mostly done now. After that, I tackled some of my Christmas goody jobs and took a very long dog walk.

As well as being the Season of Light, it is also the Season for Decorative Tins. Over the years, I have amassed many, many festive tins and I feel the need to fill them, always. What is sadder than an empty decorative tin, I ask you? Well, you might answer, many things. Moving on! Let’s fill those tins up!

Back in the day when I worked in natural gas options trading, we would sometimes get a really big market position that we would want to eventually reverse. My boss was famous for saying “Let’s chip away at it” because a giant options position? It’s not always possible to reverse it all at once. Small steps. And so it is with life, when faced with a big task, the best thing to do is chip away at it, a little at a time. This is my philosophy when it comes to Christmas treats. If I think about all the things I want to do, it’s overwhelming. So, chipping away.

How To Make The Maximum Amount Of Delicious Treats In Minimal Time

Sugar Cookies and Gingerbread

I have talked about this before, how the key to Holiday Happiness is making cookie dough ahead of time, and then rolling and baking when the mood strikes. Who knows, maybe you’re a person who likes being in the kitchen for fourteen straight hours? But I am not. My recipe for sugar cookies is here, and my recipe for gingerbread is here. Each dough takes ten minutes to make, maybe 15 if you find your flour canister is empty and you have to bring up a bag from the pantry. Make the dough. Freeze the dough. A couple days before you need the dough stick it in the fridge to thaw. I timed myself and it took less than thirty minutes to roll, cut out, and bake five dozen cookies. If you’re a pipe-and-flood person, then you might want to factor that into your time, but I am of the “spread some buttercream on the cookie and then put sprinkles on it” team. Or, in the case of gingerbread, I just stick some M&Ms on with those little tubes you can buy at the grocery, AND I get my kids to decorate, which is only for the people who can really let it go. I mean:

Those were from last year. Stay tuned for this year’s creation!

When in doubt, add more sprinkles.

Truffles

I have been making these truffles for YEARS, and I always kind of dread making them, as it’s super hard to dig out the hardened chocolate and make it into balls. But this year I had an epiphany, probably from seeing one of those candy making videos on Facebook. So here’s what you do: melt chopped chocolate together with coconut milk (the full-fat, canned kind) in a 4-to-1 ratio. Add some vanilla extract, or some peppermint extract, or some orange or almond extract. Whatever floats your festive boat, people! Put it in the fridge for 45 minutes or so, just to cool it slightly. It will be like thick pudding. THEN use an ice cream scoop to put little blobs on wax-paper-lined cookie sheets.

Stick it back in the fridge for another 45 minutes or so and THEN you can squish them and roll them into little balls.

THEN put them in the freezer and forget about them for a while. Days, even. I used to just roll them in cocoa powder, but NOT ANYMORE. I have stepped up the game for something that takes barely any time. When you have 15 minutes, melt say one cup of chocolate chips with a tablespoon of (REFINED) coconut oil. Then grab your frozen truffles, drop them one by one in the melted chocolate, put them back on the same messy wax-paper-lined cookie sheet, and stick it back in the freezer. It takes very little time to set, at which point you can package them up for gifties or put them IN A DECORATIVE TIN.

Don’t you wish you were in my seniors’ class? And YOU get a box of truffles, and YOU get a box of truffles…

The rest go into my tins in the freezer.

My giant container of tins that are patiently waiting to be filled.

I also made peanut butter truffles this year, which was super easy. Melt together 2 cups of peanut butter and 1/4 cup (REFINED) coconut oil. Stir in a teaspoon or two of vanilla (just pour, it will be fine) and 2 cups icing sugar. Follow the same procedure as above with making them into balls, and rolling them in chocolate coating. EASY PEASY PEANUT BUTTER SQUEEZY.

Peppermint Bark

Literally anyone – ANYONE – can make chocolate bark, and it makes the best gift. You need almost no kitchen skills and certainly no fancy fine motor skills. The only person who I could think of who couldn’t make this is my dad, who has ZERO kitchen skills (sorry, Dad, but it’s true. Don’t make this. I’ll make it for you.) Peppermint is my favourite for this time of year, but you people who dislike mint, well, you can put dried fruit and nuts in instead. I have an actual recipe for this, but honestly, you don’t need it. I mean, click on it if you like, but I don’t get paid anymore for that so who cares? Basically, take chopped chocolate or chocolate chips, any quantity. One cup? Six cups? Who cares! Just put it in a saucepan, put it on low heat, and stir until it’s melted. Or microwave it. Whatever. Melt the chocolate, then stir crushed candy canes – or fruit and nuts, whatever – into it. Spread it on a parchment-paper-lined cookie sheet, stick it in the freezer, after about 30 minutes take it out and break it into pieces. THAT IS IT END OF STORY.

The thing that is the most tedious part of this “recipe,” as it were, is to unwrap all the candy canes. That is a bitch of a job and, circling back to my original point, is one that I did last Thursday afternoon. It took a solid half-hour to unwrap all the candy canes, what with all the little pieces of plastic getting stuck to my hands and sweater. I put them in ziploc bags (I know, I hate the plastic too, but it’s only at this time of year) and then I assign my younger son the job to crush the candy canes. Believe me when I say he takes this SERIOUSLY. He uses a rubber mallet and pulverizes those minty sons of bitches.

Festively awaiting annihilation.

Gingersnaps

I saved the best for last! My grandma’s gingersnap recipe is here, and I can tell you that you will not be disappointed! Unless you don’t like ginger, in which case, why would you make these? You wouldn’t. But they are the best cookies, easy to make, and the dough should be chilled so you could theoretically freeze it and thaw when needed. Usually I make it early in the day and refrigerate, then roll into balls. I don’t find these that labour intensive, though, since there’s no rolling or decorating.

Before this gets any longer, I will close. After all, it’s time for my spin class! Which MIGHT be a good idea, given all these treats! Here’s to singing and spinning, my friends. Happy treat-making. xo

And why WOULDN’T we have a Christmas walrus?

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I was having a bit of a Monday-ish Monday; my older son needed to be at school for his sports med volunteering at 6:30 in the morning, so I had an abbreviated yoga practice and rushed home. We zipped over to the school, and half an hour later I got a text from him saying that it had been cancelled. This is the second time sports med volunteering had been cancelled with zero notice; the time it was cancelled after school was one thing, but this felt especially offensive. Then, my younger son realized with some dismay that his magazine rack that he had built for Industrial Arts and had brought home to stain on the weekend was still slightly damp; transporting a large, slightly-damp magazine rack to school without getting wood stain on everything was a bit of a feat. All of this before 7:30 on a Monday morning.

These two occurrences unsettled me more than they should have; I was already feeling a bit out of sorts with the discovery, late Sunday afternoon, that there was a mouse in my kitchen. If there is anything more insidiously disturbing than finding mouse droppings under the kitchen sink, I do not know what it is. What is with the mice problem lately? Longtime readers will remember the time I basically had a nervous breakdown from the previous kitchen mouse experience. How are all these mice getting in here? Why is this happening? I asked my husband, as if our house is constantly overrun by mice, instead of having one other such incident, back in 2013.

In any case, the problem has been resolved. My husband set a trap and not ten minutes later, as I was chopping up vegetables for Buddha Bowls, I heard it go off. Hellllllllppppppp! I screamed, until the boys came running and, shall we say, disposed of things. Another trap sat there untouched for 48 hours, so I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted me when I reached in to get dishwasher detergent on Tuesday evening.

I started wordlessly screaming in a loud and high-pitched voice, not unlike someone getting ax-murdered in a horror movie. The kids had no idea what was wrong, but seemed to assume that I was having some kind of medical emergency as my older son grabbed my arm and started to escort me to my room, to force me to lie down. The door of the cupboard was still open, the dog was wandering around, and I had to tell them what was wrong but I found I could not form words at all. Language, what is that? All I could do was scream. “Mom, Mom, it’s okay, why don’t you lie down,” my older son said as I responded with a long AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Finally I managed to say disconnected things like “MOUSE” and “HELP” and “KEEP BARKLEY AWAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.”

This is a long and roundabout way of saying that I was feeling a bit Fragile and Out Of Sorts, when I had a message from my friend Lyn (HI LYN), to go look on my doorstep. YOU GUYS. Look!

Math AND Christmas? Two of my favourite things! This makes up for everything! Festive Nicole has been reinstated! At least until the next mouse incident, which hopefully will be several years away, if ever.

Things have been pretty festive around here, dead mice and optional classes notwithstanding. People have been walking by and photographing our front yard, which looks like this:

I would like to point out the Christmas walrus, which my older son and husband picked up on a trip to Home Depot. The two of them really cannot be trusted to go shopping by themselves, and although a month ago I might have thought Why would anyone need a Christmas walrus? I now see their point. It’s really cute!

Have you guys heard about Whamageddon? It’s a game played on social media in which you actively avoid hearing the song Last Christmas; if you hear it – say, if you are out shopping – then you are OUT. Sudden death. By Last Christmas. This is a phenomenon I do not understand; why would anyone AVOID hearing Last Christmas? If anything, I actively seek it out. I have even downloaded a playlist curated by my friend Peggy (HI PEGGY) that is solely made up of different versions of Last Christmas. Clearly, this game is not for me.

As a matter of fact, I believe that Last Christmas – not the “OG,” as the kids say, but one of the newer versions – was the first Christmas song I heard this season, when I was at Superstore. I found myself singing along as I pushed my giant cart through the Health and Beauty section, wondering why they moved the cotton balls. I am a person who often finds myself singing audibly in public, and not just in a “The Best Way To Spread Christmas Cheer Is By Singing Loud For All To Hear” kind of way. I do this year-round. It’s my contribution to the world, I guess. I have to stop myself from singing out loud when I am at the gym, though, because I feel like loud singing with headphones on is not actually appreciated by the general public. I do this when I’m on my elliptical at home, but when I’m on the treadmill at the gym I have to content myself with merely lip-synching.

I take a Saturday morning spin class, and I feel I must tell you that it is not like other spin classes you may have attended. I guarantee it. The instructor is probably in his sixties, and the average age of the students in that class exceeds my own by at least two decades. It’s inspiring to see older people sweating along to the very eclectic musical selections by the instructor, but what I am really trying to convey is that this is not a youthful group. I have been to spin where the instructor was about nineteen years old, and there were black lights and strobe lights and the “retro old music” was the descriptor for such dance songs that would have been played in the bar, when I myself was nineteen. THIS IS NOT THAT KIND OF CLASS. Anyway, I was in spin and lip-synching/ singing softly under my breath to Holding Out For A Hero, when an older lady in a Tom Baker Cancer Survivor t-shirt, two bikes down, noticed me. She started singing very loudly along, gesturing to me in the universal sign of “pump up the volume.” It honestly made my whole day, the two of us, singing loudly in spin class, as the rest of the group smiled indulgently. The moral of this story is: don’t be afraid to sing out loud. Shine on, you crazy diamond. xo

Joy, Pain, Sunshine, Rain (actually snow)

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We had an enormous snowfall last week; look how pretty our outdoor Christmas ornaments were!

We are in full-on winter mode now, with snow and cold and traffic snarls. Despite the enormous inconvenience and physical exertion that come with such snowfalls – traffic! shovelling! taking ten minutes to put on outdoor clothing for a twenty-minute walk! – I managed to spend some time reveling in the beauty of nature. “It’s so pretty, it looks like a Christmas card!” I said over and over, as I drove the kids to school. Maybe I am going to become one of those people who Find Joy In The Snow and annoy everyone who happen to have a normal, non-joyful reaction to a crazy weather event. Well, probably not. But it has been very pretty.

I am just feeling joyful in general lately; I have made some changes to my schedule that have left me feeling light and happy. “It’s like you’re an entirely different person!” my husband said, I THINK in a good way. I’m practically radiating cheer and love from every pore, and I hope this feeling lasts, because the sheer happiness I had from wearing a sweater I like was over the top. I love this sweater! I thought to myself, I love my life! I’m probably annoying everyone around me as I channel Cheer Bear, my spirit animal.

I was loving life slightly less last week, when I came into the backyard with my younger son, after we finished shovelling. Barkley was chewing on something; often magpies will drop garbage in our yards like the rats with wings that they are, and I figured it was something like that. Reader, how wrong I was. How unprepared I was for reality, as I forced Barkley’s mouth open and started to remove the object. It was a dead and very chewed up mouse. Now, Barkley is an old dog with a digestive system to match and so leaving him to it was not an option; instead, I kept pulling it out, all the while screaming my son’s name. He ran over and looked. “Oh, MOM. Oh Mom, I’m so sorry this happened.” Yeah, me too, buddy. Me too.

Have you ever had something happen in your life that you know you will just never emotionally recover from? I have been completely traumatized, and have wondered if it’s possible to get a new hand. Is a hand transplant a thing? CAN I JUST GET A NEW HAND, LIKE LUKE SKYWALKER. Or, at the very least, a skin transplant?

This weekend my husband finished the outdoor light display and we put up the tree and indoor decorations. Friday was a PD day, and it really is incredible how much I can accomplish without the regular morning rush. I decided I was going to bring out all the boxes of decorations out of the storage room, no small feat because everything is packed in there like it’s a life-size game of Tetris. I started pulling out the boxes, and then it turned into one of those If You Give A Mouse A Cookie situations, in which I was suddenly purging and cleaning and rearranging the entire storage area. My husband came downstairs in his robe and looked at me, surrounded by dozens of boxes, silently for a few minutes. “What are you DOING?” he asked. “Do you know it’s only 7:30?” Well, yes. By 7:30 I’d already had a yoga practice, breakfast, and several cups of coffee, and so “tearing apart the storage room” did not seem at all inappropriate. My answer to his question was why do we have so many duffel bags and do you need them.

Why DO we have so many duffel bags?

In any case, the decorations are up and the storage room is clean, so all is well.

I love all Christmas trees; I love the themed ones and the single-colour ones and the eclectic ones and the tacky ones. I have many friends who have beautiful, magazine-worthy trees with all coordinated decorations and bows and what have you. I also have a friend who has a tree covered in every tacky, weird ornament he’s ever come across. The “theme” of our tree is “throw on every decoration we have ever owned” and honestly, I think it’s the best. I have some decorations from when I was a swinging single girl, and some from when my husband and I were first together. The boys have been the recipients of many ornaments from my mother, and those ornaments were things that interested them at the time. It’s fun to see the little tractors and Cars characters from when the kids were little, graduating to superheroes and Scooby Doo, alongside ones we picked up on our trips or lovely classic ornaments. We add new ornaments to our tree every year; this year the boys had brought me a moose from their Alaska trip, and I had bought them a dog ornament that looks like Barkley and a Bob Ross one.

So I’m feeling very festive, writing up my Christmas cards and playing Christmas music non-stop. I haven’t started my baking and treat-making yet, but soon.

The boys were telling me that all of their friends’ houses have “signature scents” and sometimes – particularly in the more athletic households – those scents aren’t as, shall we say, flattering as one might hope. According to their friends, OUR house always smells like baking, and I can tell you that hearing that warmed my heart. Finally I’m getting the accolades I deserve from baking something every other day! Fridays are early dismissal days and more often than not, the boys have friends over for the afternoon, and much more often than not – as I mentioned last week – I make them a “special lunch” which is almost always cinnamon waffles.

This probably biases their opinion of the “signature scent” of our house, in a good way, because these waffles smell heavenly. They taste good too. This isn’t some exciting secret recipe, it simply came in the recipe book that came with my waffle maker. I like to make them because it’s a huge recipe and can feed up to eight teen boys, including a competitive gymnast who trains many hours a week and has an appetite to match.

Cinnamon Waffles

3 cups flour

3 tablespoons cornmeal

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon cinnamon

2 1/2 cups buttermilk (I use 2 1/2 tablespoons vinegar and then fill the rest with milk, to sour)

3 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla (original recipe calls for 1, but you know me, I always double the vanilla)

2/3 cup grapeseed oil (you could use any mild-tasting oil, really)

Mix it all together, let it rest 5 minutes before pouring into the waffle maker. Enjoy!

Now YOUR house can have a signature scent of baking! xo

Decades and Decades

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Last week I had a letter from the government regarding my taxes, and is there any other kind of letter that can strike so much fear in one’s heart? Oh my god, am I being audited? I thought, wondering where I put the brown paper bags and should I go get one now? Happily, I am NOT being audited, and a phone call to a very nice government employee was calming and reassuring; there was just a little information that was required, on my part, to provide to Revenue Canada. “If you could just fax that over to me this afternoon, that would be great,” said the very nice government employee, to which I replied that well, actually, I don’t have a fax machine. Because it’s not 1997, I didn’t say. Do people fax things anymore? Scanning and emailing was not an option offered to me, and so it was off to the post office. Actual literal mail! Fax machines! What year is it?

Recently there have been quite a few memes going around about there being only a short time left in this decade, and what have we all accomplished? I tell you what, until these memes came out I kind of forgot that we are starting a new decade. Yes, I do know what year it is and yes, I do know how decades work. The thought of “2020” just didn’t have the kind of importance to me that, say, the Nineties or 2000s did, other than it feels kind of cool to say 2020. Plus, what have I accomplished? I think we’ve all accomplished lots of things; for example, this weekend I helped my husband and son hang the outdoor Christmas balls in the tree.

After many hours of work, there is still much to do in terms of Christmas lights, which is less a reflection of my husband’s work speed and more that we have so many outdoor decorations, we are now rivaling Clark Griswold. “Now” rivaling is a bit of a misnomer as this has been going on for years, and each year my husband and older son go to Canadian Tire for “cords” and end up coming home with more light-up animals and snowmen.

We had the cutest light-up snowman who met an unfortunate demise this past summer. Due to its gigantic size, my husband was storing it on the covered back porch, where it was partially eaten by a squirrel. The squirrel not only ate all of its hat, it also chewed through the electrical wires, rendering it not only unattractive, but also dangerous and useless. Yet another reason why to loathe the squirrels.

I have a laughably eclectic library pile right now, and since Helter Skelter took me longer than average to get through – and no wonder, it’s well over 600 pages of fairly intense detail – I checked my app to make sure I’d be able to get them all read before their due date. They are all due the first week of December, which was startling to me. December! December is many weeks away! I thought, before looking at the actual calendar and realizing that no, it’s ten DAYS away.

I did finish Helter Skelter, and you might wonder why I would even read such a thing, given that I don’t watch the news, I rarely log into the sewer that is Twitter, and I have snoozed everything on Facebook so much that my entire feed is either yoga related or photos of vacations, kids, and dogs. Just how I like it! I myself wondered why I was reading Helter Skelter literally every time I picked it up, and I still don’t know. It’s something I’ve been thinking about reading for about thirty years, and let me tell you, my life has not been enriched by the experience. Not only is it incredibly disturbing on any number of levels, it got me thinking about the importance we place on decades, ending and beginning. The Sixties were a very strange time, what with all the communes and free love and youth runaways and my god, the venereal disease. This book contains a LOT of information about the latter; did you know that Charles Manson and his harem of girls lived for a while with Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys? Wilson ended up spending a lot of money on penicillin for the “case of clap that never went away” and you know what, guys? Have a shower. Wear a condom. Good lord. That’s just a sidebar to the most horrific and unsettling details I’ve ever read, and as such I probably wouldn’t recommend this to anyone. Why did I read it? WHO KNOWS. Not to mention that every time I looked at the cover I would get when I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the SLIDE then I stop and I turn and I go for a RIDE in my head, over and over, which is not good for anyone.

Two books I would recommend, though:

Chop Suey Nation was so interesting, especially as I am a Prairie girl – those Chinese-Western smorgasbords are ubiquitous all across the Prairies. I’ll always fondly remember visiting a crude oil terminal in small town Alberta as part of my then-job; the guys at the terminal took me to the local restaurant. Over my plate of fried rice, I watched as Larry slathered Thousand Island dressing on his egg rolls. Fusion cuisine before its time! Larry was also the fellow who told me about hitting a deer with his truck on Christmas Eve; the poor thing was not dead, but badly injured, and Larry did not, as he often did, have his gun in the truck. He had to wait to flag down a friend, and after the mercy deed was completed, got back into the truck where his hysterical young children assumed that Daddy just shot one of Santa’s reindeer.

Well. That lost something in the retelling.

As a caveat, neither my cousin Karen (HI KAREN) nor my friend Julie (HI JULIE) liked The Farm. I loved it, though. It WAS a bizarre concept: girls kept on a “resort” to be surrogates for the uber-rich, but as page-turners go, it was excellent.

Why do we call them page-turners? Isn’t that just how books work? Anyway. You all know what I mean.

The season for socializing has started with a bang. Last weekend we had a lovely dinner and games night at my friend Denise’s (HI DENISE) and I will be thinking about those vegan mushroom/ cheese phyllo pastries for many weeks to come. We played Cards Against Humanity, which I had heard much about and had never done before, and it was an absolute riot. Now all I want to do is play the game and eat vegan phyllo pastry. My favourite Q: Why does my back hurt? A: Feminism.

Tomorrow I’m going out with the moms of my son’s friend group; last week a few of the friends were over at my house for our Customary Friday Afternoon Cinnamon Waffles. I said to them, “I’m going out with ALL of your moms next week! Mom’s Night Out! Woot woot! It’s going to be lit!” and all of the boys just stared at me silently for several seconds, before turning their gaze waffle-ward. Not one of them responded, although one gave an awkward smile before shoveling waffle into his mouth.

I hope you all have a lovely weekend; I shall report back on just how lit Mom’s Night Out was. xo