Pretty Girls

I turned the furnace on today; it's been chilly and pouring rain -it even snowed in the mountains - and seems fitting, somehow, for the end of summer vacation.  Frankly, it's a bit depressing.  But not as depressing as this:

This t-shirt was for sale at JC Penney - was, but not anymore.  Someone at JC Penney, after a public uproar, decided that girls sized 7-16 should probably not be advertising that they are too pretty for homework; something about their core values.  Regardless, the shirt was for sale, and someone, somewhere in the JC Penney corporation must have felt that it was at some point appropriate, just as someone at Old Navy decided that this shirt was appropriate for boys:

Similar idea, but without the public outcry, and also without the focus on physical appearance.  There's the rub.  Celebration of idiocy and underachievement is socially acceptable, it seems, until we bring the cult of the pretty into the picture.

We like to at least give lip service to the idea that appearances don't matter.  It's what's inside that counts - that is what I tell my children all the time, and of course it's true - but also true is that appearances DO matter.  When I was in university studying economics, I read an academic article about how beautiful people earn more money, are promoted more often and more easily, and in general are afforded more advantages.  I was appalled, of course, I was outraged and angry, but I also knew that the restaurant in which I waitressed part-time would not hire anyone for their front-house staff who did not have a certain look.  Any applicants falling short of that would be considered for a job in the kitchen.

The ugly side to this is that pretty and smart are frequently considered to be mutually exclusive, as in the JC Penney shirt, or this one from Amazon:

If a grown, female mathematician was wearing this, I would consider it amusing in an ironic way, the same way I considered that guy wearing a Vagitarian t-shirt to be amusing in an ironic way.  But the thought of children wearing a shirt like this, children who see things in black and white and who may equate smart with ugly and therefore may be less inclined to strive for high academic achievements, the thought of that makes me ill.

There's nothing wrong with being pretty, or striving to be pretty, but passing along the idea that pretty girls do not have to be responsible for homework, or math, or anything else requiring thought or effort, is pathetic.

The day I defended my master's thesis, I had a celebratory lunch with several of my fellow grad students.  I had a 4.0 GPA, I studied all the time.  I prided myself on my work ethic.  As we sat in the lounge, I mentioned how exhausted I was.  A male student smirked at me and said "Why?  Did you sleep with the defence committee?  Is that how you get A's?" 

It is possible to be pretty and do math.



Where will we be when the summer's gone?

Have I mentioned that it has been - wait for it - unseasonably hot around here?  Honestly, it's beautiful, and every day I have a sneaking feeling that I have been transported to a different city without my knowledge.  Today it was - wait for it - thirty degrees Celcius which is both highly abnormal and very welcome.  Sadly, the days of capri pants and tank tops are going to come to a screeching halt tomorrow given the forecast of rain and cool temperatures, but that's okay.  I'm now ready for the kids to go back to school, which is happening Thursay.

The kids are also very ready to go back to school.  Mark has been making up his own math worksheets, and is asking me to put little checkmarks beside each correct answer.  Jake has been creating incredibly complex and difficult to follow stories, and doing home reading of his own accord.  It's a sign. 

And the talking, my god, the talking.  It's like someone set the children to "Loud" and "Rambling".  Part of it is that my husband was not working last week and is now back to work and MY WORD THE CHILDREN MUST FIND AN OUTLET FOR THEIR INCESSANT CONVERSATION.  And by conversation, I mean spouting random facts about Cars 2, bodies of water, and Canadian wild animals, along with non-stop questions about those topics and also complicated explanations for "games" in which I am to pretend I am someone who has a pet river otter, or a pet wolf, and then the "wolf" and "river otter" compete for my attention.  At this point I think my brain has liquified.  But still I participate in these "games", thinking that wine sounds nice but I can't have any until Friday and it is only Monday, dammit.

Yesterday I was walking my dog and I ran into a woman who lives in the neighbourhood who I met once, briefly, a few years ago.  She told me that her daughter had graduated high school and her son was a year away from graduation and that she is also now, sadly, widowed, and so she was feeling extremely empty-nested.  Wow.  I was startled by all that information and also felt that maybe I was not appreciating all the time with my children over the past couple of days and that I should get home, pronto, and cherish the moments. 

But I can't cherish the moments right now because there is SO MUCH NOISE.  Plus right now the kids are arguing about what is more destructive: bombs or fire.  They are getting very emotional and worked up about this apocalyptic argument.  "But fire would burn everything up!"  "But bombs would blow everything up!"  "Fire!"  "Bombs!"  I don't even know the context of the disagreement, and to be honest, I prefer not to find out.

T minus 7

My husband has been away on a golf trip and yesterday I did something I haven't done since my single-girl days: I had popcorn for dinner.  I announced it to the kids that we were going to have pancakes and popcorn for dinner, and that announcement was met with silent, nervous smiles.  "Do you mean, we're going to have breakfast for dinner and THEN have popcorn later?" Jake ventured.  No.  I assured him that popcorn was on the menu, and there was some mild cheering, followed by "Okay, but you said we're having pancakes too, right?  I mean, popcorn for dinner doesn't really sound that HEALTHY."

I'd feel much more smug about their health conscious attitudes if these weren't the same children who would, if allowed, eat chicken fingers and fries daily for the rest of their lives.

It's just one week until school starts and I feel somewhat compelled to cram as much fun as possible into the remaining days, and so yesterday we had a lovely day with friends at the local amusement park.  It was hot and sunny, the kids had a blast, and the day was only slightly marred by the disappointing "prize" won by Mark at the fishing game.  Instead of a hoped-for tiny, crappy stuffed animal, he won a pair of crappy, star-shaped glasses.  Much sadness followed, as well as a vow to never play the fishing game again.  Would that I could believe that.

It was unusually hot, and so the boys played in the sprinkler for hours after we got home.  I sat on the deck with a cold beer and watched them, thinking that this is truly the life.  There are times when being a stay-at-home mom can feel like some kind of sentence, but summer days like that are pure gold.

Speaking of gold, prior to my husband's golf trip we took the boys for a day trip to Lake Louise and Moraine Lake; quite possibly the most beautiful area in the world, and one that we haven't visited with kids before.  It was a great day, although it was much, much colder than the city.  Fortunately I had packed jackets.  I also packed my thirteen year old, heavy duty leather hiking boots.  My husband looked askance at them.  "We're not really doing hard-core hiking", he said "Why don't you just pack some practical shoes?"  Um, because I have no practical shoes?  Perhaps it's time to go shopping.

The magic is GONE

I realize it was only a few short days ago when I was waxing melancholic about the end of summer, and how much I was going to miss the boys, and while that is still true in theory, the reality is that suddenly the children seem ready to go back to school.  Suddenly I am ready for the children to go back to school.  We have ten days left, and I plan on enjoying all of those days, but for the love of god, I am now ready for the regular school routine.  THE MAGIC IS GONE, people.  This may or may not have anything to do with my children suddenly becoming the world's neediest children ever.  Mom, look, Mom, Mom, Mom, I drew a picture, Mom, Mom, it's a picture of a roller coaster, Mom, Mom, Mom, do you like it?  Mom?  Mom?  Do you wish you could GO on that roller coaster?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I have a snack?  Can I have a treat?  Can I have a juice?  Mom?  Mom?  Can I play Starfall?  Can we play Go Fish?  Can we go bike riding?  Right now?  Mom?  Mom?  Are yetis and bigfoots the same exact thing?  I don't think they are.  Do you think they are?  Mom?

Speaking of back to school, I bought the boys' school shoes on the weekend.  Back to school shopping isn't a big deal for me; in general I only really need to purchase shoes and pants with intact knees.  Although it's August, and it has been an absolutely lovely summer - the best weather we've had for years - it is also the season to start thinking about snow pants and winter boots.  I do not like to be too far into September without snow pants and winter boots, just in case.  To that end, I have been browsing Sears online, as they have excellent snow pants and winter boots.  They also supply hours of amusement.  Did you know you can purchase machine washable bathroom carpeting?

Image from Sears.ca

Does the carpet match the (shower) curtains?  Why, yes, it does.

You can also purchase something called a Vibration Platform.

Image from Sears.ca

I don't know what that is, but I'm sure it's something great!

While browsing the fitness section, I discovered this:

Image from Sears.ca

I think this means the apocalypse is upon us.

Incredibly, there is an entire subsection in the women's clothing section devoted to tunics.  Tunics, it seems, deserve a category all to themselves.  Thinking about this, it seems self-evident: a tunic, after all, is more than just a shirt.  It's not a dress.  It's nothing but a...tunic.  Still, does it or does it not seem amusing that there are so many tunics available for sale that they comprise an entire clothing category?

Speaking of Sears, my friend at Hodgepodge and Strawberries wrote about the Sears Wish Book.  If it seems early to be thinking about snow pants and winter boots, then it seems REALLY early to be thinking about Christmas, but her post filled me with nostalgia and happiness only obtainable through the Wish Book.  Sno-cone machines!  Gifts under $10!  Pajamas with matching slippers! 

I just wish I had a Wish Book.  Failing that, check out these images from the Wish Book published the year I was born:

This guy is bringing sexy back.  I think he grew that moustache specifically to tickle the ladies, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

Never underestimate the fashion influence that was Little House on the Prairie. 

The caption alone on this makes me feel a little insecure in my womanhood.  Sophisticated nightdressing?  I'm writing this wearing yellow pajamas with pink flowers on them.  I think I need some sophisticated nightdressing.  I think it would make me irresistable, in the sophisticated bedroom.  Perhaps I would also need a satin-like bedcover to go with the nylon nightdresses, in which case I had better do some shopping!

Updates and a meme!

I feel like I, perhaps, left my dear readers hanging; I will make amends by updating you on the goings-on in the Boyhouse.

1) Mark has been using an inhaler for a week, and he has NOT COUGHED FOR A WEEK.  Happy coincidence?  Related: I have been sleeping uninterrupted through the night.  Not once have I woken up and listened to coughing for two hours!

2) I found a new esthetician.  I chose this particular place because of the incredibly convenient hours, but they also advertised "pain-free" waxing, of which I was deeply skeptical.  Now, you may or may not believe me, but the waxing was actually PAIN-FREE!  For every ending there is a beginning, I suppose. 

3) Related to aging and fleeting time:
 a) INXS' "Devil Inside" was played on the local "oldies" station, and
 b) While in the pharmaceutical section of Wal-Mart, I noticed three ladies who appeared to be in their sixties giggling and talking to one another with regards to their favourite product.  The product in question?  Personal lubricant. 

I will leave it at that.

Marilyn over at A Lot of Loves tagged me in a meme, about seven posts that I've written.  I love memes!  I especially love them on Friday nights when I have a big glass of wine beside me.  I had to dig through a whole lot of archives, and discovered posts I had forgotten that I had even read!  But here goes!

Most Beautiful Post
This was tricky because I don't tend to think I write particularly beautiful posts, but I do like this one about happiness with children (plus it has super cute pictures of my kids as babies!), and I also like this one about my very grumpy grandpa.

Most Popular Post
My post that has the most pageviews is this one, and I'm going to guess that its popularity is based on the fact that I reference "mom jeans".  My second most popular post referenced Scaredy Squirrel, which just goes to show that in order to gain popularity you need name-drop a little. 

Most Controversial Post
I'm not huge on controversy around here, but my post on breastfeeding spurred some discussion.  Breastfeeding = controversy, AM I RIGHT?  If you want to ignite some flames, just bring up breastfeeding!  But I urge you, my dear readers, to always be kind, especially to hormonal and sleep-deprived new mothers who may, years later, still ache about certain memories.

Most Helpful Post
Oooh, this is a tough one.  I don't feel my posts are particularly helpful OR informative, unless you want to commisserate about weird things.  However, here is my public service announcement about what NOT to say to pregnant women.  I urge you to read the comments. 

Post Whose Success Surprised You
Well, obviously the one about Scaredy Squirrel, because I discussed DEAD SQUIRRELS in my neighbourhood.  Not exactly that interesting.  Kind of revolting, really.  I was also surprised at the success of my varicose-vein stripping update, but I guess it was popular because I used the word "stripping" in the title.  I imagine the people who were googling "stripping" were probably somewhat disappointed when they ended up at my blog.

Post That You Didn't Feel Got The Attention It Deserved
Hey, I'm just happy to be here.  I'm happy that people read my blog at all.  However, early on in my blogging days, I wrote this about Woodstock, Ann Landers, and Alice Munro, and I really liked it.

Post That You Are Most Proud Of
Honestly, I have no idea.  My favourite posts are always the ones leading up to Christmas, but I found this little gem in the archives.  It's not exactly fine literature, but it pretty much sums up life in the Boyhouse.

Melancholy thoughts about back to school and the transformative power of a new pair of panties.

Two years ago, when Mark was starting kindergarten, I wrote this.  One year ago, when Jake was starting kindergarten, I wrote this.  I find the differences in the pieces to be very amusing - in the first one I'm all "Buy some new panties!  Drink some wine!" while the second one is "My baby birds are leaving the nest!  Wah!"  Maybe I need to buy some new panties and drink some wine because I'm feeling a tad melancholy about the imminent end of summer.  Sixteen days until school!  Sixteen days until, with the exception of the lunch hour, the boys are gone all day long. 

It's not like I'm not looking forward to a little space and the idea of buying groceries without two children in tow, asking to buy cupcakes and asking to push the cart and then accidentally running into things with the cart and then picking up the scattered items off the filthy grocery store floor and then sticking their heads in the garbage cans to ascertain how stinky the garbage cans are and then having a prolonged conversation with the somewhat slow-witted carryout guy about whether a centaur can be properly referred to as a man-horse.  I'm also not wishing to stop time or that I had my babies back or that I had another baby - HEAVEN FORBID.  But I'm just going to miss the boys.  That's all.  I'm going to miss them and that's all I'm going to say about that.

I had a hair appointment today and I was struck, as I always am, by how dull my life must appear to the average young woman.  The sweet, eighteen year old shampoo girl always chats with me and asks me many questions about my life, and I can't help but feel that my answers must fill her with chills about aging.  Don't get me wrong - I love small talk, I am the QUEEN of small talk, but I found myself thinking with nostalgia about the previous shampoo girl who was terribly shy and barely spoke to me.  What did you do this weekend, she asked, what's up for the rest of the day, what are you doing for the rest of the summer?  She seemed somewhat nonplussed by my boring answers and went back to applying conditioner.

It's not that I find my life dull to live, but I do think it must seem quite dull to the sweet and perky shampoo girl, who usually regales me with information as to the best clubs to go to for dancing and the best time to go - not before 10 pm.  Dancing?  Today is the 34th anniversary of Elvis' death and I have had Kentucky Rain stuck in my head all day long.  Dancing and clubbing do not seem particularly relevant.  Related: I found out today that Anne Bancroft played Mrs. Robinson at the age of 36!  THIRTY SIX!  I am thirty six!  Also related: the shampoo girl asked what my natural hair colour was and when I answered grey she smiled and said "I mean, what was it BEFORE grey?"  Um, I'm not sure?  It's been grey for a really long time.  Sigh.  The baby birds are leaving the nest and I'm the same age as Mrs. Robinson.  I am definitely going to need some new panties and wine.

Moose versus Caribou: The Untold Story

Yesterday was what I will call a trying day.  My choice of activity for the gloomy day was not great: I decided to take the boys to the mall to buy four - FOUR - birthday gifts, and while there we stopped by the pet store to look at the various rodents for sale.  Much discussion ensued regarding hamsters, gerbils, and guinea pigs and the sort of pets that the boys would buy when they were grown up and could make their own decisions regarding pets, without the opinion of their mother who is firmly of the belief that ONE DOG IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.  Mark was extremely tired and when Mark is extremely tired, his behaviour exhibits a certain clinginess not usually seen.  I'm not exactly complaining - it's not like the house was full of tantrums or tears or fights - but having someone within a two foot radius of me all day long is tiring.  Also tiring is answering the constant stream of questions, such as "If you were a waterfall, what waterfall would you be?  Would you be Takakkaw Falls or Bow Falls?" or "What hooved animal is your favourite?" or "What body of water do you like best?  Do you like lakes?  Or oceans?"  I strive to be an involved parent but really.  By the end of the day I felt like screaming "SHUT UP!  JUST STOP TALKING!  I DON'T KNOW IF I PREFER GRIZZLY BEARS TO BLACK BEARS!  I THINK HAMSTERS ARE EQUALLY AS CUTE AS GUINEA PIGS!"  But, despite my own exhaustion, I did not.  I did not because I know that this is the way Mark reacts when he is exhausted, and I also did not drink any alcohol, and because of those two things I think that maybe I deserve some sort of prize. 

Why were we both so tired, you may ask?  It's because Mark had yet another of his middle-of-the-night two hour coughing fits.  It's gotten to the point where it's hard for me to remember what life was like before the cough.  But I'm optimistic that at some point in the near future, there may be an after the cough, since I have excellent news: I have found a doctor to replace my retiring doctor, we had an appointment today, and he has prescribed an inhaler for Mark!  This is momentous indeed.  It's like I won the lottery.  I feel incredibly fortunate in a right-place-right-time sort of way, and also a tenacious keep-calling-until-someone-answers sort of way. 

So today, in contrast to yesterday, has been a glorious day.  We decided to take the train downtown to see my husband at his office building, which brings me to this: public transit is a funny thing.  The children think that the train is the greatest mode of transportation ever invented.  I, on the other hand, spent the train ride a) wondering just how many viruses were living on the rails and seats, and b) being amused at the conversation between the two young men who were discussing the comic book convention that they had recently attended, and their own ideas for future comic books. 

Well, it's Friday.  I'm happily partaking in some Cabernet while my husband watches a television show on golf techniques and my children play what is possibly the loudest game ever, involving Hot Wheels cars and lots of cheerful screaming.  Just another Friday night.

Boys and Guns

My husband went back to work yesterday after a two week vacation and so it's been just the three of us, getting back into our regular summer routine.  There are, I realized, only three and a half weeks left until school starts and I'm feeling a tad bit melancholy about it.  I decided today we would take advantage of the warmth and sunshine - seize the day - and head to a playground/wading pool.

In my younger, child-free days, I had fairly haughty opinions on kids and guns and violence, and so I smiled ruefully to myself as I found myself hauling three giant bags filled with a picnic, blanket, towels, and water guns.  (Another mom smiled at me and my bags and said cheerfully "I'm the family pack mule too!").  I spread the blanket down in a sunny area, and marvelled how I am now at the stage where my kids immediately leave me to do their own thing, checking in only when they are hungry.

They also checked in, briefly and occasionally, to inform me how their battle was going.  After arriving at the wading pool with their bazooka-like water guns, they instantly joined up with a pack of similar-aged boys also with bazooka-like water guns whose goal was to destroy a group of older boys with bazooka-like water guns.  In earlier times, this would have worried me considerably, seeing the boys slowly wade through the pool, guns on their shoulders, looking for all the world like American soldiers in a Vietnam war movie.  I heard occasional shrieks of "ATTACK" and "RETREAT, RETREAT!" as they ran around shooting the ten year old boys.  I saw them crouching in the bushes and regrouping as they planned their attack.  It was a little unnerving. 

Our standing rule with water guns is no shooting little kids or those who are unarmed, and no shooting moms.  Especially not me.  I added a second rule, hearing another mom reiterate it, no head shots.  I was, as I always am, amazed at how much time boys - because they were all boys - can spend shooting each other.  When I met up with a friend and her two boys for the very first time last summer at another wading pool, the boys instantly formed friendships based on shooting each other and also pretending to arrest each other.  At that time, I noticed a few mothers with very young children raise their eyebrows at my friend and I, chatting away as our children pummelled each other with streams of water.  I recall feeling that exact same way, when my kids were young.

The thing about these seemingly violent games is that they aren't really violent at all.  They are fun in a way I don't understand, but I observe it.  As we were leaving, the boys, all of them, happily waved to each other, hoping they would see each other again, their nameless new friends, all united in battle.

Baby I'm-a Want You

"I figured out what I'm going to buy you," my husband said as I walked in the door, holding a piece of paper in his hand.  A present for me?  Squee!  It's my tenth anniversary in seven months and there is a three stone ring coming my way; my husband is a far-ahead planner so I thought maybe, maybe....

I was a little crestfallen to discover the paper was a Lowe's flyer, and the item indicated was a high-efficiency toilet.  Oooh, baby.  I'm-a want you.  Nonetheless, all four of us went to Lowe's and, after what was possibly the world's longest discussion about different toilets and installation methods between my husband and the incredibly helpful plumbing department guy, we were the proud owners of a new toilet.  It rode around in the back of my van for a while, then took up residence in the garage for a couple of weeks, and yesterday, my husband installed it.

Suffice it to say that if you want to bring extreme joy and excitement to a household with children, introduce them to the concept of "choose your own flush".  I am now the unhappy recipient of an extraordinary volume of details regarding my children and their toilet habits.  

But you didn't come here to read about toilets!  Perhaps you would like to know what I did on my summer vacation?  Mainly I read novels on the beach, occasionally becoming enthusiastic about building sandcastles and then going back to reading.  I drank a lot of beer with my father-in-law and also quite a bit of wine.  I read novels while my children swam in the pool, I swam with them, and went back to reading.  I ate a lot.  That pretty much sums things up.    



My favourite moment of the trip was this one.  Reading novels by the pool is fine and everything, but so much more fun to jump in.  The boys were swimming to me!  Both of them!  I am amazed at how quickly they learn swimming skills while just having fun with Mom and Dad.  Sigh.  Is it too much to ask for a pool in my backyard?  And hot weather to go with it?  Sigh. 



Oh, HAI.

Where, you may be wondering, have I been?  Or perhaps you were not wondering that at all.  In any case, I'm just back from a sunny vacation during which the following momentous events occurred: Jake went from a reluctant, life-jacket wearing child to one who jumped into the pool and swam across it without the assistance of floatation devices, I ate four tomatoes a day fresh from my mother-in-law's garden, the boys and I spent many hours honing our engineering skills with respect to sand sculptures, and I got, awkwardly enough, approached by my sister-in-law's swinging single male neighbour.  Sugar daddy!  Oh wait.  I think I already have one of those.

So it was a great vacation, and I even have a suntan.  I am also completely sapped from the drive home.  It is surprisingly energy consuming to sit in the passenger seat and hand out snacks for eight hours.  It is also energy consuming to listen with sympathy and interest to the various conversations coming at me from three different directions.  From Mark came incessant questions about the exact number of minutes until we would arrive at our destination, along with a near-constant commentary on the nature and names of the various bodies of water we were passing.  Jake alternated between playing and snacking quietly in his seat, and becoming filled with Hulk-like rage over sitting in his seat for hours.  My husband, in the tradition of the last thirteen years of our road trips together, and perhaps for even longer than that, released an irate barrage of curses on three types of drivers: the elderly, those driving motorhomes and/or trailers, and people from the prairies who drive twenty kilometers an hour below the speed limit on curvy roads, but insanely fast on straightaways and passing lanes so that passing was impossible.  God help us all if a driver happened to belong to all three catogories.  It is happy that he doesn't have voodoo dolls; if he did, drivers all along the TransCanada would suddenly have their eyes popping out of their heads or suffer instant heart failure. 

So what did I miss while I was away?  Tell me everything. xo