Chest Pains

We have so much to catch up on.

First, Adult Ballet part deux.
So I went for my shoe fitting. I was so excited that it was an actual fitting...only to discover that my foot is too large for the pink slippers. Yes, that's right, they don't make cute little pink ballet slippers for people with enormous feet. Wow. Not only do I stand out in class for my moves, but now I am fully the outcast with my BLACK slippers. Like I really needed to draw more attention to my feet?! This was a total bummer, considering that I signed up in the first place for the pink slippers. Alas, the show must go on!!

So I woke up Saturday morning with crazy chest pains. I mean, these were unlike anything I have ever experienced before. They were sharp and very deep. It never crossed my mind that this was actually a pulled muscle from my ballet class. Luckily I am one degree of separation from 3 medical professionals (yes, Missy, I'm including you in there!!) My Internet MD correctly diagnosed me. Of course, after the diagnosis it made sense that maybe I pulled a muscle in my ribs with my floor stretches--- the ones where I was incorrectly trying to align my core muscles with my hands over my head. Those being the stretches before the ones where I was practically kissing the studio floor. Suffice it to say, I had to sleep like a mummy because it all killed so much.

Now that I am in the correct ballet class (read INTRO), I am getting a bit more of a thick skin. I know this isn't entirely believable after I've written about my chest pains, but it's true.
The fact is, I walk into my ballet class through the same entry as some very little people with little pink ballet slipper knap sacks. The ballet school is for younger dancers, and the adult classes are just something they obviously offer because there are people like me who will sign up and pay for an hour and 15 minutes of humiliation. To optimize the humiliation of the INTRO dancers, there are glass window to see into every studio. Imagine my reaction when I realized that the parents and siblings of the little dancers like to congregate at the window of the adult classes to get a little chuckle. Make that big chuckle. At first I thought these people belonged to someone in the class. When I realized they were intruders, I literally wanted to shoo them away with a big broom. At this point in the class, I am actually there to learn something, and the snickers through the window were absolutely no help. I don't care that my timing was totally off and my alignment was all wrong...for that hour and a bit I am a dancer! Excuse me, I even bought a pair of leg warmers before my class this week! Can you not tell that I am wearing professional leg warmers with my black slippers?? And trust me, I won't be stopping with the leg warmers... a body suit and leotard are only a couple days away!!

Slippers, Pretzels and the Turkey

Turns out I will be wearing those cute little pink ballet slippers afterall. I have re-registered to the Intro class for next week. Here's hoping I can get those arm movements coordinated. Really, I just want to be able to wear the shoes. Oddly enough, I had a pair of ballet slippers when I was six or seven...funny though, how I never took a dance class. I will try my hardest, if I ever have a daughter, not to live out all my unfulfilled childhood dreams through her...though I already know she's going to play the violin, be a champion diver, ballet dancer and singer. The poor thing.

I'm eating myself happy today with a bag of Honey Mustard pretzels- they're the chubby kind, not the thin ones. Just discovered these yesterday...so good. They're made by 'Neal Brothers', and are totally delicious. I'm making up for the few hours I couldn't eat this morning. Nothing like catching up for lost time. I had to get some routine bloodwork done- and you have to fast for 14 hours prior. It's taken me practically a year to get the requisition filled because I can never go 14 hours without eating, even if you throw in a 10 hour sleep. Plus, who is all that eager to get a needle anyway?? It took a lot of planning for me to bypass the coffee this morning and actually make it to the doctor. I had an emergency snack supply in my purse just in case I felt faint after the needle. A bit paranoid, I think.

Okay, so I never did write about my Christmas Turkey. I was so impressed at how gorgeous she turned out- bronzed and glistening- until my husband alerted me to the fact that I cooked the turkey upside down! I had some serious palpitations when I looked at the picture in the cookbook to discover that, yes, indeed, the Christmas Turkey had a lovely golden back. Luckily, the breasts had been baking in some serious juice, and were quite succulent. Who knew that cooking the bird upside down would be the best mistake ever. Still, I don't think I'll be able to live that one down for a while.

Adult Ballet

pooh. feel like total pooh.
I just got back from my very first ballet class ever. My girlfriend and I wanted to take an adult ballet class together, so I signed us up this week for classes at the National Ballet School.
They have seven different levels, including Intro and Level 1. The girl on the phone at the school told me Level 1 was also for people who have had no previous dance experience- and the school's website pretty much said the same thing, so I signed us up for Level 1.... I think you know where this is going...

Fast forward to this evening. Arrive at class...everyone is in their leotard outside the room stretching. It's a total scene from 'Fame', minus Leroy. Me and my friend giggle that we're not stretching.
We enter the room and everyone gravitates toward the bar. Again, I'm like whooa, not going to pretend to stretch with the bar just yet. Then a woman enters the room and takes to the piano- we have our very own accompanist! What is going on here?
The instructor then signals for the class to begin- everyone to the bar. "First position...de la something....plie...5th position". Huh? I am madly following the girl in front of me.
The instructor notices that my friend and I are a little lost. She asks some questions and gets the low down that "no" we haven't had a ballet class before..blah...blah..blah.
Turns out the class is indeed Level 1, but they are in the second term of the class. These people have been together for an entire semester already and are picking up where they left off before Christmas. Hello? Like so embarrassing. I got signaled out enough in junior high, why do I have to relive the humiliation?
Anyway, the instructor said we could stay, so we did. I was dying to run out of the class the whole time. It was routine after routine. And then there was me, checking out the girl in front, madly trying to follow what was going on.
For a minute there I thought I was doing okay. Thought I had caught some moves. Feeling semi with it for someone who just joined the class. Then we had to do some jump routine individually. The HORROR! The instructor went around the room one by one. "Good. Good. Good. Yes. Good. Sort of. Good. Good. Good." Well, we know who I was, don't we?
Insert nervous giggle. Shake it off. Shake it off.
Back to the bar. All is good at the bar because I can hide behind someone and try to play copycat. The clock says we have another half hour. Can I just make some sort of dash for the door like I'm faint? In fact, I really do feel faint. What? We're going to jump in groups of three across the room with a hop and our arms coordinating with our hop? With everyone watching? Do I go last- or do I fit myself in the middle so the whole class isn't watching me fly across the room? The middle it is. Be sure to smile like you just don't care- cause you really do care and you know you are so not going to get that hop right.
I hopped and my arms were all wrong, and who knows what else. But I finished the class. And my back hurts and it was a little more than mildly humiliating...but at least the piano music was nice.

Merry Christmas!

The turkey is in the oven while I write this. It's my first. Despite being a little frightened by the turkey when I bought it, I was happy that I was able to embrace it during its preparations...though I was reminded when I placed it in the roasting pan that it was missing its head. Now I remember why I became a vegetarian way back when. I guess this isn't exactly the cute Christmas post I was planning.

So...the tree...again, my very own first. It's 9 feet tall, if you can believe it. We went to a random parking lot that had an RV and a ton of trees and picked her out fairly quickly. However, when my husband realized he wasn't going to be able to carry it home by himself, we did the next best thing and put the top down on the convertible on the only snowy day this year. We plopped the ol' tree in the back and rode off like Santa in his sleigh. It was pretty cute...too bad I didn't have the camera then!

So far all our Christmas events have been great. Our Christmas Eve service last night was quite moving. I cried for most of its duration...couldn't even get through Silent Night. Too bad I got 6 small packs of kleenex in my stocking today...

Feel quite spoiled. The Christmas bounty was plentiful...I think it's those stockings...they're always the best. Figure this will be one of the last years for all that kind of stuff. Once the kiddies come I get to spoil some more people...not that my kids are going to be spoiled or anything (easier said than done, right?)


The table is coming along. I found the cutest little place card holders. They also hold a single cut stem.


My feminine Christmas became dreamy when I opened up this tea cup from my mother-in-law. I had been eyeing it for some time, so it was very kind of her to put in a some serious leg work to find one for me in Toronto while she was still in Winnipeg. Hope the husband doesn't feel too smothered in pink and aqua yet!



Merry Christmas to my very loyal readers. I hope you're having a joyful celebration with your families as well.

Looking forward to writing a little more often in 2007...here's hoping I can keep that resolution.

Male Wardrobing

What is a wife's jurisdiction when it comes to her husband's wardrobe? At what point does a spouse's opinion invalidate one's sense of "creative expression" in their choice of attire?

I will start off by saying again that I love my husband and I appreciate his independent thinking. I rarely comment on his clothing, and have always felt that this was his domain, with a few minor exceptions. I don't usually give him any unsolicited advice in this area, nor do I buy him any clothing. In fact, he would prefer that I don't even do his laundry...he likes to wash everything in HOT water. All fine by me.

Now, when my husband comes home from work he likes to revert to his "house frau", which actually translates to his housewife clothing. Not sure I ever knew what that meant until today...but I digress. This usually consists of a flannel top c. 1980, some pants that are now floods, or in the summer, a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off (the last of which he is not allowed to even open the door in!). These are his comfy clothes. I have my own equivalent- usually with a lot of rips, holes or coffee stains (ewww). In fact, I have a drawer of clothes that I can't quite part with, that I would never wear outside my home, but make for a nice 2nd wardrobe indoors.

This brings us to our latest Saturday outing--furniture shopping. I am being honest when I say that even on our weekend outings I usually don't even say a word when the husband wears his frau outdoors (minus the sleeveless t). However, even before I saw him get ready, I shouted out something about "dressing up a little". No sooner did I say it, did he appear around the corner...in the exact outfit he was wearing unbuttoned to do the dishes in...plaid flannel shirt and all. He was literally stunned. What? Why? He even jokes about looking like he needs a toonie in this outfit, hello??

I really don't like making requests like this because I feel like it takes away some individual freedom- but frankly, aren't there some limits? Aren't there some articles of clothing that have had their day and now it's time to say goodbye? I've had to say goodbye to quite a few sweaters that I've worn into the ground-- the snickers got very loud. And it's one thing to hang out in your basement in whatever you please, but doesn't your spouse have some license to object to certain outfits for external appearances?? Don't they??

I remember my dad had this one flannel shirt with a pattern of hunters on it. It was khaki with all these men on horses with guns or something. We used to tease him back then, though I almost think it might be quite retro today. One day it went missing. It was no longer in his closet- and he suspected my mother threw it out. It really was an objectionable shirt back then, especially when you have three chirpie kids who were easily embarrassed. I'm not going to assume that my mother threw it out, because one never knows. But really, I wouldn't blame her. There have been a few corduroy shirts and multi colored sweat tops I've thought about hiding myself...but I am far from fearless!

So, are we allowed to have an opinion...and if so, how strong?

Self promoter or self demoter?

Are you the former or the latter?
I didn't have to think too hard on this one for myself- I am a serious self demoter...aside from the fact that I have a blog calling myself 'little miss domestic'. That's actually a bit of a joke, and a term of endearment my husband likes to call me when I do impressive stuff at home.
I feel quite uncomfortable promoting anything I do or have done. Although I wonder if I am a promoter of my "opinion" on things. Socially, I am often very self conscious. I analyze my interactions to death, never quite satisfied with things I've said, or maybe said too quickly. I can beat myself up for a good couple hours unnecessarily. Sometimes necessarily, but maybe only a couple minutes is all that is really required.
I had to ask myself the question about the promoter or demoter the other day, because I find myself attracted more to the demoter than the promoter. I had never really thought about this concept before, but I wondered why there were certain people who I was naturally drawn to, and others who for whatever reason made me feel uneasy. It wasn't that these "uneasy" people are anything but nice and sweet, there is just something about the way they talk that I don't find particularly intimate or vulnerable. I sincerely believe that this is just a very natural overflow of how they look at life- but I have a hard time making a connection. A bit of "self demotion" or reality talk (I'm not promoting false humility- just humility), is disarming.
I wonder if the demoters like myself are pessimists and the promoters are optimists? For the life of me, I can't say much about any self accomplishment without feeling fake, or puffed up...especially unsolicited. Occasionally when I do a good job at something I can tell my husband, or just be confident in that fact, but unless asked, I can't volunteer this kind of information. Maybe I project the image of a promoter to those who don't know me? I wouldn't know. Those closest to me would not agree, that's for sure.
I guess there is a balance somewhere...I certainly know that too much self demotion is not a healthy thing. It's not an easy habit to break though.

Ode to Kozy Shack

From down the aisle

You caught my eye

New and cute

Cinnamon and raisin

Rice pudding to delight

Gone in one sitting

Yes, a tub per day

dear kozy shack, dear kozy shack

you are delicious and sweet

too tempting a treat

week after week

tub after tub

I despair, it was too much

I had to cut back

No more of my dear kozy shack

And then there came another

She was, dare I say, almost better

Dutch chocolate pudding

A kozy shack sister

Velvety smooth, too hard to resist her

And here I am today

Embarrassed for my consumption

Dutch chocolate pudding

better than the rest

Dear Kozy shack, dear kozy shack

There is one serving left

I will save it for another

Do I leave it for my husband to discover?

If eat the rest, what will happen then?

Dear Kozy shack, dear Kozy shack

I am certain I’ll be banished to chateau chien