Disneyland should sell booze.

The kids were thrilled that we were going to Disneyland; so was my husband, who had never been before.  I was somewhat less excited given my mild crowd phobia and not-so-mild germ phobia, especially when I realized we were going to be there on President’s Day.  Eeek!  I was prepared for crushing anxiety and feelings of being overwhelmed, but I have to hand it to the good people at Disneyland, I only felt that way a couple of times.  One of those times was an early morning when the gates to Adventureland, home of the Indiana Jones ride, were opened and I looked up and saw a sea of people running towards the entrance, where I was standing with the kids waiting for my latte.  Did you know you can get a fairly decent latte at Disneyland?  I did not. 

Anyway, I was slightly concerned but I remembered the words of a friend when I confessed to her my fears: “Oh, you’ll love it!  Disneyland is so SHINY.”  And it’s true, it is shiny and clean and happy, and also a great spot for some quality people watching entertainment.  The Happiest Place on Earth is decidedly unhappy at times; parents walking briskly, wrought with tension as their toddlers screamed and backbended within the confines of their strollers, little girls dressed in various Disney princess gowns collapsing limply to the ground, sobbingly pulled along by agitated parents.  By my third day in Disneyland, I felt as though I had joined the ranks of those parents, feeling harassed and exhausted as my children asked to go on Buzz Lightyear, again, and they needed a drink of water, again, all the while It’s A Small World was going through my head over and over in a psychedelic manner.

I discovered I preferred the night visitors over the day ones.  I was much happier standing in line next to teenage couples making out, rather than haggard looking mothers scolding their offspring.  One woman said “Shut your mouth.  Just SHUT YOUR MOUTH” approximately once a minute for the duration of our long lineup to ride on pretend rocket ships.  “We are not coming back here for a long time.  Maybe never!”  “Noooooooo!”  “Just shut your mouth.”  Lather, rinse, repeat.

But I was fairly prepared for that.  What I was not prepared for was the hordes of adult women wearing Minnie Mouse ears.  Neither was I prepared for the sheer variety of said ears.  Styles varied from the traditional to the glow-in-the-dark, from ears attached to barrettes to actual bridal veils attached to the ears.  There was also a plethora of women in tiaras, some with both tiaras and Minnie Mouse ears.  No judgments here, whatever floats your boat, and if you can’t wear a tiara at Disneyland, then where can you wear one?  Although that is not quite true, because it is park policy to turn away anyone over aged nine wearing princess attire.  That is an actual policy.  Consider that your public service announcement for the day, just in case you are planning a trip and hoping to finally break out those glass slippers or mermaid’s tail or what have you.

With all the ears and chipmunk hats and Goofy hats, Disneyland felt like an alternate universe, and it sort of is one.  I have to admit I found adult men wearing Mickey Mouse ears to be vaguely disturbing.  I started to rank those men against men wearing Captain Jack Sparrow bandannas with attached dreadlocks, and men wearing Indiana Jones hats, but which costume I found most disturbing, I just cannot say. 



So excited, the first day at Disney, waiting for It's a Small World.





Second day at Disney, still excited, on the Mark Twain steamboat.



Third day at Disney.  Make it stop.  Someone make the music stop.



I'm Back and I'm Stylish!

I was vacationing in California for ten days, escaping the frigid cold back home.  However, since cold follows me like a puppy, temperatures were far below normal in Palm Desert and Anaheim, where I was.  Almost everyone I et commented on the absurdly cold weather, but since it was still comparable to an average ten days of summer in Calgary, I certainly wasn't complaining.  In Disneyland, there was a wide variety of clothing styles: obviously native Californians wearing down jackets and toques, and people who had travelled to California, dammit, so they were going to dress as planned, in shorts and sleeveless shirts.  As for me, I wore my normal three or four layers and it was quite pleasant.

We were visiting my parents in Palm Desert, which is a haven for retired and semi-retired snowbirds and their visiting grandchildren.  The population is so aged that it affects the local economy: there seems to be a high concentration of medical centres and places to plan your own funeral, conveniently enough.  "Smart Cremation - It Just Makes $ense!" a billboard called to me, adding, "Ask About Our FREE Veteran's Kit!" 

For some reason that seemed highly disconcerting to me.

The Palm Springs area is also home to some fantastic outlet shopping and so my husband and I ditched the kids for half a day andd took advantage of President's Day sales.  I ended up with wildly cut-price Uggs and Sevens, thus cementing my cougar-licious status.

And so I'm feeling very stylish, which makes me even more happy to receive a Stylish Blogger's award from Laila and Heather over at Significantly Simple.  Thanks girls!  The rules of receiving the award are a) to link back to the person who gave it to you, b) tell 7 things about yourself, and c) pass it along.  So here are seven things about me: I like wine, I practice ashtanga yoga, I like to garden, I love NYPD Blue and think that David Caruso was strangely hot in the first season, I have an addiction to black sweaters, I hate the trend towards 3D movies, and I really like music from the 70s.  As for passing it along, I give this award to my three bloggy besties: Bibliomama, Wrath of Mom, and Happy Geek - these girls are like my sisters, and they make me laugh all the time, even when they complain about my black sweater addiction.  I pass it along to my Canadian Mom girls: Kat's Confessions, City Mom, Whispered Inspirations, Make Mommy Go Something Something, Pampered Patty.  I pass it along to my bloggy friends who have not blogged in a while (but they should!  they should.) Frog and Toad Are Still Friends and Literary Cacophony.  I pass it along to No Whey Mama, who took a break from blogging - I guess having four children takes precedence over blogging - but she's back in the game and I'm so, so happy.  Finally, I pass it along to the awesome Mothering Mayhem, Lisa at This, That, and the Other Thing, and also to Marilyn at A Lot of Loves, since she's so fun and gave me lots of hints about enjoying Disneyland, which she loves. 

Speaking of which, I am bursting with posts about that and the rest of my vacation, but I'm truly exhausted from travelling all day.  In fact, I'm not even sure how I managed to write this post!  But I missed you all and I'm dying to catch up. xoxo

It says "Let's BEE Friends!" And there's a picture of a bee on it.

This weekend was our neighbourhood's annual outdoor party, complete with skating, tobogganing, and barbeque, and by some incredible good fortune, the weather was very mild, making it a perfect day.  Mark built a snowman with his dad:

I'm basking in the glory of a snowman, whose existence I did not assist in.

Cute, right?  Until his head was knocked off by some random child, the evil murderer.

Good times.  I also baked and decorated FIVE DOZEN cookies, which I tried to photograph in an arty kind of way but either my camera lacks the proper arty settings or I lack talent in photography.  Either way, here is my non-artistic take:

Mark made me a Valentine yesterday:

So very sweet.  Not only does it include Valentine's stickers, he also used some cute ones left over from Christmas.  Then Jake came home from school today with this:

You may not be able to tell, because of my awesome photography, but the front of the card says BEE MINE.  And there is a bee on it.  I can now die happy because - and I am not joking or being ironic in any way - I have always wanted a Valentine with a bee, saying BEE MINE, or alternately, Let's BEE Friends!  So between those cards and the fact that my husband went to the grocery store specifically to buy me a mint chocolate truffle bar, this is the greatest Valentine's Day ever. 

When the boys gave me their sweet offerings, I thought of that Tiger Mom and her rejection of the homemade birthday card, and in case you are unaware of this newsworthy story, the Tiger Mom's family had forgotten it was her birthday until the very last minute, and one of her daughters made her a quick, last minute card.  The Tiger Mom was repulsed by this shabby offering and informed her daughter that she deserved better.  It was not good enough.  CARD REJECTED.  I have mixed feelings about this.  If my family forgot my birthday - which is unlikely to ever happen given that a) my husband is not a dick and he knows how much I love birthdays, and b) I practically institute a countdown and wear a sandwich board in the weeks prior to my birthday - I would be extremely angry and disappointed.  But a mother rejecting a child's artistic endeavours is abhorrent to me. 

I, like the Tiger Mom, have high expectations of my children.  I expect them to behave well and be polite, kind, and respectful; I expect them to do well in school and do their homework and reading every day; I expect them to do their chores in the house and keep their rooms neat.  I think all of those things are reasonable.  But saying to a child that a card that they made is "not good enough" is akin, in my mind, to saying "YOU are not good enough".  And that is a tragedy.

But on a happier note, Happy Valentine's Day to you, my dear readers!  Let's BEE friends!  Bzzz.

Hey hey, it's almost Valentine's Day

Just in case you didn’t know, Valentine’s Day is only three days away!  Everywhere I turn, I hear that this year, this entire weekend is being referred to as Valentine’s Day Weekend.  So happy Valentine’s Day Weekend, everyone!  If my husband does not buy me a dozen red roses, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and a giant stuffed incarcerated bear holding a placard stating that he is a Prisoner of Love, I shall leave him.

So many people get very worked up about Valentine’s Day gifts and what to buy and what they are expecting and I had better get a fancy gift or NO MORE SEX.  I’m not actually one of those people; in fact at one point in my more fiery youth I had extreme disdain for anything as pedestrian as Valentine’s gifts, if a boyfriend should have dared to purchase something heart shaped I would have had to break up with him because it would be like he didn’t know me at all.  Oh, the fires of youth. 

I'm not that fiery girl anymore, but I do feel that Valentine's Day can be silly and inane; after all, does an expensive bouquet or jewellery or lingerie actually indicate the level of romance and love in a relationship?

I'm not a total grinch, despite the fact that my husband and I do not exchange gifts or go out on Valentine’s Day.  I did buy a bag of pink and red wrapped Hershey’s kisses and I do plan to share them.  I also enthusiastically assisted the children in the making of Valentines for their classes – Jake was especially excited to make a glittery card for his teacher, because, as he informed me gravely, if there is one thing she likes, it’s BLING.  Good to know for end of year gifts, I say.  As well, this weekend will see a massive baking spree resulting in many, many heart shaped sugar cookies, because if there is one thing I love about holidays, it is the baking of thematically-shaped cookies. 


While the boys were making their class valentines, they also zipped off a couple of pictures for me:

Me and Mark, on a snowy day.  My hair has lovely volume.

Me and Jake, standing in a sprinkler.  "Usually I make your hair orange," he said, "But I thought you might enjoy it pink."  Alarmingly, he is quite accurate as my hair really is pretty orange these days.

With pictures like that, who could ask for anything else?

The other day I was in the checkout at the grocery store when an elderly man, clearly hard of hearing, spoke very loudly into my general vicinity, "DO YOU HAVE A VALENTINE'S DISPLAY?  A DISPLAY FOR VALENTINE'S DAY?"  The cashier seemed a bit confused and so I spoke to the man, directing him to the display of chocolates and cards located near the front entrance.  "DO THEY HAVE THOSE POT OF GOLD CHOCOLATES?  I WANT SOME OF THOSE POT OF GOLD CHOCOLATES FOR VALENTINE'S DAY."  I told him I thought there were a number of Pot of Gold chocolates to choose from.  "GOOD.  BECAUSE I NEED TO GET SOME THOSE POT OF GOLD CHOCOLATES."

I thought about that for a while.  I wondered if he was buying chocolates for his wife, because he always bought her Pot of Gold chocolates for Valentine's Day; maybe she liked having an assortment.  Did she like the kind with nuts, or maybe she liked to be surprised with different combinations of caramel or nougat.  Maybe they ate the chocolates together, talking about which they liked best, the coffee flavoured or the ones with almonds.  Maybe it was something he had been doing for decades.

And that's when I thought that Valentine's Day is not silly and inane.  A small gesture like getting someone's favourite chocolates can be more meaningful and special than anything.  I thought about that old man in the grocery store; I thought that if my husband and I were still sharing a bag of Hershey's kisses forty years from now, what a beautiful Valentine's Day that would be.

"Wow, you're way cooler than my mom!"

One of the characteristics of a stay at home mom is the propensity to wear jeans on every occasion.  Ultimately, though, those jeans wear out and one may find oneself splitting a knee wide open on one’s cozy faded pair while kneeling on the hardwood, attempting to extract many Lego pieces from under the couch, with the dubious help of a five year old.  And so it was that I found myself in the store at which I have purchased most of my jeans, the store which some of you may remember of the “bad butt” fame.

Some of you may wonder why I would continue to patronize such a store, but I will remind you all that it is difficult to find a good fitting pair of jeans.  For me, either jeans have too much stretch and end up baggy and sagging by noon, or they have too little stretch and I can’t move.  Either they are so low cut I am constantly showing the world more than they probably want to see, or they are so high cut they pinch my, shall we say, loose skin from my childbearing years.  So the fact that I found jeans that not only fit well but are extremely comfortable completely negates the fact that I was commiserated with about my “bad butt”.  I am not that fragile; the salesgirls could probably have called me an ugly stupid whore and I still would have gone back to buy more jeans. 

As I entered the store a cute and perky salesgirl came to help me, and I answered her necessary questions as to size, colour preferences, and fit.  To the latter, I answered only that – recalling the Self Esteem Crisis of 2010 – I would try anything but skinny jeans.  She smiled and turned to choose a pair from the display, saying, “I think you’ll really like these.  My mom has a pair and she totally loves them!”

That was discouraging. 

I told myself that maybe her mom was really hip and cool, but ultimately I know the truth.  I remember, years ago, having coffee with a girlfriend from prenatal class.  Our firstborns were still infants then, and we had noticed the appearance of skinny jeans in our favourite stores.  My girlfriend expressed concern that in a few years perhaps skinny jeans would be the only choice at such places, and said, "If that happens, what are we going to do?  I don't want to start shopping at Tan Jay."  We laughed, images of us pushing strollers wearing matching burgundy velour tracksuits or high waisted beige slacks going through our heads.  It seems less funny now.

Well, at least I'm not wearing these:

Image from NBC.

Addendum: I did find a great pair of jeans, but they weren’t the recommended Mom pair.  So, win?  Also, I was informed by my cute perky salesgirl that with the purchase of my jeans I could get a top at half price.  I looked at the various selection and thought maybe the "Justin's Girl" and "I Heart Vampires" tops were not quite appropriate, so I passed.

Speaking of commercials...

How about that Superbowl?  Actually, the only commercials I saw were for local businesses and upcoming shows on CTV, since – for reasons that I truly do not understand – the network tapes over all the blockbuster commercials and instead runs their own.  As you can imagine, this is the source of much agitation in my house, and so this year after the kickoff my husband recorded the game while we ate dinner and then later watched it and fast forwarded through the commercials, thus sparing me from the annual diatribe against CTV and every person associated with it.  I essentially boycott CTV just because of the mental suffering they put me through every year.  I’m not even sure why this takes on the importance that it does, except that last year the commercials for CTV’s coverage of the 2010 Olympic Games! made me a little crazy.

Of course, watching the game delayed has its disadvantages too.  My husband looked over at me on my laptop.

Husband:  If you see any scores, don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know.  Make sure you don’t tell me.

Me: Okay. (seconds later) Hey, Slash is going to be on the half-time show.

Husband:  AAARRRGGHH!  Don’t tell me anything.

Me:  It’s the half-time show, not the score.

Husband:  AAARRRGHHHH!  Don’t tell me the score.

Good times.  Personally I didn’t care much about the actual game but I did think it would be nice if the Packers won a Superbowl without Brett “I’m-going-to-photograph-my-junk-and-then-send-it-to-you” “Do-U-Like-2-ParT?” Favre.  Guys, take note: if you are trying to charm a woman, do not send pictures of your penis to her.  No woman wants to see that.  We would rather see almost every other body part, including the soles of your feet.  Gross.  Not to mention this is Brett Favre.  Not to slag on my gender, but I’m guessing there are thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of women who would sleep with Brett Favre just because he is Brett Favre.  No need to send pictures of your dick-in-a-box.  Okay?

The game was pretty good, although I thought about nachos through most of it, and was sad because I had nothing to make nachos with, which is a Superbowl Fail if there ever was one.  My husband was cheering for Green Bay and I worried about his blood pressure with every dropped pass.

Husband:  Steelers have the ball, there’s a minute left.  Wow, if Roethlisberger pulls this off, he is going to be a legend.  He’ll be remembered as a hero.

Me: Rather than as a rapist?

So I am happy that the Steelers didn’t win, despite my really meh attitude toward the game.  Were you cheering for anyone in particular?  Did you watch the game?

Wherein I lose my zen talking about Nutella.

I spend many, many hours a week thinking about food.  I spend hours grocery shopping and putting away groceries, hours preparing meals and cleaning up after meal preparation, hours baking bread and muffins and cookies, hours slicing up fruit and vegetables for school snacks.  I spend a lot of time planning what the kids are going to eat and I feel I am very knowledgeable about nutrition and health.  That is why when I read articles like this one about a woman suing Nutella for wrongful advertising of their product – specifically the claim that Nutella is part of a nutritious breakfast – I feel like the apocalypse is coming. 

Clearly some people simply have a high need for attention that only a high-profile lawsuit can bring.  The lawsuit claims that Nutella contains sugar and saturated fat – which is true – and that it is shown advertised alongside fruit, juice, and whole wheat bread as part of a healthy breakfast – also true – and that together, those are contributing to the North American childhood obesity epidemic.  The lawsuit demands a corrective advertising campaign, and that all earnings from such advertising should be returned to the consumer.  The consumer who, evidently, purchased Nutella in the belief that their lives would like those of the Nutella commercials, with happy, healthy, sporty children being fed by their happy, healthy, sporty mothers. 

I really want to believe the best of people.  I truly want to believe that people are basically good and making the best independent decisions for their children that they are capable of making.  What I do not want to believe is that there is someone out there who was shocked when she, apparently, learned from friends that Nutella was high in sugar and fat.  I guess you would need to learn this from friends if you were completely unable to read the label. 

I have Nutella in my cupboard.  Clearly we don’t eat it very often because I noticed it expired in December 2009, and I will be throwing it out after writing this, but I have purchased Nutella.  As a treat.  At no point did I think that eating Nutella straight out of the jar would be a great breakfast, just as I don’t think that eating Cocoa Puffs or similar to be a great breakfast.  But then, I’m not a moron, and I am able to read nutritional information. 

As an aside, nutritionally Nutella is not that much different from peanut butter, which is a staple in our house, my children being PB&J aficionados.  Per one tablespoon serving, Nutella and peanut butter have the same amount of calories, same amount of fibre, same amount of iron.  Peanut butter has one gram more protein and three grams more fat.  Nutella has 0.5 grams more saturated fat.  Neither have trans fats.  Nutella has 11 grams of sugar per serving, peanut butter has 1, keeping in mind that a glass of milk has 12 grams of sugar.  Essentially, having a breakfast of Nutella on toast would not be that much different from having peanut butter on toast, and if that was served with juice, milk, and fruit?  Not too bad. 

It is very important to do the best for our children in terms of nutrition.  I cook healthy meals every day but allow for treats as well.  Lawsuits like this infuriate me because they waste resources, they are obviously desperate bids for money and the spotlight, and my god, people, if you’re too stupid to read nutritional information then you are too stupid to be taking up valuable space in the news when there are so many more important issues to worry about.

What is really enraging is the inherent belief that purchasing an item will give you the life that you see on a commercial.  Do consumers really believe that their mornings will be smiling, hearty, and unrushed with the purchase of Nutella?  Do they think that the Pillsbury dough boy will pop out of their vacuum packed containers of biscuits and help with dinner, and the Hamburger Helper guy will kick a ball with their kids while they prepare their ground beef meal?  Perhaps these same consumers purchase Cialis in the hopes that they too will be late arriving to the symphony due to newly reawakened unbridled sexual passion.  I guess anything is possible.

Groundhogs, The Bachelor and male pattern baldness.

Certain special days do not translate well for everyone.  For example, Robbie Burns Day - does anyone who is not of Scottish heritage really want to eat haggis and listen to bagpipes?  I’m half Scottish and I certainly don’t want to – or President’s Day, which does not carry over very well to countries that are not the United States.  Groundhog Day does not really apply to this part of the country.  I understand that there are pagan, weather-lore, and even Catholic and Protestant Epiphany-based roots that contribute to Groundhog Day, but we all know that it simply does not apply if one is living in Calgary, as I am.

It’s amusing, though, because Calgarians WANT to participate in Groundhog Day, despite the fact that no groundhogs would ever live here and anyway it would be supreme animal cruelty to make one come out of its den in this climate to observe its shadow, and so there is someone whose job it is to dress up like a groundhog:

Photo from balzacbilly.com

Occasionally I will succumb to a severe lack of judgment, which is what happened the other night when I watched five minutes of the Bachelor.  The Bachelor is one of those cultural phenomena that seems to indicate society’s downfall.  It is, arguably, one of the worst anti-feminist piece of entertainment around.  Just the concept is terrible: women desperately competing to win the attention of a man and/or kickstart a modeling and/or reality television career.  It is one of the saddest things ever, and the fact that I watched a piece of it is sadder still, although I still believe that from a lemons-to-lemonade standpoint, a drinking game wherein viewers have a shot every time the phrase “I feel we have a real connection” is uttered would be the best possible scenario.  Of course, this would probably lead to death or, at the very least, severe alcohol poisoning, so perhaps not. 

But anyway I tuned in for a couple of minutes and discovered two things: a) a woman whose Nascar-racing fiancé - and father of her child - DIED was actually going to drive a Nascar, um, car because it was “something she needed to do”, and b) the bachelor who is currently on the show seems to be one of the stupidest people in the world, and I do not say that lightly. 

Yesterday I heard, and shared, a quote which I thought was funny: "The best way to hide male pattern baldness is to make a shit load of money."  I thought it was an ironic commentary on the misguided importance placed on material wealth, but I fear I may have inadvertently caused hurt feelings.  NOTE TO MY BALDING MALE FRIENDS: smooches, guys, you all look great.  As a rule, hair is of minimal importance to women, unless of course you are wearing your hair in a mullet, in which case I have nothing further to say.  But if you still think that hair is important in physical attractiveness, then I invite you to observe this man:

Image from reelmovienews.com

So to summarize: hair is not important, but being stupid - as in the current "bachelor - IS.  Groundhog Day is today and Alberta is leading the world in humanely treating groundhogs, by wearing ridiculous costumes.  Happy Groundhog Day!