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Tis the season to start shopping

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I know many of you loathe November with the fire of a thousand suns, and for those of you I offer you a big hug and also the not-really-news that it is already half over! It feels like it was just Halloween, just a day or two ago, and here we are, less than six weeks away from Christmas.

I officially finished my Christmas shopping yesterday; it’s the one task I like to accomplish early so as to not worry about the mall, or, more often, shipping. I will confess that the vast majority of my shopping is done online, because really, what could be easier? Click click click, and boxes show up on my doorstep. However, sometimes a trip to the mall is necessary, which is what I did last week, to pick up a few special gifts. It’s still early enough in the season that no one was road raging in the parking lot and the customer service people were not yet in the depths of despair; on that note, don’t forget to be nice to the people working customer service. It’s a hell of a job this time of year.

Digression: I have become obsessed – OBSESSED – with PC Points, to the point where I get really excited every week to view my new offers. Sometimes they are great – 200 points per dollar spent on cauliflower, 400 points for red wine vinegar – but often they are nothing I would ever buy, which is more disappointing to me than it probably should be. However, I am avidly collecting my points and, like my Type A personality might indicate, I try to be super-efficient and collect as many as possible while not going off my actual grocery list. It’s like a linear algebra equation!

Anyway, I was involved in a conversation regarding such things, along with in-store savings, and a woman I don’t really know said When a cashier says “you saved $25 today!” I say “No, I spent $200, YOU’RE WELCOME.” This person has clearly never worked customer service: a) cashiers usually have a script that they need to follow, in order to keep their jobs, and b) wow, why would you be so rude? I invite such people to spend one day working customer service; it’s no picnic. Too long, didn’t read, BE NICE, PEOPLE.

The past two weeks have felt weird and a bit hazy; I think it’s due to the time change and our sudden plunge into darkness. No, I know it’s theoretically the same amount of daylight, minus the several minutes of daylight we lose each day at this dark time of year, just shifted, but when the sun sets before five o’clock and it’s pitch black when I’m making dinner and I know there are still five weeks left before things start to get lighter, a little bit, well, it’s disconcerting.The last few days have been foggy and ice-crystally and the sky was the same greyish-white as the ground, and it was a bit gloomy. The hoar frost was pretty but that was the only visually redeeming quality.

Bringing a little bit of joy to the gloomy day was my afternoon spent finishing my shopping yesterday. No, I didn’t go to the mall, I visited my good friend who is an artisan and she makes the most beautiful malas and bracelets you have ever seen. She custom made a bracelet for someone on my Christmas list and I was just blown away by the craftsmanship and beauty of it, and all of her wares.

Gorgeous, right? She also has something called The Goddess Collection, and you can find her on Etsy right here. She’s a dear friend of mine and I’d love it if you’d check it out or let anyone who might be interested know about it.

The new Book Fair Lady at the elementary school (HI HAYDEE) had sent me a message about the fair going on right now; the first one without me since 2009! I was happy to hear that she answered “The posters are five dollars” several thousand times; the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Today was Parent-Teacher Conferences, and there was a book fair being held at the same time! The boys perused the offerings after the conferences and I spied this:

EACH. ONLY $5.00 EACH! We had this exact same sign in the elementary school and yet it did nothing to quell the steady stream of questions regarding the monetary value of each poster. However, once one gets to junior high, the comprehension skills must be more advanced; I did not hear any such queries during my short time at the fair.

Strange things are afoot on the internet; The Shoe on the Roof

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Just in case you’ve always wondered what it’s like to live in this meteorological hellscape, on October 28 it was 24 degrees Celsius, and within a week we had a 43 degree temperature drop. It is basically impossible to acclimatize to that kind of temperature swing, and so this is what I look like when preparing for a dog walk:

Except with my head covered.

The bad weather really started on Halloween; it poured rain all afternoon and I despaired for the kids and their costumes. It had mostly let up by 7 pm, but by then, the damage had been done; the Trick or Treat crowd was greatly thinned. My own kids, however, made out like bandits, and we now have a metric tonne of candy in the house, probably to still be here next summer, if the past is any indication of the future. They were also, they said, toasty warm.

At least the snow held off until the next day, but it is a winter wonderland around here now. It’s given me a very festive feeling, and I will say that I am almost entirely done Christmas shopping, with the exception of the calendars I make for grandparents and other relatives; that shall be done this weekend, I think.

One of the things that I vowed to do this year was to read more and be on social media less. So far, so good, and since it’s November, I feel like I can pretty much say that was a New Year’s goal that I achieved. I am on my 72nd book since January 1, which I think is a pretty solid number. Notably, Simon and Schuster Canada sent me a copy of The Shoe on the Roof, and it was a very interesting read. Three homeless men all believe they are the true Messiah, and a psychology grad student decides to cure them of the delusions by bringing them all together; after all, only one can really be a Messiah. What a great thesis topic, he thinks. But the twist is that the student was himself the centre of a study; in fact, his entire childhood was exploited as a study in children’s behaviour, by his father, a renowned psychiatrist. Lots of twists and turns, it was like nothing I’d read before. I recommend it!

But I am not a book-reading robot, and so I do still enjoy my daily fix of social media. It’s a strange, strange world though, and sometimes I see things I wish I hadn’t seen.

Okay, we all know babies’ bums are adorable but…I can’t get behind (heh) this. I’m imagining the scenario in which teenaged children figure out that the table centrepiece is really an imprint of their own derriere. I’m also wondering how many diaper wipes it would take to get that paint off. I’m also…well, I just…you do you, bum imprint people. I’ll just enjoy the “tiny handprints” playgroup crafts of days of yore.

One of the things about Facebook that I like, generally, is that I can see businesses and pages that my friends have liked. I have discovered some sweet yoga sites, some tasty recipes, and some fabulous fashion that way. But then one day something pops up that you cannot un-know.

Will someone please tell me what I’m looking at, here? Actually, maybe don’t.

Is this a sauna? A portable sauna?

 

WHAT IS THIS

While something like this might come in handy for those frigid dog walks, I think I’ll pass.

Hubris

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Hubris. Definition: excessive pride or defiance towards the gods, leading to nemesis. See also: bad karma. I try very hard not to anger the gods; my husband was sick with this weirdly tenacious virus, for the better part of a month, and all the while I kept dosing myself with vitamin C and oil of oregano, and ensuring I had proper rest and liquids, because I did not want to anger the Virus Gods. So far it’s worked and I am suppressing all thoughts about my superior immune system, instead just thanking the Virus Gods for looking past me this time. Hopefully.

But hubris is a real thing, as any mother who has boasted about her angelic newborn sleeping through the night or young toddler who potty trained completely by eighteen months knows. Everything you say can and will be held against you by the gods and all those things you silently judge others for will certainly come to pass.

And so it is that I have angered the Toothpaste Gods, for writing my last post. Early this morning when I went to brush my teeth before yoga, I noticed the tube of toothpaste – that had been squeezed from the bottom AND middle – was very sticky. It was 4:30 in the morning, so I blearily wiped the excess toothpaste off the tube, wondering who made such a mess of things. Only a few hours later, when I went to brush again, I noticed something strange. The tube had come apart at the seams.

Never in my four decades of diligent brushing has such a thing occurred so I can only think that this is due to my excessive pride. You think you can just squeeze the toothpaste tube any way you like? We shall see about that. I wasn’t even sure what to do with this situation. Should I keep using the toothpaste by scraping it out, like someone brought up during the Great Depression? Should I duct tape the whole tube back together? WHAT HAPPENS NOW. It didn’t even occur to me to throw out the half-used tube, probably due to my Scottish heritage, but when I got back from teaching this morning I noticed that it was in the garbage, my husband probably thinking that such a thing would not send me into a spiral of “we just wasted $1.75” shame. But we did. We might as well have thrown seven quarters in the trash.

Let me tell you, I am taking this “for best results” thing seriously. When I wash my hair with coconut oil shampoo, if it says for best results use the matching conditioner, you had better believe that I AM GOING TO USE THE MATCHING CONDITIONER. Who knows what might happen otherwise! Maybe my hair will fall out, maybe it will change colour, maybe it will become so dry it will spontaneously burst into flames, I don’t know and I am not going to tempt the Hair Gods.

Speaking of tempting fate, yesterday I was preparing to leash up the dog to take him for his daily constitutional, when I got a notification from my neighbourhood Facebook group. Normally I don’t really give the neighbourhood group more than a cursory glance; more often than not, it’s just an advertisement for a local business’ craft night or happy hour, or information regarding a new building or redevelopment plan. Lately, though, it’s been a bit more interesting – there is a bobcat with two cubs residing in our neighbourhood. In our urban neighbourhood. The latest buzz was a video of the bobcat in a yard, only a few blocks from my house, in the middle of the day. Since my usual walk meant that I would be strolling past that particular street, I wondered if maybe I should skip it. One look at Barkley’s fuzzy face changed my mind; after all, we were probably not going to get attacked by a bobcat when there are so many rabbits and squirrels in the neighbourhood. What self-respecting bobcat would attack a person and a large, chubby dog walking along a busy street? The only thing we have to fear is fear itself, I told Barkley, who looked at me and nudged the leash in my hand. Off we went and we are still here to tell the tale.

In other Borderline Stupid Things I Have Done Lately, I picked up a book at the library that was on the “hot new picks” display. It had a picture of a dog on it, so, like I might have done 40 years ago, I immediately picked it up. It has a dog on the cover. I took it home even after reading the back and with pertinent information about the storyline. People, the next time I think that it might be a good idea to read a book about a dying dog and her extremely lonely owner, gently remind me that this is never a good idea. I am not a person who enjoys books about the compassionate ending of a sick dog’s life; there is more than enough sadness in the real world, we do not require it in the literary world. Or, I do not require it. Now I am reading What She Left Behind, which I understood from reading the back cover that it would be about Germany in the Second World War. Again, not a happy topic, but one I still feel is an important one, particularly in this day, age, and political climate. However, the back cover reviews were about a different book by the same author. This one is about, oddly, a woman committed to a state insane asylum against her will; not a cheery topic by any stretch. I am trying hard not to think symbolically or read too deeply into my unintentional book choice, because I certainly do not want to anger the Fictional Novel Gods.

Kitchen Reno, Five (plus) Years Later

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Hoo boy, has it been a long week or what? I know it’s technically a short week, but it feels…trying. Trying and LONG. Last Thursday night my son got home from Quebec, and early Friday morning we got in the car for an eight-hour drive to visit my mother-in-law for the Thanksgiving weekend. In order to do this, between getting home from the airport and getting in the car, the following had to be done: a) laundry, b) pack all of said son’s clothes and personal effects, and c) pack up the car. I’m just going to say that I am very happy to be home, but exhausted by the laundry. I always feel a little strange complaining about laundry – it’s not like I am personally scrubbing lye soap into clothing on a scrub board, or using a wringer washer, or even hanging things (other than Lululemon) to dry, but my god, the laundry. I think it’s because, to paraphrase Newman from Seinfeld, the laundry never stops. Even when you are caught up, you are immediately behind again because people change their underwear, there are towels to be washed, and sheets to be changed. No matter what, I will be folding clothes until I drop dead. Hopefully one is not correlated with the other.

Anyway, laundry aside, it’s nice to be home and eating normally and being back into normal routine. It was an unsettled eleven days, what with the Quebec trip and then the road trip, but we are home, home, home. Home with a great deal of grapes and apples, so all is well.

As a side note, it’s hilarious to me how people always say, when I mention I have thirty pounds of apples in my cold room, that I’ll be able to make so much pie and apple sauce! I tend to look at them blankly, because to me, that is a WASTE of an apple. If you don’t think I can single-handedly consume thirty pounds of apples before they go off, then you are vastly underestimating my abilities. Maybe it’s the Alberta Girl in me, but it never, ever occurs to me to use fresh fruit to make pies or jam – I buy frozen fruit in bulk from Costco, and I use that. Fresh fruit is for EATING, in my humble opinion. Also, I find apple sauce to be a bit…unappealing. No offense to all you apple sauce lovers out there, but I cannot think of why I would need more than the occasional jar from Co-Op to make hippie-style-fruit-sweetened muffins.

Perhaps I would feel differently if I lived in a place in which the fruit crops were more than crabapples and saskatoon berries.

The one exception is my stash of Concord grapes, because my generous mother-in-law gives me so many that it is actually not physically possible to eat them all before they turn. In that case, I make fruit leather. Here’s my un-recipe: make thick, pulpy grape juice using a juicer. Peel, core, and slice apples (I often save my tree ripened ones for eating, and buy bulk bags at Costco to use for this. I know! I’m terrible at sharing apples). Put both in a food processor until they reach a smooth applesauce-like-consistency, then pour onto parchment paper-lined sheets in the dehydrator for 10-12 hours, depending how thick you pour it. As for quantities? I don’t know. What am I, a food blogger? Oh, right. Anyway, I don’t really measure here, I eyeball it. Fill your food processor with apple slices, add grape juice until it’s purple and smooth but not runny, and run with it.

So other than doing laundry I spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen this week, and speaking of kitchens…

Nicole’s Kitchen Renovation Five (plus) Years Later

I know, I wrote about renovating back in August, planning to write the kitchen installment “next time” and if I put it off any longer, it will be Nicole’s Kitchen Renovation Six Years Later. I’m sure you were on the edge of your seat! Does Nicole still enjoy the kitchen renovation of 2012? Does she have regrets? What would she do differently? I’m sure you have been dying to know, so here goes.

When we bought the house, the kitchen was, for lack of a better word, disgusting. The cabinets were homemade, and the fellow who made them was not an artisan craftsman. The drawers were always stuck, the hood fan was completely coated in grease, the countertops were a pale yellowish green with swirls. The walls, in keeping with the pink-and-green theme of the house, were covered in five different but coordinating patterns of wallpaper. The dishwasher had once been a rolling mobile one, but someone had cut out a part of the cupboards and wedged it in, so it stuck out at an angle, and it also had a wooden cutting board on top which was pretty grim from years of use. The linoleum was an ugly pattern from the early 80s; in short, it was perhaps not the ugliest kitchen in the world, but it was a contender.

When we bought the house we couldn’t afford a big renovation, so we did the best we could. We scraped off the wallpaper and painted the walls a butter yellow, we painted the cabinets a warm white and changed out all the hardware. We did our best and then in 2003 we did our first of two kitchen renovations. Yes, we have renovated the SAME KITCHEN TWICE. We replaced the homemade cupboards with white Shaker-style ones that actually opened and closed on demand. We redid the floor and the countertops, put in an island, a proper dishwasher, and repainted everything. In a bid to save money we did most of the work ourselves and, because we both worked full (and more than full) time, it took four months to finish.

Back in 2012 when we made the decision to renovate, I wanted this NOT to happen. I wanted my renovation, and I wanted it quickly. Fortunately Ron and Don, the brother team, were also of the mindset that the sooner they finished the better, and they set to work. We didn’t change the cupboards because I still liked the white Shaker, but we put in granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, hardwood to match the rest of the house, and the World’s Biggest Sink.

I’m going to tell you right now that I love my kitchen. I also want to point out that it took 16 1/2 years from the time we moved into the house to the time we put a window covering on that window. The original was a cheap brown plastic blind and I planned to replace it when we took it off, back in 2000. And replace it we did, in January of 2017. It improved my life immensely since that is a southwest-facing window, and the sun would blind me in certain seasons when I was trying to make dinner.

One huge regret I have about our kitchen renovation is the range. It’s a Kitchen Aid, and it works just fine, but it has a fan that goes constantly whenever the oven is turned on, and about thirty minutes after it is turned off. It is loud enough to be very intrusive; music has to be turned up, I can’t hear the kids when they talk to me if the oven is going, etc. Also it takes forever to heat up. Huge regret but since it is very functional, I cannot justify buying another.

Another thing – this is not a regret, per se, but more of an observation – while I like the giant square double sink, it is a bitch to clean. The corners tend to get dirty and it is annoying, but on the whole I do like the look of the square sink. Other than the dirty, need-to-be-cleaned-with-a-toothbrush corners.

I’m still happy with the granite we chose, although if we were to do it now I might think about quartz instead. That wasn’t an option back then, and I do like how the granite matches the bathroom (and, foreshadowing, other parts of the house too).

Banana stages: a study. That’s part of a banana loaf in the background. How many bananas do you go through in a week? Our banana usage varies between 14-25 per week, which means there are usually many bananas in various states on my countertop.

When you were a kid, was there a chore that you detested and you swore you would avoid it like the plague as an adult? For me, that chore is drying dishes. Hence the sturdy dishrack on which are always many containers, that air dry so I do not ever have to. On nights when dinner creation has led to more dishes than the rack can hold, one of the kids dry them. Note the wine bottle in the background, and also my favourite small appliance: the Vitamix.

In terms of large appliances, I love my dishwasher. Here’s one major reason why:

A silverware rack! No more putting all your mucky silverware in gross little cup holders, this baby keeps them separate, clean, and easy to put away without getting your fingers on the parts of the silverware that go into people’s mouths.

A peek inside my fridge because, frankly, I love seeing the inside of other people’s fridges and pantries. This is not a euphemism! My friend Joanne (HI JOANNE) posted a photo of her pantry that her daughter had recently organized, and I stared at it happily for longer than is probably normal or healthy.

So there you have it – I still love my kitchen reno, save for the noisy range, so I would say that it was a success! What do you think? xo

Don’t throw the rocks in your glass house

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Sometimes it feels weird, writing when there are so many tragic, horrific, and frankly depressing things going on in the world. It seems strange to complain about the astounding difference the subtraction of one child from the household makes in terms of noise, activity, and general household mood. This is not a particularly important thing in the world, but it is an important thing to me. I was in a state of low-level worry, but my young traveller actually phoned me yesterday, and all is roses and happiness, and to say that the phone call lifted my spirits would be a tremendous understatement.

All of our spirits were a bit low this week; there was an honest-to-god, Pa-sings-his-sunflower-song blizzard on Monday, complete with snow, high winds, and general despondency. Well, we had a good run.

I learned an important lesson yesterday, speaking of general despondency, and that is that choosing to shop at Costco on the day after a blizzard is not an optimal choice for anyone wishing to retain any semblance of sanity. A few months ago my friend Janet (HI JANET) told me about the magic time to shop at Costco, which is 2:00 pm on a weekday, and when I switched my shopping schedule to that time, the experience was better, albeit some days marginally so. But marginally better is still better, and so yesterday I pulled into the parking lot at 1:35, and I do not think that I am exaggerating when I say that I wondered if I was taking my life into my hands. There was much road rage, people randomly and rapidly backing up perilously close to my and other’s cars. There were people swerving around pedestrians wielding giant carts, nearly making contact with my and other’s cars. I am surprised I didn’t seem random people flattened like cartoon characters in the middle of the lot, and I hoped I could get out of there without loss of life or limb, or at least without having to make an insurance claim.

I made it inside the store and the lineups to the checkouts snaked all the way around the aisles; I despaired of reaching the toothpaste section, and I had a coupon for $4 off a five-pack of that 3D whitening toothpaste I like. Don’t make this coupon go to waste, people. I vowed to take a photo when my turn for the checkout came, so I could send it to Janet to let her know that her magical time wasn’t magical after all, as if Janet was the Costco-whisperer and this entire herd of people with their giant carts was somehow her fault. I went to fetch everything on my list, keeping a slight smile on my face, because in the words of Diane Court’s mother, “Smile, dear, because when you don’t your mouth turns down.” I grumpily noted that they did not have the giant can of cocoa powder that I wanted, but they did have some nice strawberries. I wondered if I would even make it out of the refrigerated produce section alive, but when I got there, it was empty with the exception of one woman looking at every single clamshell of strawberries and a man staring blankly at the kale salads.

People, by the time I wound my way around to the checkout, the crowds had dispersed and there were only a few carts in each line, at 1:55. Janet, I am sorry I doubted you. You are indeed the Costco whisperer. The parking lot had plenty of open spaces too. JANET IS RIGHT, IT IS MAGICAL.

Speaking of checkouts, do you ever notice those tabloid magazines that have incredibly unflattering photographs of celebrities with captions about beach bodies or the lack thereof, or the weight of the photographed celebrity with a caption about letting themselves go or eating themselves to death? These unflattering photographs must be a part of a very successful business plan, since the magazines have been doing this for many decades; obviously they sell the magazines. I always feel a wave of pity for the celebrities; clearly they are photographed without their knowledge or consent, and even though there is a little bit of caveat emptor, being in the public eye and all, it still is fairly vile. We have all taken those accidental selfies with our phones on our lap; imagine if those selfies were being used to sell magazines? Double chinned, wrinkly, and ruddy: Nicole is letting herself go! 

Imagine also if there was a photographer trained on you at all moments of the day, and that any moment – any moment at all – could be posted for all the world to see. Well, I have news, dear readers: this is already happening. You may remember a while back there was a meme going around with a photo of a woman at an airport; she was looking at her phone and her baby was lying on a blanket on the floor. SHAME, the internet said, SHAME THAT SHE ISN’T PAYING ATTENTION TO HER POOR BABY, I’M SURE HER PHONE IS MUCH MORE COMPELLING.

*I know, I didn’t really pay attention either. But the internet did, fortunately.

Well, that woman has released a statement – A STATEMENT – that saying that she was exhausted, her flight was delayed, and she just needed to put the baby down for a moment while she texted her family. I have a huge problem with this.

SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING.

In today’s society, we seem to feel that we can view a snapshot of a person’s life, one single second, and make a sweeping judgement about them. She’s a bad mom, she doesn’t like her baby as much as her phone, she is making terrible choices and we are all a nation of zombies. I have more news: we can’t make these judgements. Until we are comfortable with someone tracking our every move and posting photos for all the world to see, maybe we should keep our snap judgements to ourselves. If you haven’t been exhausted and looked away from your baby for a moment, then you probably don’t have a baby. I did not have a smartphone when my kids were small, but I did take them to the playground and would often sit on the bench reading a book or O Magazine (don’t judge, I was living my best life). My eyes were not on them for every second and frankly, it would be weird if they were.

I also saw someone online berate this woman for having her baby on the germy floor, but honest to god, everything is germy. Airplane seats and seatbelts, public change tables, the key pad where you use your credit card – all of those are covered in filth, that’s the world, we have to deal with it. In any case, the baby was on a (presumably clean) blanket, and babies are much safer on the floor than lying on an elevated surface that they can roll off of. God, I’m all worked up again. LEAVE HER AND EVERY OTHER MOTHER ALONE, YOU PEOPLE WITH YOUR GLASS HOUSES AND GIANT ROCKS. NONE OF US ARE PERFECT, LET’S STOP PRETENDING THAT WE ARE, AND MAYBE STOP LOOKING AT YOUR OWN DAMN PHONE IF YOU’RE ONLY GOING TO SPREAD STUPID PHOTOS.

Hoo boy, I need to take a breath here. With all the awful things happening in the world today, let’s all be kind. Be nice. Be understanding and compassionate. And let’s not assume everyone else is the problem with society. If you want change, make a change within yourself first. xo

 

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

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It is the almost the end of September, and my 13-year-old leaves TOMORROW for a week in Quebec. Mostly – MOSTLY – I am very excited for him and this excellent travel opportunity, the ability to see a unique and culture-rich part of the country, and the chance for independence and growth. But also I am a little bit internally breathing into a paper bag.

It’s all going to be FINE.

These PRETZELS…are making me THIRSTY.

Meanwhile I have a 12-year-old who has never been apart from his brother, not for a single day of his life. He will be kept busy with friend hang-outs, violent action movie nights, a father-son barbequed meat night, and putting the winter tires on his dad’s car. Not to brag, but that kid can change tires like nobody’s business, which is a lot more than I can say for myself. I have never even opened the hood on my own car, so I am very impressed by him, as well as enabled to be as useless as I am with vehicular maintenance. If my husband can’t do something for my car, I can easily get my son to do it. I shall never have to learn self-sufficiency, and I like it that way.

As a long-time blogger, I receive pitches every single week to promote a particular product, cause, and/ or business. I use the word “pitch” loosely, as there is never any compensation involved; generally the pitch involves me promoting the said product/ cause/ business on my blog and in return, my readers can receive a coupon code for 10% off. What a deal. Who could turn that down. Well, obviously I never do this, unless it’s for a book review, because I am, apparently, a whore for free books.

Often the pitches will reveal that I have somehow gotten onto the world’s strangest mailing lists, and that the sender has never read a word I have written. Once I had the great opportunity to receive free venison jerky in exchange for a glowing review about this amazing new product, and just recently I received a media pass to sample all different kinds of duck at Duck-Fest, which takes place somewhere in Ontario. Normally I just delete these emails but some I hang onto for the pure entertainment value.

For example, in early August, I received this:

I DO need Christmas ornaments from the internet and I cannot wait to get my lucky deer, snow house, and etc.

Today, I came across this gem:

My favourite part is that the sender assumes I am a purchasing director. I guess I kind of am a purchasing director for the Boyhouse, at least as regards groceries and other household items.

Oh! But you may be wondering, how is that one year shopping challenge going? Well, I can tell you that it has been almost two months and I have purchased nary a clothing item for myself. In fact, if you follow me on Instagram – and why wouldn’t you, my feed is almost entirely baked goods, Barkley, and my outfits-of-the-day – you will know that I have been enjoying creating new outfits and combinations from my overflowing closet. I think I’m going to make it after all. I’d also like to take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile, but that might take more than just an outfit-of-the-day post. It might involve cookies.

This week has been busy, busy, busy, with a cross-country meet and preparations for my child to actually go across the literal country*, teaching and shopping for non-Nicole-clothing-items, and it always makes me feel happy and productive to be so busy, not unlike a bee or hummingbird. I like having lots to do. However, yesterday I found myself to be pretty blue. When I’m feeling blue, I always feel a bit like I SHOULDN’T be blue, not with all the things going on in the world today, not with an entire country without power and the world going to hell in a rocket-powered handbasket, and people who have health issues and financial issues and family tragedies and one of my Facebook friends posted a photo of a DEAD RACCOON SHE FOUND IN HER WALL. I mean, nothing like that has happened to me and why should I feel blue? EVERY DAY ABOVE GROUND IS A GOOD DAY, PRINCESS, JUST ADJUST YOUR TIARA AND MOVE ON. Ah, but even princesses have problems sometimes and those problems are still problems, and it’s okay to be sad sometimes, as I tell the kids all the time. It is OKAY TO BE SAD.

Well, today my tiara is adjusted and I’m feeling like my normal, cheery self, ready to turn the world on with my smile.

Do I need a beret? Maybe. But it will have to wait another ten months before my shopping challenge is done. xo

Fall is short for “snowfall”

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It is now officially fall and as I write this, the cold rain is falling, soon to turn into wet snow. Well, the beautiful summer was nice while it lasted, so I won’t complain.

I might complain just a little though. Wednesday was the first cross-country meet of the year, and it poured rain before and after the race, with a temperature of eight degrees. At least it didn’t rain during, I thought. I ran into a friend who looked at me, aghast. What are you WEARING? she said. I had come prepared; two thick sweaters, my good-to-minus-30 long winter coat, legwarmers, winter boots, gloves, scarf, and an umbrella. It worked, I wasn’t cold. My son, on the other hand, wore his regulation shorts and t-shirt, refusing to wear the regulation sweatpants and hoodie for the race, as it would “slow him down.” Sweatpants are not aerodynamic, MOM.

Fortunately I had spoken with my friend (HI FLORENCE) who is a seasoned cross-country mom; she had warned me that the parking situation would be a nightmare, and she was correct. There WERE a few hundred kids there from all over the quadrant of the city, and so you can imagine the driving/ parking/ people cutting off other people to squeeze into a non-existent parking spot situation. I was prepared, and yet I wasn’t prepared, as I had no idea of the magnitude of the meet. Anyone who knows me knows I have a bit of anxiety about driving to new places, finding parking, and getting lost, since my sense of direction is – to understate things – very poor. However! I was brimming with a bit of confidence since on Tuesday I parallel parked my minivan into a tiny spot, without hitting the curb or crying, and spacing myself perfectly between the two other vehicles. People, it was a thing of beauty. I felt like this:

But without the cigarette.

Despite that boost to my self-esteem, I did not feel equal to the task of parallel parking in the pouring rain, with a line of forty cars behind me, and so I found a spot on a side street instead.

Speaking of driving, whatever happened to the thank-you wave? Personally, if someone courteously lets me merge in busy traffic, or makes space so I can change lanes smoothly, I give at least one – and usually two – thank-you waves. The first wave is to acknowledge the courteous behaviour, and the second wave comes after I have successfully merged/ changed lanes. ALWAYS. However, when I pay it forward with my own courteous driving, I receive a thank-you wave less than five percent of the time. Why? I mean, I am driving courteously for reasons other than to receive a thank-you wave, namely to have good karma and also to not be an asshole, but it is NICE to receive one.

People, let’s teach our children to do the thank-you wave. At this point in my life, I am generally so happy and, frankly, astounded to receive a wave that I give the single-hand-off-the-wheel acknowledgement of said wave. It’s like the thank-you note to the thank-you note, which may be overkill but I regret nothing.

Tonight is the parents’ meeting for the Quebec French trip; I seem to be in some kind of denial/ disbelief that yes, my thirteen-year-old is actually going across the country without me and without the ability to text me. Deep breaths. I suppose this is character building, or training for the day when the little birds eventually leave the nest, texting or calling once a week out of a sense of duty.

Deeeeeeep breaths.