Category Archives: Uncategorized

A non-gambler goes to Las Vegas, covets a Popeye statue.

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This morning I went grocery shopping at my usual old-people Co-Op, and they were having one of those big “Warehouse Sales.” There were quite a few of my usual purchases on for great prices, so I stocked up a bit. When I went through the checkout, the girl handed me my receipt, saying in the robotic, automated voices of those who have worked in customer service for a while, “Today you saved $71.13. Have a nice day.”

$71.13! I repeated this, loudly, looking around me. I half expected confetti and balloons to drop from the ceiling, along with music and a loudspeaker announcement. I felt like I just won the Housewife Olympics or something. I repeated it again, $71.13, wow! The elderly man with the carton of ice cream, loaf of bread, and single cucumber standing behind me didn’t seem to care about my Amazing Savings. I wheeled my cart out of the store, immediately texting my husband AND calling my mother, just to have some sort of outside validation. They were both suitably impressed.

I just got back from an extended weekend away in Las Vegas. The last time my husband and I went away together was in 2010. We had such a blast – and the kids had so much fun at Camp Grandma – that I’m optimistic that we will go away again before Mark’s sixteenth birthday. Las Vegas is such a weird and wonderful place, although I frequently wondered why Greenpeace or similar hasn’t targeted it for its extreme environmental footprint. Maybe because it’s Vegas, baby! Anything goes. Open liquor while wandering around on the street? Check. People smoking INSIDE BUILDINGS? Check. People shoving cards for Hot Ass Escorts in your hand as you walk by? Check, check, triple check.

I’m not at all a gambler, and didn’t even put a dollar in a slot machine, although my husband enjoyed a bit of it. Gotta make some money for your little honey, as the sweaty cab driver said to my husband on the way to the hotel from the airport. Buddy! For all he knew I could have been the primary breadwinner in the family. I would have been outraged but I was too busy looking out the window, trying to spot Elvis.

As it turned out, the only Elvis (or, Elvii) I saw were two glittery-jumpsuited men outside of Caesar’s Palace, looking for tourists with whom to get their photos taken. I did not partake, because there is “fun and campy” and then there is “sad and depressing” and those two were definitely in the latter group. And yet, there is so much to do, besides gambling and looking for Elvis (or Elvii).

We met up with three other couples to celebrate a friend’s fiftieth birthday, and by far the most fun we had was going to a duelling piano bar. Duelling pianos is probably the most fun concept ever imagined, besides karaoke, and our duelling pianists were twin sisters from Syracuse, New York. This is also one of the best parts of Las Vegas: the name tags that detail where an employee is from. I had a great time imagining what brought Deena from St. Paul, or Hector from El Paso, to Las Vegas. Before you think that their stories must be depressing and gloomy, the cocktail waitress who brought my husband drinks while he gambled told him – upon his questioning – that the casinos were great to work for and provided health and dental benefits, as well as paid vacation. So, I’m going to keep imagining happy stories that don’t involve addiction or the downfall of society.

People watching in Las Vegas is very entertaining; there seem to be always tons of bachelor parties and stagettes, with girls wearing t-shirts and hats that say “Team Bride” surrounding a girl wearing a veil and a balloon hat, there are little old couples and actual newly-married couples wearing wedding clothes while at the blackjack table, there are families with small children and there are incongruous-looking couples, men with bright white running shoes and pale blue pleated jeans entwined with diamond-studded girls thirty years their junior. I was enjoying myself, imagining everyone’s day-to-day life in fun detail, all the while hoping that no one was doing the same with me.

This is because I, who have enjoyed robust and hearty good health with nary an issue for eight months, came down with a cold the day before we were slated to leave. It wasn’t a debilitating, trip-ruining plague or anything, but it was a sniffly nuisance nonetheless. I hoped that my intermittent nose-blowing wouldn’t lead anyone to think I was a cocaine addict or anything. My husband and I were idly poking around in the chi-chi stores in the Wynn, and exactly when he was conversing with the saleslady in a very expensive watch store, my nose started to bleed torrentially. I ran to the nearest marbled bathroom with my bleeding nose, while people around me averted their gaze. I have a cold! I swear I’m not a coke head!

Much more to come, I’m sure, but for now I’ll leave you with this giant statue of Popeye, that could be yours! It’s for sale – price available upon request so I’m guessing that price is a boatload of money. Does anyone have room for one of these? It’s full of whimsy.

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How to dress for the Calgary Stampede without looking like an idiot.

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…or a “Woo Girl”.

Last Friday the school hosted it’s annual Stampede Breakfast; it’s a year-end tradition that is greatly anticipated by all the staff and students, and of course my kids were no exception.

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Cute cowboys!

As I dressed that morning, I thought of all the years I’ve spent disparaging Stampede or Western wear. Typically, I think of the week of Stampede as the week that Calgary loses all fashion sense, while people walk around embracing their inner cowpoke by wearing tight high-rise Wranglers, giant belt buckles, and shirts with sunset and/ or howling wolf motifs. I always want to get into that festive Western spirit, and yet I a) don’t want to spend any money to do it, and b) I don’t want to look like an idiot and/or what my friend Jen (HI JEN) euphemistically calls a “woo girl.”

Be the change you want to see in the world, I say, and so here are three outfits that you can pull together inexpensively and with things you probably already have in your closet that will get you in the Stampede spirit. That is, if you’re in Calgary. If you’re not, though, maybe you have a Western-themed costume party you need to attend this summer. I don’t know if such a party exists outside of Alberta, but hey, if it does, I’ve got you covered.

First Step: Ditch the denim cut-offs. Cut-off denim shorts are universally unflattering. Well, I would extend that to shorts in general but then I usually get stridently humourless messages about the wonders of shorts, so I will leave it at denim cut-offs. This is especially true if the denim shorts are of a length where the pockets extend below the “hemline,” and I use that term loosely. Remember this maxim: just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Second Step: Spend a small amount of money on accessories. I have lived in Calgary my whole life and I still don’t own cowboy boots. I think they’re cute, I think you can work them into other outfits, but every year I find I cannot bring myself to spend any money purchasing them. I have some kind of mental block about it; I’d happily pay for yoga tops, yoga pants, and black sweaters even though I have dozens of each, but I cannot bring myself to buy a pair of cowboy boots. Maybe you want to, though. Several years ago I bought a straw cowboy hat for under thirty dollars and it remains my best Stampede accessory. It’s versatile too; cowboy hats look very cute with bikinis on the beach. Ladies, don’t forget your hats on the beach! You don’t want to end up like apple dolls, or raisins.

Outfit #1: This is what I wore to the breakfast on Friday. It’s a good outfit for cool-ish weather because of the layering potential.

Start with a tank top and skinny jeans (or any jeans).

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Oops. That’s a bit too cleavage-y of a shot. Here’s a better one.

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Bonus fuzzy slippers! Next, layer on a button-up shirt. I have this ugly Western-themed one, but really, any button-up shirt will do. Bonus points for plaid.

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You can see the Western detailing on the back. Note the tank top – not too much cleavage or you’ll end up looking Woo Girl, as this is what we are trying to avoid.

Add the hat:

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Now, as I said, I don’t have cowboy boots. They would be perfect with this outfit, however, my normal ankle boots will have to suffice.

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Outfit complete!

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Outfit #2

Start with a tank top and denim skirt, if you have one. If you don’t have a denim skirt, jeans will work just as well.

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Next, add a bandana. I have had this thing for years. I actually got it in 2001 at this restaurant in Houston called Taste of Texas, which features gigantic steaks that are free if you break the record of x number of ounces. I did not partake in that activity, but nevertheless I received this bandana.

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Next, add the hat. See how versatile the straw hat is? I’m really pushing for it.

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Bandanas are very inexpensive to purchase – or free, if you frequent the right restaurants – but if you don’t have one, just go with the hat and tank top/ skirt combination works.

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Cowboy boots would be the best footwear choice in this scenario, but usually I end up wearing sandals. People aren’t generally looking at your feet, unless those people are my shoe-obsessed mother, in which case she is totally looking at your feet. The lady likes her footwear, is all I’m saying.

Outfit #3

Start with a sundress, any sundress. Floral is really cute if you have one, but I do not, so I have to settle for this black number.

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A word about this dress: it’s made by the yoga-wear company Prana, and it is, without exception, the most comfortable article of clothing I own. That includes pajamas. The material is soft and stretchy, and it has a built in shelf bra so it’s just like wearing the most comfortable yoga top ever, but extended to the knees. I like that it’s a bit on the longer side, so I don’t have to worry about a gust of wind displaying my badonkadonk.

Next, add a jean jacket, denim vest, or denim top.

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The outfit could, really, be complete right there, but why not top it off with a cute straw cowboy hat?

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Again, cowboy boots would be very cute with this, but sandals are a decent second place.

Are you all set for Stampede now? Can I get a YAHOO? Or maybe just a WOO? xo

Scaredy Nicole Wears Blue. This Was Not Part Of The Plan!

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This weekend I got on my bike for the first time since 2003. I know! It felt like quite the undertaking. I stopped going for bike rides when I was pregnant with Mark, and then I never started again. My husband rides with the kids, but the truth is I’m not a strong rider, I cannot ride in traffic without panicking, and I just can’t deal with worrying about the kids riding WHILE I’m riding. But the kids are now at an age where they are perfectly competent, and they’ve expressed interest in “family bike rides” and so I thought riding up at the lake, where there is little traffic and few things to worry about, might be just the ticket. I also remembered how shocked the kids were to learn that I actually know how to swim, and so I thought in some way I should show them that their mother is actually capable of riding a bike.

So my husband dragged my bike out of storage, and tuned it up a bit. I went out and bought a bike skirt because if I’m going to spend any amount of time doing an athletic activity, I want to do it looking nice.

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My friend Alice (HI ALICE) expressed concern about the colour. She thought the blue was too bright for me, and that I resemble a flower, and will get swarmed by marauding butterflies. If this happens, I will probably die. Or scream.

Anyway, I nervously rode with the boys and it was pretty fun, so I guess we are going on family bike rides now. It’s one of my goals to be more sporty and active with the kids, and as long as I have a cute outfit, I’m good to go. Right?

A friend (HI JOANNE) posted a long quote about embracing yourself as you are and I just have to share the last part:

 I don’t want to waste one more precious, livable moment being anything other than totally thrilled that I’m here! I’m alive! I get to live every day in this body that my soul chose and my only job is to honor it with a full life!”
~ Christina Vanvuren

So I guess I’ll be bike riding more often. I’m not sure if ANYONE is capable of being in a state of thrill every second of every day, but it’s good to remember that it is good to be alive.

Social media is a funny thing, isn’t it? For the most part, I love it, and not just because I have a job based on it. I really like to peek into other people’s lives and celebrate their little victories and happiness. I love photos of pets, kids, and vacations. I love selfies, recipes, pictures of what someone had for dinner, and links to funny or interesting stories. Most of all, I love personal stories. The other day, a woman I know from yoga (HI LAURA) posted an anecdote in which she and her one year old son were in Starbucks and were approached by an elderly lady with dementia. This elderly lady thought that Laura’s baby was her own grandson, and instead of correcting her, Laura sat down and had visited with her. Not one out of one hundred people would do that, I think. What a kindness. This has stayed in my thoughts and has given me a goal to be more open and kind. Think about it – what a gift she gave that lady, the gift of dignity and kindness. I want to be more like Laura.

Then there’s the flip side of social media, the passive aggressive updates, the angry link posting and the threads that follow, the invitations to express differing views followed by the total rage that results from people expressing differing views. I’ve actually seen friendships – actual, real-life friendships – disintegrate over vaccination discussions and political decisions. Just this weekend, someone posted a piece about the price of starter homes. The thread that followed was basically many people agreeing that no one but the very rich can afford to buy a house, and buying a house is stupid anyway. Then one of my friends very reasonably and calmly commented that, by making informed decisions and figuring out where one’s priorities lie, most people can in fact purchase a home. He also – very reasonably – pointed out that the definition of “starter home” is possibly flawed; a 2500 square foot house with all new appliances might not fit this description.

I strongly agree with this last point. My husband and I bought this house in 2000, and it was in terrible shape at the time. The living room was bright pink with shiny forest green trim, and featured a giant fireplace with gold-toned rock work. The basement was panel board and linoleum, the kitchen had five different – but coordinated! – patterns of wallpaper, and the bathroom had BROWN FIXTURES. The kitchen cupboards and drawers were homemade in 1962 and required a great deal of strength to open and close them. The linen cupboards smelled like ginger and garlic had gone in there to die and the gardens were completely overrun by weeds and grass. That, my friends, is a starter home.

But I digress. After my friend made these very reasonable points, and also drew on his own experiences and setbacks, he was immediately attacked by the other commenters. People said some really mean, cutting things, and THAT is what I hate about social media. I hate the pretence that everyone is open minded and can express opinions freely, but if someone does that, then they get attacked. I hate that people say things that they very likely would not say face to face, and most of all, I hate when people follow up a mean comment with a smiley emoticon and/ or an “lol!”. THE LOL DOES NOT CANCEL OUT WHAT YOU SAID, PEOPLE.

Well, we can’t control what others do, we can only control our own reactions and behaviour, and that’s why there’s the “I don’t want to see this” option. And in the meantime, I will be thinking to myself “What Would Laura Do?” Laura probably wouldn’t write a blog post about what she hates about social media. Hmm. Too late now, and so if I do get swarmed by marauding butterflies, it will be karma, I guess. xo

I’ve got 99 problems, but after tonight chairing the School Council/ Parent Association will not be one of them.

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The long weekend is so early this year! It’s really thrown me off my game. I just realized that this is the earliest it can possibly be, so it’s not just me and my “What? Already?” feelings.

Adding to the panic-at-the-disco feeling is that – in addition to my husband being away earlier this week, and dealing with work deadlines – I’m scrambling to prepare for the last School Council/ Parent Association meeting of the school year, which is tonight. This is significant because it’s also the last meeting that I will chair, putting an end to my four years of tyranny and bossiness.

I have to say, I’m relieved. I felt like I was spread much too thin this year, and also that four years is a long time to chair anything, but especially a council that can be fraught at times. I did love doing it, though, don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing like getting all the insider information, developing relationships with all the school staff, and being the liaison between parents and the administration. It’s good stuff! But four years – as a friend just reminded me, that’s the length of a US presidency. Bush, Carter, Ford, and me – four-year presidents.

Unrelatedly, I have a hair appointment this afternoon. On the weekend, I caught my husband looking at me strangely. I initially assumed he was looking at me with adoration and lust, but that idea faded when he asked if I had a hair appointment scheduled for this week. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING. Maybe he had adoration and lust too, I don’t know.

Speaking of my life of glamour, this morning I was walking through the kitchen carrying a full laundry basket, and I slipped on a tiny puddle of water, left there from when Barkley drinks from his water dish and his fuzzy face drips on the floor. I wrenched my ankle a bit, but managed not to actually fall. My ankle’s a bit sore, but imagine if I had really hurt myself? That would have been embarrassing. How did you break your ankle again?

In any case, this afternoon I’ll be resting my ankle at the hair salon, while catching up on all of the gossip about unknown-to-me celebrities.

It’s like I’m suddenly alive with colour.

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The other day I got a piece of mail from a random energy company that wants to offer me fixed natural gas rates, which is annoying in itself. I mean, I worked in the energy industry. I have a master’s degree in economics. I used to price options and structured products, and I have a very good understanding of hedging. I do not want fixed natural gas rates, so please stop sending mail/ knocking on my door/ phoning me.

But the piece of mail was addressed to Mr. Nicole MacPherson, which was odd. It made me wonder if I needed an upper lip wax, or if Nicole was simply the latest name to become androgynous in the manner of Ryan or Taylor. Then I thought that perhaps this was a new, feminist way to refer to my husband! My husband – now known as Mr. Me. It’s about time!

Recently I read about a woman who wore the same thing to work every single day for three years, which I thought was interesting. My initial thought was that she wore the same clothes every day for three years, which made me wonder what the state of those clothes were like after so much wear, and, presumably, washing, but the reality is she bought fifteen white silk shirts, some black pants, a blazer, and a little black ribbon necktie. Essentially it was a work uniform.

I had a lot of thoughts about this, once I realized that no, this isn’t based on a sole outfit that ended up grimy and stinky by the end of the week. My first reaction was that taking this approach to fashion seems really boring, if you like clothes like I do. Boring or not, this is similar to what many – maybe even most – men do in the workplace: think guys in suits, or men like Steve Jobs who have a signature “look.” The premise of having a “work uniform,” so to speak, is that it takes the decision making out of your hands, and frees up your time and thoughts for more important things. I do this for meals; I plan meals for the week and I do not deviate from that schedule, ever. It takes all the decisions out of my hands; there’s no waffling around at five o’clock. I like to think that it gives me more time to contemplate important things like should I plant tulip bulbs this year, or if Don Draper ends up jumping off a building it is going to be very anticlimactic.

Slight digression: I almost always make some sort of stir fry/ Pad Thai/ Kung Pao dish on Monday nights, but on Sunday I realized I had some romaine lettuce that I didn’t have a chance to use on the weekend, since we ended up being out of town. Last night I made up a big Caesar salad with pine nuts, baked two crusty loaves of bread, and sautéed some chicken breasts for the guys with a barbeque sauce. Great, right? My husband came home and was completely befuddled. It’s good, he said, But I was thinking about stir fry all day.

Anyway, it got me thinking about how much time I spend thinking about clothes, and the answer, surprisingly enough, is not much. I set out my outfit the day before based on anticipated activities and weather forecasts, and like the meal plan, I do not deviate from it. This is because if I had to make that decision in the morning, who knows what would happen. I’d probably end up standing in my underwear, staring at my overstuffed dresser full of black clothing, until the children were late for school. So I spend a minute or two the day before setting out clothing, end of story.

That’s when I realized that I already HAVE a uniform of sorts. It’s called the work-from-home-but-still-leave-the-house-enough-that-I-want-to-look-nice uniform. Black sweaters/ tops/ t-shirts and jeans. Various scarves. Sometimes I vary it with a grey top under a black sweater, maybe, or – like today – a pink yoga top underneath a meshy black sweater. This is why I spend no brain power on clothing, it’s because my clothing all looks largely the same. Granted, I probably don’t NEED 22 black sweaters and an equal or greater number of black tops and t-shirts, but I have a uniform. I’m on trend with this whole thing and I didn’t even know it!

Realizing that I’m already kind of like that woman who wears the same outfit all the time was an exercise in self-awareness. On the one hand, I was congratulating myself on spending minimal time actually thinking about what I wear every day; I put on the clothes I set out, and I go about my business. Sometimes I admire how it looks, sometimes I don’t notice. On the other hand, maybe I’m much too boring in my clothing choices. Maybe, fashion wise, I’m just like Steve Jobs, but with much less money and fame.

This weekend we were at my parents’ place, and my mom and I went shopping to this interesting little shop in the small town she lives in. I’ve bought a few things there before; it largely deals with yoga clothes, but there are some cute dresses and things in there as well.

People, I got a tunic-length top with pockets, and it is PURPLE AND GREY. I feel kind of conspicuous, but also kind of pretty in it. Is this a turning point for me? Probably not, but I’m going to enjoy my small foray into peacock-like flamboyancy.

Never Surrender

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One day last week I heard Never Surrender twice, on two separate radio stations. Twice in one day! I felt like it was a sign, a sign that I shouldn’t let a little uncertainty bring me down, and that no one can take away my right to fight.

Because I am fighting the power, the power that seems to be conspiring to turn parking lots into chaos and cesspools of disarray. I pulled into Costco for a quick, but somehow expensive, trip. Right in front of me was a cart left all on its own.

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The cart corral is literally twenty steps away, OMG.

My extreme dislike of this phenomenon of “just leaving your cart wherever you feel like it” is well documented, but I decided to employ Alice’s (HI ALICE) Shopping Cart Karma mentality, and took the cart for my own use in the store. Upon returning to my car, this was the scene:

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THEY’RE MULTIPLYING!

So that felt a bit deflating, but I guess it’s like the story of the kid throwing the starfish back into the ocean; maybe one person can’t save every starfish/ cart, but one person made a difference to that particular starfish/ cart. Or something.

I know, there are many, many other causes to get worked up about, but apparently random carts left in the parking lot is MY cause.

In other, semi-interesting news, I am only a few weeks away from not being the chair of the School Council/ Parent Association! I know! I can’t believe it either! Four years, and I am definitely feeling DONE. When the mere thought of creating JUST ONE MORE AGENDA is completely deflating, it’s time to pass the torch. My husband thinks it will only be a matter of time before I start chairing something else, but I don’t think so. I need to stay strong. And never surrender.

Speaking of songs that get stuck in my head for days on end, I’ve had First Kiss by Kid Rock going through my head since Saturday. It is now Tuesday. That is a lot of Kid Rock. The shameful thing is that I really do love that song, in all its cheesy glory; it reminds me of my teen years in the best possible way. I turn the stereo up and roll the windows dowwwwwwnnnnn…

Not even Billy Joel can squeeze First Kiss out of my brain. I was in the lineup at Walmart, with my glamourous basket full of eight items or less, including three different kinds of seasonal allergy medication, mascara, and cleanser for the kitchen sink. (Digression: the variety of things that people buy at Walmart is astounding, and the examination of their baskets and carts could be an entire social experiment. Or perhaps a still-life piece of art depicting the many limbs of modern life.) The Longest Time by Billy Joel came over the speakers, and I found myself at first humming, then singing under my breath. I know! It’s terrible, but I cannot seem to stop myself. Then, I realized that I was not alone in my song: both the cashier, and a man behind me in line, riding one of those Walmart scooters, were also “whoa-ooh-ooh-ooh”-ing along. It felt like a bringing-together moment, in the Walmart lineup, not unlike the time I found myself in a duet with an elderly man in the liquor store, singing Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

Taking back stranded shopping carts and singing with strangers; it seems to be my master plan for peace and happiness. That, or a sign that I’m losing my mind, I’m not really sure which.

Do you feel lucky, punk?

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Yesterday I got an email saying that I was the possible recipient of $6.5 million dollars, due to the passing of someone who MAY be related to me. All the money was in a Tongan bank just waiting to be transferred. Then, this morning I got TWO emails from “China Shenhua” saying that “company picked your email as a lucky person for $1,000,000 and a new car.” All I could think of was Bob Barker’s voice: A NEW CAR.

By the way, have you seen Jesse Paul on a 2008 episode of The Price Is Right? I love The Price Is Right (PLINKO!) and I absolutely adore the super-excited audience members. Jesse Paul, however, takes the cake. Watch the clip and tell me if you don’t think he’s the single greatest contestant to be on the show. I still get to spin the wheel, right, Bob?

Anyway, I’m feeling pretty lucky, with my super-exciting inbox of winning today. Plus, you guys, it’s almost my birthday! I love birthdays. I love that I’m turning forty. It feels like this exciting new era, and also that I’ve joined a super-special club of the over-forties.

So I’m having a few people over on the weekend, and last week I went to Costco to stock up on snacky things and other necessities. Since we had the painters at the house, I went to Costco after lunch and OH MY GOD YOU GUYS what was I thinking? I guess I was thinking nothing at all, since I never go to Costco in the afternoon. In fact, the only time I’ve been there not first thing in the morning was the one time I zoomed over there when the kids were in karate and I had 45 minutes to get there and back. On that occasion, I didn’t even take a cart, I just loaded up four items in my arms and popped in and out. I did not realize what afternoon Costco was like.

I expected it to be busier, but it wasn’t significantly so. The issue wasn’t with the number of people, it was with the samples.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not hating on people getting samples. It’s cool. I’m sure they have lots of tasty treats, and for free, and fill your boots, but for the love of god, people, please move your carts. Those giant Costco carts are bad enough, but when there are six or seven of them lined up to get a free spoonful of Greek yogurt, it is impossible for the non-sampling population to get by and get on with their lives. I was literally trapped in the aisles, trying to edge past the lines of people sampling the wares. It was like a weird nightmare; I’d get to the end of the aisle and would not be able to get out. I’d turn my cart around, but by the time I did that more people were lined up on the other side for more samples. I even got a side-eye and under-the-breath muttering from some man who was under the impression that I was trying to budge in front of him, rather than get around him to get to the frozen berry section. Buddy, I’m not interested in your portion of ham on a cracker. You can have my share.

I’ve been on a kick lately where I am trying not to stock up on things; I’m trying to just use up what I have in the house, and only buy things I need. My canned goods cupboard was getting out of control. So, I’ve put myself on a buying moratorium; I make a list and I stick strictly to the list. Too many times I’ve thought maybe we need soap, bought a 12-pack of Dove, and come home to three unopened Costco-sized packages. In any case, while I was wheeling around the sampling population of Costco, I saw the giant Dove shampoo and conditioner bottles that I buy for the boys and my husband. I briefly wondered if I should buy some, but then I said to myself Nicole, it is not on the list, do not buy it, you do not need it. I stood in a giant lineup to check out and then I drove home, making several trips up and down the stairs to put things away. THIS is why Costco shopping is so exhausting – it’s the stair climbing that finishes me off.

Later that night, after his shower, Jake said to me, “By the way, Mom, the shampoo is empty.” I went downstairs to fetch another bottle and LO. There was no shampoo. There was no conditioner.

At this point, I fairly exploded. “I WAS JUST AT COSTCO!” I said. “YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHEN YOUR SHAMPOO IS ALMOST EMPTY!” I said this angrily to everyone in the house, including my husband, who said that the shampoo had a pump – he never picks it up – he didn’t know it was empty. People, I had to leave the room. I was disproportionately upset about this shampoo debacle. We did have other shampoo in the house. We just didn’t have that kind, and that was a tipping point for me. I was at Costco and I had to veer around herds of carts and people acted like I was going to take the popcorn sample right out of their mouths, and goddammit, we were out of shampoo. Kind of. I had to actually do some deep breathing, this was how upset I was. I kept trying to rationalize to myself that it wasn’t a big deal, but dammit, it was a big deal.

The very next day I got my period, which kind of cleared things up for me. It was, as Oprah says, an AHA moment. AHA! Do not shop at Costco right before ladies’ holidays, especially not in the afternoon.