Category Archives: Uncategorized

Do not tiptoe through my tulips

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It’s so strange to think that a month ago, the ice and snow had yet to melt from the backyard; the whole space is now growing, greening up, and blooming. Every single day I am out in the garden, weeding and watering and just staring at my plants, marvelling at the Miracle of Nature, and every single day there is something new growing, greening up, or blooming. Every single day I find myself humming that song from Beauty and the Beast, there’s something there that wasn’t there before, which is actually way more irritating from an earworm perspective than having Ride Like The Wind stuck in my head for five days straight.

Everything is growing well with the notable exception of my tulips. All through the neighbourhood, tulips in all colours and sizes are riotously blooming, teasing me with their beauty. My own tulips – the few that were left after the squirrels ate most of them – are the saddest specimens on the planet, or at least in the neighbourhood. Not one of them has a bloom or even a bud; the foliage is all flattened down to the ground, limp and pathetic. My husband thought maybe it was the location of the tulips, but no. That doesn’t explain it since they are all around the yard in different sun exposures. Is something destroying them specifically? All the other plants are healthy and thriving. Maybe I’m just the worst tulip gardener in the city; maybe they are faulty tulips, maybe something is specifically targeting and squishing them. All I know is that I am doomed to never have tulip blooms and I should just cut my losses and expectations.

See? That’s what all my tulips look like, as if a small anvil dropped from the sky and flattened them. I just don’t understand my Tulip Inadequacy.

I suppose that’s enough on that topic; after all, I’m sure you didn’t come here to read about my Tulip Failures. Or did you? I shouldn’t presume anything. All I know is that Junebug (HI JUNEBUG) asked me about my “Mom Book” – the old-school agenda that I write everything in: appointments, chores, classes, meal plans, and everything else pertaining to my life. Well, Junebug, your wish is my command! Here is the book, which I purchase every year at Chapters.

Bonus shot of my pedicure. It’s a 16 month calendar – although I usually do the switch-over in November – and there is plenty of room in the back for notes, important numbers, business cards, and the like. I usually have all the pertinent school notices stuck in there, along with things like the dog’s license and various receipts for anything done on the house.

It also has each month set out, and I use this to record the classes that I teach, in order to properly invoice.

When I choose my new daytimer every year, I spend time thinking about the cover, and the design, and if it’s pretty, but frankly, it stays open on my countertop and I never actually see the cover so this thought process could be for naught.

Here is what my week looks like usually the week before: a few classes, what I’m going to make for dinner each night, maybe an appointment, some notes regarding school trips, and – in the case of this past weekend – an important televised event in the way of the ROYAL WEDDING.

Side note: did you watch it? I set my alarm for four and shot awake at 3:50, because my little-known superpower is waking up before my alarm goes off.

Anyway, the week often looks pretty bare until it starts. Every week I think “oh, it’s going to be a quiet week” and every week my days are full, full, full.

What I like about this particular layout is that there are squares for different family members, although I never actually use it that way.

Note the grocery list above. I am just going to tell you my other little-known superpower: very little food-wise goes to waste in this house, and it is entirely due to meal planning and compulsive grocery lists. That notepad keeps running lists for Superstore, Costco, Co-Op, and Walmart, and I deviate very little from those lists. I know many people rely on their phones for their schedules and shopping lists but I don’t know, I guess I need the analog version. I need to be able to WRITE IT DOWN.

That concludes my organizational tips for the day: WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN AND DO NOT DEVIATE. Come hell or high water, when I write down we are having a stir-fry for dinner, WE ARE HAVING A STIR-FRY FOR DINNER. I write down little chores that I need to do, even if I do them regularly, because it is eminently satisfying to look at everything written down for the day and know that I accomplished those things.

I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off.

But in a good way!

Well, I have “make hummus” written down for this afternoon and that hummus is not going to make itself, people. Have a wonderful weekend! xo

Fight the (flower) power

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Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in a non-volatile climate. What would it be like to know that spring and summer weather would stretch out, consistently, day after day? I suspect it would change my behaviour significantly. The past week we have had absolutely gorgeous, SUMMER temperatures, complete with sunshine and warm evenings, and all I can think of is this won’t last, carpe diem, CARPE DIEM. I have been spending every spare minute outside doing yard work and gardening and feeling somewhat resentful at having to come inside. The thing about Calgary is that this could end at any second; we could have snow any time now, enjoy this while it lasts!

The warm weather has made my garden suddenly explode with greenery; after this terrible winter it feels like a gift. My Mayday is apparently the Ferrari of trees, going from barely-there leaf buds to being in full bloom in less than 48 hours, a beautiful gift that is filling the yard with glorious scent.

Speaking of gifts, I hope your Mother’s Day was restful and lovely. Very early on Mother’s Day morning, my husband and I walked over to the Co-Op to buy hamburger buns for dinner, and there was a man with a baby in a bucket seat and a very small toddler, looking at the giant display of flowers and cupcakes set out for those last-minute shoppers. The toddler was very cute, suggesting the flowers that were PINK, DADDY, DESE FLOWERS ARE PINK AND PWETTY AND MOMMY WOULD YIKE THEM, AND SHE YIKES CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES THAT ARE PINK, DADDY. I smiled because it was very obvious that, in addition to the flowers and cupcakes, there was a mom at home who was receiving the gift of “sleeping in.” Throughout the day I continued to see men with small children walking around the neighbourhood and to the playground, giving Mom the gift of Time To Herself. Having been the grateful recipient of such gifts in the past, I felt a lot of joy for those women.

I have just finished reading Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom and I don’t think that I am exaggerating when I say it completely blew my mind. If you haven’t read it, it discusses women’s health issues in a very holistic way, but the author is also an OB-GYN and so it isn’t total hippie-dippie hoo-ha. More “complementary and preventative” than “alternative,” if you know what I’m saying. There is a great deal of discussion about honouring yourself and your body, treating your menstrual cycle in a sacred way – think “Red Tent” rather than “the curse” – and really acknowledging your feelings and moving on with your life, in order to achieve health and wellness. For example, instead of pushing through exhaustion and monthly stabbiness, acknowledge that you need time to rest and reflect; PMS symptoms are your body’s way of telling you to please slow down. Today’s patriarchal society rewards a stiff upper lip and being productive at all costs, but fight the patriarchy and rest when you need to!

And although I’m all about honouring my cycle and self-care – my whole life is one big self-care event these days, it seems – I am also a total hypocrite. I have been fighting a case of the sniffles since Monday and if you think I’ve slowed down, well, I haven’t. See above, re: warm and sunny weather. Yesterday I felt poorly enough to lie down for a few minutes, thinking I would have a nap. After lying in bed for five minutes I became too excited thinking about all my new plants I had purchased at the garden centre and so instead got up and planted twenty-five of them. Yes, twenty-five. In my defense, I knew that today would be rainy and I wanted to let them settle in with some good precipitation.

Maybe I should skip my cardio workout today, I said to my husband this morning while stanching the bleeding from my nose due to blowing it every five minutes or so. He looked at me silently for a moment, and then said You THINK? I guess that was my stab at Slowing Down and Resting. I am trying to treat myself in the same way I would treat a friend, with compassion, and yet I can’t help but think it’s just the sniffles, I think I can go on. Meanwhile I’m looking down the barrel of the neti pot and wondering what, exactly, constitutes an overdose of Advil Cold and Sinus.

Ah, but we are mere hours away from a glorious long weekend, two days away from a royal wedding, and there is sunshine in the forecast. Carpe diem, people, and also pass the Vitamin C.

Swedish Death Cleaning

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Not long ago, someone asked me if I’m still on my “no shopping” challenge and yes, yes I am. Only about 2 and a half months to go, not that I’m counting or anything. Well, I wasn’t counting – it’s been much easier than I thought it would be. For one thing, you may remember that clothing acquired in the form of Christmas and birthday gifts was still perfectly acceptable, and I received a few lovely things for my birthday from both my mom and my husband. I haven’t been tempted at all to purchase new clothes, until yesterday.

Yesterday I met my best friend (HI TARA) for lunch at a restaurant in the mall, and as I walked back to my car I stopped to look at a display in a shoe store. New sandals! In the Soundtrack of My Life, I could hear Tempted by the fruit of another…in my mind. They were so cute, and just the kind of thing I like: comfortable looking sole, black, with nothing between the toes. I swear if the salesperson on duty had been good at his job, I would have walked out with a pair. But happily for me and my apparent lack of willpower, the salesperson ignored me and so I left. I went home, opened my closet, and looked at all the pairs of sandals I have that are, for all intents and purposes, exactly the same as the ones in the store, the main difference being the ones in my closet were not new.

I think I’m going to make it after all.

A few weeks ago I read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning and while I was attracted to it because of its title – DEATH CLEANING – I found reading it to be quite delightful, despite the somewhat grim subject matter. Death cleaning is what happens after someone dies and the writer, a woman who seems to be about ninety, very cleverly and wittily writes about her experiences in that area and how she is preparing for her eventual demise. Our material consumption, she says cheerfully, will most likely destroy the planet but does not have to destroy our relationships with the people who will be death cleaning for us when the time comes. I guess that is one way to look at things.

The author’s absolute zest for life and sense of humour makes me wish she lived here and was in my Seniors’ Yoga class. She sounds like a doll.

“There is enough sadness already” – this woman is my spirit animal!

I don’t anticipate death cleaning for anyone anytime soon – knock on wood a thousand times – and I fervently hope my own death cleaning will be many decades away, but it’s an interesting concept, keeping things in your house that only bring you joy and/ or are useful to you right now. From my own experiences of Kondo-ing the house and my life, and this whole One Year Shopping Challenge, I have found that I am indeed much more conscious of the things I bring into the house. I want to be very aware of the things I consume; I want my house to be filled with lovely and joyful things, yes, but not items that will eventually end up in a landfill. I mean, as much as possible, everything probably will end up in a landfill at some point; see above quote by the Swedish Death Cleaning Lady. I am also much more aware of my tendency to hoard things, which is a completely unnecessary and ridiculous tendency. I live in walking distance from two grocery stores and a Walmart; I can drive to Superstore in ten minutes and Costco in less than twenty. If at some point I get low on bathroom cleaner, I can go out and buy bathroom cleaner, I do not need to have several bottles in backup. With the notable exception of cereal, I have become very good at not buying multiples of household staples. ONE backup is enough of everything. Except cereal, I think there’s about fifteen boxes of different kinds of Kashi and Mini-Wheats in the pantry.

What can I say, we go through a lot of cereal and when it goes on sale, I like to stock up. DON’T JUDGE I HAVE MY LIMITS. It will all get eaten, all of it.

But speaking of things that spark joy, check out this adorable trio given to me from some very dear friends (HI SAMMI HI RICK):

They are living on the hutch in the kitchen and believe me when I tell you they Spark Joy in a Very Big Way. They make me smile every time I look at them, which is several times a day. Look at their blissed-out froggy faces! They are aspirational, in an amphibious sort of way.

Karaoke Queen

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This morning I saw an article titled “Best Karaoke Songs of All Time” and of course I clicked on it; I’m not made of steel, people. I was sadly disappointed though, only one of the songs – Don’t Stop Believing – was, in my mind “best.”

I love karaoke, and not in a If I Have Enough Drinks kind of way, no, I would surely karaoke dead sober at the airport at 6:30 in the morning if there was a machine available, or while waiting in line at the grocery store. If it was socially acceptable I would be karaoke-ing all the time, any time, any place. As it is, I just sing along to the radio and live with the songs that are constantly stuck in my head.

Did I mention that a few weeks ago I had Ride Like The Wind stuck in my head for five days straight? It was quite something to have and I’ve got such a long way to go, (such a long way to go), to make it to the border of Mexico going through my head on a loop for a hundred and twenty hours. I even dreamed about the song, which made me a little bit concerned about my sanity and my life choices, specifically what songs I put on my Spotify playlists.

I have a theory about karaoke, and the types of people who are attracted to it. There are, as I see it, three main types of people. The first type are the people like my friend Dom (HI DOM) who have good voices, can sing well, and have fun doing it. These people sing crowd favourites, and are very enjoyable to listen to. On our recent trip to Huatulco, there were a number of people participating in karaoke night who fall into this category. Notably – other than my friend Dom – was the teenage brother and sister combination who sang Bohemian Rhapsody while their father Dad Danced onstage.

The second type are the people who appear as though they believe they will be discovered on the Voice and who choose songs that are not necessarily popular with the crowd, but that showcase their talents. I am NOT judging here, but it is decidedly less enjoyable to listen to a young woman earnestly singing several Amy Winehouse songs, as opposed to an enthusiastic-but-less-musically-talented person singing Sweet Caroline, which happens to be one of the actual best karaoke songs ever written. Also included in the I Am A Contestant On The Voice In My Own Mind category was an older woman with a soprano voice singing The Long and Winding Road, and another lady who sang I Will Always Love You. People, a Whitney Houston song is always risky. Only Whitney can sing like Whitney; one might as well try to sing along to The Phantom of the Opera. Unless, of course, you are the fellow in Say Anything singing The Greatest Love of All. If you haven’t seen that particular movie in a while, here is the very classic clip.

Which brings me to the third category, into which I fall: the person who loves to sing but has a less than stellar voice. What can I say, what I lack in vocal talent I make up for in stage presence:

For the record, I’m singing You’re So Vain.

I often think of the Soundtrack Of My Life, and what songs remind me of different times of my life. This morning I heard When The Night Feels My Song and I became overwhelmingly nostalgic for those years with the kids when they were little; that specific song used to be played on CBC Kids, which is what led me to the bout of nostalgia. Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You will always remind me of late night feedings with my firstborn, as we didn’t have many channels then and that song was played a lot on Much Music, which I watched in an attempt to stay awake during those times. The Cha-Cha Slide brings me back to the early years in elementary school, as my younger son – strangely enough – performed to that song in kindergarten. And of course there are the songs that take me back to my own school days; Don’t Worry Be Happy, Mony Mony, and anything by The Grapes of Wrath and Depeche Mode. I Like To Move It (Move It) will always remind me of my bar-hopping days, and the Gypsy Kings bring me back to the days when my husband and I were dating.

I’m not sure what song is playing in my Life Soundtrack right now, as Ride Like The Wind has now wound its way back into my brain. Oh my god, maybe THAT’S it. Hoo boy. I think I need to go listen to something else to try to shake this. xo

Royal Birthdays

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My goodness, I have so much to say, and I haven’t had any time to say it! First of all – Royal Baby! I was on Royal Baby Watch for exactly fifteen minutes. I was in my car coming home from yoga at 6:05 am, and I heard that we were Officially On Royal Baby Watch. I showered and when my husband came into the bathroom at 6:20 I excitedly reported the news.

Husband: She had a boy.

Me: What? No, that was George. She’s in the hospital now!

Husband: I just heard it on the radio. She had a boy.

Me: Oh.

As an aside, I’ve seen a lot of posts discussing the Duchess’ appearance mere hours after the birth of little Louis, and frankly, most of them are off-putting. The posts start out like this: can you even believe what she looks like? Then they move to this: you would look that good too if you had a staff. If this was a decision tree, one branch would then go to well, she looks amazing and the other would devolve into a bitter tirade against her life and the fact of her being photographed for all the world to see so soon after giving birth.

You guys, we talk so much about toxic masculinity and the patriarchy, and for good reason, but let us please remember that we should be lifting each other up, not tearing each other down, and in that spirit, LAY OFF KATE AND STOP JUDGING WOMEN ON THEIR APPEARANCES.

Of course I know none of us look like the Duchess immediately following birth, just like none of us have a staff of many to help us be photographed in a beautiful outfit complete with heels. But that doesn’t make our birth experiences any less valid or wonderful; we are all uniquely beautiful and special and this is a good time to be reminded of that.

This is what I looked like in the twelve hours following the births of my children:

None of us are married to the heir to the British throne, and our jobs are not to birth other heirs to the British throne. My job requires me to wear yoga pants and to obtain and prepare an obscene amount of food every day, but if it required me to put on a pretty dress and take my baby outside for photographs, I too would get my staff to make sure I looked good for those photos. Instead of focusing on how we all left the hospital in our weird hospital-issue mesh underwear and industrial strength sanitary napkins, with our mushy post-partum bellies sagging over the waistband of our maternity jeans, and our giant swelling breasts barely contained within our super-ugly nursing bras, let’s just enjoy those beautiful photos and take a break from all the gross lunacy in the world, and be happy that there is a baby in the news instead.

Speaking of the British throne, last Saturday was my birthday, which I share with none other than QEII herself. It was such a glorious weekend. For one thing, it appears that spring has finally arrived and the glacier in my back yard has receded to a mere blip of ice; the past week has seen me frantically cleaning up the gardens that are finally thawed and dry enough to work in, and the sun, my god, the sun. The sun is shining and I have been leaving the house in sweaters and light jackets. Yesterday when I went to teach a class I wore capri length yoga pants and shoes, SHOES. So all is sunshine and happiness around here; the birthday weekend was filled with good food, cake, wine, and lovely presents.

Including this gigantic wine glass from my parents. I love a wine glass that is nearly the size of my face, like oh, I’ll just have ONE glass of wine tonight. In case you can’t read it, it says “Queen of Everything” which is a very fitting way to end this royal post.

I remember waiting for the school bus…

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Two days ago I decided to take an enormous leap of faith and wash my calf-length, super-warm parka. I put it in the downstairs closet, along with my Sorels, and I hope that I haven’t cursed us all. I did leave out my other giant, but shorter, parka just in case. It’s my birthday in a couple of days and I keep forgetting, because there is still so much snow and ice on the ground that it doesn’t feel like it’s as late in the year as it is. Don’t get me wrong; snow in April is nothing new, and neither is snow in May. The difference this year is that we still have snow on the ground that was there in October; winter snow, as opposed to spring snow, as my dad helpfully differentiated for me the other day.

Well, I finished Prairie Fires and I am gratified anew to a) not be a pioneer, b) not be the mother of a crazed Libertarian who destroys all relationships, and c) to live in the modern age. I am also gratified that my plumbing and running water issues have – knock on wood a thousand times – been resolved. As I mentioned, the very good-looking young plumber had fixed a lot of things but the water filter was leaking, which required a visit from the very specific Water Filter Guy. The last time the Water Filter Guy was here, said Guy was an older, kindly gentleman who has since retired and left his clients to a new, Startlingly Handsome Water Filter Guy. Seriously, people, I opened the door and wondered if I was on hidden camera.

I always find it interesting, the career trajectories of other people. Was Startlingly Handsome Water Filter Guy always such? No, he was once a high school basketball coach. My own career has changed so much over the years; I find it fascinating how people find themselves in different lines of work. Of course, often the trajectory is more pragmatic, more about paying the bills and flexible schedules and so forth, but still.

School bus drivers, for example. It’s a flexible schedule and probably not badly paid – I have no idea, really – but you would have to be a special kind of person to be able to be in a large motorized vehicle with dozens of insanely loud children every day. Every morning when I drop the kids off at school I see the line of empty buses at the end of the street, and beside one of them is a driver, having a smoke. He wears shorts every single day, no matter what the weather is, with a ball cap and a hoodie, hood up. As I watch him smoke, I think of Otto the bus driver on The Simpsons. The guy just dropped off a bus full of junior high students, he NEEDS that cigarette, people. Obviously it cannot wait, his nerves depend on it. And who can blame him? Not me.

Last week I volunteered on a field trip for the Grade Eight Environmental and Outdoor Education class. Often their field trips are – obviously – outdoor based, but this one was to the climbing wall, and so it seemed to be more up my alley. I am a fair weather volunteer, and the weather has not, as I MAY have mentioned, been fair. I stepped on the bus and did a double take: the bus driver looked EXACTLY like Kid Rock.

Hat, hair, facial hair, clothing, everything. It was really uncanny. I started to wonder if it WAS Kid Rock, and if I should ask him to turn the stereo up and roll the windows down but sadly, I did not. He was pretty calm with the mass chaos on the bus, the hooligan grade eights, and so I was a little disappointed that he wasn’t driving the return bus. Rather, it was an older lady who was the female version of this:

 

Which, frankly, is completely understandable. It is the exact feeling I get when I’m driving a minivan-full of boys around. Flexible schedule or not, it would be – in my opinion – a terrible job, navigating traffic, the noise level, driving a huge uncomfortable bus.

Volunteering for junior high field trips is very different from elementary ones. For one thing, the bus situation – despite all this – is much better. The elementary school used to have kids three to a seat, even in the later grades, which meant that the bus would be hot, crowded, and extremely smelly, grade five and six students not being known for their excellent personal hygiene. Junior high kids, thank god, wear deodorant and brush their teeth, for the most part, anyway. Secondly, the volunteer gig itself mostly involves just existing, since the kids don’t need help with anything at all. I think the extra parents are just there for insurance purposes, because there is literally nothing to do but stare at the kids for several hours.

I took a few pictures though:

That’s my boy! I don’t tend to be a worrier, but there was a moment when I saw him at the top of the wall, knowing that he was being belayed by another fourteen-year-old who had just learned how to belay twenty minutes prior…well. All was fine. It was like the moment I had in Huatulco, when we took a local boat tour and snorkeling trip. We spotted two whales and some dolphins, and the boat driver – the captain, I guess? – sped out towards them. I thought, here we are, off the coast of Mexico, in a nine-person boat, heading off into the Pacific Ocean with a giant sea mammal nearby that could theoretically capsize this tiny boat, and no one outside our group knows where we are right now…

Anyway, as we all say it doesn’t pay to worry about what MIGHT happen. All’s well that ends well, and least said, soonest mended as Ma Ingalls was known to say, although this is a blog. Least said, soonest mended does not seem to be my mantra.

Get it on, bang a gong.

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Yesterday the 14-year-old got to bang this gong, signaling the removal of his braces:

Happiness has indeed arrived! For a little while, at least. The braces, which were supposed to be on for 18-20 months, lasted 26 months and if you don’t think that extra six months is a big deal, you are wrong. Of course, now he has a retainer and an appointment for a checkup in two months, which takes us to the exact same week the 12-year-old has an appointment to see if he’s ready to get his braces put on. I shall enjoy this two month reprieve from the orthodontist’s office greatly.

I really do love the orthodontist office: everyone is so lovely and professional, and they have all sorts of neat little things for the kids, the gong, for example. After getting the braces off, the kids get a gift pack full of the treats they aren’t supposed to have while under orthodontic care, but that my son has been enjoying this whole time. It’s a nice gesture, anyway. They have video games and saltwater fish tanks in the waiting room, kids spin a wheel to get prizes like gift cards for frozen yogurt or movie passes, and a couple times a year the orthodontist rents out a movie theatre for all the current patients to enjoy, popcorn-less though they may be. I really do like the practice except for one thing: their appointment reminders.

Here’s how it goes: I make an appointment at the office, and I receive a calendar sticker and not one but TWO emails confirming the date and time. Two weeks prior to the appointment I receive an automated phone call. Three days prior I receive another two emails; the next day I receive a text, and the day before the appointment another phone call. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that even for the least organized person in the world, EIGHT reminders for each appointment is too many. There is going to be an overlap with my kids and I am already sighing, thinking of the myriad reminders I am going to get. I won’t forget, I promise.

Do you have an old-school paper calendar? I have an agenda that everyone in the house calls my “Mom Book” and I write down absolutely everything, from the meal plan to appointments to yoga classes to general housekeeping/ baking chores that need to be done. Everything I do is written in the book and if it’s not there, I will be totally lost. I know many people rely on their phones but for me, it’s all about my paper agenda.

I’ve had a lot of things to write down in the last week – more than normal, even – because we had a furnace/ thermostat issue that snowballed into several plumber-related issues. Last week when it was minus 22 with windchill, no I’m not kidding, in April, I noticed that the furnace was kicking in at odd and seemingly random times. As well, our never-used bathtub was only getting cold water, and while it is never used, I would still like it to be working properly in the event that there is an issue with the always-used shower. Then, the day the plumber came there was an enormous water leak underneath our kitchen sink that was leaking into the basement, which turned out to be our water filter, which required me making a completely separate appointment with the water filter people. The single benefit to this, other than getting all these things fixed, is that our plumber is a very good looking and jovial young man, which made such an afternoon spent getting work done much more pleasant.

Well, at least I’m not pregnant in a covered wagon, I said to myself. It’s my new mantra since the following books came in at the library on the same day.

For those of you who loved the Little House books – not the TV show, that’s a whole separate thing – you will love these books. I am only partway into Prairie Fires, but I just finished reading about the Hard Winter. It made me feel badly complaining about Calgary weather; I am not, after all, living in an uninsulated tarpaper shack cut off from the rest of the world in a state of semi-starvation with no solution whatsoever. The thermostat wasn’t working, so we got it fixed! I didn’t have to start burning hay or anything to keep the family from literally freezing to death. If you ever want to feel good about modern life, these books are a good start. Do I have to cook cornbread over an open fire somewhere in Minnesota immediately after my husband inadvertently almost drowns us all? No? Am I pregnant and riding in a covered wagon for months and the only upside to that condition is not having to wash out rags used for my monthly visitor? No? Am I living miles away from a neighbour and worried about giving birth by myself in a tiny shack in the vast prairie with no medical care? No? Then probably everything is a-okay.