"That Time of the Month" Emotional Breakdown, and Cougars

I saw Denzel Washington on a Letterman rerun, and he was talking about the difference between a house and a home, and how when your children move out it ceases to become a home and just becomes a house and at that point I teared up thinking of my empty nest that is coming in thirteen years or so.  Then I decided to watch a NYPD Blue rerun but accidentally chose an episode that featured a little boy who was abducted, sexually abused, and killed.  GAH!  Fortunately I remembered how the episode ended while I was only about fifteen minutes into it.  Eject!  Eject!  Unfortunately I remembered how the episode ended so I thought sadly about the white bird symbolically flying away at the end.  Then I had a dream in which I was infuriated with my husband, and so I woke up feeling infuriated with him, but unfortunately a) I couldn't remember the substance of the dream so I couldn't adequately express myself and b) it was just a stupid dream.

My esthetician is, as of this week, closing up her shop as she is changing careers.  I'm very happy for her but quite sad for myself.  It's difficult to find a good esthetician; I have a hard time feeling comfortable lying there in my underwear for just anyone.  Probably just like everyone else on the planet, except maybe the Victoria Secret model I read about whose favourite hanging-around-the-house outfit is "panties".  JUST PANTIES.  Imagine being the UPS guy for that house.  Is it me or does that seem totally odd?  Maybe it's just me.  I could never be a nudist, primarily because I'm always cold and also ew.  Imagine sitting naked on a leather couch that someone else also sat on naked?  Ew.

Anyway, back to the travesty of my career-changing esthetician.  It's difficult for me not to take this personally - she announced her decision to change careers around the same time as my varicose vein stripping.  I can't help but wonder if my furry, post-surgery Yeti-like body drove her to it.  Intellectually, I'm fairly sure NOT, but emotionally....

I took the boys to the zoo in my endeavor to make the expensive zoo passes pay off, and I came across the following very fun "Guess What Animal I Am Based On My Paw Prints" answer:

Doesn't it kind of make you wish you had a t-shirt with that printed on it? 

I can't hear a word they're saying, only the echos of my mind

I am currently wondering if it is possible to be talked to death.  Or talked into submission.  In any case, I think my children are trying to break some sort of record, a talking record.  The biggest issue, as I see it, is that each's child's speech is a set in a Venn diagram, but their sets are not overlapping in the least, and so the conversation is going like this:

Mark: Isn't it so cool we saw river otters at the zoo today?

Jake (wielding a small light sabre): Do you think that my powers can defeat this sword?

Mark: It would be so cool if river otters lived in the Bow River.

Jake: AIEEEEEEE!  I'm going to DESTROY the sword!

Mark: It's neat that the Bow River eventually flows into the Hudson Bay.  I mean, after it turns into all those other rivers.

Jake: MOM GUESS WHAT MOM GUESS WHAT MOM MOM MOM MOM I'M BATTLING THIS SWORD WITH FIRE!  FIIIIIIRRRRRRREEEEE!

Mark: Hey Mom?

Me: Yes?

Mark: Hey Mom?

Me: Yes, Mark?

Mark: Um.  Um.  I forgot what I was going to tell you.

Jake: BATTLE GEAR BOOOOOOOOSSSSSSTTTT!

We spent most of the day at the zoo and, in spite of the sunshine and exercise, the boys seem invigorated rather than tired.  The house looks like a toy-filled bomb went off, or, alternately, a giant pinata filled with Legos and Ben 10 aliens was smashed with a baseball bat in my living room.  The noise level is currently approaching "deafening". 

Update: the sets in the Venn diagram are now overlapping!  Mark has joined into Jake's bizarre game of destruction and now they are both screaming loudly and running laps around the house.

Right now, giving up alcohol on weeknights seems like a terrible lapse in judgement.

It doesn't help that my husband has been working a lot lately, in fact we were supposed to be on vacation right now but obviously, we are not.  When the boys were babies my husband was at a different job and he would leave the house at seven in the morning and return after seven at night.  That was essentially the hours that the boys were awake, and so my whole day would be spent alone with little people.  Now, of course, things are different and getting a phone call from my husband saying that he is going to be late does not reduce me to tears.  But still.  It's loud. 

Random Complaints from a Deposed Princess

I always knew this day would come, and here it is.  My family doctor is retiring, and for those of you who do not live in Canada, let me tell you that finding a family doctor – ANY family doctor, let alone a good family doctor – is a big problem.  My doctor has been practicing many years and so has many contacts in the medical community, he is calm and competent, not to mention that he has been my doctor for as long as I can remember.  Also, his office is five minutes from my house.  I had it so good for so long, and now I’m joining the masses of people without a physician, the people who have to go to walk-in clinics and emergency rooms.  I feel like a much pampered princess, suddenly deposed and made to live among the commoners, scrabbling for her own potatoes and whatnot.  Or like Sara in A Little Princess, one day wearing custom made frocks and enjoying a personal carriage and French-speaking maid, the next day banished to living in the attic, wearing only a too-small black dress and running errands through the rainy streets of London, being reprimanded by the cook and consuming only scraps of bread.     

Things could be worse.  The dog could have gotten skunked over the weekend, which was an actual worry of mine.  I took the kids up to my parents’ cottage and as I was relaxing on the deck with a drink, I noticed the world’s biggest squirrel walk across the driveway, only when I noticed its tail, I realized that the giant squirrel was in actuality a skunk!  Shortly after that the neighbour came by to mention that she had seen me walking the dog near the gardens on the gravel road, and that she thought she had better tell me that there was a nest of baby skunks in the aforementioned gardens.  Yikes!  Fortunately we made it home without having to give the dog a tomato juice bath, but run-ins with wildlife seemed to be on Barkley’s radar screen this weekend.  The world’s stupidest family of robins chose our yard to teach their baby birds to fly, which seems adorably precious and magical until one is faced with the fact of my gigantic fluffy dog who attacked and would have eaten our small feathered friend were it not for my frantic screaming and my husband’s collaring of the dog.  That would not have been the first bird that Barkley would have eaten.

Yesterday was a rare day in that it was hot – thirty degrees! – and sunny, with no wind.  It was the kind of day that divides the city’s population into two main groups: those who enjoy and celebrate the unusual summer temperatures, and those who complain incessantly about the unbearable heat, the heat that lasts less than two days at a time, IF THAT.  I belong to the first group and, despite my general adherence to the principle of ahimsa, I want to punch those in the second group in the face.  I took advantage of the heat to take the kids to the outdoor pool with a friend, and it was essentially the perfect afternoon, other than a couple of visuals that left me wanting to scrub out my eyes.  I’m no fashion maven.  I wear jeans and black sweaters ninety percent of the time.  I’m also all for self-expression and feeling good about yourself in your own skin.  However, the following are a plague on society: animal print speedos on anyone but especially on leathery old men, transparent-when-wet white bathing suits, especially in the middle of the afternoon in a pool filled with young children, and nipple rings.  Why?  Why?  WHY?

Maybe it’s just a mistake in judgement.  I came across the following Bob Ross “Joy of Painting” quote:

“You really cannot make a mistake here. And as you know, we don't

make mistakes, we have happy accidents. We just have happy accidents.”

Perhaps those wearing them think that speedos, white bathing suits, and nipple rings are happy accidents, but NO.  I’m still going with plague on society here.



Yee-haw

The rain that has been coming down since Monday has stopped, and, in the manner of mothers everywhere, I have just sighed with relief and shooed my children outside.  The noise level has been unbelievable around here.  We played Go Fish and the sounds emanating from my children were ear-shattering.  Mark dislikes "winning" games, and so we played Go Fish as a game in which we were rescuing animals; anyone getting a pair rescued the animals displayed on the cards.  It was like a cooperative, super-politically-correct version of Go Fish.  My friend asked me if saying Go Fish was verbatim from an animal-cruelty perspective, and in fact Mark DID make everyone say "Go Rescue" instead.

Jake continued to say Go Fish throughout the game.

It is not a coincidence that I am drinking a beer right now.  Not just because of the, to quote the Grinch, "Noise! Noise! Noise!", but also because it's Stampede week!  For those of you who are not familiar, Stampede is not just a rodeo/midway/excuse to come up with ever-more disgusting food products.  Doughnut burgers are a new thing this year, and I wish, I WISH I was joking about this.  A maple dipped doughnut is the bun.  Meat in the middle.  It makes me fear for society.

Speaking of fearing for society, I wonder if carnies still try to cop a feel while adjusting safety restraints.  Or is sexual harassment via midway entertainment so twenty years ago?  It's hard to say. 

But Stampede is more than just that.  Stampede is ten days of drunken debauchery for a large percentage of Calgarians and those who may be visiting Calgary during this time.  Divorce lawyers are busy as bees in the weeks following Stampede, and pregnancy rates go up.  My own first born was conceived during a Stampede week, and so was almost every other baby in my prenatal class.  (My second born was conceived during the Christmas season, and September is also a busy time in the delivery room.  Was Mommy kissing Santa Claus?  Why yes, she was.)

More than that, Stampede is a time where bad fashion rears its ugly head.  This was especially apparent to me back in the days when I worked in an office.  Men with whom I had a professional relationship and who would normally be clad in khakis and golf shirts would come to work clad in tight Wrangler jeans and shirts with wolves on them.  Or sunsets.  Or eagles.  And the women!  My friend Rita wrote a brilliant piece on Stampede fashion and I cannot even attempt to replicate her accurate descriptions, and so I will just direct you to read the piece.  Hootchie Mama indeed, Rita, you hit the nail on the head.

Odds and Ends and a Royal Zoo Trip

It has been a busy few days in the Boy House.  Last Thursday I found myself at the hair therapist's without a book, and so I picked up People magazine to learn all about Bachelor Brad's breakup with Emily.  Here's the reason they broke up: Emily became jealous after watching the actual broadcast of The Bachelor - week after week she realized that Brad was romancing all the other women who were "vying for his love" and she didn't feel special anymore - and the strain from watching her fiance get it on with other women wasn't something Brad could "physically comfort her" about since they were not allowed to see each other in the months following the show's taping.  Here's a plan, people: if you want to actually have a healthy relationship, don't go on a reality dating show.  I don't know.  It's just an idea.  I mean, if you want to be on the cover of People magazine talking about your failed relationship, well then, be my guest. 

The girl who shampooed my hair said, with regards to this Bachelor information, "I guess the show brought them together AND tore them apart!"  Very astute.

Speaking of breakups, I had a very awkward moment when I greeted a woman I hadn't seen for a while by asking about her puppy.  Last I saw her she had a beautiful Lab puppy.  Wouldn't you know, she and her boyfriend had broken up and now he has custody of the puppy.  I think next time I'm going to just stick with "Hi."

Friday a friend and I decided to take our kids to the zoo.  The timing was not accidental - we had heard that Will and Kate were going to be visiting the zoo that day.  A chance to see the Duke and Duchess while also seeing wolves and Foggy the hippo?  Irresistible.  I have had an annual zoo pass since Mark was a baby, but I didn't immediately renew it this year because the zoo has increased their prices considerably.  In the past four years, the price of childrens' passes have more than doubled, and adult passes have almost doubled.  Plus, the zoo had eliminated free parking without purchase of an expensive pass.  One of the things I really hate about this city - besides the atrocious weather - is the cost of parking.  But I did eventually suck it up and purchase passes and - what do you know - we had a great day and it was well worth cost of admission.  Jake got to see Foggy and received his telepathic communication ("He said Hi Jake, I love you!" Jake informed me after staring at the hippo for some time).  Mark got to see his favourite Canadian wild animals although not, alas, a beaver.  We saw some active grizzly bears:

and some mascot grizzly bears, oddly enough.

Then we saw the royal motorcade!  Oh happy day!

And despite what it looks like, we were not creeping out in the bushes.  We were standing at the gorilla viewing area!

My husband asked why I find the royal couple so appealing, and I will tell you: they seem so HAPPY.  I really like seeing happy people, as opposed to those people who have little black clouds over their heads at all times.  Plus, I am coveting every single one of Kate's outfits including her fabulous shoes.  Where would I wear them is another question.  The playground?  School drop-off?  THE ZOO?  Perhaps not.

This weekend I was at a yoga workshop which was both inspiring and exhausting, and so last night I found myself curled up on the couch, drinking wine and watching Sex and the City reruns.  Speaking of which, I have a recipe for cosmopolitans up at the cooking website.  Yes, the recipe of the week is a drink, but what can I say, it's Stampede time in Calgary which is code for "a whole lot of drinking and debauchery".  Festive AND appropriate! 

Sloth and the Splash Pad - Summer of Awesome

We have been on summer vacation for one week and we have turned into a slothful people.  This is why I don't register the kids in any organized activities; we are too busy being completely lazy every morning to get anywhere.  I'm in my sweaty yoga clothes, drinking coffee and accomplishing nothing, until finally showering at 10:00, which sounds pretty benign until I realize I've been up for over five hours.  It's all we can do to get organized enough to leave the house by early afternoon.  Mark has created a game he calls "Left Hook" which involves a chutes and ladders board, the corresponding superhero game pieces, sharks, and death.  This game goes on for hours.  HOURS.  Each morning he sets up the board and the boys are occupied for a very long time.  Jake joins in as well but alternates between Left Hook and his own complicated game that involves aliens, clay, and death.

The weather here has been so sunny and warm that I secretly wonder if I moved without knowing it.  I don't THINK I did.  When it's warm like this I have the frantic urge to seize the day and spend every second doing warm-weather activities, like swimming.  Not that I am swimming.  But I'm enjoying watching the kids swim.  I am also defiantly displaying my scarred, scarred legs. 

Outdoor pools are something of a novelty to me, since it is rarely so warm here that one would crave "cooling off" in a pool.  Mostly when it is warm I have the urge to become as hot and sweaty as possible in the hopes that I will store up the heat for when the weather turns.  There are a few outdoor pools here, and we have been enjoying them, by the time I pull myself together and get the kids in their suits and sunscreen.

Yesterday we went to an old favourite, a little wading pool that has been recently turned into a splash pad.  If you're in the area, you should check it out with the following caveat: the recent refurbishment means that grass sod has been newly laid and so, in the spirit of following the signage to keep off the grass, there is very little space to lay out picnic blankets, although I'm sure that will sort itself out as the summer goes on.

The kids had a great time, despite being disappointed that their friends couldn't join us due illness.  I managed to snap some super cute pictures; however, I was disappointed to discover that unfortunately I a) didn't notice the moms in bathing suits standing behind the kids, resulting in mom bums in the background of most of the shots, and b) I don't know how to photoshop things. 

I used little black stars to mask the moms behind Jake.  I AM CREATIVE.

Mark got soaked and then coughed for an hour. 

Oh, post-pneumonia-infection cough!  When will you leave?

Calgary may not be the prettiest city around, but look at that blue sky!  And look at me, wearing a bathing suit and NOT EVEN CARING ABOUT MY VERY SCARRED LEGS.

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As some of you have noticed, I have a new logo!  I love it so much.  My beautiful friend Tracy, over at makemesocial.com made it for me.  She's creative and fabulous and she sees me every morning at 5:00 am and she LOVES ME ANYWAY.  Those are my feet, by the way!  Thanks Tracy - you're the best, baby.  xoxo

Bond. James Bond.

Mark, seeing a commercial on a US television station, asked me what “Independence Day” means.  I was tired and did not feel up for a historical discussion, so I simply said that it was like Canada Day, but for the United States.  Later I felt that this lazy and somewhat inaccurate explanation would probably be met by a shudder by any American.

But happy Fourth of July to all my American friends!  There is always much discussion about the differences between the two countries, and truthfully I feel a small culture shock any time I visit the States.  No French writing on packaging, the food is different, fruits and vegetables are better, and people don’t say “sorry” when they bump into you in a crowd.  I used to travel to Houston quite often, back in my working girl days, as opposed to my days of being a lady of leisure, and every single time I would show my identification at the airport or the car rental place, someone would say “Oh, you’re from Canada?  I LOVE Celine Dion!”  My conclusion is twofold: that people in Houston really like Celine Dion, and that Americans are a very friendly people.

Friday was Canada Day and I celebrated by taking the kids to the local amusement park with a friend and her daughters.  We had fun, as we always do, and near the end of our visit we went to the games section.  The kids bring their allowance to play these games, and I’m always a bit mixed about it: on the one hand, that is what their allowance is FOR, to spend on special activities, but on the other hand, how many crappy, cheap stuffed animals do we want in the house?  They always play the games where you win a prize every time, and that prize is always a crappy, cheap stuffed animal. 

Last year Jake won a little blue dog, immediately named Woof Woof.  He loved it instantly, hugging it and saying “I finally have a pet of my very own!”  I was strongly in favour of this attachment, since prior to that he was obsessed with EGGPLANTS, of all things.  Every time we would go to the grocery store he would beg me to buy an eggplant, not to eat, no, but to be his pet.  His pet doomed to soften and rot and be thrown out.  So his happiness with Woof Woof meant happiness for me, in that I could take him to the grocery store with relatively little harassment.

Woof Woof was a fairly creative name, as far as my kids go.  Other stuffed animals in our house are named things such as Hippopotamussy, Moosie, Bear Bear, and Tigey.  So on Friday, when Jake lucked out and won a LARGE prize, a stuffed octopus, he immediately christened it Octopussy.

I have been stifling the urge to giggle and call him 007, but at least it goes well with Mark’s beaver, Beavery.

Jake and Octopussy

Octopussy and Woof Woof

Twelve times twelve is one hundred and forty four.

Happy birthday Canada!  To celebrate, I’m taking the kids to an amusement park with some friends, and I baked an angel food cake, to be eaten with whipped cream and strawberries.  If there is anything more delicious in the world I would like to know what it is.

It’s day three of summer vacation and so far our schedule has been action packed.  This is probably contributing to the easier-than-normal transition from school into summer.  Monday night was filled with children’s tears at the thought of saying goodbye to their teachers and classrooms on Tuesday, and so I was preparing myself for the onslaught of neediness and generally annoying behavior that accompanies the end-of-year festivities and the sudden lack of scheduled activities, but that didn’t really happen.

My husband was away on business and so on the first day of vacation I drove the kids up to my parents’ cottage at Sylvan Lake.  Here I am going to state the obvious: travel with children is just so much easier as they get older.  “Mom, are you SURE you know how to get there?” Mark asked nervously, clearly recalling the many times I have pulled over to the side of the road, crying.  I am not good with directions, people.  Just a small glitch in my plans or a detour in the road can set me over the edge.  “Turn east,” my dad used to say when giving me directions, and I would scream with frustration: “Is that left or right?”  My husband bought me a Garmin with the hopes that I would no longer be lost immediately whenever I would go someplace not totally familiar, but I have anxiety about even using the Garmin, since it often sends me on the most circuitous route possible.  You can imagine, perhaps, the level of frustration around here.  My husband cannot understand how someone who has lived in a city their entire life still doesn’t know how to access a major roadway.  I think I may have a mental block or something.

“I know how to get there.  But I have to concentrate.  So please don’t ask me again.” I said to the boys.  Then they spent the two hours of driving alternating between watching Cars (preparing for the inevitable viewing of Cars 2) and naming off the small towns that we were passing and what kind of “Attractions and Services” they had.  “That town has a Wendy’s AND a Tim Hortons!” they would say excitedly.  “Canadian Tire and Wal-Mart!  If we need something we could go to Wal-Mart!”  “Oh, that town only has UFA.  What’s UFA?” 

We arrived with no issues and I did not even have to pull over to sob once.  I’m growing!  The boys were practically spinning off the planet with excitement once we arrived, and I am just going to say this: two toy fishing rods with reels plus a lake equals endless amusement.  I am always a little taken aback at how much time children can spend doing an activity like pretend fishing.  It’s a good lesson for me as well; to just watch them and relax into the moment, and not have to go over my to-do list.  It is summer after all – my to-do list isn’t exactly pressing.

I wished I had my camera with me when the boys and I took the dog for a walk after dinner.  I watched them run up ahead of me on the path, Shasta daisies and deep purple Columbines to their right, a thick field of canola to their left.  The dog bounded through the canola, his curly tail bouncing, the boys were laughing, and the sky with the early evening clouds was so big all around us.  It was a perfect moment.