On Breakfast Television today (or what I refer to, in quotation marks, as “the news”) there was a shocking headline “Sleep deprived moms more likely to suffer postpartum blues”. Really? Really? That’s astonishing. Isn’t sleep deprivation used as a form of torture? They probably practice it on Gitmo. Oops, sorry, I briefly forgot my “no politics” policy. Take a look at the life of a new mom: life-changing upheaval, crying infant, massive hormonal swings, soggy t-shirts, and a house in disarray. Add in the inevitable exhaustion and sleep deprivation and yes, I suppose you could say it all equals postpartum blues. Not sleeping for more than two hours at a time will do that to you.
But this is the same “news” that brought me the following information: the key to financial success is to live within your means. I’m not sure we needed a financial expert to tell us that; we could have just talked to my grandpa.
I’ve been feeling bluesy myself today, but it’s not the postpartum kind; it’s the kind that precedes what is referred to in yoga circles as “ladies’ holidays”. At least I think that’s what it is; hopefully I’m not just lethargic and crabby for no reason. Now I’m going to go eat a handful of chocolate chips, and cry. Have a good weekend everyone!
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A unique way to waste money!
It’s the dog’s first birthday on Saturday, and although I’m fairly indifferent about this milestone, and the dog is certainly oblivious, the boys know it’s his birthday and want to celebrate. Jake said “What if you make a cake for us and get a treat for Barkley” and this struck me as a very excellent idea. Who can argue with cake? I had to pick up dog food this week anyway, so today I did that and chose a lovely bully stick for $1.39. Perfect.
I chatted with the nice cashier, and she told me that for a doggie birthday party, I could purchase some goody bags for all my doggie guests! And for ten dollars I could also purchase a handmade doggie treat in the shape of a cake! I smiled in that somewhat alarmed and startled way you might have when someone you just met gives you information that you would rather not have. A doggie birthday party. With actual doggie guests, doggie cake and doggie goody bags. Is it me, or does that seem like an insane waste of resources?
a) I do not want many dogs in my yard peeing on my plants, digging up my flowers, and flattening my shrubs, which is exactly what happened the last time a friend came by with her dog in tow.
b) My dog would happily eat garbage off the street if I would let him, and I have actually witnessed him eating his own fecal matter, so I would hardly spend ten dollars on a treat that he would likely devour in less than a minute.
c) I expend enough energy on my children’s birthday parties; I do not need to expend any for the dog.
d) I love my dog very much, but he is, after all, a dog. Yes, he’s a member of the family, but he is the canine member of the family. Important distinction.
I chatted with the nice cashier, and she told me that for a doggie birthday party, I could purchase some goody bags for all my doggie guests! And for ten dollars I could also purchase a handmade doggie treat in the shape of a cake! I smiled in that somewhat alarmed and startled way you might have when someone you just met gives you information that you would rather not have. A doggie birthday party. With actual doggie guests, doggie cake and doggie goody bags. Is it me, or does that seem like an insane waste of resources?
a) I do not want many dogs in my yard peeing on my plants, digging up my flowers, and flattening my shrubs, which is exactly what happened the last time a friend came by with her dog in tow.
b) My dog would happily eat garbage off the street if I would let him, and I have actually witnessed him eating his own fecal matter, so I would hardly spend ten dollars on a treat that he would likely devour in less than a minute.
c) I expend enough energy on my children’s birthday parties; I do not need to expend any for the dog.
d) I love my dog very much, but he is, after all, a dog. Yes, he’s a member of the family, but he is the canine member of the family. Important distinction.
Monday, May 25, 2009
For crying out loud
Today my husband went back to work after a week of vacation. Have I mentioned my boys are VERY attached to their father? Let’s just say we don’t exactly have Mama’s boys in our house. “Dad, you’re my best friend. I love you SO much” is a chorus heard often around here, relegating me to chopped liver status.
Moving on. Rob went back to work, and I was prepared for some melancholy around the house, given past experiences. So I was not really surprised to see Mark sitting on the steps, staring forlornly at the back door, tears running down his face. “I wanted to wear my T-Rex shirt”, he sobbed, referring to the shirt his father bought him during last week’s trip to Drumheller, “but it’s in the wash”. I assured him I would do laundry right away, and he could wear it to school this afternoon, but I guess he just needed to cry, which he did for about fifteen loud minutes, after which he decided to get on with his life.
Meanwhile, Jake was playing with some dinosaurs and narrating, “You know why this dinosaur is sad, Mom? Mom? This dinosaur is sad because he can’t find his dad.” I started to look around for the hidden camera, feeling strangely like I was in a documentary entitled “Very Basic Child Psychology” or similar. After much dinosaur sadness, Jake just came undone. “Everything is boring and I don’t like today!” he announced, and then dissolved into a puddle of tears.
I don’t know about you, but I find mornings like this very trying.
It’s not like I want them to be robots with no emotions whatsoever, it’s not like I want them to repress their feelings, but at times I wish young children would have a wee bit more perspective. I gave myself an invisible medal for not snapping and saying “For God’s sake, he just went to work!”, and went about my day, playing Superheroes and Dinosaurs save the Farm Animals, and eventually the boys went back to being their usual cheery selves.
Who needs Mama’s boys, anyway?
Moving on. Rob went back to work, and I was prepared for some melancholy around the house, given past experiences. So I was not really surprised to see Mark sitting on the steps, staring forlornly at the back door, tears running down his face. “I wanted to wear my T-Rex shirt”, he sobbed, referring to the shirt his father bought him during last week’s trip to Drumheller, “but it’s in the wash”. I assured him I would do laundry right away, and he could wear it to school this afternoon, but I guess he just needed to cry, which he did for about fifteen loud minutes, after which he decided to get on with his life.
Meanwhile, Jake was playing with some dinosaurs and narrating, “You know why this dinosaur is sad, Mom? Mom? This dinosaur is sad because he can’t find his dad.” I started to look around for the hidden camera, feeling strangely like I was in a documentary entitled “Very Basic Child Psychology” or similar. After much dinosaur sadness, Jake just came undone. “Everything is boring and I don’t like today!” he announced, and then dissolved into a puddle of tears.
I don’t know about you, but I find mornings like this very trying.
It’s not like I want them to be robots with no emotions whatsoever, it’s not like I want them to repress their feelings, but at times I wish young children would have a wee bit more perspective. I gave myself an invisible medal for not snapping and saying “For God’s sake, he just went to work!”, and went about my day, playing Superheroes and Dinosaurs save the Farm Animals, and eventually the boys went back to being their usual cheery selves.
Who needs Mama’s boys, anyway?
Friday, May 22, 2009
Ages and Stages
There was a woman who I knew only casually, who I bumped into every once in a while for a few years, who seemed to really dislike her child. Does that sound harsh? I know it does, but every single time I saw her I was subjected to a litany of complaints about her child and the particular stage he was at. “Terrible twos? Try terrible eighteen months!” she informed me when we first met. Then it truly was the terrible twos, followed by “I thought two was bad, but it’s nothing compared to age three! And I hear four year olds are even worse!”
I haven’t seen her for a while, but I can just imagine the conversation about horrible five year olds, bratty six year olds, all the way up to the teen years and beyond. “My child? He just turned twenty six. And can I just say that it is the WORST age?”
It’s pretty easy to dwell on negative aspects of your child’s particular stages, and forget about the benefits. Case in point: my bossy and dictatorial five-year-old (who may not be as unlike his mother as one may think) who believes that near-constant negotiation is the key to the universe. Perhaps there is a future for him in litigation, or maybe deal brokering? I can see him yelling into his BlackBerry: “Tell Miller that if he won’t move on the cost structure, then the whole damn deal is off! Just get it done!”. He’d be great at it!
Another point to ponder: if you are three and a half, you may have some very definite ideas about how things should look and work, but you may or may not have the coordination skills to make them work. Also, you may not have peed for eight hours and it may be 20 minutes until dinner, and that just might make you come completely undone. You may also resent your mother’s interference in such matters. “Honey, that’s a Lego piece, I don’t think it can fit in the Playmobil guy’s hand” is something your mother might say, innocently ruining your plan for world domination. “IT HAS TO WORK!!!! IT NEEDS TO FIT!!!” might be your typical response.
But disregarding those perfectly age-appropriate personality traits, I just have to say how happy I am that they are five and three and a half. Yesterday we went to the Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller (and if you are in Alberta or visiting Alberta, this is a must do) and it was so great. They are young enough to be thrilled every second, yet old enough not to pee in their pants or fall to the floor shrieking if you move on to the next exhibit. They are old enough to say “Could I please have my snack” rather than sobbing wordlessly while you try to figure out what’s wrong. They traveled happily in the car for two hours each way and it led me to a total epiphany.
Which was: I’m not dreading our annual summer vacation! This is a big step for me because in previous years, I was just completely worn out from the massive planning, and all the diapers, and snacks, and everything else. My “vacation” consisted of me doing all my usual household chores, just in a less convenient setting, with the added bonus of long visits with relations of my husband, who may or may not agree with my parenting methodology, if you catch my drift. The kids wouldn’t sleep well, which meant I didn’t sleep well, and I would be so exhausted I would end up shampooing my face in the shower.
But this year it’s going to be different, I can feel it. I’m excited about the beach, trusting that no one will shriek and run away when I try to apply sunscreen, I’m excited about the drive even, and that is saying something. So it’s a good stage to be in, don’t you agree?
I haven’t seen her for a while, but I can just imagine the conversation about horrible five year olds, bratty six year olds, all the way up to the teen years and beyond. “My child? He just turned twenty six. And can I just say that it is the WORST age?”
It’s pretty easy to dwell on negative aspects of your child’s particular stages, and forget about the benefits. Case in point: my bossy and dictatorial five-year-old (who may not be as unlike his mother as one may think) who believes that near-constant negotiation is the key to the universe. Perhaps there is a future for him in litigation, or maybe deal brokering? I can see him yelling into his BlackBerry: “Tell Miller that if he won’t move on the cost structure, then the whole damn deal is off! Just get it done!”. He’d be great at it!
Another point to ponder: if you are three and a half, you may have some very definite ideas about how things should look and work, but you may or may not have the coordination skills to make them work. Also, you may not have peed for eight hours and it may be 20 minutes until dinner, and that just might make you come completely undone. You may also resent your mother’s interference in such matters. “Honey, that’s a Lego piece, I don’t think it can fit in the Playmobil guy’s hand” is something your mother might say, innocently ruining your plan for world domination. “IT HAS TO WORK!!!! IT NEEDS TO FIT!!!” might be your typical response.
But disregarding those perfectly age-appropriate personality traits, I just have to say how happy I am that they are five and three and a half. Yesterday we went to the Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller (and if you are in Alberta or visiting Alberta, this is a must do) and it was so great. They are young enough to be thrilled every second, yet old enough not to pee in their pants or fall to the floor shrieking if you move on to the next exhibit. They are old enough to say “Could I please have my snack” rather than sobbing wordlessly while you try to figure out what’s wrong. They traveled happily in the car for two hours each way and it led me to a total epiphany.
Which was: I’m not dreading our annual summer vacation! This is a big step for me because in previous years, I was just completely worn out from the massive planning, and all the diapers, and snacks, and everything else. My “vacation” consisted of me doing all my usual household chores, just in a less convenient setting, with the added bonus of long visits with relations of my husband, who may or may not agree with my parenting methodology, if you catch my drift. The kids wouldn’t sleep well, which meant I didn’t sleep well, and I would be so exhausted I would end up shampooing my face in the shower.
But this year it’s going to be different, I can feel it. I’m excited about the beach, trusting that no one will shriek and run away when I try to apply sunscreen, I’m excited about the drive even, and that is saying something. So it’s a good stage to be in, don’t you agree?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Getting Jiggy With It
Last night I watched American Idol, as I tried to thaw out from the FREEZING COLD soccer practice. It must be noted that I’m not a huge fan of this show, but somehow end up watching it as my husband really likes it. I have enjoyed this season though – the singers are talented and the songs have been fairly interesting. Anyway, as I hummed along to What’s Going On, I realized that there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of songs the lyrics to which I know by heart.
A few years ago, I read an article by a woman who had been trying to lose weight for years. She spent years dieting, calorie counting, and obsessed with food when one day she realized all the mental energy that she had spent thinking about weight loss and food could have been more productively used.
This begs the question: how much of my brain space are all of these song lyrics taking up? Could I be much more productive if I didn’t know the lyrics to every song on Sgt. Pepper, or if I couldn’t rap all of “Parents Just Don’t Understand”, a song committed to memory during my time at summer Bible camp in 1988? If someone casually says “Take a load off” I immediately have “The Weight” running through my brain. Is this information squeezing out more important information?
The fact that I’m writing this post probably suggests that my mind is a bit of a wasteland today. So maybe, yes, the song lyrics are taking up valuable brain space.
Keeping that in mind, who is going to win American Idol tonight?
A few years ago, I read an article by a woman who had been trying to lose weight for years. She spent years dieting, calorie counting, and obsessed with food when one day she realized all the mental energy that she had spent thinking about weight loss and food could have been more productively used.
This begs the question: how much of my brain space are all of these song lyrics taking up? Could I be much more productive if I didn’t know the lyrics to every song on Sgt. Pepper, or if I couldn’t rap all of “Parents Just Don’t Understand”, a song committed to memory during my time at summer Bible camp in 1988? If someone casually says “Take a load off” I immediately have “The Weight” running through my brain. Is this information squeezing out more important information?
The fact that I’m writing this post probably suggests that my mind is a bit of a wasteland today. So maybe, yes, the song lyrics are taking up valuable brain space.
Keeping that in mind, who is going to win American Idol tonight?
Monday, May 18, 2009
May Long Get Bombed
This is how my (much younger) cousin celebrates the Victoria Day weekend, by going camping and taking along a few (but just a few, I’m sure) beers, because, as all Canadians know, the Victoria Day weekend is the unofficial start of summer! This morning I woke up to a light skiff of snow on the ground, and my thoughts were happy because it was one degree Celsius, which means that my plants actually did not have frost damage last night. That is how you can tell I am a true Calgarian: I was happy that it was (marginally) above freezing in late May.
But camping! On the long weekend! It seems like this is the thing to do and it’s something I have never understood. For one thing, camping is just not my thing. I love the outdoors, I love being outside IN THE DAY. I love gardening, hiking in the mountains, cross-country skiing, and just generally being outside soaking up the sun, albeit with a thick layer of high SPF sunscreen. However, at night, I like to be indoors, thank you very much. My husband and I went camping for three days on Vancouver Island shortly after we got married, and that, as they say, was that. I’m sure I will be suckered into more camping trips in my life, but I’m not exactly enthusiastic about it. Camping in May, though, seems a bit like utter lunacy, especially in this part of the world, where you can have warm and sunny days followed immediately by a snowfall, which is exactly what happened this weekend.
I seem to be in the minority with these thoughts.
My weekend was lovely though – the weather was beautiful for Saturday and Sunday and so I somewhat frantically worked in my garden, taking advantage of the sunshine and even wearing a t-shirt and Capri pants, which is clearly a sign that temperatures are rising, given my propensity to wear sweaters year round. But I will stop writing about this because I seem to have turned into an elderly woman who can only talk about the weather and her garden. Next thing you know I will be complaining about my varicose veins. Oh wait! I already DO complain about my varicose veins. Maybe I should just make myself a hot toddy and watch the sleety snow fall. The perfect way to end the Victoria Day weekend.
But camping! On the long weekend! It seems like this is the thing to do and it’s something I have never understood. For one thing, camping is just not my thing. I love the outdoors, I love being outside IN THE DAY. I love gardening, hiking in the mountains, cross-country skiing, and just generally being outside soaking up the sun, albeit with a thick layer of high SPF sunscreen. However, at night, I like to be indoors, thank you very much. My husband and I went camping for three days on Vancouver Island shortly after we got married, and that, as they say, was that. I’m sure I will be suckered into more camping trips in my life, but I’m not exactly enthusiastic about it. Camping in May, though, seems a bit like utter lunacy, especially in this part of the world, where you can have warm and sunny days followed immediately by a snowfall, which is exactly what happened this weekend.
I seem to be in the minority with these thoughts.
My weekend was lovely though – the weather was beautiful for Saturday and Sunday and so I somewhat frantically worked in my garden, taking advantage of the sunshine and even wearing a t-shirt and Capri pants, which is clearly a sign that temperatures are rising, given my propensity to wear sweaters year round. But I will stop writing about this because I seem to have turned into an elderly woman who can only talk about the weather and her garden. Next thing you know I will be complaining about my varicose veins. Oh wait! I already DO complain about my varicose veins. Maybe I should just make myself a hot toddy and watch the sleety snow fall. The perfect way to end the Victoria Day weekend.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The episode in which Nicole takes her deflated bosoms bikini shopping
What is more traumatic than bathing suit shopping? Well, I guess a lot of things are much more traumatic. Let me re-word that: what shopping related travesty is worse than bathing suit shopping?
Apropos to my rant about loving your body, feeling comfortable in your skin, I decided that I was desperately in need of a new bathing suit. For one thing, the last bathing suit I purchased was back when the girls were a lot more well-rounded, if you know what I mean. It was really high time to find a new one. I also decided, somewhat rashly, that it was also time I bought a bikini. The last time I wore a bikini was in June of 1997 for a girls’ trip to Mexico. So, with “celebrate your body, girlfriend” in my mind, I high-tailed it to the nearest Swimco, telling myself I was not going to leave without a bikini.
I really dislike shopping. My whole life’s work (in shopping terms) has been to narrow down three stores in which I can purchase anything I might need to wear, because I know how the clothes fit. Swimco is not one of these stores. What is it with bathing suit sizes? You think you know what size you are, then when you shop for a bathing suit it is like you have landed on a different planet, where sizes are all randomly determined. None the less, I pushed on, having limited time to shop and hey, I WAS NOT LEAVING WITHOUT A BIKINI.
As I tried on several suits, I discovered something that is probably self-evident, but that I clearly had not thought of: bikinis can be really skanky looking. One wrong move and all hell would break loose, if you catch my drift. Thus the following conversation:
Me: Isn’t it a little…revealing?
Young salesgirl: Well, you are trying on a bikini.
Touché, young salesgirl, touché.
I explained my dilemma – I have two little kids, but as they are not nursing, I really don’t need my nipples showing, I kind of feel like I look like a whore – and the nice young salesgirl came up with the perfect solution, one that would give me much better coverage. It was especially perfect, considering my dramatically deflated breasts and all.
She brought me a bikini top from the junior girl’s section.
So this is what it has come to, my people. As I have said before, and I doubtless will say again, oh how the mighty have fallen.
Apropos to my rant about loving your body, feeling comfortable in your skin, I decided that I was desperately in need of a new bathing suit. For one thing, the last bathing suit I purchased was back when the girls were a lot more well-rounded, if you know what I mean. It was really high time to find a new one. I also decided, somewhat rashly, that it was also time I bought a bikini. The last time I wore a bikini was in June of 1997 for a girls’ trip to Mexico. So, with “celebrate your body, girlfriend” in my mind, I high-tailed it to the nearest Swimco, telling myself I was not going to leave without a bikini.
I really dislike shopping. My whole life’s work (in shopping terms) has been to narrow down three stores in which I can purchase anything I might need to wear, because I know how the clothes fit. Swimco is not one of these stores. What is it with bathing suit sizes? You think you know what size you are, then when you shop for a bathing suit it is like you have landed on a different planet, where sizes are all randomly determined. None the less, I pushed on, having limited time to shop and hey, I WAS NOT LEAVING WITHOUT A BIKINI.
As I tried on several suits, I discovered something that is probably self-evident, but that I clearly had not thought of: bikinis can be really skanky looking. One wrong move and all hell would break loose, if you catch my drift. Thus the following conversation:
Me: Isn’t it a little…revealing?
Young salesgirl: Well, you are trying on a bikini.
Touché, young salesgirl, touché.
I explained my dilemma – I have two little kids, but as they are not nursing, I really don’t need my nipples showing, I kind of feel like I look like a whore – and the nice young salesgirl came up with the perfect solution, one that would give me much better coverage. It was especially perfect, considering my dramatically deflated breasts and all.
She brought me a bikini top from the junior girl’s section.
So this is what it has come to, my people. As I have said before, and I doubtless will say again, oh how the mighty have fallen.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Addendum to chid-inappropriate songs
My very dear friend just informed me that the "obscure" band I had mentioned is actually the Irish Rovers, and they are Canadian, and so SHAME ON ME!!!! I am appropriately shamed.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Giggle giggle
Ever since Beck’s post about music yesterday, I’ve had the following child-inappropriate songs stuck in my head:
1) Wasn’t that a party, by some obscure band in the late 70’s. You know the song: “Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin, could have been the three or four six packs I don’t know, but just look at the mess I’m in”. I remember this song from my own childhood, and I remember asking my mom why the guy’s head was like a football. I don’t remember her answer, but I’m sure it was somewhat vague.
2) Gold Digger, by Kanye West. In terms of child-inappropriate songs, this one is the gold standard. It has it all: misogyny, overt sexual references, and extremely offensive language.
3) Why Don’t We (get drunk and screw) by Jimmy Buffet. I don’t really think I need to expound on this.
Why or how these songs got into my head, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I got into my car today the oldies’ radio station that I listen to was playing “I want to kiss you all over” and all I could think of was the scene in Happy Gilmore where Adam Sandler was singing that into his ex-girlfriend’s apartment intercom. TIME TO GROW UP, NICOLE.
1) Wasn’t that a party, by some obscure band in the late 70’s. You know the song: “Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin, could have been the three or four six packs I don’t know, but just look at the mess I’m in”. I remember this song from my own childhood, and I remember asking my mom why the guy’s head was like a football. I don’t remember her answer, but I’m sure it was somewhat vague.
2) Gold Digger, by Kanye West. In terms of child-inappropriate songs, this one is the gold standard. It has it all: misogyny, overt sexual references, and extremely offensive language.
3) Why Don’t We (get drunk and screw) by Jimmy Buffet. I don’t really think I need to expound on this.
Why or how these songs got into my head, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I got into my car today the oldies’ radio station that I listen to was playing “I want to kiss you all over” and all I could think of was the scene in Happy Gilmore where Adam Sandler was singing that into his ex-girlfriend’s apartment intercom. TIME TO GROW UP, NICOLE.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The reason I'm turning out to be a bad soccer mom
It has been pouring rain all day, and it's four degrees outside. The sky is dark, but I'm strangely happy...because that means that the soccer practice will be (OMG, hopefully) cancelled tonight!
I hope.
Every soccer night so far this year has been either a) freezing cold, b) incredibly windy, gusting up to 70 km/hour, or c) snowy or rainy, but not snowy or rainy enough to cancel.
I want a night off, and I think I'm going to get it! Yippee! A silver lining to a rainy day.
I hope.
Every soccer night so far this year has been either a) freezing cold, b) incredibly windy, gusting up to 70 km/hour, or c) snowy or rainy, but not snowy or rainy enough to cancel.
I want a night off, and I think I'm going to get it! Yippee! A silver lining to a rainy day.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday morning, you sure look fine
You know the kind of Saturday evening where you nobly encourage your husband to golf nine, after all he is supportive of all your yogic pursuits, but after you pick the kids up from their afternoon birthday party they are insane with post-party excitement, birthday cake, and they unfortunately have received as party favours giant FOAM SWORDS with which they have been beating each other and their little friend whom you also drove to the party, and then after supper it stops raining long enough to send them outside to burn off steam but the dog, unbeknownst to you, eats a bunch of potting soil then comes inside to barf all over the carpet, then when you are cleaning up the muddy barfy mess the boys try to help by carrying sopping wet rags all over the house, and suddenly it’s past bathtime and now the three year old is an exhausted mess and begins sobbing hysterically when you try to take him out of the bathtub and the five year old, oblivious, keeps talking and talking and TALKING about dinosaurs? You know that kind of Saturday evening? I had one this weekend!
Moving on.
I hope you had a lovely Mother’s Day. Mine was filled with all sorts of things I love: snuggles, yoga, dog walking, gardening with the kids. Although I have to say the apex of my Mother’s Day was the tea party at the preschool last Wednesday. Really, is there anything more precious than a classful of preschoolers in various stages of singing and not singing songs about sunshine and blue skies and mamas, then presenting you with a plateful of treats that they prepared? I don’t think so.
Moving on.
I hope you had a lovely Mother’s Day. Mine was filled with all sorts of things I love: snuggles, yoga, dog walking, gardening with the kids. Although I have to say the apex of my Mother’s Day was the tea party at the preschool last Wednesday. Really, is there anything more precious than a classful of preschoolers in various stages of singing and not singing songs about sunshine and blue skies and mamas, then presenting you with a plateful of treats that they prepared? I don’t think so.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Nicole's Book Club
I don’t know what your favourite books are, but I can tell you what mine aren’t: Scooby Doo Early Reader Mysteries. I made a grave error in ordering a package of nine (nine!) from Scholastic Books and as a result have been reading the most boring, mind-numbing series of books that were ever written. Oh no! Ghosts! No, it’s just some leaves blowing in the wind. Fortunately I also ordered a book about volcanoes, which has proved popular but not as popular as Shaggy and the gang. However, I want my boys to be readers, so whatever boring tripe (ahem, I mean stories) catch their attention is really fine with me.
I love reading; I have always been an avid reader. However, sometimes it’s hard for me to get into a mindset to read a new book. Lately I’ve just needed the comfort of an old favourite, and so the past three books I’ve read have been just that. I have Slumdog Millionaire sitting on my bookshelf, just waiting for me to start it, but I just haven’t been in the mood for something new. This is what I have been reading in the past few weeks:
The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. This may be my favourite book of all time. I always get caught up in the love story, the historical drama, and the complex plot. There is just something so pleasing about the privileged, married, rich girl having an illicit affair with the communist/ pulp fiction writer-on-the-run. Sigh. My favourite line in the book is when Iris, looking at the painting of her grandmother, thinks “I bet you were alleycatting all along. I bet you had a secret life. I bet it kept you going”.
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I picked this up the other day as I took a Facebook quiz - Which Jane Austen Character Are You? - and my result was Jane Bennett. Damn! I had been hoping for Elizabeth; I always thought of Jane as kind of a drip. P&P is probably the wittiest book ever written, I never tire of it. Also, Mr. Darcy. Ah, Mr. Darcy. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you”. Rrrr. Rrrr in that whole repressed, nineteenth century way. My opinion of Jane Bennett hasn’t changed though, she’s still a sap. Well, as my sister-in-law said, at least my quiz result wasn’t Marianne Dashwood, the mentally unstable, dying-of-consumption-since-Willoughby-married-someone-else heroine who ends up a broken-spirited wife to the old Colonel. Of course, that old Colonel was very attractively portrayed by Alan Rickman in the film version, so that wouldn’t have been all that bad.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Isn’t this the classic of all classics? I never read this in school; in fact I didn’t read this until I was in my twenties. The descriptions of the town, the people, and especially the living conditions are fascinating and depressing at the same time. I get a lump in my throat every single time I read the ending. Best line? “I thought Jem and I would get grown but there wasn’t much else for us to learn, except possibly algebra”.
Your turn! What have you been reading lately, and what would you recommend?
I love reading; I have always been an avid reader. However, sometimes it’s hard for me to get into a mindset to read a new book. Lately I’ve just needed the comfort of an old favourite, and so the past three books I’ve read have been just that. I have Slumdog Millionaire sitting on my bookshelf, just waiting for me to start it, but I just haven’t been in the mood for something new. This is what I have been reading in the past few weeks:
The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. This may be my favourite book of all time. I always get caught up in the love story, the historical drama, and the complex plot. There is just something so pleasing about the privileged, married, rich girl having an illicit affair with the communist/ pulp fiction writer-on-the-run. Sigh. My favourite line in the book is when Iris, looking at the painting of her grandmother, thinks “I bet you were alleycatting all along. I bet you had a secret life. I bet it kept you going”.
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I picked this up the other day as I took a Facebook quiz - Which Jane Austen Character Are You? - and my result was Jane Bennett. Damn! I had been hoping for Elizabeth; I always thought of Jane as kind of a drip. P&P is probably the wittiest book ever written, I never tire of it. Also, Mr. Darcy. Ah, Mr. Darcy. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you”. Rrrr. Rrrr in that whole repressed, nineteenth century way. My opinion of Jane Bennett hasn’t changed though, she’s still a sap. Well, as my sister-in-law said, at least my quiz result wasn’t Marianne Dashwood, the mentally unstable, dying-of-consumption-since-Willoughby-married-someone-else heroine who ends up a broken-spirited wife to the old Colonel. Of course, that old Colonel was very attractively portrayed by Alan Rickman in the film version, so that wouldn’t have been all that bad.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Isn’t this the classic of all classics? I never read this in school; in fact I didn’t read this until I was in my twenties. The descriptions of the town, the people, and especially the living conditions are fascinating and depressing at the same time. I get a lump in my throat every single time I read the ending. Best line? “I thought Jem and I would get grown but there wasn’t much else for us to learn, except possibly algebra”.
Your turn! What have you been reading lately, and what would you recommend?
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My whining post
Here is what has been happening since my husband left for a business trip:
I took the dog to the groomer’s, and found out his adult coat is coming in and matting with his puppy coat. Exceptionally fluffy dog is now shaved, and as a result is acting QUITE bizarre.
I took both boys to the soccer field for practice last night. 70 km/hour winds kept blowing stray balls and unattended folding chairs down the field. I listened to a soccer dad tell me all about his self-published book on Taiwan, but couldn’t hear half of what he was saying because of the howling wind. I have a feeling I didn’t actually miss much.
Discovered, yet again, that the boys are always fine for two days when their dad is gone, but on the third day (i.e., TODAY) they turn into evil goblins who feel it necessary to shriek and whine the day away.
I complained to a very lovely woman about my husband being away, and picking up the slack, etc., to which she replied that she is a single mom and does that and more all the time. I felt like, and still feel like, an asshole.
I took the dog to the groomer’s, and found out his adult coat is coming in and matting with his puppy coat. Exceptionally fluffy dog is now shaved, and as a result is acting QUITE bizarre.
I took both boys to the soccer field for practice last night. 70 km/hour winds kept blowing stray balls and unattended folding chairs down the field. I listened to a soccer dad tell me all about his self-published book on Taiwan, but couldn’t hear half of what he was saying because of the howling wind. I have a feeling I didn’t actually miss much.
Discovered, yet again, that the boys are always fine for two days when their dad is gone, but on the third day (i.e., TODAY) they turn into evil goblins who feel it necessary to shriek and whine the day away.
I complained to a very lovely woman about my husband being away, and picking up the slack, etc., to which she replied that she is a single mom and does that and more all the time. I felt like, and still feel like, an asshole.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Mommy Makeover
Have you ever heard of a “mommy makeover”? There is a plastic surgery clinic in Los Angeles that caters to “mommies”. Remember my (strange, non-maternal) aversion to the word “mommy”? It is NOTHING compared with the revulsion I feel at the marketing towards mothers and the supposed dissatisfaction with a child-bearing body. Philosophically, I feel that mothers should feel more beautiful after having children, not less. Each stretch mark, every inch of loose skin, or, in my case, every giant ropy varicose vein, should be testament to your enormous gift to the world, in terms of your wonderful child and your exuberant entry into motherhood. Right? Well, maybe not totally. But I do feel that our obsession with appearance and need to erase all signs of bodily stress due to child bearing is quite…unattractive. It’s the same feeling I have when I see a picture of Joan Rivers or similar, someone who in their quest for eternal beauty has become a hideous beast. (As my neighbour so succinctly put it, “It doesn’t make you look younger, it just makes you look stranger”.) I’m all for acceptance that yes, your body may be different after childbirth, but it is just as beautiful.
This website advertises procedures running the gamut from face lifts, breast lifts and enhancements, body sculpting, and tummy tucks, all the way down to labiaplasty (ewww). You could get a total renovation! There are before and after pictures, and as I clicked on them, I started to feel, instead of revulsion with the concept, revulsion towards my own body. You see, despite my strident feminist feelings against such marketing and even against such plastic surgery, I am a vain person. I mean, I put lip gloss on to walk the dog: that kind of vain. So as I looked at the pictures I felt a genuine dissatisfaction with my own body.
To say I was disappointed with my reaction is an understatement.
Part of it is, and I’m almost shy to say this, I used to have a GREAT rack. I had a nice set of 36 C’s, that expanded to a triple D when I was pregnant. And now…well, I got measured by the bra-fitting specialist at the Bay, and the result was 32 B. And B is a bit of an overstatement, because the actual measurement was somewhere between an A and a B. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. “YOU ARE VEARING THE VRONG SIZE BRRA” the bra fitter admonished me. Um, you think? So as I looked at the pictures of the women with breast lifts and enhancements, I thought, hey, that DOES look good! Dammit!
Marketing that targets the insecurities of moms is wrong on many levels; I guess that is why it is so effective. So what I’m saying, ladies, is let’s stand up for our post-partum, different-but-still-beautiful bodies! Let’s celebrate what we have and think of the changes not as flaws, but as amazing and miraculous evidence that we came, we had babies, and we conquered.
This website advertises procedures running the gamut from face lifts, breast lifts and enhancements, body sculpting, and tummy tucks, all the way down to labiaplasty (ewww). You could get a total renovation! There are before and after pictures, and as I clicked on them, I started to feel, instead of revulsion with the concept, revulsion towards my own body. You see, despite my strident feminist feelings against such marketing and even against such plastic surgery, I am a vain person. I mean, I put lip gloss on to walk the dog: that kind of vain. So as I looked at the pictures I felt a genuine dissatisfaction with my own body.
To say I was disappointed with my reaction is an understatement.
Part of it is, and I’m almost shy to say this, I used to have a GREAT rack. I had a nice set of 36 C’s, that expanded to a triple D when I was pregnant. And now…well, I got measured by the bra-fitting specialist at the Bay, and the result was 32 B. And B is a bit of an overstatement, because the actual measurement was somewhere between an A and a B. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. “YOU ARE VEARING THE VRONG SIZE BRRA” the bra fitter admonished me. Um, you think? So as I looked at the pictures of the women with breast lifts and enhancements, I thought, hey, that DOES look good! Dammit!
Marketing that targets the insecurities of moms is wrong on many levels; I guess that is why it is so effective. So what I’m saying, ladies, is let’s stand up for our post-partum, different-but-still-beautiful bodies! Let’s celebrate what we have and think of the changes not as flaws, but as amazing and miraculous evidence that we came, we had babies, and we conquered.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Meme Deflowering
I was a meme virgin, but I was tagged by Beck (okay, I asked her to tag me). Here we go!
8 Things I'm Looking Forward To
1. Spring - it's kind of here, many of my plants are starting to poke up. IT'S ABOUT TIME.
2. Having a glass of wine tonight. But then, I'm always looking forward to that.
3. Incessantly watching NYPD Blue reruns on DVD this week. My husband will be away, and I'm not looking forward to that, but it does give me the freedom to obsessively watch David Caruso. ("Tell him John Kelly is looking for him. JOHN KELLY." Rrrr.....)
4. Eating a LOT of Greek salad this week - another thing I do when the cat's away. I'm so wild.
5. The Mother's Day Tea at the preschool this week! Although Jake informed me "I told Ms. Jan I didn't think I should have tea. But she said I could have juice". Good to know.
6. Getting the dog groomed. He kind of stinks.
7. Wearing capri pants and sandals, which I'm hoping will happen sometime soon! Rise, mercury, rise!
8. Rob coming home from his week away, and the ensuing - ahem! - reunion. Rrrr....
8 Things I Did Yesterday
1. Ate a frozen chocolate Girl Guide cookie. Bliss in a cookie.
2. Walked the dog.
3. Made pasta sauce, which I loved but no one else seemed all that crazy about.
4. Watched 30 Rock and the Office, and laughed a lot.
5. It was warm enough that I picked the boys up from school wearing only a sweater and t-shirt - no jacket!
6. Worked on my drop-backs, thank you very much lovely teachers.
7. Worked on a post about mommy makeovers.
8. Got grossed out reading about labiaplasty.
8 Things I Wish I Could Do
1. Drop-backs - it's coming though! Soon, maybe.
2. Cook something really delicious that everyone in my house would eat.
3. Not cry when something goes wrong with the car. Especially something stupid like running out of windshield washer fluid.
4. Be able to open the hood of my car.
5. Downhill ski.
6. Eat unlimited amounts of potato chips, nachos, and the like without gaining any weight.
7. Speak another language.
8. Throw and catch a ball.
8 Shows I Watch
1. 30 Rock - best show on TV.
2. Grey's Anatomy, although I'm a little disturbed by my crush on Dr. Hunt. He's a wacko! Why do I find him soooo sexy?
3. America's Next Top Model. I'm slightly ashamed.
4. Jeopardy!
5. How I Met Your Mother - next to 30 Rock, this is the funniest show on TV.
6. NYPD Blue Season One. For reasons previously stated.
7. American Idol - full disclosure, I don't usually like this show but my husband watches it. This year, it's pretty good! I'm actually enjoying it.
8. Breakfast Television. Sometimes for a laugh I call it the news.
Meme deflowering complete!
8 Things I'm Looking Forward To
1. Spring - it's kind of here, many of my plants are starting to poke up. IT'S ABOUT TIME.
2. Having a glass of wine tonight. But then, I'm always looking forward to that.
3. Incessantly watching NYPD Blue reruns on DVD this week. My husband will be away, and I'm not looking forward to that, but it does give me the freedom to obsessively watch David Caruso. ("Tell him John Kelly is looking for him. JOHN KELLY." Rrrr.....)
4. Eating a LOT of Greek salad this week - another thing I do when the cat's away. I'm so wild.
5. The Mother's Day Tea at the preschool this week! Although Jake informed me "I told Ms. Jan I didn't think I should have tea. But she said I could have juice". Good to know.
6. Getting the dog groomed. He kind of stinks.
7. Wearing capri pants and sandals, which I'm hoping will happen sometime soon! Rise, mercury, rise!
8. Rob coming home from his week away, and the ensuing - ahem! - reunion. Rrrr....
8 Things I Did Yesterday
1. Ate a frozen chocolate Girl Guide cookie. Bliss in a cookie.
2. Walked the dog.
3. Made pasta sauce, which I loved but no one else seemed all that crazy about.
4. Watched 30 Rock and the Office, and laughed a lot.
5. It was warm enough that I picked the boys up from school wearing only a sweater and t-shirt - no jacket!
6. Worked on my drop-backs, thank you very much lovely teachers.
7. Worked on a post about mommy makeovers.
8. Got grossed out reading about labiaplasty.
8 Things I Wish I Could Do
1. Drop-backs - it's coming though! Soon, maybe.
2. Cook something really delicious that everyone in my house would eat.
3. Not cry when something goes wrong with the car. Especially something stupid like running out of windshield washer fluid.
4. Be able to open the hood of my car.
5. Downhill ski.
6. Eat unlimited amounts of potato chips, nachos, and the like without gaining any weight.
7. Speak another language.
8. Throw and catch a ball.
8 Shows I Watch
1. 30 Rock - best show on TV.
2. Grey's Anatomy, although I'm a little disturbed by my crush on Dr. Hunt. He's a wacko! Why do I find him soooo sexy?
3. America's Next Top Model. I'm slightly ashamed.
4. Jeopardy!
5. How I Met Your Mother - next to 30 Rock, this is the funniest show on TV.
6. NYPD Blue Season One. For reasons previously stated.
7. American Idol - full disclosure, I don't usually like this show but my husband watches it. This year, it's pretty good! I'm actually enjoying it.
8. Breakfast Television. Sometimes for a laugh I call it the news.
Meme deflowering complete!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Oink
Hey, have you heard of this thing called the “swine flu”? No?
I am having a strange time with all the coverage of H1N1. On the one hand, I feel like there is a teensy bit of panic and fear mongering going on. The reality is that 300 people die of the flu, the regular old flu, in Alberta every year. Currently there are six cases in Calgary, which is a city of over a million people. So perhaps a little perspective is needed.
On the other hand, I am a person who glares warily at people coughing and sneezing at the best of times, and relating to me that your child was up all night vomiting will inevitably lead to me surreptitiously sanitizing my hands at the first possible moment. “Germ-paranoid” is a term that comes to mind.
The thing about the H1N1, which I am using out of respect for pork producers, because although I am vegetarian, there are some serious pork fans in my house (“Pork chops! Yay!!!”), is that there is really nothing to be done in terms of prevention other than the regular old hand-washing and avoidance of people who are infected. Which is kind of common-sense, you know. And one of the great things about the internet and massive media coverage is that there is awareness – so people who are sick have a free pass to stay at home and recover, to keep away from the general public.
(Just writing that, I recall my former place of employment, which completely frowned upon people calling in sick. The guys I worked with would show up in all sorts of contagious stages, hacking and coughing and practically passing out at their desks. I myself once showed up to work with a massive kidney infection, typing away in agony, putting my exhausted head in my hands every hour or so, until I had finished my daily tasks and went home to ingest antibiotics.)
What precautions, if any, are you taking against this flu? Are you canceling vacations? Are you turning into an agoraphobic germ-phobe (like me, although I am fighting this urge in an attempt to seem normal)? Or, are you taking normal precautions against illness like hand-washing, but keeping your perspective?
I am having a strange time with all the coverage of H1N1. On the one hand, I feel like there is a teensy bit of panic and fear mongering going on. The reality is that 300 people die of the flu, the regular old flu, in Alberta every year. Currently there are six cases in Calgary, which is a city of over a million people. So perhaps a little perspective is needed.
On the other hand, I am a person who glares warily at people coughing and sneezing at the best of times, and relating to me that your child was up all night vomiting will inevitably lead to me surreptitiously sanitizing my hands at the first possible moment. “Germ-paranoid” is a term that comes to mind.
The thing about the H1N1, which I am using out of respect for pork producers, because although I am vegetarian, there are some serious pork fans in my house (“Pork chops! Yay!!!”), is that there is really nothing to be done in terms of prevention other than the regular old hand-washing and avoidance of people who are infected. Which is kind of common-sense, you know. And one of the great things about the internet and massive media coverage is that there is awareness – so people who are sick have a free pass to stay at home and recover, to keep away from the general public.
(Just writing that, I recall my former place of employment, which completely frowned upon people calling in sick. The guys I worked with would show up in all sorts of contagious stages, hacking and coughing and practically passing out at their desks. I myself once showed up to work with a massive kidney infection, typing away in agony, putting my exhausted head in my hands every hour or so, until I had finished my daily tasks and went home to ingest antibiotics.)
What precautions, if any, are you taking against this flu? Are you canceling vacations? Are you turning into an agoraphobic germ-phobe (like me, although I am fighting this urge in an attempt to seem normal)? Or, are you taking normal precautions against illness like hand-washing, but keeping your perspective?
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