Movember Madness

Yesterday as I was driving the kids to school, Maneater came on the radio.  You know it's going to be a great day when Hall and Oates is on the radio! 

Oh oh here she comes.  Watch out, boys, she'll chew you up!  Oh oh here she comes.  She's a MANEATER.

Now THAT's what I call a moustache.  Is it me, or is anyone else relieved that this is the last day of Movember?  Don't get me wrong: I have a very personal connection to prostate cancer and so I am very happy at the funds and awareness that are raised every Movember, but nevertheless, I will not be unhappy to see clean shaven faces tomorrow.  All those moustaches are just so...startling.  It took me well into the month to get used to seeing men - who I see on a near-daily basis - sporting moustaches of various lengths and thicknesses.  The other day there was a news story on our hurricane-but-not-really-a-hurricane windstorm, and every single man interviewed was sporting a moustache.  I completely lost track of the story, I was so distracted by the moustaches.  I kept wondering if the interviewees were participating in Movember or if they had moustaches all the time.  I kept wondering if the moustaches were charitable, ironic, or earnest in nature.  I couldn't concentrate at all.

What is it about moustaches?  They have the ability - with the exception of Magnum, P.I. - to make any man look extraordinarily creepy.  They make normal men's faces into that which would bring to mind the warning "Do not approach".  They bring to mind "70's porn star" - although when I noted that recently, a Movember participant asked why and how I would be aware of that comparison, to which I respond get off your high horse.  There's no porn like 70's porn, and we all know it.  Also, regardless of porn, didn't everyone in the 70's have a moustache?  They were as common as gold medallions nestled in chest hair. 

Look!  Moustache, gold medallion, AND chest hair!  It's the trifecta!

It's funny how styles change.  These days, I associate moustaches with seedy criminals and/or a few select members of my extended family.  I'm not anti-facial hair.  I can pretty much get behind most facial hair styles, the exception being a soul patch, but moustaches?  They are the mom jeans of facial hair.

Okay, I'll grant an exception for this guy.  I'm posting this picture for my mom, who thinks he is the bee's knees.  What a fabulous daughter I am.  Even if I am now clinically insane from We Need A Little Christmas.

****Thanks to all the guys who participated in Movember, and thanks to all the people who donated to someone brave enough to make themselves look like a person who would make small children cry.  Prostate cancer research is important, and you've helped.  Thank you.****

Maybe we actually ARE in Kansas, Toto.

Yesterday I was driving my kids to their yoga class when I came into a standstill traffic jam.  As the 140 km/hour wind gusted around our minivan, I wondered if, perhaps, the insane weather had anything to do with it.  The question was answered as I finally manoevered past the firetruck filled with men cleaning up the streetlight that had blown over onto the very busy street.  Are we in Kansas, Toto? 

I nervously drove home past downed trees and signs only to hear news updates that a) the entire downtown core had been shut down since windows had blown out of two high rise office buildings, and b) police were urging everyone to stay indoors.  OKAY. 

In other words, it was the perfect day to spend the afternoon putting up the Christmas tree.

The day before we had put up the various decorations - my husband had taken advantage of a mild day a few weeks ago to put up the outdoor lights - but the children could not wait another DAY before putting up the tree.  And here's the thing about Christmas tree decorating with young children: while it is a wholesome, lovely, family activity, there are moments within the wholesome, lovely, family activity where I fear my head might explode.  Or something.  Because I answered "Not yet, lovey" approximately one thousand times in response to the question "Can we start decorating yet?" while I held a giant string of lights for my husband to very exactly wind around the tree.  Once the lights were just so, I let the kids loose on the decorations, to the detriment of a couple of them; nothing, however, that glue wouldn't fix.  Things started to spin out of control as little wire hooks got lost, (fortunately) shatterproof balls bounced on the hardwood, and the dog flopped sadly in front of the tree, his spirit apparently broken by the upheaval and change in his life.  There's a tree.  In the corner.  And the table moved.

The result, of course, is that we have a very Christmassy house, and two boys who will not stop talking about the tree.  Which is cute, of course, but a little tiring.  "Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom what's your favourite decoration Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom?  Let me show you what mine is.  Mom?  Mom?"

Mark was super excited about decorating.  I was slightly worried he would spin off the planet.  I was also worried if he stepped outside he would spin and blow off the planet.  See that little snowman and tree on the coffee table behind him?  My mother gave that to the boys last year.  It plays "We Need A Little Christmas".  Is it possible my mother hates me?

Jake put every single one of his favourite decorations on three adjacent branches, including the one he made in kindergarten featuring him in a Santa hat.  Sadly, some of the decorations keep slipping off the overweighted branches, but I don't have the heart to move them.  He wanted them all to be together, so they wouldn't be lonely.

Every year I buy an ornament that represents something we did this year.  Since we went to Disneyland, I bought a Buzz Lightyear-and-Woody-in-a-stocking ornament.  "Everyone loves Woody!" Mark said happily.  Hehehe.  Woody.  Remember Mark's obsession with beavers, and his stuffed animal named Beavery?  Jake has, apparently, caught beaver fever, as he received a large - very large - stuffed beaver for his birthday.  He named it Woody.  I love when the boys play so nicely and calmly together with their stuffies, especially when they talk about how much Woody loves Beavery.  I bet he does.  I just bet he does.

Don't they look like they just calmly spent the afternoon sitting serenely by the Christmas tree, playing quiet card games?  As opposed to spastically running around the house, shrieking about Christmas?

These are a few of my favourite things

Every year, my very lovely friend Beck writes a satirical review of all the items on Oprah's Favourite Things For The Holidays.  It's one of MY favourite things, reading her review.  This year, she did not stop there, no, not Beck.  She instead created her very own dream team of bloggers to write about their own favourite things - a Christmas Gift List.  Guess who is on that team?  ME.  So go on over to Beck's blog and check out what I want for Christmas (and no, I did not say "world peace" or "an end to hunger".  Those are implied.)

A little note about the beautiful Beck: she is one of the reasons I started this blog.  Way, way back in the day, I was inspired by her very funny, very beautiful, very thought-provoking writing.  I started my blog, very shyly and quietly, and she was the very first person ever to comment on it.  Her support spurred me on, and here we are today.  409 posts and counting.  Beck and I are now friends, even if we are long-distance ones, and one of these days we are going to get drunk on wine together, wear black sweaters, and blog all about it.  xoxo Beck.

Enough mushiness!  Go over to Beck's and read the gift posts - there are many talented writers over there and I am honoured to be one of them.

PSA: Don't be a dick.

Do you remember back in the day when you were trying to get pregnant, and it wasn't happening very quickly, and everyone you knew was getting pregnant, and you were sad and frustrated and felt like stabbing every single person who asked "So when are you going to have a baby?" or who carefully examined what you were drinking to see if it contained alcohol or who had some unsolicited advice about getting pregnant or who said things like "You're not pregnant yet?  Can't wait forever!  Tick tock tick tock!"?  Remember that?  I know it wasn't just me. 

I was reminded of this the other day and here is my public service announcement of the day: It's really fucking insensitive to ask a woman of childbearing age about their fertility.  So don't ask.  Related PSA: Don't be a dick.  Actually, that should be a lifelong public service announcement. 

Segueing from PSA's to PDA's, yesterday I went to pick the boys up from lunch and a friend quickly walked over to me in the playground, asking if I noticed the teenagers on the hill behind the school.  There, lying on top of each other on the frozen ground, were two teenagers passionately making out and, um, grinding.  Soon the two of us were joined by three other mothers picking up their kids; the five of us staring at the oblivious couple.  Aw!  Young love.  It reminded me of that day last summer when a young couple started making out passionately in front of my house, groping each other eagerly.  The guy made it to second base.  Sometimes it just can't wait, I guess.  

Following the advice of several people, I decided to check out Staples in my seemingly endless quest for Christmas printer paper.  I should note that this is NOT a sponsored post, but maybe it should be because even though prior to Monday I had never set foot in Staples and now I am a little bit in love with it.  This is what I saw as I entered the parking lot.

Do you think it is NOW available due to my whining?  Probably NOT but I will take the credit anyway.  I walked into Staples and - as usually happens when I'm in a new and large store - I felt completely overwhelmed.  I stood for nearly five minutes looking around, wandering into one of the aisles, having no idea where to look or what to do.  It's almost like I'm practicing to be a senior citizen.  What's that?  Where is the paper?  The pretty paper?  No, not THAT paper.  The only thing worse would be going into Future Shop or something like that.  Five minutes in Future Shop makes me want to huddle in a corner in the fetal position, crying and rocking back and forth.  Finally, a super friendly guy with the biggest smile ever asked if I needed assistance.  How could he tell?  He directed me to a display that was almost right in front of me. 

Squee!  Not only was there a large selection, but there were also pretty little seals in the shapes of snowflakes and seasonal address labels!  I finished my shopping on the weekend, but I could not resist what was in front of me: 

Angry Bird stuffies!  Thanks to my husband and his new iPad, the boys (and my husband himself) are now into Angry Birds.  The three of them played it together for much of the weekend while I re-read Sense and Sensibility.  It is exactly like what I thought life would be like when I had two boys.  The three of them play a video game, I do something girly.  Maybe on the upcoming weekend they will play it and I can give myself a pedicure or something.  Anyway, I thought these would make cute stocking stuffers.  Then I saw the cutest little snowman Pez dispensers with a really excessive amount of Pez refills:

They needed a home too.  Clearly the boys' stockings are going to be VERY WELL STUFFED.  Then - then, OMG - I saw something that I am hoarding just for me:

Peppermint Lindor!  These are really, really hard to find, in my part of the world anyway.  They are EVEN BETTER than After Eights.  They are even better than frozen York patties.  They are even better than Swistle's Died-And-Gone-To-Heaven-Mint-Chocolate-Brownies.  They are the G-spot-orgasm-plus-he-gave-me-a foot-massage-and-unloaded-the-dishwasher of mint chocolate.  I bought the above three boxes but I would have bought the whole damn display if I knew where the carts were kept.  However, as it was I had items slipping out of my arms every time I took a step, so I limited it to three.  I don't care what Kate Moss says, peppermint Lindor taste WAY better than skinny feels.

Yes, John Cusack too.

Okay, okay.  I wrote my last post and then had an avalanche of people ask me WHY John Cusack wasn't included.  Even my husband - my husband! - read the post and asked why John Cusack wasn't on the list.  Here's the truth: I forgot about poor John Cusack.  Poor Lloyd Dobler.  I blame the book fair. 

There.  Now I feel better.

As of Saturday, I am officially finished my Christmas shopping - including stocking stuffers and the photo calendars we order for the grandparents and various others who I think need to look at a photo of my children every single day.  Look at them!  They are adorable!   I normally try to get my shopping done by mid-November for the simple reason that I loathe the mall, especially at Christmas.  All those people shopping for Christmas cheer that have a decided lack of it, who would drive over their own grandmother for a parking space.  I like to keep my festive happiness intact, and so I finish my shopping early.  This does not mean that I won't be visiting Staples today, in an attempt to find the elusive Christmas-themed printer paper.  Why is it so difficult to find?  Nan not-so-gently suggested that perhaps I am having a difficult time finding it because it is no longer 1996.  Oh Nan!  But how am I to send out my annual super boring Christmas letter if I have no Christmas themed paper?  My relatives and in-laws depend on my super boring updates.  Must I write them on plain paper?  Must I draw my own poinsettias?  This is wrong on many levels.  BRING BACK THE CHRISTMAS PRINTER PAPER.

Speaking of shopping, this morning I was in the grocery store and it is a miracle I made it back alive.  I knew I was in trouble when I was choosing a cart and a busload of old women swanned in.  I live in a senior-heavy neighbourhood, and once in a while there will be a little shuttle bus bringing people - women, mostly - from the seniors complex to do their grocery shopping.  This is not a good day to be in the grocery store.  The aisles were crowded with very slow moving old ladies carefully looking at the different types of baked beans (more than usual), complaining about the lack of mandarin oranges, and crowding the deli counter looking for a particular type of ham.  Sadly, there was only one checkout open, and the lineup of old ladies behind me was quite long.  The old lady directly behind me persisted in pushing her cart into the back of my legs, causing me to develop a severe case of grocery store rage.  Push.  Push.  Push.  I could hear her complain, as I unloaded my perfectly-reasonable amount of groceries, about the fact that the bus driver would be back at ten o'clock, and she would never make it out of the lineup on time, due to my excessive number of items.  I glanced at my watch.  It was 9:35.

I remember my grandma being like that as well.  Once when we were visiting, my brother and I were supposed to take her to church, which was directly across the street from her seniors complex.  And by directly across the street, I mean that it was a two minute walk away, at the very maximum.  My brother and I showed up at her building thirty minutes before church was to start, only to find her sitting in the lobby, steaming.  "We're going to be LATE," she reprimanded us. 

I briefly considered letting the old lady go ahead of me, as I often do.  However, a) she was with a gaggle of other old ladies, and I didn't really want to let five of them go ahead of me, and b) I was seriously irritated with the fact that she was still repeatedly, but possibly unwittingly, pushing her cart into the back of my legs.  However, karma hit me right in the face when the very slow witted but super chatty carryout guy started to bag my groceries.  I took a deep breath and braced myself for the usual onslaught of chat, and it exactly covered the topics I expected: my children and their school, the cold weather on the weekend, and Stampede Wrestling.  My status with the slow witted carryout guy is quite high since I once told him that I know a former Stampede Wrestler.  It's a rarefied existence I lead.

Nicole's 10 Sexiest Men Alive List, or the post where I shamelessly objectify males

The book fair is finished now, much to my relief.  By the end of it I pretty much hated children, a sentiment not unlike the one I used to get when I waitressed in university and would, after working a certain number of shifts in a row, hate the entire human race.  By the end of that certain number of shifts, I burned with internal fury.  You don't care for those choices of salad dressing?  FUCK YOU.  You think that an appropriate way to get my attention is to pat me on the butt?  I SHALL NOW STAB YOU WITH YOUR STEAK KNIFE.

Not that I wanted to stab any children with a pencil in the shape of a paintbrush, mind you, but I was fairly tired of explaining that yes, $7 is indeed greater than $5, and no, $0.50 is not the same as $5.  We ended up raising significant funds for the library, and next to that, the fact that my sanity and nerves were shreds of their normal selves is nothing.  Right? 

Apparently People magazine came up with their "Sexiest Men Alive" list and though I haven't read it or even know who is on the list, I decided - because all the cool kids are doing it - to make my own list!  At first I was going to top the list with my husband, because he really is one sexy guy.  Hoo boy, do I have a sexy husband.  But then I thought that would be boring and lame because who really wants to read a lusty letter to my shmoopie?  Also, saying that MY HUSBAND is the sexiest man would make me like one of those people who say that all they want for Christmas is world peace and an end to hunger.  Those people are assholes: a) we ALL want world peace and an end to hunger, and b) saying that makes the listener feel like a selfish idiot for saying that they are wishing for a Pandora bracelet.

A note about my own personal taste: I heard recently (from a source I cannot remember, if you know, can you help me out?) that if there were Hooters-style restaurants for women, they would contain men walking around in business suits flashing their perfect credit scores.  I heard that and thought YES.  You are speaking to me.  Another note: I have a shameless tendency to objectify actors.  I tend to be attracted to the character they are playing, well aware that they may be complete asses in real life.  I do not care about real life.  I care about how sexy they are playing a particular character.  I don't want to get to know them, I just want to fantasize. 

Without further adieu, here is my list of Nicole's 10 Sexiest Men Alive:

10. Jonathan Crombie

Who is that, you may ask?  He was my first crush; he played Gilbert on the CBC production of Anne of Green Gables.  I was ravenous for the Anne books, and when the CBC aired the television special, I very carefully taped it and watched the VHS recording many times after that.  I wish I still had that VHS - not that I have a machine that would allow me to view it - but it must have some awesome mid-eighties Canadian Tire commercials.  You can give like Santa, and save like Scrooge.  I actually only included him in solidary with Hannah who had Almanzo Wilder on her list, but it turns out he actually evolved into a very attractive man:

  

Hey Gilbert, I have (artificially) red hair.  Want to call me Carrots?

9. Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy

Mr. Darcy is - by far - the sexiest man in literature.  Possibly this is due to his massive wealth and aloofness, who knows.  All I know is I swoon when he can bear it no longer, he must tell Elizabeth how much he loves and admires her, and Colin Firth brings it to life, baby. 

8. Gabriel Byrne

When I went to see Little Women - in the theatre! - I was absolutely enamoured with Professor Bhaer.  He is bringing sexy back in an impoverished German professor kind of way.  Normally I don't find poverty attractive, but when he sneaks Jo into the opera and then translates....rawr. 

7. Christian Bale

Again with the Little Women reference, Christian Bale is very saucy as Laurie.  And, although I've always wanted to be a Jo, the reality is I am probably a less-artistic Amy.  Also, Christian Bale is Batman.  BATMAN!  The superhero who is actually a highly trained martial artist, and a billionaire.  Sign me up.

6. Eric Dane

Doctor, doctor, give me the news.  Whenever I watch this with my husband, I say "Ooooh, Dr. Sloan.", and my husband, who is a very confident man, says "Damn, he's a good looking guy."  Yes, he is.  Yes, he really is.  He is also much sexier with grey hair and a beard. 

5. Ralph Fiennes in The English Patient

Ralph Fiennes is so sexy he is explosive as Count de Almasy.  Remember when he gets all drunk and dances all intensely with Mrs. Clifton, or when they have sex in the closet?  It just doesn't get hotter than that.  He would be horrible to have a relationship with, as I've discussed before, but who cares about that?  We don't have the Sexiest Men Alive list to think about them taking out the garbage, now, do we? 

Look at him!  He has been walking.  For three days.

4. Val Kilmer as Ice

"That's how he flies.  Cold as ice, no mistakes."

He's also pretty hot all oiled up while playing volleyball.

3. Hugh Jackman

I think Hugh Jackman is sexy in every role I have ever seen him in.  I wouldn't mind seeing his Reel Steel, if you know what I mean.  But I think he is the best as Wolverine.  Or really, the guy who turns into Wolverine.  He's a tough Northern Canadian guy who has claws coming out of his knuckles!  How sexy is that?

The lady will have two tickets to the gun show.

2. Ray Lewis

Let's take a break from actors for a moment to focus on professional athletes.  RAY LEWIS.  His intensity and physical stature are breathtaking.  Can you imagine if this passion for football took place in other areas?  HOO BOY.

Now, anyone who has been reading my blog for any length of time should be able to guess my number one sexiest man alive (other than my husband).  Drum roll....

1. Jim Cuddy

That voice!  That talent!  "Oh, she loved the lines around his mouth." 

She also loved the fact that he very patiently posed with the fan who did a frantic run-walk, new acquaintance in tow, to ask for a photo.  I'm not a stalker!  I swear!  But I lurrrrrve you.

LIVE IN THE NOW, Oil of Oregano, Lots of Links

I have a little something something up at the Yummy Mummy Club - and I would be so happy if you popped over there to read it.  If you were so inclined to leave a comment, I would be VERY happy.  xo

I wrote all about living in the moment and enjoying the present, which I think is a very important thing to do.  I also think of - get ready for a dated reference here, people - Wayne's World.  Remember the scene when Wayne visits a guitar store and looks longingly and lustily at a very expensive guitar ("Excalibur") and Garth freaks out: "Stop torturing yourself, man.  You'll never afford it.  LIVE IN THE NOW!"

I also have a lovely recipe for gingersnaps up at my cooking blog. These are my husband's favourites, and I baked a batch last week, despite the fact that I normally only bake these around Christmastime.  Yesterday, he went out to run errands and came home with an iPhone!  For me!  I highly recommend you bake these cookies.  You never know what could happen.  They are magic!

How was your weekend?  I had an amazingly productive one: hair was cut and coloured, Christmas shopping was nearly completed, much writing was done, photos were chosen for the annual calendar given to the grandparents, dinner with my girlfriends was consumed, Christmas lights were hung, a jack and impact gun were purchased and the snow tires put on the minivan.  Full disclosure: the Christmas lights and tire change were NOT done by me, obviously, but they are DONE.  Then, Sunday morning I woke up with a sore throat, headache, and general fatigue and lethargy that did not bode well for the busy week I have coming up - a week of running the school book fair. 

I jumped into action.  I took oil of oregano several times, which was extremely unpleasant and probably ranks in the top five worst tastes ever.  I drank Vitamin C drinks, I ate two giant slices of chocolate zucchini bread (file under "Feed a Cold"), I swallowed a few spoonfuls of honey, I took Tylenol Cold Nighttime Relief and went to bed at 8:45.  I woke up eleven hours later feeling, if not 100%, much, much better.  I feel like patenting this combination for my very own "nip it in the bud" prescription.  I have a feeling that the eleven hours of sleep probably counted for more than the other home remedy/ over the counter/ homeopathic antidotes, but I hope that the oil of oregano did something.  I would hate to think I took that horrible stuff to no purpose. 

And now I am off to set up the book fair.  I wonder if there will be much Justin Bieber paraphernalia, or will his possible thirty-seconds-of-action-leading-to-a-lifetime-of-paternity-allegedly indicate the demise of those "Future Mrs. Bieber" stickers?

Red Poppies

Every November, I wear a red poppy.  I believe in peace, I believe in diplomacy, but I also believe that the world and its problems are coloured in shades of grey, and so I do not wear a white poppy.

I am a peaceful person.  I believe that I promote peace, understanding, and compassion in my everyday life.  Wearing a red poppy does not indicate anti-peace or pro-war sentiments.  It does not indicate political leanings or beliefs.  It indicates respect; respect for the veterans, respect for the peacekeepers, respect for Canada as a peacekeeping, diplomatic nation. 

I wear a red poppy because I have respect for those who believe in something so strongly they are willing to sacrifice everything for it.  A friend of my husband's has served in Afghanistan.  He truly believes that the Canadian presence there is making a difference.  I may or may not agree with the politics, I may or may not agree with the decision to send troops to Afghanistan, but I respect the fact that there are people who truly believe that they are helping to end a ghastly regime and to rebuild a country.  Who am I to say that they are wrong, sitting in my comfortable, warm house with enough to eat and with healthy, strong children?  Who am I to judge what they are doing when I live a life of ease and happiness?

I wear a red poppy because I have respect for the old men with red-rimmed eyes standing at attention in their uniforms.  These men have seen things that I cannot even imagine.  They followed their sense of duty and served in ways that are obscenely horrific.  There is no glory, no glamour, in war.

I wear a red poppy to show respect to the mothers of the fallen.  I have two sons.  I live a charmed life.  I know that if I lived in another era perhaps my sons would be drafted.  Maybe I would end up with no sons, or maybe they would come home to me, irreparably damaged.  When I see a veteran license plate, I think of the mother who cried with joy when her child came home.

In November I wear a red poppy.

Boring, Useless, Who-Gives-A-Shit Information

Many, many years ago, before my mother-in-law discovered email and all the associated animated emoticons that could be utilized therein, she used to send me actual written letters, usually accompanied by a piece of knitting she had been doing - the knitted dishclothes I prefer, for example.  In one such letter she had written all about her daily doings for about four pages, then abruptly concluded with the line "Well, that's enough boring, useless, who-gives-a-shit information for today."  It's something that still makes me smile, and I often mentally refer to certain things as such: boring, useless, who-gives-a-shit information. 

That is how I feel about reality television.  I never watch it, except for sporadic episodes of American Idol and, although I am loathe to admit it, The Bachelor.  I don't watch much television but when I do it is what I like to think of as escapist television; comedies such as Parks and Recreation, for example, or Modern Family.  Serious television programs don't interest me much unless they involve Sipowicz threatening to beat down a perp to give himself up or Dr. Sloan doing anything at all.  If Dr. Sloan took to the airwaves reading a copy of Today's Parent, I would avidly watch it. 

As an aside, I'm quoted a few times in this month's Today's Parent, on the joys and pitfalls of stay-at-home parenting.  Also as an aside, the other day I mentioned that I was a stay at home mom, and received the huffy response "It must be nice to be able to afford such a luxury."  I was  a bit taken aback by the resentful and bitter tone.  I never know how to respond to such.  It IS nice, actually.

Anyway, back to reality television.  I don't watch it and I most certainly do not find it tempting to watch, especially if the program involves a) children, b) domestic chaos, or c) dysfunctional families.  I have my own children, I have access to my own domestic chaos, and if I want to see a dysfunctional family I will go to my next family reunion.  And so I've never watched the program that features the Duggar family and their very large brood, but I am aware that there is another bun in the oven, so to speak.  I'm aware of this somewhat against my will, since it is all over the news and, relatedly, all over Facebook.  In fact, someone posted this picture just the other day:

Oh, ha ha.  Good one.  Except for a few little things: a) a clown car involves all the clowns being in there at the same time, which is clearly not the case given the wide range of ages, and b) the more correct terminology would be the UTERUS, not the vagina.  Even if the children were all clustered in this poor woman's body at the same time, they would not be stuck in her vagina.  They would be in her uterus.  But it does not matter, it is an incorrect comparison anyway. 

I really couldn't care less how many children other people have - I maxed out on two but I'm well aware that everyone is different when it comes to ideal family sizes.  However, when I did hear that this woman has birthed nineteen (soon to be twenty) children, the first thing that came into my head was "Wow, her poor vagina!"  I mean, there are not enough Kegels in the world, if you know what I'm saying.  Which brings me to a funny story.

When I was pregnant with Mark, I worked on a natural gas trading floor in a group of men.  It was an open environment which meant that I often had someone standing behind me, peering at my computer screen.  Since I was pregnant, I had a bit of concern about the impending birth and the subsequent effect it would have on my delicate feminine essence, let's say.  So I put "Kegel Exercises" into my scheduler and twice a day a little reminder would pop up on my screen, after which I would dutifully perform them.  One day a young male colleague and I were working together, and, predictably, my reminder popped up on the screen.  I clicked "DISMISS" quickly, but not quickly enough, as his face turned red and he suddenly needed to get something from his desk, right now.

I wonder if he could tell I was already doing them.

Knowing Me, Knowing You, The Time Change Edition

With clock-like consistency, there are two times of the year that get me excessively agitated and stabby, and those times are the "Spring Forward" and "Fall Back" atrocities known as Daylight Saving-related time changes.  I may have mentioned this before.  I'm not going to bore you with the details, but I will say that, as I age, I myself seem to be more affected by this.  For example, I woke up at 3:30 this morning thinking that it was time to head over to the yoga studio.  I think my stomach is currently in danger of digesting itself, and it's only 11:00.  My brain is a liquidy mess.  I can't wait until I slip into a coma at 6:30 tonight - after it's been dark for two hours, and I certainly can't wait for the excitement of having two highly exhausted children at that time, when we will still need to finish our home reading and tidy up our rooms.  It's going to be great!

Just pick a fucking time and stick with it, people.  Time change is an antiquated notion.  Let's move on.

So as my brain liquifies and I sip my fourth cup of coffee, let's play a game of Knowing Me Knowing You, shall we?  I picked up this meme from my very good non-lesbian-life-partner-she's-just-a-friend Allison over at Bibliomama.  Play along - it's fun!

1. What keeps you up late at night?
Oh, ha ha, this is such a funny question!  Nothing.  I have trouble falling asleep very rarely, and when I do it's due to something ridiculously stupid like the guy who came to one School Council/ Parent Association meeting and raved about busing fees and the school naturalization area, but who actually did not want any involvement with the Parent Association because he is way "too busy".  That guy irritated me so much I stayed awake until AFTER TEN O'CLOCK.  Travesty.  

2. Do you collect anything?
I have a lot of books, but I'm not sure I would say I collect them.  Clothes?  Yoga wear?  Boots?  At last count I have 10 pairs of black boots, and here is a (partial) look inside my closet:

My yoga clothes - sadly, I am doing laundry right now and so this is much neater and less crammed than usual.  Also note: I have a cowboy hat on my top shelf.  This is what living in Calgary does to you, people.

My sweater "drawer".

My "drawer" dedicated to t-shirts of the long and short sleeved variety.

So I'm not sure if I can say I have a "collection", but my husband would say that I have issues with clothing.  Hey, you can never have enough black tops and sweaters, am I right?

3. Are you addicted to Angry Birds?
I barely know what Angry Birds IS.  I have a flip phone.  I don't even have voice mail on it.

4. What's your idea of a perfect evening?
At the risk of sounding VERY lame, I love spending the evening on the couch, drinking wine and eating something made with cheese, and watching reruns of NYPD Blue.  Or Jeopardy.  I am so much fun to live with!

5. Are you looking forward to winter?
I live in Calgary.  It's winter right now.  NO.  I like to be warm.  But at least the winter gives me an excuse to procure more black sweaters and boots. 

Here Comes Santa Claus!

It's snowing right now, big huge flakes that are sending the city into a panic, traffic-wise, as always happens for the first serious snowfall.  DRIVE SLOW, HOMEY.  I should be more irritated with the snow, but it gives me an excuse to stay home and drink hot beverages, rather than take a trip to the leaf-and-pumpkin recycling depot.  The pumpkins have been sitting on our steps for weeks now.  They are probably disgustingly soft and mouldy, but I do not have the heart to bag them up, so I think I will leave them for my husband tomorrow.  It seems more like - not to be anti-feminist or anything here - a blue job, you know?  I was talking to Allison the other day and we decided that we would be the worst lesbian couple ever, given both our lack of talents in vehicle maintenance and ability to find the fuse box.  The latter is just Allison, I for one know exactly where my fuse box is located.  But I have been known to burst into uncontrollable tears when the "low washer fluid" light has come on.  Sorry, Allison, we are JUST going to be friends.

So instead of bagging up the disgusting pumpkins, I'm drinking a warming cup of tea.  I purchased a package of Yogi brand tea - because I'm pretentious like that - without realizing that there is the added bonus of an inspirational saying on each teabag!  Today's saying: To love is to live for each other.  Actually, that's kind of nice.  I can't really say anything about that.  But yesterday the saying was Let your mind dance with your body.  I think my mind is doing the white-man's overbite.

On November 1st, I started feeling excessively festive and dug through my drawers until I could find my special green pajamas with reindeer imprinted on.  Then I did some Christmas shopping, culminating with a trip to the post office/ Hallmark store yesterday.  I had to pick up a package anyway, but I thought I would get a head start on my annual Christmas letter.  I asked the man working there if they carried any Christmas stationary.  "WHAT?" he asked, frowning.  I explained to him what I was looking for - printer paper, with a Christmas or winter-like motif.  "No." he said, shaking his head in a very disapproving way.  "No, we don't have that.  And I don't know anyone who would."  O-kay.  I went back over the conversation in my head, wondering if I had accidentally asked for something completely obscene and inappropriate, like maybe an inflatable Santa Claus complete with erection.  No.  I had just asked for Christmas paper. 

Then I went to pick up my package and asked the woman at the post office counter if I could purchase Christmas stamps.  "Christmas stamps?  No.  They are not AVAILABLE yet." she said, looking at me like I was maybe the most insane person ever.  I guess she and the other guy were in cahoots?  I don't know.  People, I was in a Hallmark store.  Three-quarters of the place was filled with Christmas-related items and probably had been for the past three weeks.  I don't think asking for Christmas stamps was THAT strange.  But maybe it was.  Maybe it was.

My 400th Post!

This is my 400th post!  Four hundred posts!  I certainly have had a LOT to say.  Maybe I should start writing something meaningful, like those people who spout nothing but inspirational sayings.  After all, the other day I was having a cup of Yogi brand tea, and on the teabag it said "The only tool you need is kindness."  I thought this was beautiful, somewhat flawed, and also Ha!  You said Tool!  So maybe I have not evolved enough to the point where I will be writing and/or quoting inspirational sayings.  Although, here is a lovely quote from the painter Bob Ross:

"Just a little bush, and here's another one. This one hangs right over the edge of the cabin. He's watching everything … make up little stories about the plants and think about the little creatures that would live in here. There's probably all kinds of little squirrels and rabbits and just a multitude of things that you may never see, but they're here. They're here …"

Again, maybe I'll just stick with my regular programming.

Here we are in November, with the excitement of Halloween behind us.  The kids went out trick-or-treating with their dad, and came back with an enormous haul of candy.  Do you have rules about candy consumption?  When it comes to Halloween, what works for us is the tried-and-true rule that there are no rules, also known as gluttony is self-regulating.  I essentially let my kids go to town on their candy and I find that within a couple of days they are not interested in it.  The problem is, we often have Halloween candy last us until Easter.  I am going to follow in the footsteps of some of my friends and freeze the little chocolate bars and/or chop them up for baking.  I also encourage the spirit of giving and sharing with others, which is how my friend ended up with those horrid little toffees that only she likes.  "Are these the gross candies she likes?" Mark said, holding up the orange and black wrapped toffees.  "Let's put them in a special pile!" Jake encouraged him.  Also on the way out: Cheezies for their grandpa and for a friend with Celiac, plain potato chips for their teacher, and Wunderbars for their dad.

Check out our spooky decorations!  They managed to lure in eleven trick-or-treaters, which is high for our street. 

Jake with his booty.  Am I the only one who kind of dislikes when the kids get miniature Play-Doh?  Also, notice that Jake got Old Dutch Salt and Vinegar chips and I DID NOT steal them.  I think I deserve a reward.  He also got one of these: 

It's a hard-core Christian tract!  Hey, I don't have a problem if someone has a good relationship with old JC, but I WAS a little startled to find this in the candy bag.  Also I am dying of curiosity as to which neighbour was handing these out. 

I was at my parents' house on the weekend and made off with some old pictures, notably of me in Halloween costumes.  Here is me at age six dressed as a gypsy:

Check out the crock pot and mug tree in the background!  Not to mention the dark brown fridge.  Remember the days of making costumes out of household items and ending up as a gypsy or, in the case of my husband, a hobo?  The days of dressing up festively as itinerant fortune tellers and/or the homeless are gone, I guess.  Gone with the days of having ceramic frogs to hold SOS pads.

This is the first year I have ever purchased a costume for my children.  Normally, my mother - who is handy with the needle, whereas I am decidedly NOT - makes them, but I felt kind of sorry for her with Jake's request to be Spider Monkey from Ben 10, and so I bought them.  It felt a bit like the end of an era.  

Here are the boys trick-or-treating together for the very first time.  They are one and two years old.  CUTE. 

How was your Halloween?