Category Archives: When I grow up

I think hell just did freeze over.

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I woke up this morning and it was minus thirty with windchill, and all I could think while I watched the weather report was at least I’m not in Regina. Or Flin Flon. Because minus 49 – which is the temperature in those places – is really really cold. We all have to look on the bright side, and speaking of which, it is the last week of February. How did that happen? This afternoon I’m setting up the book fair, and then running it for the next few days, and then doing all the paperwork and counting all the money and generally revelling in my unpaid but much lauded career as the Book Fair Lady.

Way, way back in the eighties, I was a candy-striper at a nursing home. During my time of bringing cheer to the elderly, I would play old-timey music on the piano for the Sing-Along hour. To this day I have a vast knowledge of songs that were popular between WWI and WWII, proven when I started singing “If You Were The Only Girl In The World” while watching Downton Abbey with my husband. “How do you KNOW that song?” he asked, slightly aghast. I am an onion full of layers, my dear. The old people used to go nuts over that song, as well as “It Had To Be You” and “A Shanty in Shantytown”.

Speaking of interesting musical performances, my kids’ recorder performance is tomorrow, as well as – apparently – Russian dancing and some other musical numbers. I’m not quite sure what exactly is going on, except that Jake has informed me he is in a dance number set to “Rasputin” and Mark told me he’s hoping to play the bass xylophone. Suffice it to say I’m PRETTY excited to attend tomorrow’s performance. Somewhat relatedly, the children have informed me that they need to wear their Olympics shirts and/ or an outfit that represents their country of origin and so I’m assuming there will be some kind of international celebration, culminating in a recorder performance of Hot Cross Buns. Mark told me that he is very nervous for the performance, because his class is, he says, “terrible” at the recorder. How terrible can Hot Cross Buns be? I shall report back.

GoCanada

My husband was watching the CBC (sign of age: when you refer to it as “the” CBC) and there was a special segment about the men’s curling team. I made him stop and rewind because THE LADY WILL HAVE TWO TICKETS TO THE GUN SHOW, PLEASE. Is it me, or have curlers changed their image significantly? In my day, curlers did NOT look like that. The ladies are quite lovely too; they used to sport “mom” haircuts and now they are all young and dazzling. I guess I should say “old-lady” haircuts since we are the moms now. This is our hair. “Mom” is not a synonym for “lame”, not anymore!

Speaking of which, I read that Kate Middleton is being criticized about her hair; apparently it’s “too long” and “looking bedraggled”. Um, what? Other than her dreadful Official Portrait, I don’t think there has ever been a bad picture of the duchess. Her hair especially is lovely. Apparently the criticism is largely coming from Camilla Parker-Bowles who is a) apparently taking her role of mother-in-law to a cliched unfriendly level, and b) a Very Bad Person and a Homewrecker, according to my late grandmother, who thought she was the devil incarnate. What I’m saying is, DON’T LISTEN TO HER, KATE. You look gorgeous. Also, I wish I had your wardrobe. Not that it would be very practical to wear Manolos to the book fair, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

This Post Is Steeped

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Today I received an email from an insurance broker about a mix-up, and she very earnestly apologized for the “incontinence”, which has been making me smile all day. I’m sure her coworkers would be more in need of an apology than me, given the puddles and all.

I’ve been re-reading Alias Grace, and in the language of the 1850s, she describes sweeping under a bed and finding a ton of slut’s wool, which is apparently what they used to call dust bunnies, sluts back then being lazy housekeepers and not the whores we think of today. In my own bid to be a fabulous housewife, I moved the couch for the first time in many weeks to sweep behind it and I myself found enough slut’s wool to create my own dusty sheep, so I feel a kinship with all those nineteenth-century sluts.

When Jake started Grade One full time, I had several people ask me what will I do with all my TIME, intimating that I should consider going “back to work”. Did you know I used to have a career? One where I wore pantyhose and high heels and worked on a trade floor for twelve hours a day on average, and I used to cry in the bathroom sometimes, and once a guy flipped out so much that he banged his phone on his desk until it broke and he had to take an anger management course? Good times. Anyway, I never really considered going back to work in that capacity after I left, and it’s good that I didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be available for my current career of “school volunteer”, not to mention my role of slutty housewife.

Yesterday I was a judge at the school science fair, and let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a volunteer capacity. I highly recommend it. I was easily the most excited judge around, walking with my clipboard and asking VERY SERIOUS scientific questions. I loved all the students with their science-y joy and ideas. Changing the world, one science project at a time. One kid was so into his topic of waves and resonance, and so engaged and excited, that I mentioned he might want to consider taking more science once he was in junior high and high school, which subsequently made him even more engaged and excited, that I thought he might spin off the planet right then and there.

Sadly, there was not one baking soda volcano among the bunch. Not one! However, someone had built a Lego robot, and the boys assured me that it was one of the most popular tables, when their classes visited, along with a research project about venom and its uses. Venom! There’s nothing like a potentially deadly substance to get a bunch of third-and-fourth grade boys interested in scientific applications.

And hey, one week until Valentine’s Day! Apparently I will be making approximately one million heart-shaped cookies for the boys’ classes next week, in lieu of cards which they say are “lame” and “stupid”. Well, cookies are the opposite of lame and stupid! Remember that old Tim Hortons’ commercial in which the teenage son bought his mom a tea and said it was steeped, after which she thought “steeped” was the new word to say for something that was cool and used it in all sorts of situations? That’s totally me. I am that mother. Also, cookies in lieu of cards for Valentine’s Day is steeped. STEEPED I SAY.

Someone was asking the other day what men like to receive for Valentine’s Day and I blinked a couple of times. Blink. Blink. I can really only think of two things, and they are pretty obvious: sex and blowjobs. It’s perfect, you don’t need to wrap anything, you don’t need to buy anything, you don’t even need to leave the comfort of your own home. Alternately, you could make a batch of my aphrodisiac blondies. Blondes have more fun, my sweet young blonde yoga friend is always telling me, and I…don’t know if that’s true or not. But these blondies are very fun. Personally I’m hoping for a teddy bear wearing a bee costume emblazoned with “Bee Mine” but I’m not sure if I’ll get that or not. I might have to be satisfied with smooches and general romantic feelings. And maybe a bottle of wine.

Nicolemania and Beatlemania

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This is where I spent the vast majority of my week:

Every year – twice a year – leading up to the book fair I feel deflated and exhausted and think this is IT. This is the LAST TIME I’m running the book fair. Then, after running the book fair, raising thousands of dollars for the school library, and feeling universal adulation and love from the student body, who call after me while I’m walking through the playground, like I’m Jennifer Lawrence and the students are the paparazzi, “Hey, it’s the book fair lady! Hiiiiii book fair lady! Hiiiii! I love my book about zombies/ Diary of a Wimpy Kid/ Pete the Cat/ Lego Friends.”, I feel like I can keep on keeping on. My friend’s son, who is in fifth grade, thanked me in a very formal and polite way for all my “time and efforts” to “make this book fair possible.”

So that’s nice. I feel good about that; much better than how I felt when I read over my emails last night. Remember the kazoos? The kazoo playing at the school’s 50th anniversary assembly? The kazoos are going to be played as part of a performance by my children of the song YELLOW SUBMARINE. I feel a great deal of despair about this for a number of reasons, one of which is I haaaaaaate that song with a passion. Also, kazoos. 

All this 50th anniversary festivity is – somehow? – connected with the advent of Beatlemania, which Mark’s teacher seems to be embracing with passion. He was assigned to write down five Beatles’ facts and five Beatles’ songs. I was trying to help him with these facts, keeping things empirical rather than subjective, but my husband was home, and the result was somewhat disastrous.

Me: They were known as the Mop Tops! Isn’t that funny? Their hair was considered to be crazy back then!

Mr: Paul sucks.

Me: That’s not appropriate.

Mr: Paul DOES suck. He still writes songs like he did fifty years ago. They suck.

Me: I liked him in Wings.

Mark: What’s Wings?

Me: Another band. Let’s keep going. The band broke up in 1970.

Mark: Why did they break up?

Mr: Because of a chick! She was nuts though.

Me: SERIOUSLY. Let’s keep on topic.

Mark: Who was the chick? Was she pretty?

Me: The WOMAN was Yoko Ono. She was John’s girlfriend. I guess she didn’t really like the other Beatles.

Mark: Some girls do NOT like their crushes to hang out with their friends.

Mr: Exactly.

Mark: *writing* They also went to India a lot.

Mr: They went to India and did a lot of drugs and went crazy.

Mark: I don’t think I should write that. *writes They went to India and got groovy.*

Me: *sigh* How about some songs? I like Golden Slumbers.

Mark: I’ll tell you one thing, I HATE Yellow Submarine.

Me and Mr: Good boy.

http://www.thecomicstrips.com/store/add.php?iid=100655
Image from thecomicstrips.com

  
My friend sent me this comic strip and YES. Although, we all know how I feel about Tom Petty. Or do you? My darling friend Stephanie tagged me on Facebook to play that game where you tell random things about yourself. She gave me the number 8, so I have eight things to tell you about! It seemed too long for a status update, and so I have crafted it seamlessly into a blog post. Also it’s Friday, I’ve been at the book fair all week, and although I haven’t cracked open the wine yet – it’s only 11:30 in the morning – I feel like I happily COULD. It’s been that kind of week. Without further ado, here is my list.

Eight Random Things About Nicole

1) I really, really can’t stand Tom Petty’s music. Do you see what I did there? I didn’t say “I hate Tom Petty” because my dad always said “You don’t HATE anybody” to which I would respond “How about Hitler, Dad? Can’t I hate Hitler? Dad? Hitler? I hate him! So I CAN hate somebody.” Yes, I was a delight of a child. Anyway, I don’t like to be super negative about a person – a celebrity is still a person, I say from my glowing book-fair-lady-celebrity – and so I will say I DO NOT ENJOY HIS MUSIC. For all I know, Tom Petty is the world’s nicest guy.

2) I do enjoy a wide variety of music. Eclectic, if you will. I love motown and fat caped glittery Elvis, I love disco and 1970’s ballads, I love hippie music from the 70s, I love catchy 80s tunes and “alternative” 80s music, which makes me nostalgic for my youth, I love old-skool rap from the 90s and hip-hop and reggae (I don’t like reggae. I love it.) I have an incredible memory for lyrics which makes me think that I could probably do a lot more with my life, if the space in my brain which knows the words to every song ever recorded was devoted to something, you know, useful.

3) I wear the colour black all the time. I almost always have something black on. This habit dates back to my youth, which I probably shouldn’t admit to.

4) Sometimes – not often, thankfully – I find myself having conversations that go like the SNL carpool sketch with Alec Baldwin and Kristin Wiig, which is my favourite sketch ever, but less fun in real life.

5) I always, without exception, choke up when singing the following songs: Landslide, Foolish Games, and How Great Thou Art.

6) I often put on my jammies by 7:00 pm on weekdays. This means that during the week my husband frequently sees me in one of two outfits: a) sweaty yoga clothes first thing in the morning, and b) plaid jammies with a picture of Snoopy on them. This is marriage, kids. As my young friend Emily says when she sees a particularly unflattering outfit, “Those are married lady pants.” I’M SURE HE FINDS ME EXTREMELY SEXY IN MY MARRIED LADY PANTS THAT HAVE SNOOPY ON THEM, EMILY.

7) Despite this, with the exception of 5 am yoga, I never leave the house without makeup on and my hair done. NEVER. I walk the dog with lipstick on, I fancy myself up to go to the Co-Op. I’m totally going to be one of those scary old ladies with bright orange hair, lipstick bleeding into my lip lines, clouds of Chanel No. 5, and super fancy matching earrings/ necklace/ bracelet sets, who get all gussied up to go down to the residents’ lounge to play canasta. Note: need to learn to play canasta sometime in the next forty years.

8) When I was in Grade 11, I was Amanda Wingfield in the school production of  The Glass Menagerie. I rocked out a Southern accent like nobody’s business. I feel that I was born in the wrong place. I think I would have made an excellent Southern lady. I secretly LOVE when people refer to me as “Ma’am”.

So now it’s your turn! Instead of tagging people on Facebook, I’m going to tag bloggers to tell random numbers of things about themselves. Who wants to start? I’ll give you…six!

Skinnygirl Drinks and Kazoo Amazingness

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It’s book fair this week, and due to all the lovely women I’ve coerced into volunteering to help me, I do not even feel my usual high level of despair/ regret/ tension that I usually get prior to the event. I’m having a teensy bit of volunteer fatigue lately, and really, I have no one to blame but myself. I’m sure it will all feel worth it when my children have a copy of the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid in their hot little hands; although I loathe those books in no small way, they love them, and isn’t reading for pleasure one of those things we should be encouraging? Even though the characters are revolting and the plot lines a depressing view of society? I guess I shouldn’t be so uppity; I clearly recall reading all the Sweet Valley High books when I was in fifth grade. If there is anything that will give a girl a skewed and unrealistic view of high school, I believe it is the adventures of the Sweet Valley High gang and the inevitable self-questioning: am I an Elizabeth or a Jessica?

Does anyone still have those books? I kind of want to re-read them now.

In addition to the book fair, there are lots of exciting things going on at the school right now. For one thing, in celebration of the school’s fiftieth anniversary, there is going to be a very special assembly at which my children are going to be playing kazoos. Just go ahead and let that sink in for a minute. Kazoos. I’m of mixed emotions about this: gratitude that it’s not a medley of recorder music, undeniable curiosity about the nature of this performance, pride that the children will be involved in such an important milestone, and kazoos. Kazoos! Kazoos.

We had dinner guests this weekend, and so in preparation for this event I dropped the boys off at karate on Thursday evening to run to the liquor store. Normally I sit in the waiting room, reading and making notes and sometimes being sternly reminded by the caretaker to turn out the lights when I leave. I sweetly, yet emphatically, assure him that I always DO turn out the lights, to which he suspiciously makes reference to SOMEONE who is always leaving the lights on. It’s not me! I swear! In any event, on Thursday I peeled out of the parking lot to get to the liquor store and back within the short time frame. I will confess that I was worried I would run into traffic issues and would arrive late to pick up the children, who would be standing in the windy, freezing parking lot in only their uniforms since they insist on leaving their coats in the car, holding their giant bo staffs and frozen water bottles, and my only excuse would be that I was at the liquor store. Happily this did not come to pass.

While at the liquor store, I discovered something called “Skinnygirl White Cranberry Cosmos”, a premixed beverage. On a whim I picked it up, and decided to try it the night before our guests arrived. You know, to make sure it was appropriate for guests. Two glasses in and I was moments away from drunk dialing all my girlfriends to tell them how much I love them. And then my husband came home from work. I’m not even kidding, all this drunkenness happened before my husband came home from work. “I was having a cocktail while I made dinner!” I giggled aloud. “Hee hee, cocktail.” 

All of which is to say, if you see such a bottle in the liquor store, buy it.    

I Dreamed A Dream

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“Mom, do you have a dream?” Mark asked over breakfast the other day. I was only on my first cup of coffee so I wondered if he wanted to know what I dreamed about last night. I didn’t want to tell him I had a nightmare about a mouse crawling on the ceiling and then falling off into my bed, causing me to wake up with my sheets soaking wet with a freight train running through the middle of my head, or that I had a sexy dream about his father, and so I answered sort of vaguely. “No, I mean, do you have a DREAM. Like something you want.” He paused a moment, and then said quickly in a completely neutral voice “And please don’t say you want two awesome boys and wow, you already have them.” Jake chimed in, “Yeah! That’s what you always say.”

I told them that I always wanted a fluffy brown dog named Barkley, and they groaned. “Don’t you have a dream about doing something?” Mark asked. “Like, maybe making good caramel apples?”

That’s pretty rich coming from a kid whose attempt at making a bass guitar was a ripped kleenex box with a broken rubber band on it. On a related note, we had this conversation yesterday:

Mark: Guess who had the best social studies title page in the class?

Me: I’m guessing it wasn’t you.

Mark: You’re right. It wasn’t.

Jake: Me either! I suck at drawing.

Well, it’s good to have an accurate view of your strengths and weaknesses, no?

This has been a strange, very busy week. The kids had a PD day on Monday. Why, you may ask, why did they have the day off when the past Monday was Thanksgiving and why didn’t they have the PD day on the Friday before Thanksgiving the way they always do, why, why, why? Well, they did, and two four-day weeks in a row makes for a strange week. Besides, it’s the Halloween Family Dance tonight and it is, without a question of a doubt, the highlight of the school year for my kids. It’s all downhill from here, guys. I’ve been busy preparing for this as my girlfriend and I are coordinating a silent auction as a fundraiser, and in addition to the usual busyness that accompanies such an event, I’ve also been planning my costume. My friend and I are going as witches. But not like this:

Photo from partycity.com. This costume is on sale for FOURTEEN DOLLARS. A steal!


or this

Photo from partycity.com. This is the Sparkle Playboy Witch, which seems like an accurate name.

or even this.

Photo from partycity.com. Wear a good pair of panties if you wear this costume.

I’m not even sure that last one IS a witch. In any case, we will be regular mom-like witches tonight. At least for the dance…I’m thinking I might break out that $14 outfit for a little private Halloween party, if you know what I’m saying.

I kid. If I’m having a private Halloween party, I’m going to dress up like Fiona from Shrek.

Photo from partycity.com. I’m not kidding, you guys, this is Fiona from Shrek.
GO CHECK OUT THE PARTY CITY WEBSITE CLEARANCE SECTION. It’s a scream!

I love this time of year. It’s so much fun to look at costume websites and wonder just who is going to order them. They are almost always sold out of at least one size, so people ARE buying them. Clearly I don’t go to enough (or any, really) Halloween parties because I’m always amazed by the costumes. Can you imagine going to a party and seeing this?

Photo from partycity.com. This is $105!

MAYBE one might see this at a key party. Or hey, if you’re undecided this Marvin the Martian outfit is only $35!

Photo from partycity.com

Hilarious, yet kind of depressing, no? Go ahead and look at any costume website; the teen girl section is made up mostly of smaller versions of the skeezy looking women’s section. Whatever happened to getting your mom to make you a dress to look like Morticia Addams?

If I’m being totally honest, I would have totally worn some of those super short costumes when I was a teenager, if buying costumes was a thing back then and if I made more than $4/ hour working at Pizza Hut. I also would have probably given my father a heart attack, but then, that’s what teenage girls are for. Every single time my husband sees a teenage girl, he says “Somewhere, there is a dad going grey.”

All right STOP. Collaborate and listen.

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My husband just phoned me to see if I was feeling somewhat normal, which I am, thank goodness. When he picked me up at the airport yesterday morning, I was running on four hours of sleep and had been a social butterfly all weekend. What would you do if you were at parties sponsored by Ontario wines? Would you not drink all the wine? Of course you would! And by “you” I mean “I”. What a fabulous and fun weekend. I learned something new about myself, something I had not realized before:

When Ice, Ice, Baby is playing, I will always do the running man.

It’s true. Just like I cannot listen to Bust A Move without obnoxiously rapping all the lyrics – she’s dressed in yellow, she says hello, come sit next to me you fine fellow – I cannot hear Ice, Ice, Baby without immediately breaking out the running man. I also discovered that I always want to join the conga line, and that I have a secret, show-offy wish for limbo contests. Sadly, no limbo contests manifested themselves this weekend.

Fine, I’ll have to just have my OWN limbo contest.

I feel pretty great today, in part because I made it back to the yoga studio, where my teacher, upon adjusting me, said “Hmmm. Too much wine?” MAYBE. Maybe it was the meal of BBQ rice cakes one evening, followed by peach daquiris, I DON’T KNOW. But I’m back on the mat, back in the groove, and immediately inundated by School Council/ Parent Association/ Book Fair things. Just another day in the Boyhouse.

Big thanks to Erica Ehm and the Yummy Mummy Club for getting me to Blissdom. Meeting everyone at YMC who I’ve known for years but have never met in person was truly incredible. Every single person I met this weekend was warm, kind, and some kind of wonderful.

I LOVE writing for this woman! If you’re vegan, vegetarian, or just interested in the occasional meatless meal, you should check out my recipe blog over at Yummy Mummy Club, if you aren’t already.

Speaking of awesome recipes….

 
 

Julie van Rosendaal, a.k.a. Dinner with Julie, is an absolutely amazing person. So fun, so warm, so generous and kind. I’m thrilled to call her my friend! Also, we share a love of lentils.

Speaking of friends (and lentils?) this is my favourite picture from the weekend:

What a blast to hang out with Allison and Hannah, who indulged me in my running man/ disco dance moves. We laughed all weekend long. I met so many wonderful people this weekend, I cannot even begin to name them all, but suffice it to say every person I met exceeded my expectations of awesomeness.

But, all that pajama partying left me kind of tired, which is to say I really needed a cup (or five) of coffee this morning.



Cute mug, right?

That’s my post shower, OMG I NEED A COFFEE I’VE BEEN UP FOR THREE HOURS AND IT’S ONLY 7:30 face. I’m happy to have gone, happy to be home, and now I need to figure out how I’m going to manage the after-school hour for the upcoming book fair…anyone?

This episode brought to you by The Simpsons

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Did you check the traplines? is a question that my husband and I have been asking each other since Saturday, like we’re old-timey settlers trading furs at the Hudson’s Bay Company for blankets and tobacco. Happily for us, the answer has been they are empty which is good for both my mental state and for the general atmosphere of the household. My friend Julie reminded me of the scene in Little Town on the Prairie, before the Ingalls get a cat, when Pa’s hair gets nibbled off by nesting mice. I did not need for her to remind me of that, because I had already thought of that, which made me feel like this, substituting the word “boogeyman” for the word “mouse”.

But, we are happily mouse free, I say confidently and hopefully, and not at all in a traumatized way. I spotted a dead mouse in our backyard, and envisioned Barkley eating the dead mouse, and me having to deal with the aftermath of such a situation, and I went inside to talk to the boys. Boys, your mother is having a nervous breakdown. Mark, after assessing the situation, asked for me to fetch him the large shovel out of the shed, and then neatly picked the mousey corpse up and threw it out into the alley where a “car would flatten it”. I wasn’t entirely pleased with this conclusion, but I was pleased enough to not have to deal with it one way or another that I baked some chocolate chip cookies for him and Jake to take to school for snack for the remainder of the week. 

Tomorrow I’m heading to Toronto for the Blissdom Canada conference, and boy, am I excited. I’m especially excited because I’ve gotten all of my to-do items done, and also we have the vermin situation under control. These are equally exciting to me. I’ve been working hard to cross all of those things off the list, and at some point I was behaving exactly like this. I was a bit worried since a) this is the longest I will have ever been away from the children, yes I KNOW they are eight and nine years old, and b) I’ve never been away from the children during the school year. We all know things are much simpler in the summer, when there are no scholastic nor activity schedules to navigate. IT’S GOING TO BE FINE, I say to myself. What’s the worst that could happen? And then I come up with some strange worst-case scenario that makes me think I should just go ahead and open a bottle of wine.

The kids have had colds, and then my husband – who was possibly a wee bit run down due to work pressures and also sobbing hysterical wife pressures – came down with the cold, but in massive form, so that he basically looked like this, minus the sandwich. I have been so worried about getting sick before my very first blogging conference, and meeting all these people, that I have been sleeping over NINE HOURS A NIGHT and consuming possibly toxic levels of Vitamin C. Also oil of oregano, so much so that it’s not even gross to me anymore. Happily and knock on wood, I seem to have escaped the worst of it, only dealing with a tickly throat and fatigue.

But! I’m all packed (including a baggie full of Vitamin C packets, along with Advil Cold and Sinus JUST IN CASE) and for once I feel that I’ve packed just the right amount of clothing. Shoes, however. I have four pairs of shoes packed, not including the boots that I will be wearing on the plane, nor the fabulous hippo slipper-socks bought for the occasion. What is wrong with me? How can I possibly feel that FIVE PAIR OF FOOTWEAR is appropriate for a Thursday to Sunday trip? Well, there is no going back now! Tomorrow morning I’m going to be taking my well-heeled (literally, shoes, see what I did there?) self on the plane. And I’m going to read a book the whole way! And not think about what I’m making for dinner! Well, I MIGHT think about what I’m making for Sunday dinner….