Category Archives: When I grow up

Age is just a number: FALSE. Age is a word.

Posted on by

“I finally figured out who you remind me of!” a man, who I have known these past two years, said to me the other day. I waited, smiling, and was not at all prepared for the big reveal. “Charlene Prickett! You are so much like Charlene Prickett.”

There were a few other people around us at the time, and they all chimed in that yes, they could really see that, and yes, that’s exactly it. Charlene Prickett, local celebrity and the star of the television fitness program It Figures, whose popularity soared in the 1980s.

I take this in the spirit in which it was intended; our personal styles might indeed be very different, but Charlene Prickett was a BOSS when it came to accessible home fitness routines. And I might not be one for brightly-coloured bodysuits and tights, but I think we can all agree that legwarmers make for an amazing wardrobe.

The last time anyone told me that I reminded them of a celebrity, it was in the mid-nineties. A very inebriated man told me I looked exactly like Shania Twain; our hair colour and cut were fairly similar in that era, and also I was wearing a denim vest over a white tank top. As I said, though, the man was not a particularly accurate judge, given his level of intoxication and probable intent of obtaining some sort of sexual favours from me, a woman who should have been thrilled to be compared so favourably to a country music sensation but was, instead, nonplussed.

Thanks to the recent Facebook “aging challenge,” the last few weeks have seen an influx of photos comparing a person’s current appearance to that of many years ago, a comparison that I find very interesting. I truly think that the people I know have all improved with age, not just in appearance, but also in spirit and personality. Society likes to disparage aging but really, it’s a wonderful gift. I may have massive Bitchy Resting Face and hair that requires colouring every five weeks due to grey roots that I am unable to embrace just yet, I may have Crypt-Keeper-level forehead wrinkles and marionette lines, but I am very happy with my life and, by extension, my appearance. Happiness makes you shine, or some such inspirational quote.

Sure, I might not have the youthful look and perky bust that I did in the mid-nineties, but at least I’m not wearing ill-advised denim vests. With age comes wisdom, I suppose, and hopefully better fashion decisions.

If you look closely, you can see where the belt buckle is situated on my torso – approximately two inches from the bra line – and also that I am wearing a knotted crop top. With denim shorts. This was in 1997, in my defense, and is likely in style right this minute. Well, it’s January, so perhaps not, but let’s wait to see what happens when the snow melts.

I’ll tell you what has not aged well: my kitchen sink. This is perhaps an overstatement; the sink itself is just fine. However, on Saturday I was washing dishes and suddenly the sink became detached from underneath the countertop and started to slowly tip forward. I did what any strong, invincible woman would do: I started screaming. My husband – after draining the sink – jerry-rigged a support beam from an extension rod used for paint rollers before whipping out his circular saw and building a more solid one out of wood. Where did he get the wood? I have no idea. It’s a good thing he didn’t Kondo his workshop, I guess.

The plumber came to fix the sink more permanently on Monday, and praised the solidity of the support beam. Even though it’s fixed now, I’m planning to leave the beam in probably forever, just in case. We don’t see undermount sinks come apart very often! the plumber said cheerfully, which made me wonder about the workmanship of everything in my house. Can ALL the sinks come detached now? Is this just something that’s waiting to happen?

I am not, obviously, very good with house-related issues, but I’ll tell you what I AM good with: quoting the entire screenplay of When Harry Met Sally. I discovered that the greatest movie of all time was released THIRTY YEARS AGO last weekend, and since I saw it in the theatre, well. Thirty years! It’s been three decades since I discovered my fictional twin; even back in 1989 I was too structured, completely closed off…but in a good way, and I am always cold when it’s 72 degrees out. I do not have days of the week underpants, but there’s still time! As far as I’m concerned I haven’t even hit middle age yet – I’m hoping to live past 86 – and so maybe that will be a thing for me when I’m in the Home. But there definitely won’t be a Sunday. Because of God.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Revisiting My Youth Edition

Posted on by

I know you were all on the edge of your seat, waiting to see what would happen when we went to our doctor’s appointment last Friday. Would the scheduled time be incorrect again? Would I be berated by the long-suffering office receptionist for missing my appointment? Would I actually see the doctor?

Well, all was smooth, you will be happy to know. We were in the waiting room by 1:55. Of course, we waited for a while to see the doctor, but I wasn’t too concerned about that: we all had books and phones and weren’t really doing anything we wouldn’t have been doing at home anyway. I got a TEENSY bit of stink-eye from the receptionist, but I guess I would be annoyed if I thought I was a no-show as well. The boys were having standard checkups, but I was there to ask the doctor about a little white dot that had been on my face for – get ready – three and a half years. I had been fairly unconcerned about it, but lately people had – strangely enough – been commenting on it, including one concerned friend who related a long and detailed story of a similar thing she had which turned out to be a form of skin cancer, and my own mother-in-law thinking that I had Caesar salad dressing on my face. Well, I’d rather neither of those things be assumed, but the doctor assured me it was simply a calcium deposit, and within five minutes he had removed it. Five minutes! After three and a half years! I guess in future I might look into these things earlier, before people think I a) have cancer, or b) am an absurdly messy eater.

The Before

 

The After

I finished my Christmas shopping this week, which is neither early nor late for me. Some of you (HI JAN) have asked how this is possible, year after year, to complete the shopping in early November. I could write an entire post on that but let me assure you it is not because I am following that article that has been going around, “The Gift of Death;” after all, our family “adopted a senior” this year and I don’t think a printout of “The Gift of Death” would be appropriate. What I will say is that I do schedule in a couple of two-or-three hour chunks of time to go to physical stores and then I just power through; the rest I do online.

The reason I always finish my shopping early is because going to the mall in December, as my sons would say, harshes my mellow. This backfired on me slightly, however, since one of my time chunks that I had scheduled was this past Monday afternoon. A Monday afternoon in November is assured to be a quiet time at the mall, correct? Well, not if that Monday is November 12 and half of the city is also crowding into the stores that have – ridiculously – Black Friday specials and the like. Black Friday is not a thing in Canada. Anyway, I managed to get everything done, even if the parking lot crushed my soul, as cars were parked haphazardly for no reason, it wasn’t even snowing. The lines are there for a reason! They aren’t friendly suggestions.

Back to Monday. I had gifts to shop for but I also had ME to shop for. Which brings me to…

Nicole’s Favourite Things – The “Revisiting My Youth” Edition

Everything fashion-related reminds me of my long-lost youth lately, and not always in a particularly good way. These styles are not flattering, people.

Ah, but we all wore such unflattering pants back in the day, with our tight, tucked-in tops or bodysuits or crop-tops. Well. I shall leave the youth culture to the youth, when it comes to pants like these. To me, all this needs is a tapestry/ denim vest to complete the look, but then I am not the target market here. I revisited my youth this week in any case, in what I hope was a good way.

Your Mama Wears Army Boots

A large issue with not buying any clothes for a year, and buying very minimally in the years prior to that, is that everything seems to be wearing out at the same time. Specifically, winter boots. My favourite pair of winter boots died this week, literally died. I bought them from Sears – Sears! – maybe four or five years ago, and they were worn extensively through our very long winter seasons, so it is no surprise that their death was imminent. I stepped in a puddle and my foot was absolutely soaking wet; on further investigation it appeared that the sole had become detached. Since I was going to the mall anyway, I thought I’d shop for some boots. I found, and fell in love with, these:

Hello 1990s! There is a photo in my high school yearbook of people who were all wearing this style of boots, but Doc Martens. Back in the day I would have worn them with babydoll dresses; now I wear them with yoga pants and flowy black sweaters. Hey, you have to move with the times!

Speaking of babydoll dresses…

Le Chateau

The other thing I needed to buy for myself was a dress for my husband’s work party. Yes, I have many, many black dresses that would be appropriate, but I have worn them all many, many times. I wanted something new and fresh. First I went into the Bay, which was having a (Black Friday?) sale on dresses. It took me some time to even locate dresses in my size, let alone dresses I liked, but I finally ended up with three in the change room. I texted my husband to see which he liked best, to which he responded that he really had no idea since my hand was largely blocking the dress. My mirror selfie game is not strong, I will give him that. However, the expressions on my face are my favourite part of these gems:

If we were going by my facial expressions, it would be The Horror! But really, I was just trying to figure out how to capture the moment on camera.

I wasn’t in love with any of them, but I was going to settle for the third. Then I thought, did the one-year shopping challenge teach me nothing? NEVER SETTLE. To be honest, I wasn’t super comfortable in it; for lack of a better word, I felt a bit exposed and just a teeny bit slutty, and not in the way I want to be. I put it back on the rack, thinking if I didn’t find anything else, I would come back to it.

I started to wander through the mall and I came across Le Chateau, which I hadn’t set foot in since I was a teenager. God, how I loved that store. My all-time favourite teenage outfit came from that store:

It was a tiny black tube skirt with a swingy, A-line top, with little daisies attached to it. I would wear the hell out of that outfit now, if the skirt was longer. Or if the skirt were yoga pants. Anyway, I hadn’t been in Le Chateau forever since I have always associated it with my long-lost youth, but I will change that now because people, they have some great clothes in there. If I didn’t wear yoga pants five days a week I would stock up. As it was I found the perfect dress, but I will post a photo later, when I’m all dressed up with somewhere to go. Suffice it to say that my husband thought it was the best dress he’s ever seen me in, and given he’s seen me in a lot of dresses over the past twenty-two years, I think that says something.

The Body Shop

I remember when The Body Shop came to Calgary – I was around 13 and it was like a revelation to me. Against Animal Testing before Against Animal Testing was cool! All the interesting products! For years after that, all my babysitting money – and later, my Pizza Hut money – was spent on things like grapefruit skin toner, strawberry lip balm, and peppermint foot cream. Every Christmas I would be thrilled to receive one of their baskets containing Satsuma or Vanilla bubble bath, a little scrubby, and the useless glycerin soap that came with everything.

Oh, how I loved The Body Shop! And then…I just stopped shopping there. I don’t know why. Maybe I was too busy futilely trying to find an eye cream that made me look decades younger, and I haven’t taken a bath for years (I SHOWER, PEOPLE, DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT). But I stopped in and I’m so glad I did. They still have awesome gift baskets that are perfect for the ladies on your list, and they also have interesting new products like this:

I am an absolute sucker for things that claim to illuminate, even, and revitalize. I bought it for myself, along with a couple of gifts. But the results from this face mask will be the subject of another post. Stay tuned! xo

One Thousand

Posted on by

Can I Get A Witness

I can hardly believe this, but this is – get ready for it – my ONE THOUSANDTH POST. One thousand posts. Can I get a medal or something for this? Very few people old-school blog anymore, but I am glad to have this diary of my life over the past – get ready for it – DECADE. Of course, I could have just kept a regular diary, but what would have been the fun in that? It’s nice to have a witness to this everyday life. Can I get a witness?

The Winner, In A Landslide

As I’ve mentioned before, I often think of the Soundtrack of My Life; it occurred to me the other day that there are songs that are inextricably associated with other people, in my mind. For example, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) is linked forever and always with Some Kind of Wonderful, and so now that I have asked if I could get a witness, I will be a) singing that all day, and b) thinking of her. For fun I asked Facebook friends what song reminded them of ME and it was a very interesting experiment. A friend who knew me way back in elementary school mentioned Corey Hart (HI MELISSA), a friend from high school reminded me that we always sang Hello City when we were together in chemistry class (HI TRACY), a friend from university mentioned Total Eclipse of the Heart, the Old School version (HI ALICE), and there was a nice mix of interesting music from friends made in the past decade (HI EVERYBODY). The most common song, however, was Landslide, which is both unsurprising and apt, given this time of year.

This Is Me In Grade Nine

My BFF, who I met in grade nine, (HI TARA) said what reminded her of me was Light My Fire, stemming from that period in which I was obsessed – OBSESSED – with The Doors, and also wearing all-black-all-the-time. Well, my interest in listening to The Doors has certainly diminished to zero, but my all-black fashion statement largely remains.

This is me in grade nine, baby. Yes, my love of black and also excessive jewelry has remained, nearly thirty years after the fact.

Speaking of which, I have had This Is Me In Grade Nine stuck in my head for days – DAYS – because the start of school has ushered in a new era: my oldest is, indeed, in grade nine. I am assuming the same will be true next year at this time as my youngest will be there as well. Usually I have Back To School, Back To School, To Prove To My Dad That I’m No Fool from Billy Madison stuck in my head for days; this is preferable. I got a red leather tie and a pair of rugger pants, I put them on and I went to the high school dance.

This is further proof that my brain is needlessly filled with song lyrics and if I could just channel that brain power I could probably work for NASA.

Dogpression

Barkley knows what packed backpacks in the kitchen means, and he does not like it. Now that we are four days in, he has come to weary acceptance, so long as he can come along for school drop-off.

Winter Games

I have been using the silent house and also the free time before my new registered classes start next week to get a few menial, tedious, and annoying jobs done. These include but are not limited to calling the cable company to order a new remote, necessitating me looking up serial numbers and account numbers and clearing up last name confusion, registering myself and my husband to vote in the upcoming provincial election so as to not have to wait for an enumerator, and calling a certain government agency to ensure an issue that was not caused by anyone in this household but instead someone who we actually paid for their services and still makes me irritated to think about it has been cleared up. (Spoiler: it hasn’t!). Yesterday I was on hold for what seemed like an eternity, only to be redirected a few times before getting the correct person for the job, who ended up completely unable to help anyway. The interesting part of this story, at least to me, was that while I was on hold, the theme from the Calgary 88 Olympics was played. Two things: a) that really took me back in time, and b) is it just me or does that seem like a strange choice of music? The rest of the music was pretty neutral elevator-Kenny G-type music, and then wham! Bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah BAH BAH!

It’s Just Like New Year

September feels like a much milder form of January, doesn’t it? Everyone with their fresh starts and getting back to the gym and making crazy school lunches with bento boxes? I personally have a couple of resolutions for September and on, and one of them is to not use my phone when the boys get home after school. I instituted a “no screens” rule for myself and the boys, although it has since been amended to “no screens until homework, physical exercise, and something creative has been done.” For me, though, it’s no phone at all, unless someone texts or emails me. It’s really helping me be more present, which is an ongoing goal of mine, and also allows me more time to read and play the piano. In fact, it’s given me so much more time that I feel a twinge of shame about my (former) phone habits.

Only 1255 Pages To Go

I have had A Suitable Boy on hold from the library for some time, thanks to a recommendation from my friend Mary-Lynn (HI MARY-LYNN). Imagine my surprise when I went to the library to pick it up and discovered that it is almost 1500 pages long. Hoo boy. I have been keeping a spreadsheet of all my books read, in an attempt to be more like my bibliophile friend Allison (HI ALLISON), and so far this year I have averaged one book every 3.5 days. This is going to mess me up big-time. To add fuel to the reading fire, two more of my holds came in yesterday, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be over there, reading. I know, I know, it’s the journey, not the destination, but I like my current book-to-day average.

I Love Your Pictures

A few months ago, someone had posted on Facebook about how sick they were of seeing photos of other people’s kids, and no one cared, and just keep those photos to yourselves, you terrible attention whores. I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly. Then a friend told me that someone told HER that seeing back-to-school photos was the worst, and if your kids weren’t in kindergarten, then nobody cares. You terrible attention whores.

I am taking this opportunity – this One Thousandth Post opportunity – to say that I CARE. I love seeing all your photos, of your kids, of your pets, of your fancy drinks, of your houses, of your vacations. I love your selfies, your outfits-of-the-day, your bikini shots, your workout shots, your nature shots, I LOVE IT ALL. I want to see MORE updates about your lives, not less. What else are we on social media for? Outraged political updates? I think we have enough of those. After all, look how well all those political posts pre-US-election turned out.

I mean, I even love seeing photos of what you had for dinner, so long as it’s not already digested. Which brings me to this travesty:

You Know How I Feel About This Emoticon

People, this is a bridge too far. TOO FAR.

Another thing to delegate to the Blue Job Category

Posted on by

I realized with a start that NEXT WEEK is the last week of summer vacation, and as always at this time of year, I am filled with low-level melancholy about the ending of my favourite season and the rapid passage of time, et cetera. Landslide on repeat, as it were.

The past few weeks have been characterized by two opposing forces: trying to squeeze in lots of fun activities – trips to the zoo, the amusement park, endless afternoons of the kids hanging out with friends – and trying to squeeze in all the non-fun activities like haircuts, oil changes, and back-to-school shopping.

Normally the boys only like to shop with their dad for clothes, as he is generally the Fun One and also I am less than patient when it comes to clothes shopping. I know! It doesn’t seem quite right, does it? But it’s true. A few weeks ago I had the boys try on everything in their dressers, and to pile on the floor all the things that don’t fit or that they don’t like. Does this shirt spark joy? I didn’t say to them, but that was my idea. The piles were enormous and the dressers were looking pretty scant. One child in particular had no pants; the other had one pair that was skirting the line between “acceptable” and this:

My husband took them pants shopping, to everyone’s delight. Well, “delight” might be a strong word. Still, who knew that I would one day delegate clothes shopping to the Blue Job category? Certainly not me. Maybe it would be different if I had girls.

I remember when back-to-school shopping filled me with utter joy; I’ve always enjoyed clothes and fashion and every August I would think about what my signature look would be for the upcoming year. I wrote about it here if you’d like to see all my favourite outfits of my teen years. Dreadfully enough, many of those outfits are making a comeback.

Pants aside, a few items still needed to be purchased, along with standard school supplies, and so I took a deep breath and prepared myself, vowing to be patient.

I took them school supply shopping at Walmart, which – Walmart. Walmart, am I right?

I joined a whole army of moms who all had eye-rolling teens in tow and who all sported looks of grim determination on their faces. We are all in this together, ladies. We whipped through the list pretty quickly, except for one item: paper. PAPER. There were several thousand different boxes of pencil crayons, glue sticks, and pens, and yet regular, lined paper was nowhere to be found. A woman beside me, grilling her teen daughter on her preference for pencil case colours – do you like this one? How about this one? For the love of god just PICK ONE – seemed like she had been there a while, so I asked her if she had seen lined paper. She hadn’t, and we looked at each other with perplexed expressions. It must be here somewhere, how can they not have paper? After searching for upward of fifteen minutes, which is fifteen hours in Walmart-time, I found the last two packages of foolscap. Do they still call it foolscap? I’m not sure how it’s possible to not have paper during the back-to-school shopping blitz, but I imagined being mugged in the parking lot for my two packages of paper. I mean, who is doing the ordering here? It doesn’t expire, people, just order some more paper.

I later saw that mom at a distance, still searching for items on her list, and presumably paper was one of them. I felt a little guilty for having the only two packages, apparently, in the store, but I did not approach her. When it comes to Walmart, it’s every woman for herself.

After that episode, I should have just called it a day, but no. I pushed on. There were still a few clothing items to be purchased and although I would have been more than willing to delegate, my husband has been working a lot, weekends included. After the paper-related guilt, my soul couldn’t take anymore, so I womaned up and went to the mall.

Mothers of teens, you know that moment you realize that kids’ clothing doesn’t really fit anymore and now you find yourself shopping in the men’s department?

We ended up, on my husband’s suggestion, at Bluenotes, which sells no children’s clothing whatsoever but focuses more, as the salesgirl said to me, on young adults. The salesgirl and I also had a spirited discussion about the ubiquity of what are commonly called Mom Jeans but I would pedantically argue that they would be better referred to as Grandma Jeans. After all, what moms do you know that wear Mom Jeans? I know of none.

Grandma Jeans might not sound like a sexy marketing slogan, but when you consider that Granny Grey is a hot new hair colour for the youth of today, maybe it could be!

Speaking of Grandma/ Mom, I was getting my hair coloured when I spied a People magazine, which I don’t normally read, but on the cover was an article about being a new mom at age 54. It was Bridgette Nielson, who just had a baby at age 54 and by no means am I one to take away someone else’s joy, but wow. I was exhausted just thinking of it. Of course, it’s very likely that Bridgette Nielson will be able to afford a staff to help out with those sleepless nights but still. I mean, just imagine back-to-school shopping when you are in your sixties! I need to lie down at the very idea.

This winter has frozen my brain

Posted on by

Do You Want To Build A Snowman

No, not really. It’s been the snowiest – or one of the snowiest? I don’t really know – winters on record, and frankly, I am at the point where I cannot even conceptualize a time where I won’t be wearing numerous layers and a coat that requires its own postal code. I cannot remember what the yard looked like without giant drifts of snow, and I am starting to forget what it was like to drive down the street. I refuse to drive down the our street due to the enormous snow banks and ruts – if a car comes in the other direction, one of the cars must somehow get somehow onto a snow bank in order for the other to pass. It feels like a recipe for disaster, and as we all know, automobile-related disasters can only end in dramatic tears and frantic phone calls to my husband who, inevitably, will be at work and unable to help. I shall not drive down my street until such time as I do not need a four wheel drive and/ or nerves of steel. I was looking at my closet yesterday and noticed all the footwear that is lying dormant. I know there was a time when I wore light shoes and even light boots, but I cannot really remember it. I’ve lost all perspective – haven’t I just always worn heavy boots every single day? The local meteorologists insist that the melt is coming, but frankly, I can’t imagine it. I feel like I’m in a much less-gory and not-at-all-incestuous Game of Thrones winter, which is destined to last until we all die from lack of food/ murder/ being killed by White Walkers.

I’d Rage Against The Machine But I’m Too Tired

I realized with a start that time change is THIS WEEKEND. Goddamn Daylight Savings and all the lies associated with it. The Alberta government – not for the first time, and certainly not for the last – was the cause of grave disappointment when they announced that they would not do away with the time change, because “everyone else is doing it.” I feel like my own mother, if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do it too? Are we all lemmings here? If EVERYONE thinks that time change is an antiquated concept, and that it really does nothing for energy savings, and that it is inconvenient and the cause of many car accidents and issues due to pure exhaustion, then why doesn’t EVERYONE band together and just agree to do away with it? Every single year I think this and I am sure that given that this ridiculousness has lasted this long, I will be in the Home saying the same exact thing.

Awkward Is As Awkward Does

This week I had my annual physical, and my doctor’s office was very accommodating when I mentioned I was a little tight on time. I got there a few minutes early and the nurse promptly weighed and measured me, and took my heart rate and blood pressure. I was quickly escorted to the room where I was asked to change into the robe. I glanced at the enormous robe, momentarily forgetting which way to put it on. Does it tie in the back or the front? At that exact moment, while I was standing in the freezing room, completely nude, the doctor knocked and started to open the door – thinking, probably, that he was helping me out by not making me sit idly in the freezing room, but instead starting the checkup right away. I appreciated his promptness but, as I said, I was standing there naked, so I asked for just a moment, please. Does it tie in the front or the back? I remembered from my mammogram a few years back – when I made the wrong choice – that that gown tied in the front. Were we doing a breast exam today? Maybe? Front or back, front or back, just make a decision. I quickly pulled it on and tied it in the front just as the doctor knocked again and walked in. It was immediately apparent that I had, gravely, made the wrong decision. The doctor looked at me quizzically as I awkwardly said I couldn’t remember which way to put the gown on. “Well,” he said tactfully, “Usually it’s the other way.” USUALLY. Like there are other women out there desperately holding the gown together at the front, showcasing their complete lack of medical gown intuition. There were a few awkward moments when the doctor was testing my reflexes and listening with his stethoscope. Wardrobe malfunction! I am not generally a shy person and the doctor has seen it all before, but still, there is something unsettling about unexpectedly flashing the doctor while just sitting on the examining table as he asks questions about general energy levels and if I’m still getting my periods.

That’s One Way To Get More Business

With all the snow, and the usual thawing and refreezing cycle, sidewalks and parking lots have been absolutely treacherous. A few months ago I came across an elderly woman who had just fallen and, subsequently, broken her arm while walking on the sidewalk. She was just sitting there on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. If you can make it down the sidewalks without such calamity, you need the agility of a mountain goat to climb over the huge snowbanks surrounding them. Walking the dog is becoming an adventure, is what I’m saying. The other day I saw a man slip and nearly bail right in front of a chiropractic/ physio clinic. Sheer ice…right in front of the clinic.

All The Ladies In The House Say HEY

Happy International Women’s Day! I may not still have my posters of the Feminist Manifesto and the fish on a bicycle, but the principles are still there (automobile-related incidents notwithstanding.) Keep on keeping on, you beautiful women. Let’s continue to lift each other up and support one another. xoxo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Growing Old Gracefully Edition

Posted on by

This morning I went downstairs to switch the laundry, and by the time I came back upstairs – three minutes, maximum – it was snowing again. Clearly, it has been a long, cold, snowy winter when the dusting of snow feels like a complete personal betrayal by the local meteorologists. This wasn’t in the forecast! I thought indignantly. What are they DOING to us? Oh, it’s been consistently so cold for so long – mornings in the windchill-factor-in-the-minus-twenties and afternoons in the minus-teens – that I cannot even envision a time in the future that will not be cold and snowy. And there are months left to go before winter can be, definitively, over. Meanwhile I have friends in the States who are discussing their crocuses and having to put on the air-conditioning, and I feel like saying something mean about their government before bursting into tears, which is a very lame and unproductive reaction because if there is one thing no one can control, it’s the weather, and complaining about it is futile. Also, it’s boring and depressing. So let’s move on!

What I really wanted to talk about today is the idea of Growing Old Gracefully. My friend Jeannette (HI JEANNETTE) put the thought into my head. There is a fine line, I think, between Growing Old Gracefully and Giving Up The Ghost. There is also a line, maybe a thicker one, between Growing Old Gracefully and Pulling Out All The Stops. I hope I am growing old(er) gracefully; I recognize there are some things that will never change, unless I Pull Out All The Stops and get botox or some kind of surgery, my face is on a One-Way Street To Wrinkletown. And that’s okay, but I would like to look a little bit less Crypt Keeper, and so I think a good moisturizer and eye cream are key.

I am also – as you know – not ready to embrace my Old Grey Mare Hair, yes, I know it’s in vogue and yes, I realize I could save a lot of time and money if I just let things go au naturel. I am not ready and frankly, I may never be. I have girlfriends who have gone the highlights-to-gradually-go-grey route, and while I think they look amazing – seriously, you should see my gorgeous friend Amy (HI AMY) – it’s just not for me. I spent almost four decades being a brunette, and now I am embracing my feisty redhead years. This era may last until I am in my grave. Or urn.

I really love beauty products and makeup, and I think it’s very important to be putting my best face forward. I don’t leave the house without makeup or without doing my hair, albeit sometimes the makeup is minimal and the hair is in a simple bun. I want to be clear that I do this for ME first and foremost. I feel my best when I look my best, and even when I’m just hanging out at home doing housework, I still like to ensure that my scrubby yoga pants are coordinated with my sweatshirt. I know not everyone will agree with me here, but I don’t feel like myself without making some effort to look nice.

I know that this is controversial as well, but I also – this is secondary but important – like to look good for my husband. It’s definitely not in vogue to say, as a woman, that you enjoy looking good to a man, but it is the truth for me. I like that my husband finds me attractive, but there is something else here too: he puts in an effort to look attractive for me as well. This is not to say that my husband has a specific SAY in the way I look – I wouldn’t, for example, cut my hair into a funky style if he thought it was a good idea. I also discount his opinion about clothes that I like and he doesn’t, as in this top:

I think this top is very cute and flowy, but he hates – HATES – it. He’s not alone; my friend Jen (HI JEN) thought it looked a little Halloween-ish, and my friend Liv (HI LIV) sweetly said that she doesn’t love it. But I do and will continue to wear it, husband’s preference aside.

This is a long, roundabout way of saying that I realized today that I haven’t written a Nicole’s Favourite Things in a long time, and I have many favourite things I would like to share with you, particularly since many of these things are inexpensive drugstore purchases that are, frankly, amazing. Just a little reminder that this is not sponsored, I have not been paid to review these products, and I bought them all myself at full (or store sale) price. Without further ado!

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Growing Old Gracefully Edition

My Hair Therapist

June will mark my sixteenth anniversary with my beloved Hair Therapist, and since I will have been married sixteen years next month, I think this is significant. She is a magician. As an example, please witness my latest “before:”

And the “after.” God, I love that woman. I also love car lighting.

She has me hooked on this Loma Fortifying Repairative Tonic that I massage into my hair before blow-drying. It only takes a drop, and it makes a huge difference in the health and texture of my hair.

Even Tone Moisturizers

One of the greatest marketing moves ever, in my humble opinion, was that of the Neutrogena shampoo. Remember how they would say that your hair gets used to shampoo and if you switch it up every once in a while by using Neutrogena shampoo your regular product will work better than ever. How brilliant is that? You don’t have to switch from the stuff you love, just use ours every two weeks and your experience will be better. Well, you have to admire that kind of marketing. I ran across this Neutrogena Rapid Tone Repair at the drugstore (okay, it was in the beauty section of Superstore) and I thought I would give it a try. I will tell you this: it’s amazing. For anyone who has an uneven skin tone, blotchiness, old scars, this is like a miracle cream. It’s also supposed to work on wrinkles which may be the case, but I’ve really mostly noticed it on my skin tone. This is a night cream; they have a day version but I’m waiting until I use up the Garnier Clearly Brighter before making the switch. I’ve been using the Garnier product for a while and it’s okay, but it sure hasn’t given results like the Neutrogena one has.

Eye Cream

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that I have been searching for a good eye cream FOREVER. I have used Kiehl’s, Clinique, Dr. Brandt, and even, yes, Rodan and Field’s. I have not been overly happy with any of them; the difference is minor in my eye bags, and often by mid-day the creams have made my eye makeup run so I look even worse. I picked up Garnier Ultra-Lift Miracle Sleeping Cream on a whim; it wasn’t very expensive in comparison to the other things I’ve tried, and also it’s meant as a night cream. I was a little skeptical BECAUSE it was a night cream, but I tell you, people, this actually works. I look significantly less exhausted, even though I get the exact same amount of sleep every night. This is me this morning, in my harsh bathroom lighting. When I took this I would have been up almost six hours, after getting approximately six-and-a-half hours sleep.

Do I still have eye bags and wrinkles? Yes! But they are so much better than they used to be.

Side note: do you love that necklace? My sweet thirteen-year-old bought it for me when he was on his Quebec trip. He really couldn’t have chosen better, I don’t think. Bonus favourite thing!

BB Cream

I love BB cream and my go-to is either Smashbox Photo Ready or Garnier, which I’ve discussed in detail. However, when I go to the gym, I get really sweaty and my makeup runs, which I hate. Enter this new BB cream – it’s expensive, relatively speaking, so I only wear it on gym days – Garnier BB Light, which somehow, through magic and/or science, matches your skin tone. It doesn’t run even when I (brag alert) run 6.405 km in 40 minutes and get so sweaty the treadmill has drips on it.

Sweaty, yes, but the makeup is still there!

I had much more to talk about today – food that makes you glow and age well, nail products, the very best thing I’ve ever done for my hair health – but it will have to wait for another day! Until then, let me know if you have any products you swear by and what your feelings are about Growing Old Gracefully. I’d love to hear from you! xo

Don’t throw the rocks in your glass house

Posted on by

Sometimes it feels weird, writing when there are so many tragic, horrific, and frankly depressing things going on in the world. It seems strange to complain about the astounding difference the subtraction of one child from the household makes in terms of noise, activity, and general household mood. This is not a particularly important thing in the world, but it is an important thing to me. I was in a state of low-level worry, but my young traveller actually phoned me yesterday, and all is roses and happiness, and to say that the phone call lifted my spirits would be a tremendous understatement.

All of our spirits were a bit low this week; there was an honest-to-god, Pa-sings-his-sunflower-song blizzard on Monday, complete with snow, high winds, and general despondency. Well, we had a good run.

I learned an important lesson yesterday, speaking of general despondency, and that is that choosing to shop at Costco on the day after a blizzard is not an optimal choice for anyone wishing to retain any semblance of sanity. A few months ago my friend Janet (HI JANET) told me about the magic time to shop at Costco, which is 2:00 pm on a weekday, and when I switched my shopping schedule to that time, the experience was better, albeit some days marginally so. But marginally better is still better, and so yesterday I pulled into the parking lot at 1:35, and I do not think that I am exaggerating when I say that I wondered if I was taking my life into my hands. There was much road rage, people randomly and rapidly backing up perilously close to my and other’s cars. There were people swerving around pedestrians wielding giant carts, nearly making contact with my and other’s cars. I am surprised I didn’t seem random people flattened like cartoon characters in the middle of the lot, and I hoped I could get out of there without loss of life or limb, or at least without having to make an insurance claim.

I made it inside the store and the lineups to the checkouts snaked all the way around the aisles; I despaired of reaching the toothpaste section, and I had a coupon for $4 off a five-pack of that 3D whitening toothpaste I like. Don’t make this coupon go to waste, people. I vowed to take a photo when my turn for the checkout came, so I could send it to Janet to let her know that her magical time wasn’t magical after all, as if Janet was the Costco-whisperer and this entire herd of people with their giant carts was somehow her fault. I went to fetch everything on my list, keeping a slight smile on my face, because in the words of Diane Court’s mother, “Smile, dear, because when you don’t your mouth turns down.” I grumpily noted that they did not have the giant can of cocoa powder that I wanted, but they did have some nice strawberries. I wondered if I would even make it out of the refrigerated produce section alive, but when I got there, it was empty with the exception of one woman looking at every single clamshell of strawberries and a man staring blankly at the kale salads.

People, by the time I wound my way around to the checkout, the crowds had dispersed and there were only a few carts in each line, at 1:55. Janet, I am sorry I doubted you. You are indeed the Costco whisperer. The parking lot had plenty of open spaces too. JANET IS RIGHT, IT IS MAGICAL.

Speaking of checkouts, do you ever notice those tabloid magazines that have incredibly unflattering photographs of celebrities with captions about beach bodies or the lack thereof, or the weight of the photographed celebrity with a caption about letting themselves go or eating themselves to death? These unflattering photographs must be a part of a very successful business plan, since the magazines have been doing this for many decades; obviously they sell the magazines. I always feel a wave of pity for the celebrities; clearly they are photographed without their knowledge or consent, and even though there is a little bit of caveat emptor, being in the public eye and all, it still is fairly vile. We have all taken those accidental selfies with our phones on our lap; imagine if those selfies were being used to sell magazines? Double chinned, wrinkly, and ruddy: Nicole is letting herself go! 

Imagine also if there was a photographer trained on you at all moments of the day, and that any moment – any moment at all – could be posted for all the world to see. Well, I have news, dear readers: this is already happening. You may remember a while back there was a meme going around with a photo of a woman at an airport; she was looking at her phone and her baby was lying on a blanket on the floor. SHAME, the internet said, SHAME THAT SHE ISN’T PAYING ATTENTION TO HER POOR BABY, I’M SURE HER PHONE IS MUCH MORE COMPELLING.

*I know, I didn’t really pay attention either. But the internet did, fortunately.

Well, that woman has released a statement – A STATEMENT – that saying that she was exhausted, her flight was delayed, and she just needed to put the baby down for a moment while she texted her family. I have a huge problem with this.

SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING.

In today’s society, we seem to feel that we can view a snapshot of a person’s life, one single second, and make a sweeping judgement about them. She’s a bad mom, she doesn’t like her baby as much as her phone, she is making terrible choices and we are all a nation of zombies. I have more news: we can’t make these judgements. Until we are comfortable with someone tracking our every move and posting photos for all the world to see, maybe we should keep our snap judgements to ourselves. If you haven’t been exhausted and looked away from your baby for a moment, then you probably don’t have a baby. I did not have a smartphone when my kids were small, but I did take them to the playground and would often sit on the bench reading a book or O Magazine (don’t judge, I was living my best life). My eyes were not on them for every second and frankly, it would be weird if they were.

I also saw someone online berate this woman for having her baby on the germy floor, but honest to god, everything is germy. Airplane seats and seatbelts, public change tables, the key pad where you use your credit card – all of those are covered in filth, that’s the world, we have to deal with it. In any case, the baby was on a (presumably clean) blanket, and babies are much safer on the floor than lying on an elevated surface that they can roll off of. God, I’m all worked up again. LEAVE HER AND EVERY OTHER MOTHER ALONE, YOU PEOPLE WITH YOUR GLASS HOUSES AND GIANT ROCKS. NONE OF US ARE PERFECT, LET’S STOP PRETENDING THAT WE ARE, AND MAYBE STOP LOOKING AT YOUR OWN DAMN PHONE IF YOU’RE ONLY GOING TO SPREAD STUPID PHOTOS.

Hoo boy, I need to take a breath here. With all the awful things happening in the world today, let’s all be kind. Be nice. Be understanding and compassionate. And let’s not assume everyone else is the problem with society. If you want change, make a change within yourself first. xo