Category Archives: Uncategorized

Also known as banana hammocks.

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I had so many plans for this last week of summer vacation – the pool! the zoo! the amusement park! – and the weather has been beautifully warm. It would be a perfect week for all those things! Unfortunately, the city is hidden in a giant cloud of smoke, courtesy of the wildfires out west. The air quality is so bad that we’ve been housebound for days; five minutes at the dog park on Monday, and we all had burning throats and eyes, and Mark was wheezing a bit. It doesn’t smell exactly like being downwind of the world’s largest campfire anymore when I open the back door, but the boys and I just walked down the street to get their hair cut, and now I have a screaming headache. Well, maybe tomorrow will be better. Hold on for one more day, and all that.

Over at Throwing It Back, Hannah wrote about Pump Up The Volume, and it has thrown me into a flurry of nostalgia for movies of my youth. Oh, how I adored Christian Slater. Oh, how I loved that movie. Isn’t it interesting how movies back in the 80s and 90s would never be made today? Think about Heathers: accidental murder, suicide becoming trendy, and homophobia. Oh boy! Just last night my husband and I were talking about Vacation. Can you imagine that being made today? Family road trip ends with enraged man holding Wally World employees at gunpoint so that he can ride all the rides. Well, possibly this movie would be made today but it wouldn’t be a comedy. It would probably star Nicholas Cage and end with the promise of a sequel; a pumped-up and tattooed Clark Griswold, looking like Robert DeNiro from Cape Fear.

Side note: I do know that there is a remake of Vacation – I haven’t seen it yet, although Chris Hemsworth in his underwear is enough enticement, really. I feel fairly sure there isn’t the “holding employees at gunpoint” plotline though.

Meanwhile, the boys and I are still tucking in for our daily episode of Downton Abbey. All this re-watching of it had me puzzled about – of all things – underarm hair. While discussing plot lines of feudalism, estate planning, male heirs, and rape with the boys, I have been secretly thinking about underarm hair.

Nicole says: Well, the reason that note is so important is that Lady Mary actually didn’t have any rights to the Abbey, because she’s a woman. I know! But that’s the way things were back then. Everything went to the boys.

Nicole thinks: They are all wearing sleeveless dresses. Was shaving a thing back then? Or did they all just let it all hang out?

After literally YEARS of wondering about when shaving underarms became a thing, I finally remembered that there is this handy thing called the Internet, and on that Internet is this handy thing called Google, and I could probably stop wondering and get some answers about this very important issue.

The great thing about the Internet is that there is not only a Wikipedia article for practically everything, there is also a website or blog for every single thing. I found a whole article devoted to when women started shaving their underarms, and indeed, it was in the 1920s when sleeveless dresses became popular. Hooray for Downton Abbey and their attention to detail.

Interestingly, leg shaving wasn’t really a thing until the 1940s, what with women wearing longer skirt lengths until that time, which makes sense. Apparently, bikini waxes were first popular with Muslim women in North Africa and the Middle East, when brides would get all their body hair removed pre-wedding night. I had no idea. And here I thought waxes became popular with the rise of the string bikini.

Speaking of which, my friend Candace over at Life in Pleasantville posted a discussion about Speedos, which spurred a comment along the lines of if we say anyone can wear a bikini, why can’t anyone wear a Speedo? This is an interesting point. Why indeed? On the beach in Maui, I would estimate 95% of women are in bikinis, and I think that’s awesome. Rock that bikini, sister, I would say if anyone asked. I celebrate women of all shapes and sizes embracing their figures and wearing any kind of bathing suit they feel comfortable in. And yet, my first response to a man wearing a Speedo is revulsion.

Is this a reverse sexism thing? I don’t know. I mean, there was an incident in which I was sitting by the pool and an older gentleman in a green Speedo bent over in front of me and I got a full glimpse of his testicles, which was disturbing. As much as I want to be open minded, I do not actually want to see a strange man’s testicles. And yet, I have accidentally flashed a nipple while swimming, so the same could be said about me. Maybe I disturbed someone’s inner peace that day, in the same way that gentleman very innocently did to me.

So what is it about Speedos that get us ladies all riled up? Not everyone is flashing their testicles, although the suits do leave very little to the imagination. Of course, bikinis – and, for that matter, most bathing suits – do as well, hence the popularity of the bikini wax for those itsy-bitsy bikinis. Why do we hate Speedos so much? I can’t reconcile my to-get-a-bikini-body-put-your-body-in-a-bikini self with this. In the extremely unlikely, hypothetical event that my husband buys a Speedo, I would burn it, and yet if he did the same to one of my bikinis, it would be mur-diddly-urder around here. HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION, MY HUSBAND WOULD NEVER BUY A SPEEDO OR BURN MY BIKINI.

I don’t know. Maybe I need to work on my open-mindedness. Om shanti.

All depressing subjects covered in one blog post.

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Perhaps in a foreshadowing to Black Monday, it snowed on Friday! Snow in August isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t exactly typical either. Well, snow melts and markets move and the world keeps on spinning.

Fortunately we didn’t have any snow actually stick at our house and my flowers are still alive and well, despite it being 3 degrees for much of the day. The weather has definitely changed and it feels like fall. Even though the afternoons are warm and sunny, there’s still a crispness to the air. School starts next week and despite my excitement about wearing boots and scarves, I’m feeling a bit melancholy about it. We’ve had such a wonderful summer that I’m loathe to have it end. We are trying to fit in as many fun things as possible during this week – the zoo, the pool, the amusement park – so hopefully the weather will cooperate.

Last week I took the kids to see Inside Out. In retrospect, this might not have been the best idea since I has hormonal and emotional, and I had a giant lump in my throat for the whole movie, and actual mascara-wrecking tears at the end of Bing Bong. What a good movie that was. I highly recommend it to everyone as it was probably the most clever and entertaining children’s movie since the first Shrek.

Remember when Shrek first came out, and what a delight it was? I remember seeing it in the theatre with my then-boyfriend-now-husband and just wanting to watch it over and over to catch all the little jokes again. I feel this way about Inside Out – that it’s a many-times-re-watchable movie.

Speaking of re-watching things, the boys have developed an interest in Downton Abbey. I know! I can’t believe my luck either. It all started last year when we were visiting my in-laws; the television at our disposal doesn’t actually have any channels available, and so I had brought my Downton DVD’s with me. The boys started watching with me, and now we are working our way back into Season Four. I’m starting to feel a little uneasy, though, because although the boys have dealt with the storylines involving war, pregnancy struggles, death, and murder, I’m not sure if I’m ready to explain rape to them. Although, a few weeks ago I did have to explain child sexual abuse to Mark, who was completely stunned that such a thing could happen. Aren’t we all, though.

Let’s see: market crashes, snow in August, the death of childhood imaginary friends, and now rape and sexual abuse. I think I’ve covered pretty much every depressing subject available to me today. Quick! Let’s think of something cheerful! How about puppy Barkley sleeping in a Thomas the Tank Engine chair?

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 Ah. That’s better!

 

Lazy pants and life mottos.

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You guys, did you know Ashley Madison was a thing? I always feel badly for hacked websites but I had no idea this was a thing and I am as shocked as a little old lady learning for the first time about Brazilian bikini waxes. They do what?

The boys now have a two week break from karate; last Friday they had a mini-tournament to finish off their camp week, and then there was a shiah on Saturday. I was a bit worried since Mark had what I thought was the beginning of a cold, but which I now think was maybe a bad allergy attack. Thursday night he was up coughing much of the night, and for those of you who have known me for a while, I have some kind of PTSD from when he had pneumonia at age 7, and so I didn’t sleep at all. This also coincided with my hormonal pre-ladies’-holiday insomnia, so I felt like I had been run over by a truck on Friday.

Does anyone else suffer from this? I find about a week or ten days before Ladies’ Holidays, I have a few nights where I can hardly sleep at all. This is very unusual for me since I’m generally a solid sleeper, albeit one who wakes up at four in the morning. Anyway, I find this hormonal insomnia very annoying and it makes me fear for my menopausal days.

Thursday and Friday were terribly cold – 8 degrees Celsius – and rainy and windy as well. One of my heavy lawn chairs blew over and rain came down in sheets. Therefore, I was a bit surprised to hear that they went swimming at the outdoor pool at camp on Thursday. I feel fairly sure this didn’t help Mark’s cough, but after almost twelve hours of sleep on Friday night he was basically recovered and full of his usual energy.

Hilariously, because of the cold, the boys had to forego their shorts for track pants. They wear track pants very rarely; basically only for long plane trips and not much else, but they were perfect for cold days at camp. Mark sighed a bit when he came home, and said “I like track pants, but they really make me feel lazy.” I thought this idea could be extrapolated to any elasticized pants: yoga, track, sweat. In fact, maybe this could be a classification system: lazy pants versus non-lazy pants. I am currently still wearing this morning’s sweaty yoga pants. I know of what I speak.

Speaking of camp, my husband took the kids actual TENT CAMPING yesterday. He is a fairly outdoorsy kind of guy, and being married to me probably doesn’t help his outdoorsy-ness. A few months ago the boys decided that an annual boys’ camping trip would be a fun idea, starting now and continuing, apparently, for the rest of time. It sounded good to me, especially since I wasn’t really invited. They’ve been preparing for this for the past few weeks, gathering the things that they need and making lists of the food they wanted (all meat, all the time). Amidst all this merry chatter, my husband looked at me with concern and wondered if I was feeling sad or left out. Um. No. It’s no hardship for me not to go camping.

It is a hardship for someone in our house, and that someone is Barkley. Poor puppy. They’ve been gone less than 24 hours and they will be coming home soon, but such a sad thing has never happened to him in his life. WHERE IS EVERYBODY. Every weeknight at 6:30, Barkley sits at the top of the steps and stares out the back door window, waiting for my husband to come home. He did this yesterday, slowly slumping to the floor by 8:30 pm, when I decided enough was enough and put him to bed. This morning he went to all the empty bedrooms and flopped sadly back into his crate. It’s heartbreaking!

Meanwhile I’ve enjoyed my solo time by eating food no one else really likes (kale salad and roasted chickpeas), watching TV shows no one else wants to watch (NYPD Blue), and reading Gone With The Wind. I last read Gone With The Wind in 1989, when I was fourteen, and I can safely say it reads very different now. For one thing, when I was fourteen I had zero concept of US politics, the economy, or industrialization. I mostly just focused on the sexy romantic parts, of which there are many. I’m finding that I feel a bond with Scarlett, which is something I have sort of mixed feelings about. It’s not like we are the same person, but the line “Even if you think such things, why do you say them? If you’d just think what you please but keep your mouth shut, everything would be so much nicer.” speaks to me. I feel like that could be the entire basis of a life motto. Maybe Margaret Mitchell was clairvoyant, seeing into the internet age and the comments sections of sociopolitical columns.

Hashtag “Blessed”

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Yesterday the kids really wanted to go to the amusement park, and although that meant TWO big outings in one week, I agreed. It’s Stampede Week and the amusement park is always quiet at this time of the year, we have season’s passes, and also it was a beautiful sunny day. I was preparing snacks and water bottles when I got a call from my husband: his building had a small fire and the office was closed for the day, so he was on his way back home.

Score!

As soon as he got in the door the kids immediately begged him to come with us. This NEVER happens, since we usually do our outings during the week when he’s at work. The four of us piled into the car and headed off, and we had the best time. There’s nothing like going to the amusement park with both parents to showcase which one of us is the “fun one” (hint: it’s not me). I did, however, agree to go on the bumper cars with the kids and although at times I felt like Marge Simpson, driving neatly in a clockwise direction, it was a blast.

I maintain that there cannot feasibly be two really fun parents in a relationship, and I’m okay with not being the fun one. I don’t really want to go on the log ride, for example, and I certainly don’t want to get shot with water in the bumper boats. And yet sometimes this can be hard on my non-cool ego. A few weeks ago we were discussing over dinner which Star Wars character best represented each person in our family. The boys had agreed that their father was most like Han Solo, Jake was most like Luke, and Mark was just like Anakin prior to going over to the Dark Side. When I asked which character I was most like, they both thought for a moment, and then agreed – IN UNISON – that I was most like C-3PO.

I related this to my friend Hannah, who soothed my soul by saying I was Princess Leia in a gold bikini, and I shouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise. I would like to think that I could choke a giant slug with my neck chain, but sadly I’m now convinced that I am most like the second-lamest character in the entire Star Wars series.

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Have you ever had the experience of sharing something from your childhood with your own children, and you build it up and build it up and then it’s a total letdown because they are bored or uninterested or politely concede that it’s “okay?” I’ve had that experience numerous times, but this week was different. I discovered Top Gun is now on Canadian Netflix.

Longtime readers know how I feel about Top Gun. If not, please read this post right now. I’ll wait.

I decided to watch it Wednesday evening, since my husband was going to be at a Stampede event and I wanted something fun for myself. I asked the boys if they wanted to watch it with me, and they said yes. Mark watched and enjoyed the first and last thirty minutes, wandering off mid-movie to do something else, as is his wont. But Jake. Jake LOVED it. He loved the story line. He loved the flight scenes. He loved the call signs and the lessons learned and Maverick turning into a Team Player after all. I skipped through the sex scene, but other than that he watched the whole movie and was glued to it the whole time. He analyzed it extensively, saying things like “I don’t think Maverick is really mad at Sundown. He’s just upset because Goose is gone now.”

We have now perfected the double high-five – up high, and backwards down low, and he says that he wants this to be our playground goodbye, instead of the fist-bump that we’ve been doing for years. He is now saying things to me such as “Mom, you can be my wingman anytime.” It brings tears of joy to my eyes.

This morning, when he woke up, he asked if we could watch Top Gun together again soon.

YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES YES.

The Hippo Whisperer

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It’s Stampede Week in Calgary, and on Friday my husband headed into the office, wearing cowboy boots, a plaid shirt, and jeans. He looked pretty hot, by the way, but his usual work wear is a suit and tie (which is also hot. Hello? Hooters for women would just be guys walking around in suits holding up their credit scores, am I right?). In any case, Mark was hugging him goodbye and then stopped. He looked at my husband, and the shock and confusion on his face was impossible to hide. Um, Dad? Are you…going to work? Is this…casual Friday?

Then yesterday my husband brought out his cowboy hat, to wear to a function, and Jake gave him the side-eye. Dad? You don’t look like a cowboy. You just look like some dude in a cowboy hat.

My poor husband is going to have some self-esteem issues by the time the week is over.

Stampede Week is a great time to get out and do non-Stampede-related things around the city, so this morning the kids and I went to the zoo. They have a Dinosaurs Alive exhibit that was last there in 2010. This was me and the boys looking at a Parasauralophus in 2010:

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And this is them in front of the Parasauralophus now:

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I THINK THEY’VE GROWN.

One thing that hasn’t changed over the years is Jake’s deep and abiding love of hippos. Remember Foggy, and how deeply we mourned him? Jake has grown to love Ghost, Foggy’s grandson, just as much. As a side note, Ghost is no longer actually called Ghost, but Lobi; however, in our house he has remained and forever will remain Ghost.

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And I don’t know how it happens, I honestly don’t, but every single time we visit the zoo, something occurs that deepens Jake’s belief that he and the hippos are inextricably bonded. Today when we visited Ghost, the giant hippo turned around, looked at Jake, and wiggled his ears. When we were leaving, Jake said “Bye, Ghost,” at which point the hippo honked loudly. Cynics may think this is a silly coincidence, but I am not going to dispute Jake’s belief that he and the hippo are communicating. This is the kid who never believed in the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, and who stopped believing in Santa when he was in kindergarten. If anyone tries to tell him that he is not the Hippo Whisperer, I will stab that motherfucker, I swear I will.

On a much less violent note, yesterday I was invited to a Ladies’ Lunch in honour of my niece’s fifth birthday, and it was so nice! There were eight of us: her grandmas, aunties, big sisters, and her mom. Her other auntie also has two boys, and between the two of us, I thought we might steal the gifts to play with ourselves. I had given her a paper doll/ sticker book, and it was all I could do not to cut out the dolls and start dressing them up. The boys and I went shopping last week to pick it out and they could not have been less interested.

Me: Should I get the pink puppy one, or the dolly one?

Jake: Puppies.

Me: Really? Because this dolly one is really cute too.

Mark: Then get the dolly one.

Me: I’m just not sure which is cuter!

Jake: JUST PICK ONE. IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Mark: I’m going to look at the Percy Jackson books, come on, Jake.

Maybe I should have gotten the pink puppy one for myself.

How to survive and thrive in the summer with tweens.

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About a year ago, someone posted about how if and when she had kids, she would never, ever schedule “playdates” or other activities for them, especially during the summer, because she had shit to do and the kids should learn to be self-sufficient with their social lives.

Don’t you love how the people with the best parenting advice aren’t parents?

It’s true that when we were kids, we spent most summer days with friends from the neighbourhood, doing our own thing, and generally without our parents’ supervision or specific knowledge. My own kids are now pre-teens – age 11 and almost 10 – and this kind of summer activity is nearly impossible for them. Almost all of their friends fit into at least two of the following three categories: a) they live in a neighbourhood that is a minimum ten minute drive away, b) they have two working parents and so are in day camps most of the time, and c) they are out of town/ country on vacation. With that in mind, there is no way the kids can just knock on their friends’ doors and ask if they can come out to play. It’s just not happening. Hanging out with their friends actually requires some level of logistical planning on their part, with assistance from me and the other parents, and as much as I like having a marauding group of tween boys in the basement eating all the food and making all the noise, it’s just not possible as a daily occurrence.

This marks my eleventh summer at home with kids, and things go pretty smoothly, for the most part. The boys actually get along really well 95% of the time, which makes things fairly easy. However, I do find they need a bit of direction at times to keep things running smoothly, so I thought I’d share with you what works for us, what makes for happy kids and a happy me.

Kick Them Out Sometimes

No, this isn’t a nostalgic post about the 1970s summers where kids left in the morning and came home in time for dinner. As I said, that’s not exactly feasible in my case. However, 10-and-11 year olds can certainly head off to the playground on their own, despite alarmist newspaper articles. In fact, my kids love doing this: a trip to 7-11, a walk to the playground, a wander around the neighbourhood. These are the same kids who are “too old” for playground activities, but if they are by themselves, will easily spend an hour making up obstacle courses or training for a future spot on American Ninja Warrior by hanging on the monkey bars.

Get Out Of The House Every Damn Day

This harkens back to the days when they were little and I would lose my mind if I didn’t get out of the house at least once. Sometimes getting out of the house is the afore-mentioned kicking out, while I do some relaxing gardening, and sometimes the “outing” is kind of lame – a trip to Costco or Wal-Mart. Sometimes it’s a dog walk, while the kids chatter to me about some Minecraft thing they are building. The point is, I – and they – need to get out of the house, every day.

A Medium Activity Once A Week

I define a medium activity as one that requires a medium level of effort from me: having some friends over, for example, or taking them to the pool for the afternoon. Other than some involvement with sunscreen, snacks, driving, etc., there is little else required of me, and the kids have a good time. The pool is especially a good bet, because I can hang out in the sun with a book while they swim.

A Large Activity Once Every 7-10 Days

A large activity is something like a trip to the amusement park or zoo, or a day hike in the mountains. This involves considerable physical effort on my part, but is always worthwhile because these are the outings the kids remember with fondness. Years ago, my friend Tara (HI TARA) introduced me to the brilliant idea of using Christmas/ birthday money from relatives to purchase season’s passes for favourite activities. Experiences over things, right?

Let Them Lounge

One of the best things about being home in the summer is the ability to be lazy. When the kids were little, we generally needed to be OUT of the house between 9 and 9:30 or all seemed lost; now the kids are in their pajamas until lunch more often than not. That’s okay because it gives me an excuse to be in my sweaty yoga clothes until then. Unless we are going to do a Big Activity that involves crowds and lineups, we don’t need to leave the house early. I work part-time from home, and while the kids lounge in their jammies, I am able to get a few solid hours of work in. Which brings me to…

Screen Time

I know, I know, we are all supposed to nix the screen time and unplug and everything, but I allow it. I mean, it’s not an all-day-every-day-non-stop-video-game-extravaganza, but I do let the kids have at it while I’m working. Here’s the thing: they build interesting things together in Minecraft, they talk constantly about the characters in Disney Infinity, and later, they talk and draw and make up stories about these imaginary things. Their games on the PS4 are much more physically active and imagination-inspiring than just watching TV shows, which – as I remember from my own childhood – is something our generation did a lot of. I say, bring on the screen time (in moderation, blah blah blah).

Cooking

When they were little, we would do science experiments and make play dough and crafts and colouring, but they have no interest in that anymore. What they do have interest in is making things to eat (tween boys and all that). The other day, Jake wanted to make crepes. He had made them in French class at school, and he had a recipe. What really surprised me is how little supervision and help he needed to make the crepes. Every so often, putting the kids in charge of making things is a really great idea – not just because we don’t want them to grow up to be idiots in the kitchen, but also because they love eating things that they make. It’s pretty easy to give them a sous-chef position when you’re making dinner, or to let them be in charge of their own smoothies/ milkshakes. So what if they use five tablespoons of chocolate syrup when making a milkshake? They’re exercising their independence!

Housework

When I was a kid visiting my grandma, I knew never to say “I’m bored.” Grandma hated that, and would immediately put the offending child to work. My kids get a monthly allowance which gets docked if they don’t do their specified chores. There are so many things kids this age can do – from weeding the garden to vacuuming the floor, from cleaning the kitchen after dinner to making beds. A few daily chores, coupled with a few weekly chores, will keep the boredom at bay – or, at the very least, contribute to a cleaner house.

Academic Work

This is really the subject for a full post on its own, but suffice it to say that the kids do some kind of academic activity for about five hours a week. Call me a Tiger Mom if you will, but I’ll go into details later.

So that’s what we do to survive and thrive in the summer. What are your tips and tricks? xo

Summer Love

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Here we are, on day three of summer vacation, and it kind of feels like we’ve been on vacation for a month already, in the best way possible. It’s been unseasonably warm and beautiful, and we haven’t yet had a moment of missing-school-or-friends angst that typically happens in the first few days of unstructuredness. The boys finished school on Friday:

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All has been, as they say, rosy:

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We’ve been as busy as bees, having fun:

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We spent the weekend at the lake with my parents, and much of the time was spent like this:

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And some of this:

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Today we went to the local amusement park, and although the forecast was quite warm, it was very overcast. Apparently this run of great weather has ruined my Calgary weather-savviness, because I failed to bring a jacket and so was completely unprepared for the drizzle that turned into rain. The bright side is that I had a lot of work to do this afternoon, and was able to complete it without feeling resentful that I was missing out on great weather. Also, the rain didn’t really start until we were pretty much ready to go home anyway, and the boys got to do everything they wanted in the time we were there. Plus, this year they are both tall enough for the big bumper cars, and it was hilarious to watch them jam themselves into the centre and get pummelled from all sides.

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I spent a lot of time reading this weekend. I’ve been reading a biography of the Queen Mum that my mother had lent me, and let’s just say it’s eye opening. Remember the scandal when Fergie had her toes sucked by someone, and Charles said he wished he was Camilla’s tampon? First, ew. Tampon, really? But these are completely tame and boring compared with the totally scandalous behaviour and also kind of incestuous relationships by the European royals of the early 20th century. HOO BOY.

It’s also bizarrely hilarious. For example, King Constantine I was deposed, and his son took over as king of Greece. Unfortunately, says the book, he was bitten by a monkey and died of blood poisoning in 1920. Two paragraphs later, we find out that Princess Marie Bonapart, in pursuit of a better orgasm, had her clitoris surgically repositioned three times. Three times! It seems amazing that it would work after that. These are the kind of anecdotes that keep me reading, because the book itself is very dense and heavy reading. It’s not unlike reading a textbook, albeit one with very strange stories in it.

I hope you’re having a wonderful summer so far! xoxo

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