Five For Friday: The Best Gifts Ever Edition

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‘Tis the season for gift guides! There are so many lovely ones out there and I love to peruse them all. Funnily enough, I almost never buy anything that was featured in a gift guide, because by the time the guides come out I have already completed my shopping, and I will NOT deviate from my early-shopping habits, no matter how tempting the offerings may be. I do, however, like to imagine that I might note certain items for the following year. If only I could remember them all.

Gifts are fun to give and fun to receive, and in my recent plea to Ask Me Anything, Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked: What are some of the Very Best Gifts you have ever received? Well, Suzanne, as I’ve mentioned before I am pretty much always delighted with any gift, but I thought that today I would talk about my Very Best Childhood Gifts.

There is a reason I lost my mind and blacked out with excitement when my friend Elise (HI ELISE) sent me a reprinted Sears catalogue: I was OBSESSED with the Sears catalogue as a child, all of them throughout the year, but most of all, the Wish Book. When did the Wish Book come out? It must have been in plenty of time before Christmas – the fall, maybe? – because items took a while to order (by phone!) and then arrive, but I have no real idea. In any case, I would page through it with the seriousness of a scholar, circling things and making notes. I loved everything about it; I loved the “Gifts Under $10” section, I loved the little wintry ensembles that would be in the clothing section, I could barely imagine being fancy enough to get cubic zirconia tennis bracelets or bottles of Poison perfume. What would my life be like if I had that matching beret, scarf, and glove set? I would wonder and then SOMEONE WOULD GIVE ME SUCH A SET and my life was pretty much the same, but with fancy matching winter accessories.

One thing I coveted desperately but never received was a Snoopy Sno Cone machine, but to be honest, it’s probably for the best. It was most likely garbage that would yield nothing like the delectable delights tasted only at the shopping mall parking lot fairs of my youth, or the Calgary Stampede, and so I can just let it live in glory in my dreams. This is not unlike Easy Bake Ovens: they seemed so wonderful and miraculous, and yet were a recipe not for delicious tiny cakes but for third-degree burns and crunchy-edged but pudding-centred disasters.

Circling back to the Best Gifts Ever Received, here are the Top Five from my childhood and adolescence. I was the recipient of many wonderful things, but these are the ones that stand out the most.

  • Kora Candi, my Cabbage Patch Kid. Remember when Cabbage Patch Kids first came out, there was a run on them and they became Tickle Me Elmo before there was even an Elmo to tickle. It was INTENSE business. I desperately wanted one, and my mother was probably a ball of nerves about it. First, she had to put her name on a wait list at Zellers, and then when she received the top-secret phone call that THERE WAS A DOLL FOR HER, she had to go into a special back room to get it, and it was quadruple-bagged so that no one would know she had it and murder her for it in the parking lot. The things moms do to make Christmas magical. My mom faced death, or at least mugging, just so I could open up Kora Candi on Christmas morning. How I loved that doll! She had brown hair and brown eyes, just like me, and I very seriously glued her adoption certificate into my very special album that had all my scratch and sniff stickers in it. My grandma bought and made all sorts of clothes for her as well, and how fun was that to dress her for the day’s activities. I had friends who had not one but several Cabbage Patch Kids, and I could not understand that. I only had energy and love enough for one. I poured all my love into Kora, and then, later, into Bitsy, my Pound Puppy. What was with all the adoptable dolls in the 80s? It was a thing, for sure.
  • Welcome To My Dollhouse. When I was very young, maybe four, my grandpa built me my very own dollhouse. It was even better than anything I pored over in the Sears catalogue. It was a two-story white house with plastic wrap to simulate glass in all the windows; Grandpa built a lot of the furniture and put pieces of carpet on the floors and wallpaper on the walls. Some of the furniture was purchased – likely by Grandma – and I spent many hours rearranging things and playing with my little dolls. There was even a little stove and a toilet with a tiny toilet paper roll, which is a weird detail but important. Dolls need to use the facilities just like anyone else.

If you look past the Kool-Aid stained face, you can see the dollhouse to the left. Fun fact: my grandma – the same one who aided and abetted my grandpa in the making of the dollhouse – made that quilt for me. It featured girls in costumes from other countries, because I loved thinking of girls just like me, but in different places all around the world. What would their lives be like? I would wonder, looking at the clogs on the girl from the Netherlands.

This photo cracks me up. I am holding some tiny dollhouse furniture – A TV! A lamp! I love lamp! – with such intense focus. Who is the man on the couch? I mean, probably my dad, but who can say really. Although everyone in the world had that couch, I know from the throw pillows that this was at my grandma’s house. It’s possible that could be an uncle behind me. NO ONE KNOWS. The 70s was a bad time for decent photos, and a bad time for my hair.

  • Princess Diana Everything. The Royal Wedding took place the summer that I was six, and at that time I was visiting my other grandparents. My grandma woke me up at 2:30 in the morning so we could watch it together, and from that moment on I was obsessed with Princess Di. OBSESSED. Do you know what the great thing is about having a complete and utter obsession? There is a theme to all your gifts for years to come; all relatives know exactly what to get for you. I have an enormous stack of coffee table books all about Princess Di, her clothes, and the Royal Wedding. Looking at it now, it’s startling to think such a young woman wore such objectively frumpy clothes, but the 80s were a strange time in fashion. The Very Best Gift I received from this era was a Princess Di paper doll book. Princess Di and clothes, two of my favourite things. I actually received two of those books, one of which I used to cut out and one I saved. I will say that cutting out that wedding dress, with all those lace points? It was HARD WORK, especially for someone who was supposed to be using safety scissors.

Diana had some sassy shapewear.

The dress! There is a little slit on the front, and that held her bouquet.

Aw, it’s sad to think of now, the hopefulness of a young woman, only to end in terrible sadness and tragedy. Well, the world was richer with her in it.

  • Makeup and Accessories. My dad had two younger sisters, who were twins, and collectively they were known as The Girls or The Aunties, both with the initial C. My dad is, how shall I say this, a fairly conservative person and he wasn’t thrilled with his daughter doing things like wearing makeup or getting her ears pierced, but The Aunties broke through that wall. One of The Aunties was famous in my mind for showing me the cover of Born in the USA and telling me that the Boss had a butt that I should look for in any future relationships, and also that my mom could “do the looking but SHE would do the touching” when it came to my handsome grade six teacher, on the evening of our school Christmas performance. The other Aunty C took me to get my ears pierced when I was nine and she also, a few years later, gave me the gift of makeup; it was one of those huge mirrored boxes with a ton of different eyeshadows and lip colours. I still think of it with longing; how fun to try on everything under the sun, and Dad couldn’t say anything, because he didn’t like to hurt his sister’s feelings. I also loved receiving bath beads or salts, and those gift packs with scented soaps and body washes, particularly if they came from The Body Shop, which was the height of elegance and wealth for me in those days.

My first day of grade seven, making use of all that makeup. See what I mean about the couch? Tell me you didn’t have one too.

  • The Mists of Avalon. I was – well, am – a bookworm, and I always love to receive a book as a gift. My Aunt J gave me The Mists of Avalon when I was fifteen, and I have to say, that was a bold move. For one thing, I personally would have no idea at all what kind of book to give a fifteen-year-old girl, and for another, I would be nervous that such a bookworm would not only have already read any book I could choose, but would own it. This is what makes the receipt of The Mists of Avalon so marvelous; not only had I never read it, but I had never even heard of it, and so would not have specifically requested it, even if I was allowed to specifically request gifts from relatives. I must have read this giant tome about fifty times; it is the only fantasy-adjacent book I have ever been interested in. It is all about the story of King Arthur, but told from the women’s point of view, and it is incredible on so many levels. I loved it so much that I excitedly bought the prequel, Lady of Avalon, years later, but I couldn’t make it past the first chapter. There was just no recapturing the magic of the mists.

I told my son about my love for this book, saying It isn’t really about King Arthur at all, it’s all about the women, to which he replied That’s really on-brand for you. Isn’t it?

Do you remember your Very Best Gifts Ever? It doesn’t have to be from childhood, of course! This is where I will also mention that the Very Best Non-Childhood Gift is Rex, who was groomed this week and looks exactly like a stuffed-animal replica of himself.

I mean, come on. How am I not dead from cuteness overload?

As a reminder, if you have questions, I have answers! Just fill out this form. If you don’t have questions, just fill me in on gifts you’ve loved, gifts you’ve given, even gifts that you hated! There are no rules here. xo

I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Never Taking The Car In For Servicing Again

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There are some chores, or “care tasks,” that only I do around the house. For example, I and I alone obtain groceries and make dinner Every Single Day, clean the hard-water marks off the shower doors, and take the Dove soap box from the bathroom countertop and place it in the recycling when a new bar is put into the shower, no matter who puts the new bar into the shower, even though every single person walks by the recycling bin many times a day. Sometimes when I feel resentful about these little chores, I remember that there are many things that happen around the house with no intervention on my part. I don’t think that I have changed a lightbulb since the 90s, for example. The dishwasher is almost always emptied by one of my sons, sometimes very late at night when they nosing around the kitchen for a snack, but hey, I don’t have to do it. The lawn gets mowed and the sidewalks get shoveled, the gutters are cleaned, and toilet paper rolls are always replaced and, mysteriously, the old cardboard roll is recycled at least half the time, rather than left to sit on the bathroom countertop like its friend the Dove soap box.

The biggest task that I do not ever deal with, however, is vehicular maintenance. I have a mental block when it comes to cars and it is only recently that a light can come on in the car and I do NOT start breathing rapidly and blinking away tears. Between my handy younger son and my husband, the snow and all-season tires are put on, taken off, and rotated when needed, and all the maintenance is taken care of. I don’t even know how to open the hood of the car, let alone check my oil, and I do not want to learn.

About a month ago my husband took my car out and said in an alarmed way that it was overdue for an oil change. At the dealership where we bought the car in 2013, we get free oil changes for…life? I don’t know. My husband has been under a lot of stress with his job; this is nothing new, he has been under incredible stress with his job since 2018, but it has been significantly ramped up in the last few months, which is how he missed his internal alarm that somehow knows when all the cars need to get oil changes.

Well. I am woman! I am strong! I am invincible! I decided that I would call the dealership to see if we needed an appointment for an oil change, or if I could just drive through, like in the pre-Covid days. I spoke with a very nice person who looked up my car history and said that I was actually due for maintenance, and that they were booking into December, and so I scheduled an appointment for last Tuesday, December 6 at 9:00 am. I hung up feeling very proud of myself until my husband asked do we really need maintenance or were you upsold. Well. How would I know. HOW WOULD I KNOW. My feelings of self-satisfaction were immediately eclipsed by feelings of rage and resentment that this was even a question for me AFTER I CALLED THE DEALERSHIP ALL BY MYSELF BECAUSE I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

The car WAS due for maintenance, by the way.

Here’s a funny thing about Calgary weather, for those of you who don’t know: it is extremely volatile. Temperatures can rise and fall twenty degrees in a twenty-four hour period. We can go from mild to painfully cold and back again in no time at all. It just so happened to be a very volatile week, temperature-wise, and Tuesday just happened to be the day that was marked by Extreme Cold, Snow, and Blowing Snow. Basically, a blizzard.

My younger son needed to be at school early, as his gym class was going curling, and so I dropped him off at 8:05 in time to get the bus. It is generally a twenty-minute drive to the dealership, but conditions were bad, and I thought that even if I got to the dealership before nine, I could just drop the car early. My husband thought that the appointment would be a quick one, and that I should take a book with me in case I just wanted to stay there for an hour. That sounded great to me; an uninterrupted hour of reading, while drinking probably bad coffee? Lovely.

My twenty-minute drive turned into fifty minutes of white-knuckle driving on roads that were either black ice or with lanes completely obscured by snow. There was so much morning traffic, the sun was barely coming up, and the snow was blowing, making visibility very low. By the time I got to the dealership, it was just before nine, and I was completely frazzled. I was also appreciative of the very handsome, bearded young man who checked my car in to its appointment; it is unusual for me to encounter such a person, let alone in the morning. I asked him approximately how long it would take, thinking that if it was only an hour I’d be happy to alternate looking at him and reading my book, but he said it would be three hours and he would order me an Uber.

This is where I should note that this was my first Uber ride ever, and I have joined the modern age at last. I also knew from listening to Were You Raised By Wolves that if someone else orders an Uber for you, then even the tip is taken care of, so I was doubly excited. My Uber driver was very friendly, and we ended up in a long and involved conversation about the merits of Calgary weather versus that of Winnipeg, where he originally hailed from, as well as crime rates, housing prices, and gangs. The conversation got so involved that he missed my exit, which, you guys, maybe I need to talk less? I am aware that I am the architect of my own problems, like my ninety-minute dental appointments and, apparently, Uber drivers missing turnoffs. With the conditions, it was not easy to adjust for the wrong turn, but eventually I did make it home, close to ten o’clock.

I quickly put on all the layers to walk Rex, thinking I only had a couple of hours to do that and then shower before I would have to head out again. I zoomed around, and then waited. And waited. Three hours became four, and then five, at which point I called the dealership and they said it was still in the shop. By this time my older son was home and offered to drive me when I needed it, rather than taking an Uber. Possibly he worried that if I took another Uber, I would end up chatting too much and would never make it to the dealership. I don’t know. I waited.

Finally, nearly seven hours after dropping off the car, my son came into the living room, texting. Dad says it’s time for us to go now. Wait, what. The dealership did not call me, but instead called my husband, to tell him that the car needed brake pads along with something else, you know what, I have no idea what it was. It was probably better that they called him but still I felt slighted. What happened to being woman and hearing me roar? Then, my husband just texted my SON to tell him to take me to the dealership, and no one thought to text ME. Well, anyway, after a day of waiting around, I was happy to finally have some closure, and we went for another hair-raising drive on icy, snow-covered roads with little visibility, and now it was getting dark, too.

By the time we got there, it was well after four o’clock, and I was hoping to get home before the sun went down completely. I found my car in the lot, only to discover that it had been in the very warm shop and then taken out into the minus 23 degree weather, which meant that the windows were all completely frosted over ON THE INSIDE. Have you ever tried to scrape windows from the inside, with a long-handled scraper that is curved FOR USE ON THE OUTSIDE? It was not easy. Between my near-useless scraping, trying not to take out my own eye with the end of the snow brush, and the defrost on high, I finally had enough visibility to get back on the road, fifteen minutes later. By this point, the sunset had happened, and I was driving in the dark, in the blowing snow, on ice and in rush-hour traffic.

The sole upside was that by the time I was near home, my son was almost done wrestling practice, so I swung by the school to pick him up. While I waited, I stared out the window, completely exhausted, and vowed to never do another car maintenance thing ever again. I can roar in other ways. Maybe I’ll change a lightbulb.

Weekly Reading

Phosphorescence. After a prolonged illness and several surgeries, the author of this incredibly interesting and well-researched book started to consider phosphorescence, or the things that make the world light up. Including ourselves, from within. She discusses modern lives and the lack of nature, how paying attention to life brings joy, and introduces the concept of freudenfruede, the idea that others’ successes bring us personal happiness – the opposite of schadenfreude. As Moira from Schitts’ Creek says, when one of us shines, we all shine. Also, note for Erin (HI ERIN) there is a Yiddish word, nachas, which indicates pride in someone else’s accomplishments, usually our children. I really liked that part; there is enough for all of us, success isn’t part of a finite pie, and we can derive joy from others’ happiness. We are not in a zero-sum game, here.

One thing I did not like in this book was the author’s discussion about complaining about small problems in our lives, and how we should never do it. I get it. When you are near-death, or are experiencing a devastating illness and day-to-day agonizing pain, I am sure you would welcome all the little daily irritants as just proof that you’re alive. Nevertheless I don’t think it’s healthy to say that no one should complain ever because that seems like a recipe for ulcers and mental illness. Of course, this is coming from a person who just wrote 1500 words about taking her car in for servicing. STILL. A paper cut isn’t a broken leg, but it still hurts, and we can acknowledge that. Taking a car in for servicing during a blizzard isn’t mourning the loss of a loved one, but we can still talk about it.

Other than that, the book really was lovely. As a memoir, well, I’d say only about a third at most can be considered memoir, but it’s a fascinating look at faith, grace, justice, and the pursuit of silence. 

This Time Tomorrow.
If you know how I feel about time travel as a literary device and concept (I loathe it) you might be surprised that I picked this book up at all, as the premise is a woman travelling from her 40th birthday to her 16th, and back again. I really like the author so I read it. I still don’t like time travel but I did enjoy this book despite that. It’s thought provoking in that the trajectory of our lives can change so easily. I often think, if I had done this instead of that, would I still be here? It’s interesting to think of all the little paths that we choose and don’t choose, and how they create our lives.

Saturday was our two month Rex-aversary, and it’s hard to remember what it was like without him! Well, my reading glasses didn’t constantly get wagged off the coffee table, I guess that was what it was like. I hope you all have a cozy week – with no vehicular issues! – with lots of treats and other lovely things. xo

Three For Thursday: The “Holiday Questions Answered” Edition

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This week was my last week of yoga classes until January, and I have to say that I have the most wonderful students in the world. I was the recipient of many cards – some hand-drawn – and gifts, as well as a ton of baking. Two of my students in particular brought in giant platters of things to take to the boys; one lady brought in butter tarts and pecan tarts, and one brought in two plates of squares and shortbread. They both know that my boys love tarts and shortbread, and I make neither of them. In fact, the shortbread baker, in December 2020 when everything was shut down, arranged to meet me in a parking lot, in minus 20, to give me a plate of shortbread. It broke her heart, she said, to think that the boys wouldn’t get shortbread because of Covid.

Another student is a leatherworker, and she crafted bracelets and key tags for every student in the Monday afternoon class; the key tags were all embossed with the message Gratitude is the first step to joy, which one of her fellow students had said back in October, and that we all agreed was the most beautiful sentiment. I have thought of it every day since October, and apparently so has the rest of the class.

Aren’t my ladies just the greatest? There have been some ups and downs this week, to be discussed later, but these women really elevated the festive feeling for me. It’s no secret that I love the holiday season, and so I was pretty excited to see two holiday-related questions on my Ask Me Literally Anything form; as a reminder, I have no idea how to close out this form, so please feel free to Ask Me Literally Anything, if you like. If you don’t like, that is perfectly fine too.

  • Colleen (HI COLLEEN) asked: What do you want for Christmas? Well, Colleen, that is a great question. I think I am an easy person to give presents to; I am universally delighted with anything. Typically I have a few books on my list, and I love to receive things like slippers, chocolates, wine, and pretty much anything else. Twenty-four years ago, my husband once gave me a water bottle for Christmas, among other things. It was just a plain plastic Nalgene one, and I still feel nostalgic thinking about it. A water bottle! That we could hike with and I wouldn’t get dehydrated! I am easy to please, clearly. In fact, one of Suzanne’s (HI SUZANNE) questions was what was your worst gift you received and honestly, I couldn’t think of anything. I’m sure I have received gifts that weren’t great, but either I’ve blocked them out or I’ve just never had what I considered a bad gift. That said, I have a few big-ticket items on my wish list this year, and one of them is a Kobo. I used my husband’s decade-old Kindle on our carry-on only trip to Mexico, and while it worked fine, it is not compatible with the Canadian library system. This wasn’t something I discovered on my own, mind you; a number of friends tipped me off when I said I was thinking about a newer version of a Kindle for (hopefully) future travel. I’m hoping for a waterproof Kobo, and also for a tropical vacation in which that waterproof Kobo will come in handy. Another rather large item on my wish list is a new Garmin watch. My current watch is almost four years old now and it does not hold a charge in any meaningful way. I have to charge it at least twice a day, which is FINE, it’s not like anyone is going to die because of it, but it would be nice to not get a “low battery” signal when I am out on a walk. Steps still count even if they aren’t counted, but STILL. I want those steps counted! You understand.
  • Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked: What’s your favourite Christmas tradition? I am going to split this lovely question into two parts. It’s a Three for Thursday, after all, and I only had two specifically Christmas-related questions. One of my favourite things to do in December is to make treats. My sons and I decorate homemade gingerbread people, which on my plate end up being cute smiley people with happy little buttons, and on theirs, obscenely decorated monstrosities with wrestling or some other completely non-Christmassy themes. Hey, it’s fun. I love to make chocolates and bark and truffles, and to gift those to the lovely people in my life. The best baking tradition, though, is my grandma’s gingersnaps. They are my favourite cookies in the world, and I only make them at Christmas. I shared this recipe in 2013 when I had first started working at YMC, and it kind of exploded since then. I baked them on the weekend and I had SEVERAL friends message me to say that they also were making my grandma’s gingersnaps that very weekend, and that they were their favourite Christmas cookies. To say this warms my heart would be an understatement. The recipe is here, (and that link DOES work, despite the strange formatting). Grandma B was not at all a good cook, in fact, I cannot remember anything she made that was at all tasty – she was Scottish/ English, and her cooking really lived up to that cuisine’s reputation – but these cookies? They are incredible.
  • What is your favourite Christmas tradition, part two. I thought about this a lot; we have so many fun little traditions, like watching Elf and Christmas Vacation, decorating the house inside and out, and the disturbing, yet funny, monstrosity that is the boys’ gingerbread house. I settled on the Good Thing Advent calendar. I bought this wooden calendar when the boys were small and I would put a little treat in it every day. When they were a bit older, I stole an idea from a fellow, now defunct, blog and would write a holiday-themed activity on a slip of paper, and they would read each day what that fun activity would be. Doesn’t that sound lovely? I did it once and swore I’d never do it again. Like so many of those grand parenting ideas, it was a giant pain. I found it really hard to come up with twenty-four activities – there are only so many days you can bake cookies and watch Christmas movies – so probably 3/4 of the days consisted of “sledding after school” which was a thing we did every single day in the winter anyway, or “read a Christmas story,” which, again, was a pretty regular occurrence. The next year I just wrote something I liked that they did that day, which was fine. For the past several years, though, all four of us write one good thing that happened to us that day, and we put it in the calendar. On New Year’s, we take out all the slips of paper, put them in a bowl, and take turns reading them. It’s really fun and makes us all feel good, other than the time my younger son drew a note from my husband that said “Nicole looked hot tonight,” which was just awkward for everyone. Some days it can be a stretch, but mostly it’s fun to dig deep and see what little thing made us happy on any particular day.

Do you have any favourite traditions you would like to share? Favourite cookie types? Do you have anything special on your wish list this year? Tell me everything. xo

Fancy Festivities and Friends

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Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down. Back in September 2020, when the kids first went back to in-person school after lockdown, my younger son told me that just walking through the halls and being around so many people made him really happy. I had that same feeling on Friday when my husband and I went to his company holiday party. I couldn’t stop smiling, just seeing other people all dressed up and looking universally beautiful. We are at a PARTY, I kept thinking, a HOLIDAY PARTY and everyone is DRESSED UP. I have no idea if this feeling of abject delight and wonder is going to continue throughout my life, but I hope it does.

It was so much fun, even if I am so unused to wearing heels that my feet were crying by the end of the night. What are you doing to me, where are our comfy shoes, what is happening right now.

We stayed at the party until TEN THIRTY PM and I wasn’t in bed until an hour later, and did you even know there was an 11:30 AT NIGHT? There is! I had prepared for this exciting and unheard of bout of wildness by doing two things I never do normally: I had a nap in the afternoon, and then I had a strong, caffeinated chai at 4:00 pm. WHEEEEEEE!

Last week I had invited all of you, my dear readers, to Ask Me Literally Anything, and I have had so many great questions that I will be answering in the coming weeks. My wild Friday night brings me to a question Pat (HI PAT) raised: I, like everyone else, am fascinated by you 4 a.m. wakeup. When you are on vacation, perhaps at your parents place, your lake house or a sunny destination, do you alter your schedule a bit? Maybe stay up till 9:30 and get up at 5? Well, Pat, on weekends I do sometimes sleep until 6 if I can! One thing about me is that my body seems to have a natural wakeup in the hour between 4 and 5, but on weekends or holidays I can usually lull myself back to sleep for another hour or two. I do try to stay up later when we are on vacation or visiting my parents, because it’s a bit ridiculous to go to bed at 8:30 when everyone is having fun and playing games. I thought maybe I could sleep in a bit this Saturday morning, but my son had a wrestling tournament and needed to be up by six, and although he drove himself to the school and is perfectly capable of getting through his own morning routine without his mother, I was still awake and drinking coffee by 6:05. You know how it goes, people.

And You May Ask Yourself, How Did I Get Here? I will be keeping the form open, mostly because I don’t know how to close it, so ask any questions you like. On the other hand, if you’re thinking really, I already know too much, that is cool too.

One question I did want to address came not from the form but from multiple comments about my Day in the Life post, with regards to teaching and practicing yoga. Some readers expressed surprise that I would practice yoga and then teach yoga in the same day, but those things are very separate to me. My personal yoga practice is a moving meditation, where I flow through postures – the Ashtanga primary series, with some additions and subtractions – doing breath work and ending with a nice savasana. I get on the mat every single day, even if it’s just a five minute seated meditation; I don’t feel like myself if I don’t practice. Teaching, on the other hand, is a different story: it’s work. I mean, it is fun work, and it is work that I enjoy, but it is work nonetheless. I am always “on,” and talking, and watching my students for cues that something is working or not working for them. I don’t focus on my own breathing, and it is not meditative in the least, because I am generally thinking of what posture we are going into next and how to include variations for students with a variety of old injuries and concerns.

I have been teaching many of my current students since 2017, so I have a good relationship with all of them, which I especially appreciated on Monday afternoon, when I was teaching my Strength and Tone ladies. We were in the middle of a downward dog when suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, my nose started bleeding, like that of a long-term cocaine addict. Such a thing has never happened to me before while teaching, and I hope it never happens again. When I say my nose started bleeding, I don’t mean a little trickle. I mean that I had to pause the class and it took TEN MINUTES to get things under control. Ten minutes is a very long time to be stanching a nose bleed, let me tell you. Fortunately my students are very kind and understanding, and were willing to independently use my tennis balls for some myofascial release at the wall while I went through every single tissue I had in my purse, and half the scratchy, recycled material paper towels that the community centre had next to the sink. I give my students homemade chocolates every year at Christmas, and I may have dropped a few extras in for these ladies, to thank them for their patience with my dramatically bleeding nose.

This Year, To Save Me From Tears, I’ll Give It To Someone Special. Last week I was having couple of down days; I felt mired in anxiety and worry about my children and their immediate and long-term futures, myself and my ability to handle Life’s Next Chapter, and also drooping sadness because it felt like everyone I was encountering was somehow yucking my yums. Normally I am a Que Sera, Sera Person, moving through life thinking we are doing our best, things will work out in the end, all will be well, and not being overly concerned if people don’t share my feelings about silly and fun things, but I just couldn’t shake my gloom. Part of this may have been due to the fact that I was short on sleep: one of the CO detectors’ battery died in the very early hours, waking me up with its incessant chirping even earlier than normal, and also that my Garmin was telling me that “it’s almost that time again!” which generally affects my sleep as well, in addition to my mood in general. I didn’t really need the reminder from my Garmin. My feelings of despair towards humanity were reminder enough, not to mention my giant swollen breasts that were spilling out of all of my yoga tanks.

My very dear friend Hannah who I love very much (HI HANNAH) somehow knew how I was feeling and sent me this, while I was standing in line at the post office, which in itself contributes to angst and despair:

It immediately turned my mood around; it made me so happy, and feel so seen. On days that I don’t get enough Last Christmas, I have been pulling out my sheet music and playing it on the piano. I am enjoying the fuck out of it.

Then, I came home to open a package sent to me by my dear friend Elise (HI ELISE), and I think I may have blacked out with excitement for a moment when I opened it.

Longtime readers will remember my obsession with the Sears Wish Book, and you just cannot even begin to imagine how exciting this was to receive in the mail. How did I get so lucky, to have such incredible friends? What an incredible gift! Thanks Elise!

This One’s For Becky. Back to the subject of music, I was driving home from the grocery store, listening to 70s on 7 – HI SUZ, the only other person I know who listens to that station – and Coward of the County came on. Let me just say that a) my parents were big Kenny Rogers fans, and b) I know the lyrics to almost every song I was exposed to more than once from my very young childhood to today, which means that probably 90% of my brain is song lyrics. If I could free up my brain power from remembering all these lyrics, I could probably cure cancer or something. Anyway, I hadn’t heard Coward of the County for many years but I still cheerfully sang along. Wow, that is one upbeat tune, given the grim nature of the song. Gang rape! Murder leading to lifetime incarceration! Generational trauma! I remember singing this song as a small child, which is unsettling to think of. Small Nicole, with her little bowl cut and her 70s clothing, singing Folks just called him Yellow! Son, you don’t have to fight to be a man.

I was likely singing and/ or talking in this photo, but it’s unlikely it was Coward of the County. Probably it was a Christmas song, or maybe just a stream of consciousness about the ornaments. Who can say.

Weekly Reading

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. This seems like a bit of a morbid topic – the death/ mortuary/ funeral industry – but it is actually quite beautiful in a weird way, about honouring dead bodies and death rituals. I have always wondered about things like expensive caskets and the like, in a WHY kind of way. This was fascinating but not for the squeamish! One of my nephews is interested in pursuing a career in this industry, and reading it helped me understand the motivation.

Thanks For Waiting. This was an interesting concept for a memoir, from the cohost of Forever 35, one of my favourite podcasts. Shafrir talks about being a “late-bloomer,” achieving all those life milestones much later than all her peers, from tweenhood on. It goes from life as a writer in mice-infested NYC apartments, to living and dating in LA, to marriage and the incredible heartache of infertility treatments. It’s incredibly honest and brave, and I could hear her voice as I read this.

The Holiday Breakdown. You know I love a holiday romance, and this was just so delightful and fun. I smiled the whole time I was reading this sweet story; the main character was so fun and charming. The author cohosts Were You Raised By Wolves (two podcast-host books in a row!) and I could feel her warm and delightful personality shining though.

I hope you have a lovely week ahead of you. Maybe some festivities, as well? If you have some Heel Worthy Events, may I suggest some prophylactical Advil? That is, if you can get it. xo

Three For Thursday: The “Do You Remember The (very first) Night of December” Edition

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She Puzzled And Puzzled ‘Til Her Puzzler Was Sore, Then Nicole Thought Of Something She Hadn’t Before. Happy December! One of the very most exciting things about December First is the start of Advent calendars. I don’t know about you, but for me, growing up in the 80s, Advent calendars as they are seen today just weren’t in existence. Nowadays there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of different kinds of Advent calendars – chocolates! booze! tiny samples of cosmetics and skin care products! hot drinks! and more! – but when I was a kid, there were two kinds: the cardboard ones in which you opened a door to reveal a Christmas-themed picture, as seen on Christmas Vacation, and the kind that your mom might buy in the grocery store after much pleading, which contained a centimetre-square of waxy chocolate in the shape of stockings, trees, and, on Christmas Eve, a star. We had both kinds, but the chocolate ones I had to share with my two brothers.

All of which is to say that my Very Pampered Family enjoys the Very Fancy Lindor calendars, and no one has to share, because Pampered. I have always wanted the excitement of my own calendar, but a chocolate one did not appeal to me. You would think that, being me, I would love a cosmetic or skin care calendar, but no. Samples are wasted on me because I stick with what I like and I don’t love to deviate, especially for just one day. Last year I bought myself a tea calendar, which was an utter failure; with maybe three exceptions, I hated the flavours.

So when I saw this puzzle calendar at Costco – at the beginning of October, but if you know anything about Costco, you snap up what you see because you may never see it again, and indeed I have NOT – I knew this was the calendar for me. A daily puzzle! Featuring DOGS. In SANTA HATS. If there is a more perfect calendar, I do not know what it is.

It’s A Wrap. My older son was so excited when I got home the other day, to tell me that Spotify Wrapped was out! This is a big day in the Boyhouse, let me tell you. I immediately opened the app to see my top songs and artists, and it was just as amazing as I thought it might be. I never have any idea what song I have listened to the most over the year; it is a constant surprise.

I absolutely love that my top song was Everyday People by Sly and the Family Stone, followed by i by Kendrick Lamar. I mean. I feel like this says something about me. Midnight Train To Georgia was last year’s number one song, so I wasn’t surprised to see it – I do love that song – but who knew I listened to You Can Call Me Al so much? I did not! Rounding out the list is the Marshall Tucker Band, which probably tells you a lot about the eclectic nature of my playlists.

My son is very put out that Spotify Wrapped only goes until October 31; that’s two MONTHS of data that is missing in a year. To be honest, it’s probably good because once November 12 hits, I play nothing but my Nicole Christmas playlist, which has 97 songs on it but many are just different versions of the same song. For example, I have five versions each of Baby, It’s Cold Outside (no, not the modern one, I prefer the weird hey what’s in this drink version) and Last Christmas (naturally). There are three versions each of Driving Home For Christmas, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, River, This Christmas, and Santa Baby. I have four Little Drummer Boys, as well, and several other duplicates. This doesn’t even take into account the Jazzy Christmas, Mellow Piano Christmas, Michael Buble Christmas, and Charlie Brown Christmas that are in constant rotation. In other words, should November and December be included, my data would be very skewed.

I Got Mugged. The lovely and kind Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) sent me a beautiful package for the #SecretSantaMugSwap2022, hosted as always by the wonderful community builder San (HI SAN). Just look at these wonderful treats! What a joy to delve into. Thank you so much, Elisabeth! I am especially intrigued by Hot Honey, and in fact I may start calling my husband Hot Honey. Or insist that he call me that. We shall see! I was thrilled with each and every item in this very fun package! December is Fun Mail Month, and I feel like Elisabeth has started things off with a bang.

Speaking of my wonderful, supportive, and inclusive blog community, so many of you participated in NaBloPoMo, where bloggers post every day in the month of November, and many of you did Ask Me Anything posts. To be honest, I had a little bit of FOMO; I wanted to do one of my own, but I thought it would be better for me to wait until December, when the flood of posts faded to a mere stream. So do you have questions for me? Fill out this form! I will answer them to the best of my ability! I have no shame! Literally anything!

Congratulations to all of you NaBloPoMo participants! What an accomplishment by you all! I know one of you in particular is quite sad it’s over – HI ENGIE – and I thought of you as I wrote this, on December 1. I thought you may never speak to me again if I didn’t include a few fuzzy photos, so don’t worry, I will not disappoint my readership. Happy December, everyone. Baby, it’s cold outside here, so I hope wherever you are you are cozy and warm. xo

Rex will not share his doughnut with you, so don’t even ask.

Rex loves to lie in the corner where the tree is currently residing. His second choice is to wedge himself between the table and the wall. Maybe he thinks he’s a gift under the tree? If so, he’s right. Best gift ever.

I Moustache You A Question

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I had my hair cut this week – and, as a complete sidebar, it was the best cut I have ever had in my life and I have never before been so happy with my hair, in all of my 47 years of life – and the salon owner was there, as he usually is. I don’t normally chat with him much but I noticed he was sporting a thick moustache. It was then that I realized that, apart from the inhabitants of the Boyhouse, I do not see many men on a daily basis.

Pre-pandemic I would have men in my yoga classes, I worked with men, I would see men in various events and meetings, and every November a large number of them would suddenly have moustaches, and I would wonder to myself did he always have that moustache, or is this a Movember thing?

Many years ago, my sons were in a karate school, and one day when I was waiting for them to be dismissed I recognized a man waiting for his son; we had been friends in university but I hadn’t seen him since. I said hi and introduced myself, and we chatted for not ten seconds before he pointed to his face and said “Excuse the moustache, I’m doing this Movember thing.”

Before we get too far into things, I want you to know, dear reader, that I am not anti-moustache. In fact, if I let things go in the hair removal department, I would certainly be sporting a handlebar myself. I think many men suit a moustache, particularly men of a certain generation: I’m thinking specifically of Tom Selleck and Sam Elliott. But moustaches in general are not my favourite, and I am working hard to keep this opinion to myself.

My younger son, for reasons known only to him, has decided to grow a moustache for the month of November. Possibly beyond November. We don’t know. Only time will tell. The last time such a shaving-mutiny happened in my house was at the very beginning of the pandemic when the boys, at that time aged 16 and 14 1/2, decided they would not shave until the pandemic was over. Well. At the time they probably thought it would be a month or maybe six weeks, and in fact, my younger son thankfully did shave around May 2020. My older son held on until the fall, when he saw a photo of himself and was horrified.

This time is different. There are many guys at the high school who have full beards, and while my son is not one of them, he does have quite a dark, relatively thick moustache, for a 17-year-old. I don’t love it but it’s his face, it’s just facial hair, and our children are their own people with their own body autonomy and ability to make their own choices. Right? I think of when I was 17; if someone had told me they didn’t like my army boots with babydoll dresses, or that some day I might regret the long, spiral permed hair with giant bangs, or that Revlon’s Love That Red lipstick was a bit much for math class at 9 in the morning, I would have wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves. So I support my son’s facial hair choice, even if I prefer his face clean-shaven.

Many, many years ago, I remember a woman on Twitter who went by the moniker PhD In Parenting, which is a pretty bold statement, in my mind. Personally, I think of myself more as a High School Graduate But In The Remedial Stream In Parenting, so this is not expert advice, but I think the key to parenting at any age, but especially teens, is to treat our kids in a way that we would also want to be treated. I often think of that poem “Your children are not your children,” because they need to make choices and decisions and live their lives in a way that might not always jive with my way.

So far it’s worked for me. I acknowledge that I am very, very fortunate in that all our personalities get along in this house, and that we have not had any major issues. This is, I think, more luck of the draw than parenting, but sometimes I get praised in a way that I don’t think I deserve.

My younger son and his moustache have been seeing a podiatrist for about six weeks now, and every time we go there it’s like a Celebration Of The Wonder Who Is My Son. It’s quite over the top and I love it. This reaction from the staff is possibly because he appears to be the only patient under 65 in the office, and hence is a bit of a novelty, but he is truly a very kind and polite person. The receptionist and nurse fawn all over him, and when he does something simple like ask them how they are doing, they gush about his manners and congratulate me on raising such an incredible young man.

I accept this praise and congratulations wholeheartedly, but I honestly think parenting is only part of the story. It’s an important part, to be sure, but so much of the way a person presents themselves to the world is on them. So much of a person is just the way they ARE, and that leads to a philosophy I strongly adhere to in both parenting and in life: we need to meet people where they are and accept them for who they are. We need to accept them even when they are different from us, even when they have our own traits that we don’t like, and even when they decide that moustaches are the way to go.

Weekly Reading

The Beauty of Living Twice. Two things: 1) Sharon Stone has led an incredibly interesting and meaningful life, 2) she is a very intelligent woman but intelligence doesn’t always translate to “good writer.” I think this book could have benefitted from a ghostwriter. Her journey is fascinating but I was very put off by the choppy writing style. I didn’t realize she had suffered a major stroke – and, apparently, massive medical incompetence to the point of malpractice – and nearly died. A lot of this book is about her healing journey, her activism, and her embrace of Buddhism. The writing kind of wrecked the story for me, sadly, because I think it’s a good one. She overcame poverty and childhood sexual and physical abuse, as well as her health issues and “being too old” to get work in Hollywood, post-stroke.

How To Keep House While Drowning. I heard an interview with this author, and I knew I wanted to read her book. She was due to have her second baby and, given that she suffered postpartum depression with her first, she set up a whole support network to help in the weeks after giving birth. She arranged for meal delivery, help with housework, for her older child to go to preschool four days a week, the works. She had the baby in February 2020. I don’t need to tell you how that affected her postpartum support.

Remember in the early days of the pandemic when we were all scrubbing our baseboards and purging our closets and using powdered Tide to “strip” the laundry? Remember all those cleaning hacks? This book is not that. This book is a very gentle, very kind guide to creating a functional living space and caring for that space, and yourself, when you feel like you are literally drowning. This is a support book for people who might feel like they just can’t get the energy to brush their hair, let alone polish their sinks. This book is written for the neurodivergent – the author herself has ADHD – and for people who are really, really struggling with executive functioning and day-to-day life, but I think that anyone can benefit from reading it. At the very least, you will come away with the idea of “moral neutrality,” which means that housework or lack thereof does not dictate what kind of a person you are. You are not a superior person if you fold your laundry and you are not inferior if you cannot wash the dishes more than once every three days. Those things are morally neutral. This book creates a feeling of kindness and compassion for ourselves and for others, and uses the words “care tasks” in place of “chores,” which has a much nicer connotation. There is also a very important discussion about environmental choices, and how most environmentalism serves able-bodied people of privilege, but doesn’t consider those who are disabled in any way. Most of all, this book gives permission to take care of yourself and your living space – in whatever form that takes – without moral judgement. It’s a quick and easy read and I highly recommend it.

Catastrophic Happiness. How did I miss this when it came out SIX YEARS AGO! I was devouring Newman’s We All Want Impossible Things when I saw that this book of essays about parenting children in the pre-teen, post-baby era existed and I never read it! Colour me embarrassed. Well, this gave me a lovely nostalgic feeling and fans will just love it. I did! It also made me breathe a sigh of relief that tantrums, childhood illnesses, and stress about am I doing this right are in the rearview mirror for me.

My husband finished all the outdoor decorations just in time before another harsh cold front descended, and the four of us put up the tree and indoor decorations, all while wearing our WWE Christmas sweaters, speaking of meeting people where they are and showing interest in teens’ own niche interests. Longtime readers may recall that at the time of our sweater acquisition the only female wrestler-themed sweater available was six sizes larger than the one I typically wear, which makes it pretty cozy. Could I have purchased a MALE wrestler-themed sweater that would have been closer to my size? I could have. But I am a firm Supporter Of Women, even for something this ridiculous. In other news, I have two new gnome decorations for the tree – one from my mom – and the house feels very hygge and festive as Old Man Winter descends once again with frigid temperatures and snow. I hope you are cozy and hygge, wherever you are. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It’s One Month Until Christmas Eve” Edition

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Rex thinks he’s Santa!

ONE MONTH UNTIL CHRISTMAS EVE YOU GUYS!!! November has been simultaneously been flying and crawling by. Time lost all meaning during the pandemic, and I still find myself confused by the calendar. One moment I will be thinking It’s November 24 already! Next week is December! and the next I will find myself in the garden centre, looking at the sign that says December 10 Christmas Market and wondering Is that today? No, it’s not December yet.

One month! I feel very festive. We are putting up the tree and indoor decorations, the outdoor ones are slowly making their way up, and I’ve started baking all the minty chocolatey things.

That’s right, it’s Mint Chocolate Season, Baby! And it’s also time for Nicole’s Favourite Things!

There’s A Little Kalette Shady In All Of Us

Guess who’s back? Back again? Kalettes are back! Tell a friend. Kalettes make it into my Favourite Things every year because they deserve it. These delicious little crosses between kale and Brussels sprouts are Limited Time Only – they are available at Costco from about November through January, so I enjoy them as much as possible in the season.

The best way to eat them, in my opinion, is to toss them with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and drizzle with balsamic, and then roast them for about 30 minutes. Divine! Last weekend I got a little carried away and made two bags, and ended up eating some the next day at lunch and let me tell you, they were SO good. This is very strong praise coming from me, knowing how I feel about leftovers.

Boom! It’s A Ticket To Flavour Town

Another Guess Who’s Back Seasonal Appearance! It’s no secret that I love popcorn, and the festive Boom Chicka Pops are…kind of back? I happened on them at London Drugs a few weeks ago, but according to a friend (HI JULIE) they are currently nowhere to be found. Did I get the last ones? I swear I’m not hoarding! I did buy a couple of bags of each kind – in a normal consumption way, not a weird hoarding way – which should be enough to get me through the holiday season.

Lube Up

As I was preparing for Tiny Secret Festive Season by purchasing Festive Hand Soaps from Bath and Body Works, I realized that I could buy body lotions in those same festive scents. This, my friends, was a revelation. I have mentioned before that one of my pre-shower rituals is looking at my various bottles of body lotion and then choosing the scent of the day, a scent that will somehow reflect my daily activities, brighten my day, and say something about the day of the week. You may be thinking that is a tall order for a fragrance, but you would be wrong.

In any case, I bought these lotions to celebrate both Tiny Secret Festive Season and also Full On Festive Season – although, frankly, these will last into the New Year – and it’s so much fun lubing up in the morning. Yes, I said lubing up, what of it.

Like A One-Winged Dove

I like to use body wash to shave with, as opposed to a shaving cream, and Costco had a three-pack of Dove body wash on sale. It’s always a risk to buy any beauty item for the first time at Costco, because if I don’t like it, I have SO MUCH of it to use up. I was fairly confident with a Dove product though – I am a purchaser of their bar soap and the guys all use the shampoo – and wow, am I glad I bought it. This is probably the creamiest, thickest, most moisturizing body wash I have ever tried. But what propels it into Favourite Things Category is the scent.

It’s so hard to describe. Back in the early 80s, before scented candles were ubiquitous and there were SNL sketches about the Yankee Candle that goes on and on, my grandma had a candle in a pretty tin canister. Let us go back in time, when there weren’t a million items in every house and each item was carefully displayed and cared for. When I was little, and we were visiting at Christmastime, I would pop the lid off and just sniff the candle, which I don’t remember being burned; I suppose it was decorative, and probably was a gift. It had such a pretty, sweet scent, and this body wash smells exactly the same. It took me a while to pinpoint why I loved the body wash scent so much; it really takes me back. It’s a floral-ish, vanilla-ish, sweet-ish scent.

Peas in a Pod

I am a big listener of podcasts, and I was horrified to read that with the advent of more and more celebrity podcasts, the smaller, independent ones are losing audiences and advertising. Listen, I enjoy the occasional Literally! by Rob Lowe or Conan O’Brien Needs A Friend, but for the most part, my favourite pods are the ones that are small and independent. Remember in the blogging world when, for a few years, most blogs went into Big Blogger or Sponsored Post world, and the small blogs were considered “dead?” Let’s not let that happen to podcasts. I mean, now our blogging community shows that we are firmly Not Dead, but also, I would like for the small pods to keep making their episodes, and to that end I will tell you my current favourites. Sharing is supposedly the best way to support a podcast, and so here goes:

Were You Raised By Wolves? This is a podcast about modern etiquette, and before you frown and say “modern etiquette, what,” just know that this is an absolute delight to listen to. The hosts are so much fun and they go through different etiquette problems and questions all over the world.

Forever 35. Their tagline is “a podcast about the things we do to take care of ourselves,” and the hosts always say that they are not experts, they are just two friends who like to talk a lot about serums. It’s like it was designed for me and me alone. You know I love taking care of myself and also serums. I love the hosts, I love their guests, I love their topics, I just love this whole pod.

Everything Is Fine. Thanks to Ally (HI ALLY) for alerting me to this podcast, where two women talk about everything from their hair to their careers to sex injuries. I was excited to learn that one of the hosts was a staff writer for Sassy, which was THE magazine of my youth. Remember Sassy? It was the only magazine that treated teen girls like actual intelligent beings, in my mind.

Nobody Panic. Is there anything more fun than two British women giving advice on how to go to the hairdresser or how to drink more water? This is just a lot of fun; advice on how to be an adult. I do not think a 47-year-old Canadian mom of teens is their demographic, but nonetheless, I love it.

The Friendship Paradox. Did you know my blog friend Stephany (HI STEPHANY) has a podcast? SHE DOES! Go check it out, because her Season Two, all about how two friends with very different personality types navigate parties and gatherings, is so enjoyable. Also, it’s so fun to know a person via their writing, and then hear their actual voice!

Gnomes, Tunics, and Eating Clowns For Breakfast

Over dinner the other night, we were talking about how Rex has gotten many nicknames from us already, and the guys pointed out that I frequently call him Baby. My older son said As we get older, I feel like you are going to get more and more into Rex. And gnomes. He’s not wrong. People, I had an image of my adult sons coming home to visit, and their father mouthing HELP ME as he was surrounded by gnomes; perhaps I’d be bustling around with a gnome hat for both him and Rex. All of this is to say that I felt SEEN by this post about Gnomevember, by MG Doodle (HI MG!). Who knew Gnomevember was a thing? To be honest, I think every month is Gnomevember in my heart.

As I have mentioned many times, the older I get the more interested I am in long, flowing tops, and so I felt this McSweeney’s post so very much. When you’re a woman over 40, a tunic wears you.

I love learning about nuance and sayings from other languages, as well as thinking about things that are part of our own lexicon. San (HI SAN) wrote about German idioms and I read them aloud to my husband, as we laughed hysterically. I was actually crying from laughing so hard. I think I will be using the Did You Have Clowns For Breakfast until the end of time.

Next week is December, one month until Christmas…so much to feel festive about! What are you loving this month? Tell me everything. xo