Category Archives: When I grow up

Strange Things Afoot In The Boyhouse

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Somebody’s Got a Case of the Mondays

In general, ever since I quit my Monday/ Tuesday morning teaching job at a studio across the city, I very much enjoy Monday mornings. I like having the time, before my Monday afternoon class, to organize things from the weekend, time to write and time to bake things and run errands and, sometimes, even sit down to play the piano. However, today feels like the most Monday-ish of Mondays, and not in a happy way. I feel like I could possibly blame this on a combination of the greyness of the day and my menstrual cycle, but let’s face it: at this age who knows what a menstrual cycle actually is. It’s like the cycle piece of my Garmin app is about to self-destruct from frustration about the lack of any predictability. How can I blame my period when it could be anywhere from three weeks to three months? Maybe I’m just a crabby bitch.

It’s The Last Week of February

I said to one of my students last week that it feels like it was just New Year’s, and now next week is March. MARCH. I logically know that there are 24 hours in every day and 7 days in every week, but it still feels startling, how fast time goes. I also acknowledge that, for most people, January and February go by with snail-like speed, but I honestly cannot believe how fast the time has gone. NEXT WEEK IS MARCH. Which brings me to…

What Is Going On With The Principal?

My younger son is going on a West Coast sailing trip at the end of March, directly after Spring Break. He’s flying out to the coast, and sailing on a tall ship for five days. It will be a great experience I’m sure, and yet I cannot help but worry that we have had no parent meetings for this trip since the one in October, in which the principal showed us a video of the trip he took in 1999, told us to pressure other kids into going on the trip, and brought up my much-despised poinsettia fundraiser. I have no other information, other than a pack list obtained from my son. The kids have had weekly meetings to go over important learn-to-sail-what-to-do-if-there-is-a-man-overboard but there has been no other information emailed out. I mean, I don’t even know what flight he is going to be on or any of the times. This, from a principal who is kind of famous for sending out many, many emails.

Last week the kids made sandwiches for a shelter, which they do every year, and for which they rely on parent donations of sandwich items and plastic bags. We received the email about this the evening before the five-day weekend, for items to be received on the morning the kids got back to school. A little notice would have been nice, particularly since I had already done my shopping for the week and had to make a special trip just to obtain my required sandwich bags. In addition, there was no reminder email about booking parent-teacher conferences. It’s so out of character, I’m wondering if there is a serious issue with the principal, or if he’s preparing for retirement or something. Have you seen him? I asked my son. Is he still…around?

Speaking of parent-teacher conferences, the booking process is all online, which I love. Bookings opened at 7:00 am last Tuesday, and at 6:58 I was at the computer, obsessively refreshing my screen. I like to book all the teachers one after another, and I wanted a specific time, so I was happy that my obsessive-refreshing paid off. I realized with a start that this was my last parent-teacher conference booking ever, which did not at all make me feel mournful and Landslide-y, but instead incredibly joyful. As god is my witness, I will never be obsessively refreshing the conference-booking-site again.

Seriously, though. Why no parent meetings? March is a short month, school-wise, with March break and the annual musical theatre performance…there are not that many days available for a parent meeting. What is going on.

Am I Actually Karl Lagerfeld?

I have been successfully doing the February Clothing Challenge, where I wear a different outfit every day. I started to take photos of each outfit to keep track, but became extremely bored of it, mostly because even when I’m wearing a different outfit daily, my outfits are all very similar. I mean, how many photos do I need of me wearing yoga pants and tank underneath a long-sleeved tee with one of nine drapey black cardigans? Sure, sometimes I wear one of ten black non-cardigan-sweaters, and sometimes I – crazily enough – wear a sweater/ cardigan that is grey or cream, and on non-teaching days I wear jeans, but honestly, I feel like I am one of those people who wear basically the same thing every day.

I used to see those articles about people wearing the same clothes every day, and I would think that was gross – because I had the mistaken idea that they were literally wearing the same exact clothes daily – and also boring. But I guess I am one of those people, along with Karl Lagerfeld, Mark Zuckerberg, Simon Cowell, and the late Steve Jobs. Well, no one has accused me of being particularly exciting or of living on the edge, so I guess I’ll just keep on keeping on.

Why Does Autocorrect Want Me To Yell At You?

Ever since I got my new phone, it does the strangest thing: when I start typing a name, any name at all, it autocorrects the name to all capitals. Let me be clear: I’m not misspelling the name, or not usually, anyway. This has been irritating as I either have to delete and retype the name, or I send the text or message in a way that looks like I am yelling at the recipient. Why is this happening? I really don’t know and I don’t know how to fix it. I guess what I am saying is that if I send you a text and you think I’m yelling, I’m not. I swear.

Well. I feel less crabby now that I’ve written all this down; I guess it’s time to go out into the grey, cold day. Happy Last-Week-of-February, everyone! xo

It’s tiny cauliflower season

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The day after – literally, the VERY NEXT DAY – I posted about misreading Gental Fitness as Genital Fitness, the sign was changed. I was driving my son to school and exclaimed that the sign now read Gentle Fitness, to which he expressed relief that I would no longer be alluding to elderly men doing something mysterious to strengthen their genitals. Are the people at the fitness centre reading my blog? Or did someone show up at the fitness centre hoping to alleviate incontinence, only to be introduced to aquasize and low-impact aerobics? We may never know the answer.

Oh, you guys, it is SO COLD around here; dropping the kids off at school, my car reads minus 30, and that is without windchill. “It feels like minus 39!” the weather person on the radio said. This should never be a surprise in January, and it isn’t, not really, but it’s quite dreadful. I always think I should re-read The Long Winter at this point in our own winter journey because it SHOULD make me more grateful and thankful to be living in the modern age. I mean, what do I have to complain about, really? That it’s difficult to walk the dog? I have a beautiful, warm, cozy home, I have many warm items of clothing, I have a garage so my car doesn’t freeze. I’m not snowed into some isolated town waiting for the trains to come in with food and supplies and – spoiler alert – those trains never arrive. Sure, my hands hurt, but am I sitting in my dark lean-to in below-freezing temperatures trying to frantically twist hay into little sticks just so I don’t literally freeze to death? Am I grinding seed wheat in an old coffee grinder in the hopes that I will stave off starvation, literal starvation? Am I spiraling into madness because I have been stuck in a tiny dark house for months with nothing to listen to but the howling wind outside? No I am not. My biggest issue is that there was no cauliflower at Superstore.

It’s tiny crappy expensive cauliflower season, which isn’t my favourite but which illuminates something about myself and that is that I cannot – or will not – go without cauliflower for a week. There’s a limit to how much I will pay, because there is always a limit, it is not infinite, but I am willing to pay some pretty high prices for pretty tiny cauliflowers. My demand curve is, shall we say, price inelastic. Am I an addict? Do I have a problem? Probably. There are worse things to spend money on, in my humble opinion.

It is exam time at the high school, and so after one full week back at school my older son now has three weeks off. Well, he has a couple of exams to write in that time period, but really. Three weeks! He doesn’t go back to class until February 3, making my younger son insane with envy. He will get to experience this excessive time off next year, as Thursday is his high school orientation day. Two kids in high school! The children, they get older. I’m getting older too. 

Speaking of getting older, ladies, lean in. The perimenopause thing? A couple of years ago I asked my mom when she stopped getting periods, as that is the number one indicator as to when it would stop for me. When she replied I couldn’t believe my ears – it indicated another full decade of these ridiculous symptoms. Well, what can you do. The symptom I am finding the most difficult to deal with is breast swelling and tenderness. 

“Tenderness.” That seems like a bit of an understatement. It used to be a day before my period my breasts would be slightly sore. Now it’s a week to ten days of my entire chest hurting and my breasts swelling to my pre-kid glory. Even if I do manage to fulfill my New Year’s Resolution of buying a new bra, I’m going to have to hang on to these old ones just for premenstrual comfort. It’s silly, really, my cleavage goes from “bra is gaping around my deflated breasts” to “spilling out of my bra like an old-timey centrefold.” The other day my husband’s eyes bugged out when he walked in on me getting dressed; it probably gave him flashbacks to when we first met.

I for one do not want to relive my Glory Days, the sheer relief I feel when I actually get my period and my yoga tanks go back to fitting properly and I don’t feel like my sports bras are actively trying to kill me softly with their song is immense.

This too shall pass; there will be a time after this.

I had my hair appointment on Friday so once again I feel relatively youthful, at least for another few weeks until the roots start coming in. Life is a roller coaster, I swear. I had a roller coaster emotion as I gazed into my Daylight 10x Magnifying Mirror, and noticed that one of those black chin hairs has turned…white. You know those chin hairs, the ones that are nonexistent in the morning but somehow are an inch long by evening. I’m mixed on this development because a white chin hair is infinitely less noticeable than a black one, and yet. I have also noticed white hairs in my eyebrows, which, I do not know what to do about it. If I start plucking them out will I eventually be bald above my eyes? Do I start using an eyebrow pencil? I just don’t know.

Anyway. It is going to be an odd few weeks; my schedule is exactly the same, or a bit busier as I’ve scheduled some appointments for my older son in during this time. One child at school, one child at home save for the three exams…as I write this I am listening to some amped-up electric guitar as someone is taking a study break. Everything feels a bit unsettled. This week has been too cold to even walk the dog; poor puppers hasn’t had any exercise since Saturday. Since I’m having my ladies’ holidays, AND it’s insanely cold, I’m doing restorative yoga in the early mornings instead of going into the studio. This would be lovely except that I keep forgetting to leave the dog in his crate until after I’m done, which means that he thinks I’m dead or injured, and need to be roused.

With the cold, I wondered how I was going to get my steps in, on non-exercise days. Yes I am a slave to my Garmin watch, what of it? Monday I had to run an errand – at the mall – and noted all the elderly and also moms with strollers, desperate to get out of the house. Hmmm…they are on to something. Yes, I lapped the mall a couple of times before making my purchase, which feels like it goes nicely with the white chin hair. Hey, it was an extra 5000 steps, that was worth it.

Boyhouse Year In Review 2019

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The cold and dark at this time of year practically demands cozyness during the winter holidays. We’ve all been sleeping late and letting the days unspool slowly, with no real big goals or activities. The first couple of days of winter break, I did nothing except read and watch movies, slowly increasing my activity levels as I felt myself become restored.

Self-reflection and striving for improvement is always a good thing, I think. It’s good to look back on the year and look forward to the new one dawning. This year, Christmas has felt different; for one thing – and this will surprise many of you – I have not yet taken down my tree or decorations. Usually I pounce on it shortly after Christmas, but it still stands there merrily, and I have made no move to change things. Christmas cards are on every surface in the living room, and I have no urge to pack them away and dust those surfaces. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to slow down time in a Landslide-type way? I don’t know. All I know is I have the strong urge not to rush anything and to be present, which is my goal for this and every year.

My husband booked tickets to see the new Little Women movie Saturday night, and so last week I set aside my library pile to re-read the books. I say “books” because I include Good Wives as a separate book, which I’m sure could be the cause of many really boring arguments. Anyway, I’m glad I re-read them because the new movie is so true to the books; as well it is very cleverly shot and the characters are shown as being far more complex than they are in the usual heart-warming adaptations. It’s a little dark in places, which is quite true to Louisa May Alcott’s life; she had quite a dreadful, impoverished, and difficult life.

Has anyone seen the movie yet? I need to talk about it. Specifically, I need to talk about the juxtaposition of the scene of Meg at Sallie Moffat’s ball and the scene where she and John are discussing finances and her purchase of $50 worth of silk. And every other little thing about the movie.

Near the end of the movie, Amy has a line in which she says that writing about things – specifically, domestic, everyday things – is what makes them important. Is there anything better description for a blog? Here are the things that were important to me this year:

January

I talked about life’s little luxuries, someone told me that I reminded him of Charlene Prickett, and in an eerie bid of foreshadowing, I rescheduled my son’s appointment to get his braces on, which turned out to be very serendipitous. My older son also went winter camping and I wrote about cozy things.

February

I discovered that Johnny Rotten’s name came from his gross dental health and scheduled myself a dental cleaning (also, he’s still alive – who knew?), I started my Eating a Rainbow series in which I discuss my completely rigid meal plan, and my son’s orthodontist turned out to be an actual criminal. It was also the coldest February on record, so I had to search for my inner sunshine.

March

I had more than usual time-change-related-exhaustion, I cleaned my oven, and while traveling to and from Puerto Vallarta, I was seated beside the World’s Worst Airplane Seatmates. Literally. I also made a Seinfeld-themed birthday cake for my Seinfeld-obsessed son.

April

I went into full-on spring cleaning mode, including, weirdly, booking a Pap test, I got a Garmin watch and went into full-on David Sedaris mode, and I celebrated my birthday! I also talked about my trip to Puerto Vallarta and how I finally realized my dream of ziplining.

May

I bought a scrunchie, I took my son to his drum lessons and met his unintentionally-hilarious drum teacher, and I badly injured myself only two days before my first road race. Also, Barkley turned 11!

June

I applied to renew my sons’ passports, and met David, the employee with the most zest for his job and pride in his work that I have ever seen, government or not, I replaced the battery on my Daylight Magnifying Mirror, and my sons decided to give me even more grey hair by racing around in abandoned shopping carts. I also, weirdly enough, volunteered to make mini-cupcakes for the teachers.

July

I had an empty nest for a week, I hiked with the kids and listened to them talk about Li’l Pump, and we got two days of nice weather so I carped the diem. I also went to a concert and got dressed up in my Stampede Wear.

August

We discovered the term “girl’s blouse,”the kids watched The Shining and thought it was a comedy, and I found a moth in my water glass. My husband took the kids to Alaska and I was home alone for TEN DAYS so I hiked a lot with my friend.

September

The kids went back to school – my older one started high school! – I spent far too long wondering if I should grow my hair long, and I wondered what it would be like to be followed by the paparazzi. Also my younger son turned 14 and we hosted many, many teen boys at our house for a barbeque.

October

I re-read The Handmaid’s Tale and realized I am less a Handmaid and more a Wife or Martha, I became low-level outraged about crappy fundraisers (POINSETTIAS, I AM LOOKING AT YOU), and it was Halloween! I also got reading glasses.

November

I got excited about Christmas and continued to be low-level outraged about poinsettias, I got more excited about Christmas, and I – un-Christmaslike – read Helter Skelter. Shudder. The decorations were put up, and are STILL NOT TAKEN DOWN WHO AM I.

December

More outdoor decorations were purchased and displayed, including a Christmas walrus, I broke out the decorative tins, and my son broke my cutting board by crushing candy canes with a rubber mallet.

2019 – that’s a wrap! Happy New Year to all of you. xo

Girl’s Blouse and the Forward March of Time

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I was walking the dog the other day when I ran into one of the young neighbour girls. She’s the youngest of three and the last to fly the nest; she told me that she was headed to university in Ottawa at the end of the month. I cannot even begin to tell you how unexpectedly this information affected me. I teared up as I told my husband about it. I’ve know her since she was a BABY, I said tearfully, ALL of their girls are gone now. GONE. I’m pretty sure I’m projecting my feelings about fleeting time, empty nests, and the general preciousness of life on this unsuspecting 18 year old.

All of which is to say: can you even BELIEVE it’s August 9? August is my month to cling to the last vestiges of summer, such as it is, even while some of the leaves are starting to change and I’m organizing my thoughts as to what we need in terms of school supplies and pants that actually fit the boys, the boys being in that odd teenage stage where they are tall and skinny and good luck finding 29/34 jeans in any store.

August is also my month to realize that I’ve gained weight, probably due to the fact that we always take a trip to see my mother-in-law at the end of July. What can I say, booze. This happens every August, but it was a bit shocking to see that I’ve put on seven pounds since the end of June. I’m HOPING some of that was water retention, but the long and the short of it is that it’s time to cut back on the boozy coolers.

Seven pounds in a month is one thing, but I have been very active, and so it feels a bit like a slap in the face. I guess the old adage you can’t outrun a bad diet is very true, but still. You especially can’t outrun a bad liquid diet, but hey. Needs must.

We all hiked up Big White on our trip, which is over 11 kilometres and 500 metres of elevation. I was impressed with the kids’ endurance level and also happy that my hip was fine with it.

“Thoughtful Instagram pose”

This week since we’ve been back has been a strange combination of Back To Routine and Fun Activities, which is giving me an odd, time-warp kind of feeling. Yesterday my friend and I took the boys to the mountains for a short hike; apparently it was too short as they complained that it wasn’t enough of a challenge. Well, game on, boys. I guess from now on it’s all endurance all the time. The hike was pretty though.

Tuesday I went back to teaching, my husband went out of town on business, and the boys went to a sleepover birthday party. Ten years ago I would have committed any number of criminal activities in order to have an evening to myself, but now it just feels kind of dull. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed making a special dinner just for myself – Greek salad and pita on a Tuesday! – but while I was reading in complete silence I realized I miss the dull-roar noise level of our house. At any given time a) my younger son is practicing drums, b) my older son is playing Iron Man on his electric guitar with the amp up high, c) the kids are talking in their Outside Voices, d) my husband is talking in his Regular Voice, and e) my husband is listening to Bloomberg and/ or Sport Centre. It was pretty quiet with just me and Barkley. I spent my evening reading, with a “clarifying and polishing” face mask and my feet swathed in cotton socks to keep the lotion on. Hashtag: living the glamourous life.

The cut of those socks remind me so much of my grandma and her penchant for Isotoner slippers. It makes me miss her so much. I can just picture her in her kitchen, wearing light-blue Isotoner slippers, capri pants, and a flowered blouse.

Speaking of blouses, the boys and I have been re-watching all six seasons of Downton Abbey in preparation for the new movie coming in September. Although, knowing me, we will see the movie when it comes out on Netflix. Anyway, we all love Downton, probably because of the terrible soap-opera story lines and fluctuating awfulness/ brilliance of the characters. I mean, what is UP with how terrible Lord Grantham is in seasons 3-4? Won’t someone PLEASE give Lady Edith a little bit of support for once in her whole pathetic life? How many deaths can be attributed to Bates, really? What does all this have to do with blouses? Well, some of the old-timey British sayings are just too awesome to not incorporate into daily conversation. “I jolly well WILL!” “Splendid!” “Oh, crikey.” But the very best line comes from good old Murderer Bates himself, when chiding Jimmy for over-reacting about Thomas’ moves. “Why are you being such a big girl’s blouse about it?” Everyone in our house uses the term Girl’s Blouse several times a day now, as it is possibly the greatest semi-insult ever. One only needs complain about the slightest thing to be immediately named a Girl’s Blouse.

Boy: I’m a little tired today.

Any other member of the family: Stop being such a big girl’s blouse about it.

My husband: I have a lot of meetings today.

Me: Why do you have to be such a girl’s blouse?

And so on.

The city, as if to boost everyone’s self-esteem from being constantly referred to as a random article of women’s clothing, has put up signs everywhere with motivational sayings on them. “You can do it!” I’ll see as I’m driving down the freeway. “You made a difference today!” I’ll see posted as I’m coming out of the Superstore parking lot. I like the idea behind it but I’m puzzled as to where they came from. It’s like the world is conspiring to make us feel good about ourselves, which is lovely. I was unwrapping a vitamin C drop and noticed that it, also, is concerned about my self-esteem. “Don’t give up!” it told me. “March forward!” Well, crikey. I jolly well WILL march forward, thank you very much. But not too quickly; August is speeding away as it is.

Happy Friday everyone, xo.

I still don’t know who Li’l Pump is

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Stampede week is always full of strange things; it is the nature of living in a city with a ten-day party going on. Usually there are at least a few people passed out in the green space behind our house or in the alley, which incites my personal grim game: Dead or Drunk? I usually try to note how long someone is lying there and in what position, hoping to determine from a distance which one it is. Happily it’s always been Drunk, although I once called the police as a fellow was passed out in his parked car behind our house for several hours. It was a bit too long for my comfort, but it turns out he was just sleeping one off before driving home, which is the responsible thing to do, I guess.

But this week – perhaps due to the cool weather – there have only been one or two such episodes, although the week itself has not been without incident. For example, I was walking Barkley and a fellow asked me for a light. Then, perhaps to clarify, he said a cigarette lighter? No sir, I do not. I didn’t think I fit the profile of a smoker, but my husband thought perhaps the gentleman was trying to strike up a conversation with me, nifty number that I am. Forty-something suburban mom, walking her labradoodle, wearing a t-shirt with Namaste written on. Then shortly after that I noticed a fellow riding what appeared to be a ten-speed bike locked into the most difficult gear possible, pumping his legs with serious effort on our perfectly flat street. Maybe he was getting exercise as I saw him five minutes later on the street going in the other direction. Of note: he was wearing a down jacket and a toque, and although, like I said, it has been cool, it is not THAT cool.

Speaking of labradoodles, I had dropped Barkley off at doggy day-care on Wednesday; when I came to pick him up the girl told me that there was a chocolate doodle gang that day. Apparently there were three nearly-identical brown labradoodles at the day-care. Two things: a) it definitely WAS Barkley I picked up, and b) I really enjoyed her usage of the term “gang.” That must have been the cutest, most non-threatening gang ever: immensely fuzzy gang members who are constantly pressing up against peoples’ legs in order to get extra pats and snuggles, all of them obsessed with food.

I used the doggy day-care because I had decided that the boys and I needed a day in the mountains, and what a fun day it was. We hiked up Sulphur Mountain, a 5.5 kilometer hike with 744 meters of elevation gain; Barkley is too old and arthritic to even consider such a thing. Frankly, I was concerned that I was too old and arthritic for such a thing, but it turned out great; my hip held up perfectly with no pain whatsoever. The boys impressed me with their cardio strength and enthusiasm, even if they did talk constantly about YouTubers, lame video games, and how much Li’l Pump sucks. Who’s Li’l Pump was my question; I said I was too old to know these things, to which the boys answered that I was LUCKY and they wish they were too old to hear of Li’l Pump. I still have no idea, but I do know that when we are hiking we need not worry about bears as the boys make enough noise talking constantly to keep all wildlife away.

Sulphur Mountain – for those of you who are not local – is a very popular tourist destination as there is a gondola, which makes it a strange experience for hiking. While we were hiking, we saw other hikers maybe every 10-15 minutes, it was – other than the Li’l Pump discussion – quite peaceful. Then, at the top of the mountain, there are literally hundreds of people milling around, all of whom rode the gondola up. The views are among the best in the valley, and so it’s obvious why. We rode the gondola down the mountain – I wanted to make sure I didn’t overdo it on my hip, and I also thought the boys would enjoy it – with a very nice gentleman visiting from Barrie. He couldn’t BELIEVE anyone would hike up when there was a perfectly good gondola. He was going on a helicopter tour the next day, then to Calgary, and then – bizarrely enough – to Grande Prairie. I hope he had friends to visit up there or something, as it seems like not the greatest tourist destination.

We had a quick soak in the hot springs after our hike; it was quick because the boys had imagined something like the original Cave and Basin, a natural spring in a dark cave, not thinking about the impact millions of nearly-naked tourists would have on such a place. They were disappointed that it was just a pool, but hotter, and one they couldn’t really swim in. Well, I enjoyed it anyway.

Other important things of note: my roses FINALLY started to bloom. This is very late, even by Calgary standards, so I’m enjoying every second of these beauties. Hashtag: stop and smell the roses.

Also of note: remember the passport renewal saga? I have been in low-level anxiety that the one passport would be rejected due to the printer ink, and that I’d have to go through all this bureaucracy a second time, but happily, David the government agent is still error-free. The passports arrived this week, much to my great relief and also amusement, because as I mentioned in my other post, my children look like teenage thugs. Both were in great need of a haircut at the time, and that alongside their psychotic resting faces, well. If you saw them in their photos, you would cross the street, is all I’m saying.

Speaking of haircuts, I took this out from the library and we watched it last night.

I was surprised how well it held up, considering it’s not any kind of award-winning film. Plus, it’s only about ninety minutes long which is perfect for me.

Tonight my husband and I are going to see Zac Brown at the Stampede grounds, so party on, me. Party on, everyone. xo

Random Long Weekend Thoughts

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The Targeted Ads Algorithm Is Broken

Several times a week I am the bemused recipient of advertisements for various stylish online shops, and currently, they are exclusively showing me jumpsuits. Jumpsuits! God bless you all for wearing and enjoying them, but the day I wriggle this mortal body into a piece of clothing that, by its very design, will end up puddled up on the bathroom floor every single time I use the facilities, is the day I find myself, as one of my senior yoga students said yesterday, on the wrong side of the grass.

At least the first few advertisements were black; I’m trying to envision myself wearing an exotic-floral print of anything and failing. I also seem to get a lot of advertisements for floral, one-piece bathing suits, which are right up there with tailored shorts on the list of things I am not going to wear, ever. I mean, I have worn them, in my checkered past, but never again. As we live, we grow.

A while back the Co-Op stopped giving out gas coupons and instead began sending something called Me-Wards, which I assumed would be tailored to my consumption habits, given the Me-Wards are linked to my account. Sadly, it appears there is no linkage whatsoever, or if there is, it’s so cryptic that no one could ever decipher the algorithm within. This week, my Me-Wards include frozen pizza, Coke products, some kind of cookie, and fresh Atlantic cod fillets so that I can, as it suggests, make my own chowder. Co-Op, it’s like you never knew me at all.

Getting the Girls Checked

It’s that time of the year again to get the girls checked out. I always smile in the change room when I see the directions on “how to tie a medical robe” because yes, I have gone into my mammogram with the robe on the wrong way. So if you ever wonder who would need these directions it is I who needs them. I asked the technician today, as she neatly arranged my sad excuse for a breast on the machine, if this was a strange kind of job to have. It’s actually really fascinating! she said enthusiastically. And everyone’s breasts are so different, so it’s never boring! I appreciated her zest, it’s refreshing to see someone so excited about their work. She handed me a remote control so I would have autonomy over the squishiness of the procedure, which is a new thing, I guess. Just go ahead and press the “plus” button until you feel you can’t stand it anymore, she said, and when I did this she became alarmed. Okay, stop, that’s enough, STOP! I think she thought I was going to flatten myself completely like a cartoon character run over by a steamroller.

Circling back to the robe, the first thing the technician did after confirming my birth date and being reassured that no, there is NO chance I’m pregnant, was ask me to remove it. Why then does it matter if it’s on the wrong way or not if it’s only going to be immediately removed? Perhaps it’s a medical robe faux pas? Perhaps it’s a conspiracy among diagnostics centres to make us all into uniform patients? Most likely, though, is that tying it in the back is actually quite difficult and feels ridiculous and really, who would do such a thing? Who indeed.

It’s Mini-Egg Season

I’m quite proud of how these little cuties turned out:

I took a recipe from my old copy of The Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites for “haystack cookies,” modified it by using coconut oil and cutting the sugar by a third, and then molded them into little nests. I’m nesting!

I feel extraordinarily crafty now; the next step is to figure out how to draw a bunny as I’m dividing up Lindt truffles into little paper bags for our Easter egg hunt this weekend. I usually give the boys – yes, they are teens but they still like chocolate eggs – a cryptic lists of hints, for a treasure hunt. This year I was feeling quite ambitious as I wrote a few poems for the hints; I wrote the kind of poems they learned about in school: limerick, tanka, haiku, acrostic, and couplet.

You may be saying to yourself, who doesn’t know how to draw a bunny? Well, the same person who has been known to tie her medical robe incorrectly, that’s who.

It’s Birthday Season

As puzzling as the Me-Wards are for Co-Op, I was gratified to see this on offer in my inbox:

I also refer to April as my birthday month; a mere DAY is not really enough to celebrate, is it? Last weekend we visited my parents and my mom made me my favourite strawberry-angel food cake, complete with pink non-dairy whipped cream. I have always had a pink cake on my birthday.

Pink cake goes beautifully with red wine; two of my favourite things. This year, for the first time ever, my birthday falls on Easter, and so I guess that means extra mini-eggs coming my way!

Speaking of red wine, my husband/ Santa gave me a beautiful bottle of Amarone in my stocking this year; I think this is the weekend to open it!

Happy long weekend to you all, and Happy Easter to all who celebrate. May your blessings and chocolates be many! xo

We’re getting the band back together

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It’s official: I am in Full Spring Cleaning Mode. This includes the yard, the basement, and every closet in the house. Nothing is safe! Everything must go! Or at least everything must be in use or spark joy. About three years ago I did a full Kondo of my house – some of you may remember that – and that, along with my One Year Shopping Challenge, really changed the way I brought things into the house. I am much more mindful about purchases and I ensure that if I am buying something, it is very much needed and/ or wanted.

Still, things add up. Children outgrow their beds rendering many sets of twin sheets unnecessary, books and toys also get outgrown, clothes don’t fit or become too worn to be desirable anymore. I have a pair of platform slides that date back to the Nineties that I was keeping in my closet “just in case” but really, I think the Platform Slide Ship has sailed.

Part of my cleaning frenzy has been spurred by the soon-to-be acquisition of an item that requires a certain amount of space: a drum set. As a long-time pianist, I have been anxiously awaiting the day that my children would show interest in learning a musical instrument. In your face, Nicole, as one would say. So we now have a new drummer, along with a new electric guitar player. Could you please turn down the amp, can you hear me, please turn down the amp. In all seriousness I am actually thrilled at their interest; along with my younger son taking up drums and my older son taking up electric guitar, my husband has taken up the bass, and things have become much more musical around here. Loudly musical.

My son’s drum teacher informed him, much to my relief about hearing concerns, that earplugs must be worn at all times when drumming, so I assume that means I should probably have a set as well, since there is no door to the basement and our house reverberates with any noise from the basement. I have not yet met the drum teacher, but my husband says that he is exactly what you might expect a drum teacher to be like. I imagine him as a more modern Garth Algar.

That reminds me: our resort in Puerto Vallarta was Now Amber, and on the card key it said “Live in the Now” which made me think of the scene in Wayne’s World where Wayne is obsessed with an expensive guitar, and Garth says, Stop torturing yourself, man, you’ll never afford it! Live in the now! Every time I looked at the card key, I would hear that voice, even though I have not seen that movie since probably 1993.

LIVE IN THE NOW.

Great advice from a fictional character. Gardening and yard work is awesome for living in the now; it’s hard to multitask when you’re covered in dirt and physically active. Last week I was cleaning one of my most labour-intensive perennial beds when I discovered this little guy:

He was hidden under the silvermound plant. How did he get there? Where did he come from? No one knows. No one has seen him before or has any idea how he came into our yard. It’s a mystery and likely one to remain unsolved.

Full Spring Cleaning Mode notwithstanding, I’m going to keep this little guy. He’s cute!

On the weekend my husband and I cleaned out the gutters; a very gross but extremely satisfying job. It’s disgustingly fascinating, the way I imagine a colonic might be. OMG look at what’s coming out of there! I shrieked to my husband as I kept guard of the exit end of the gutter, as he maneuvered the hose, trying to locate the clog.

Speaking of the unspeakable, last week I had my annual physical. Don’t forget I need the large speculum! I cheerfully reminded the doctor, just in case it wasn’t on his chart. Also my cervix is tilted and really hard to find. Ah, the feminine mystique.

My physical was initially booked for a day in March, but several days prior a conflict came up. I called the office immediately and left a message; it was after hours but I wanted to get the phone call out of the way. The ball is in your court now, doctor’s strange assistant. Remember the assistant/ nurse who mistakenly booked my appointment at the wrong time, and then gave me the gears for not being at the appointment? I wanted to avoid another such confrontation. So I left a message and she later called me back and re-booked the appointment. No problem. I repeated the new date and time several times during our phone call; So that’s 2:00 on the 4th, okay. Perfect. Let me just write this down. 2:00. On April 4. 2:00. Great. April 4. All fine, full speed ahead. Then, a day later, I got one of those text reminders for the OLD appointment, the one in March, the type of reminder that allows you to type C for Confirm or 9 to cancel. I hit 9 on my phone and got the message to call the office to re-book. Well, I had already re-booked, so I just went about my day. This was, let me stress, still in March, and still before my old appointment.

By now you may imagine ominous foreshadowing music playing.

The day of my appointment (April 4!) I was in the middle of doing my hair when my phone rang; it was the doctor’s assistant, saying that she saw that I needed to re-book my appointment and TYPICALLY they ask for more than 24 hours notice and that there might be a fee involved…I interrupted her by saying I did NOT need to re-book and that I would see her today, April 4, at 2:00. Well, she said sharply, You typed 9 on your phone to cancel the appointment. I explained that I a) typed 9 over a month ago, and b) I did not even get a confirmation text for this booking. You did, you typed 9, I can see that this was sent, when was this sent…then she paused. Well, it doesn’t matter. See you this afternoon.

IN YOUR FACE! I did not say, but thought. See you this afternoon AT TWO O’CLOCK! I said instead, in what I hoped was a friendly and polite voice. I wondered if things would be awkward when I saw her that afternoon (the 4th! At 2:00!) but there was, happily, another nurse there who dealt with me, a very perky and cheerful young woman. After weighing, measuring, and doing my blood pressure, she asked if I still get my period. Lady, I’m 43. Things may be crazy in that department but I’m not in full-on menopause yet. Isn’t it interesting how we suddenly go from getting the question When was your last menstrual period and Is it possible you might be pregnant to Do you even GET your menstrual period anymore, you old crone? 

Well, the best part of this story is that I appear to be in good health, albeit three pounds heavier than at my last check-up. I BLAME MEXICO AND ALL THE DELICIOUSNESS THEREIN. My doctor was highly unconcerned and dismissive about the three pounds, thankfully, saying, Three pounds is just a bowel movement away from where you were last year. Well, possibly, but it’s more likely that six margaritas a day added up in the calorie department. Oh well, that’s what holidays are for, am I right? On that note, it’s time for my green smoothie. xo