Category Archives: When I grow up

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.

Advice to my teen self: rock the lipstick.

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There’s no spoilers or anything in this post, but is anyone else surprised Grey’s Anatomy is still on TV? I haven’t watched that show since they killed off super-hot Mark Sloan, because I was on the fence about the show’s kind-of lameness for months before that, and killing off McSteamy was the last straw for me. His romance with Meredith’s cutie-pie step-sister was the only thing that was keeping me going, and after that? NO THANK YOU. It’s kind of like how I refused to watch American Idol after Chris Daughtry lost and that old Elvis impersonator won. Even the addition of super-hot Harry Connick Junior wasn’t enough to keep me interested in that show.

Speaking of which, my kids are totally into watching the Shark Tank with their father. Their father is, naturally, extremely gratified by this development and talks to his little acolytes about sales, net worth, and ownership percentage. The boys love this show, and they love being little Alex P. Keatons with their dad. They have favourite “Sharks,” least favourite “Sharks,” and they often talk about “Mr. Wonderful.” For me, watching the Shark Tank is akin to getting my teeth scaled at the dentist; painful and boring and way too much of a time commitment. I think the thing about it that bothers me the most is that these so-called entrepreneurs will come out with an idea for a new kind of golf tee, and then it turns out that they left their day job to pursue the manufacturing and marketing of this golf tee, and they triple-mortgaged their house and borrowed all their aging parents’ retirement savings for said manufacturing and marketing of the golf tee, and it’s a shitty golf tee. Then, when none of the “Sharks” decide to invest in this shitty golf tee, the “entrepreneur” is all indignant and talks about how they are just going to keep on keeping on, and the “Sharks” will regret this excellent opportunity to get in on the ground floor. It is just like American Idol; on occasion there is someone talented, but mostly it’s just a bunch of mediocre hacks.

And while I’m talking TV, I’m just going to come out and say it: these final episodes of Mad Men are a total snore. No, I get it, we need to wrap up the story line, I get it. We need to show just how lame and terrible Don’s giant lie-of-a-life is and how everyone hates him and is leaving him because his whole life is a sham, but zzzzzz. So dull. I am enjoying the 1970s costuming though. The orange-and-brown motifs remind me of my childhood.

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Oh, Halloweens of my youth, when it was socially acceptable to masquerade as a gypsy or a homeless person.

 

In all my discussion about birthday festivities, I forgot to mention a very important thing that happened last weekend: the boys got their purple belts in karate!

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Is it me or does it seem like the kids are growing up really fast? This morning I crossed the street with the help of the crossing-guards; Mark and my friend’s daughter were on duty. I got a little teary eyed – they’re such big kids now! They started kindergarten together and now they are responsible for getting kids across the busy street safely; the next thing you know they’ll be DRIVING through that crosswalk (you know, safely). Not to get all Landslide-y on a Friday, but children get older, I’m getting older too.

Speaking of getting older, I’ve noticed one thing in my three days of being forty: dark lipstick no longer suits me. Maybe it hasn’t for a while and I’m just sensitive to it now, but I slicked on a rich colour and then was startled at my old-lady clown appearance. I thought I’d have another thirty years before I really rocked the “dark lipstick bleeding into papery white lines around my mouth” look, but no. I guess it’s just tasteful colours for me from now on. Maybe my skin has changed, or maybe it’s my altered hair colour, but I kind of looked like a bloody-mouthed crypt keeper. This is a major departure for me. For many years, bright red lipstick was my thing. Check out this photo of me at age 16.

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A couple of things: I LOVED that outfit. It was a skirt and swingy top from Le Chateau, black with little daisies sewn onto it. It was my very favourite outfit in 1992. Please note the long, permed hair and the – you know it – bright red lipstick. Also, if I wasn’t prematurely grey due to genetics obtained from my father, I’d say this is the reason Dad was so grey. Sixteen year old girls, they are a race apart, no? Anyway, I dredged up this photo for a compilation on Yummy Mummy Club – advice you need to give your teen self. It’s worth a read, especially for the photos of some of the writers in their teens. The hair! The makeup! The outfits!

So here’s a question for you: what advice would you give to your teen self? I’d say travel more, and be more adventurous, because one day you might find yourself staring in the mirror, wondering what to do with all those dark lipsticks in your purse. xoxo

Lordy, lordy

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I turned forty yesterday, and if the past few days are an indication of the decade to come, then I think my forties are going to be amazing.

We had a party on the weekend, and the only downside is that I’m probably getting wrinklier by the minute, given that my face was like this for most of it:

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You will note that I am wearing a sash. I had a matching tiara as well; the same friend who brought those two items also brought a bottle of Baby Duck and at around 1:45 am, I partied like I was 16 years old:

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Wow, that stuff is bad. And yes, you read that right – 1:45 am. I STAYED UP PAST TWO IN THE MORNING OMG.

So, it was a memorable birthday, made even more memorable by my husband’s friends serenading me in the manner of Maverick and Goose in Top Gun, which has long been a dream of mine. FINALLY THE DREAM CAME TRUE. From the moment I heard you never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips to the final ba dum, ba dum, ba dum dum DUM, I was on cloud nine. Much, much more to be said about this on the throwback blog next week.

By the way, if you’re not reading Throwing It Back, you should. So far I’ve recapped Deenie by Judy Blume, Allison has talked Mr. Dressup and Girl Guide Camp, and, most recently, Hannah recalls with fondness “Wok With Yan,” which may have somehow inspired my love of apron culture. I have it on good authority that we’ll see something about Gilbert Blythe tomorrow.

Gilbert! He seemed to be the first crush of every Canadian girl growing up in the Eighties, and I was no exception. In fact, he made it on my Sexiest Men Of Years Past list, a.k.a., the guys I used to crush on. RIP Jonathan Crombie. We will always be Carrots to you.

In other news, it is really and truly spring in Calgary. I know! I haven’t wanted to say anything because I haven’t wanted to jinx it, but we have had a mild, dry winter and it’s been a warm, dry spring. There are downsides – grass fires ahoy! – but the past few days I have been working in the garden and my perennials are all growing – with the exception of the hostas, which never make an appearance before May. Although, perhaps I shouldn’t say that because my clematis is already up – and that never happens until May – and it is also, strangely, showing new growth on the old vines. THE APOCALYPSE IS NIGH. Well, I’ll take it, especially after last year’s Planet Hoth-like winter.

 Speaking of the beauty of Mother Nature and also Planet Hoth, it’s Earth Day today and besides feeling slightly smug because my kids ALWAYS have litterless lunches and snacks, I participated in the Google Doodle quiz about what kind of animal I am. I cannot resist such quizzes; whether it be what Downton Abbey character I am or what genre of music represents me best, what is my age based on the men I find attractive (28, what is up with that) or what US city should I live in based on my astrological sign, I will always take the quiz. And so I participated in Google’s quiz and found out the following:

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If anyone needs any heavy lifting, my giant tusks and I are here for you. xo

Seriously, what is with the moustaches?

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Mad Men, you guys, Mad Men. Did you watch it last night? Don’t worry, there will be no spoilers here, except to observe that 1970 was evidently the beginning of the Great Moustache Era. So many moustaches! And I confess, from my 2015 viewpoint, I immediately assumed that the first glimpse of Roger Sterling was some kind of circus-like dream sequence, entirely due to his ridiculous moustache and puffy shirt. Then I realized no, that was merely the style.

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He reminds me of a ringmaster in a circus, although those ladies look kind of fabulous.

COME ON. And yet as we all know, styles often look ridiculous, looking back. I’ve worn my fair share of stupid-looking styles, most notably the vertically-teased bangs of the Eighties, the puffy pirate shirts of the Nineties, and the flowy clown pants paired with fitted blazers of Y2K. We’ve all worn styles that we’ve regretted, so I’m not sure why I find thick moustaches and ruffled tuxedo shirts to be quite so hideous, but I do.

Pirate

Everything about this look is regrettable.

 

Even as I write this, I look like I’m about to audition for a Flashdance reboot, so I feel hypocritical criticizing menswear circa 1970, and yet.

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All I’m missing is a sweatband and leg warmers.

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Hoo boy, those are some roots. I need a colour job, stat!

The other thing that last night’s Mad Men made me think about (I promise, no spoilers) is how promiscuous the Seventies were. I remember excitedly watching Saturday Night Fever for the first time – and I was an adult – and I was completely shocked by the amount of rampant sex in it: back seat of a car sex, bathroom sex, anywhere sex. Then I read Fear of Flying and was completely grossed out by the promiscuity and corresponding venereal diseases – and I was in my early twenties at the time. YOU GUYS, USE A CONDOM, EW. But that was the Seventies, I guess. As Mona Sterling said in last season’s Mad Men:

Margaret, darling, these people are lost, and on drugs, and have venereal diseases.

Ladies and gentlemen: the Sexual Revolution, summarized nicely.

How was your long weekend? The kids decorated eggs twice – once at my parents’ place, and once at home. There was also a LOT of chocolate. The chocolate combined with two weeks of vacation and vacation-related imbibing has had a negative impact on the fit of my clothes. My skinny jeans are feeling a bit too skinny, if you know what I mean. But that is what vacation is for, and so today I grocery shopped and came home with a plethora of spinach for green smoothies; I’m also congratulating myself on not buying any more Mini-Eggs – it’s a lot harder to sneak the kids’ chocolate when that chocolate is in the form of individually-wrapped chocolate chicks and bunnies.

eggs

Aren’t they pretty?

Bringing Happy Home

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I flew in from Maui yesterday and boy, are my arms tired!

Sorry. I’m still pretty tired from a) flying the red eye on Monday night and b) dealing with an overtired child who was too tired to sleep last night and then had nightmares every hour or so that I’m having that weird thing where I don’t even really know what I’m doing. Yesterday I looked in the refrigerator for salt, for example, and I stared at the shelves for a good two minutes before I realized that on Planet Earth, we don’t refrigerate salt. I am less tired today – I’m not looking in the refrigerator for spices – but still in fog brain mode.

But who cares, right? I just spent twelve days in Maui and it was the best vacation we have ever had. Everything was perfect. Although it already feels like months ago when I was hanging out on the lanai drinking vodka and vitamin water:

Nicole

or wearing a giant hat

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or reassuring one of my children that the other one would not get close enough to a blowhole and get killed.

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So it’s back to reality, I guess. I’m trying to get back in the swing of things without complaining about the absence of palm trees or afternoon boozing. WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT PLACE WITHOUT OCEAN BREEZES? It’s weird getting used to wearing socks and pants again, but here we are.

There’s been a lot of talk lately (forever?) about women wearing bikinis and getting your body bikini-ready and you know what? This was my fourth visit to Maui and I would say that 95% of the women on the beach are in bikinis, regardless of age or body shape. This is how it should be! I mean, really, look at men – they generally shirtless on the beach and we never, ever say a word about it. We don’t say “that guy has too big of a gut to wear those board shorts,” now, do we? Maybe we get a little weirded out when the elderly man wearing a brief-like swimsuit bends over near us and we see his testicles, but that doesn’t happen often (although when it does, we cannot unsee it). So why do we have a debate over whether or not women can wear bikinis?

From personal experience, I think bikinis are much more comfortable than any other kind of swimsuit. I’m kind of tall, and one-piece bathing suits never fit right. Tankinis don’t work for me for swimming because they ride up too much. So I opt for bikinis, although I’m less than three weeks away from being forty and the bottom part of my belly is a bit wrinkly from having babies and the “girls” are not what they used to be, believe me. But who cares? Why do we feel the need to look like Gisele Bundchen on the beach, or snark at other women for also not looking like Gisele Bundchen on the beach?

Maybe I’m feeling snappy today, but I’m making a vow, and that is to stop with the negativity. Not just for myself, but I’m no longer going to silently stand by while women tear down other women. We’d all love to be perfect, but no one is, and we aren’t going to get any closer to perfection by being mean and negative. Maybe, just maybe, instead of discussing someone’s flaws, we can inspire people to be better by discussing positive, happy things.

And on that note, I leave you with this: no makeup, swim hair, bug bite, and reapplied sunscreen. When I look at this photo, all I can think of is how happy I was at that very moment. xo

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This is a million dollar idea.

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The other day I was putting gas in my car and I reset the odometer as I always do whenever I fill up. I realized that I have been doing this since age 16, when my dad told me to, ostensibly to calculate gas mileage. In all these years, I have never once calculated the gas mileage, although I always reset the odometer, without fail. My dad would probably be disappointed to know this. I actually don’t even know the volume of the gas tank, and I don’t keep track of my gas station receipts, so really, there is no need to reset the odometer. And yet, if I don’t, I feel as though the apocalypse might be upon us, and so reset the odometer I will.

Friday afternoon the boys and I headed out to Dairy Queen to get the fabled Treatzza Pizza for Mark’s birthday party, and on the way home we were stopped at a red light beside a young guy who had music blasting. The music wasn’t the usual thumpy bass-heavy sound of today’s youth; curious, I cracked my window. All the better to hear you with, perfect stranger stopped at a red light next to me.

The song was Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. It was BLASTING. The guy had his windows down and had a perfectly straight face. He wasn’t grooving. He wasn’t singing. He wasn’t even tapping his hands on the steering wheel, but he was playing Ring of Fire cranked up like nobody’s business. When the light turned green, I noticed that the car itself was a Lincoln sedan.

And how was the birthday party? MY GOD, LOUD. It was four hours and honestly, I now think that I was unbalanced to think that was a reasonable amount of time to have eight children in the house. I mean, sure, the kids had a great time. Everyone said the party was “epic.” And yet, with forty minutes to go until pick-up time, I looked at my husband and told him that I didn’t think I was going to make it. But make it I did; everyone was happy and the kids all brought tons of food for the food bank, so it was a win. Maybe next time I will schedule the party for three hours.

In the interest of grievance airing, I must tell you that I am constantly grieved by a failure on nail polish companies to make a long-enough brush to reach the polish at the bottom of the bottle. I long for a world in which I can actually use all the polish in the bottle, without tipping the bottle precariously, trying to get the polish on the brush. Years of throwing out 3/4 empty bottles of nail polish because the last 1/4 is inaccessible has made me feel slightly bitter towards all nail polish companies. This is the same feeling I get with lip gloss – I can see there is still lip gloss in the container, and yet the applicator cannot access it. It is wasteful and must be stopped. Petition forthcoming.

Years ago I saw an episode of Dragon’s Den or Shark Tank or one of those shows in which the panel displays disgust at someone for triple-mortgaging their house to finance a really ridiculous and un-saleable idea, and the would-be entrepreneur talks about how moronic the panel is not to take them up on the Coolest Idea Ever, and that their offer of $1,000,000 for a 5% stake in their would-be company is a steal of a deal. Do you know those shows? My husband likes them. I do not. But years ago I saw an episode that featured a young woman who had come up with an idea for a long, skinny spatula that was designed to get the last bits of conditioner or lotion out of the bottle. It was called the Spaddy Daddy. Someone needs to come up with a Spaddy Daddy specifically for nail polish and lip gloss. I’m putting it out there! Someone please grab that idea and run with it, so I don’t have to spend half a blog post writing about how stupid this nail polish and lip gloss waste is. Again.

Now that I’ve aired a grievance, I feel like I need to balance the scales a bit by telling you about something I love. My husband recently installed Sonos in our house, fulfilling his lifelong dream to watch a movie with surround sound in the comfort of our own home. Now, I don’t really care about movie sound, but he also put in satellite radio in our house and I am in love. The greatest thing about this technology is that each song title and album cover pops up on my phone, which means I get to look at Bob Seger and really admire his hair.

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Seriously, look at his hair. It’s lustrous. Shiny. Full of wave and body. Things I never thought I’d say: I covet Bob Seger’s hair.

Now look at this:

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It’s not possible for me to love this photo more. Look at the hair. The moustaches. The wide lapels and the (I assume) three piece suits? Damn, Dan and Coley really got it together for this album cover. Plus, look at the expressions on their faces! I’m not talking about moving in. And I don’t want to change your life. But there’s a warm wind blowing the stars around, and I’d really love to see you tonight. I feel like he really WOULD love to see me tonight.

It’s the Ultimate Pi Day! And other fun topics.

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I’m so excited for tomorrow; it’s the Ultimate Pi Day! 3/14/15!!! ππππππππππ all day long. Maybe I should write this entire post in Greek letters for celebratory reasons.

We are having a celebration of another sort tomorrow; it’s Mark’s birthday party. This afternoon is dedicated to party preparation: Jake is tasked with cleaning up the Lego pile in the basement, Mark is tasked with putting together candy-filled loot bags, and I am taking the boys to the nearest Dairy Queen to buy a Treatzza Pizza. This Treatzza Pizza has been the subject of many a conversation and much excitement and anticipation. I can’t wait to try the Treatzza Pizza! one of the boys has said at least twice a day for the past month. I’m not sure where Mark even got the idea for one; to my knowledge he has never tried such a thing. Marketing! It works, apparently.

Anyone else ecstatic that it’s Friday? Friday the 13th notwithstanding, I am pretty relieved that this week is behind me. The week we switch to Daylight Savings Time is the most exhausting week of the year. I love that several people separately sent me this article, “Alberta Senior Hits Pancake Circuit To Petition Against Daylight Savings Time.” I love this on so many levels. I love that people see someone petitioning against DST, and THINK OF ME. I love that I have something in common with this Alberta senior. I love the term “Pancake Circuit” and want to insert it into every conversation from now on. “I ate a lot of pancakes last year because I went to every pancake breakfast I could.” That, my friends, is dedication. I especially love the opening paragraph:

An 81-year-old senior whose body gets thrown “out of whack” by the annual switch to daylight savings time hit the pancake breakfast circuit to gather signatures to petition the province to end her misery.

She goes on to talk about how difficult it is for staff in seniors’ residences to rouse residents in the morning to ensure they don’t miss their breakfast. YOU DO NOT WANT THE OLD PEOPLE MISSING THEIR BREAKFASTS. No one wants light-headed, grumpy seniors. It’s the same way with the kids – I’ve had to coax my own early-birds out of bed every day this week, and they are usually the bounce-out-of-bed type. Will no one think of the children or seniors?

I’m telling you, this woman is my people.

Also this week was my second-to-last School Council/ Parent Association meeting that I chaired, and that I was almost late for. My husband had a painter in to do a quote for us, and it required so many decisions and colour swatches that I ended up running out the door to make it on time. When I got home later that night I had a list of possible colours, but no actual paint chips, so I had to run to the paint store to figure out what, exactly, the painter had recommended. Right now I’m waffling between a very deep avocado green or a deep blue for the kitchen and a bluish grey or darker bluish grey for the upstairs bathroom. We have settled on a dark rust colour for the downstairs bathroom, which will be quite a change from the current baby blue. On the one hand I’m very excited for the change. Changing paint colours makes the house feel brand new! On the other hand, I’m tired just thinking about having painters in the house, with all the mess and disruption, and possible “dog-brushing-against-wall-and-getting-all-painty” issues. Princess problems, I know.

Here’s some fun news: I buy all my various vitamins and supplements online, and so I get a lot of “20% off! Free shipping!” emails from the company I patronize. Yesterday, I got an email from them with the subject line, “Nicole, slim down for spring! Save 20% on all fat burners!” Then, today I received an email with the subject line, “Nicole, crank up your libido with help from Supplements Canada – 20% off plus free shipping!” WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME? This wouldn’t be so bad except for the newsletter I received in my in-box with the subject line “Why Your Husband Doesn’t Want Sex.” I swear, opening my email is becoming very damaging to my self-esteem.