Towels and sheets and linens... oh my!

I have very vivid memories of my childhood.

One such memory is of being at the mall with my Mom, and dealing with (what I considered) the most horrid and tragic of boring shopping excursions: perusing the linen store.

Oh, the pure and utter vileness of it all. I absolutely dreaded the linen store. I remember my Mom would pull me inside, claiming that she just "wanted to take a quick look" while I was forced to stand around and wait.

The minutes seemed to drag on for hours as I stood next to her, loudly sighing and rolling my eyes in exasperation. What on earth could she enjoy about looking at towels? They're fuzzy, they come in a variety of colours, yes. But they're towels. That's it.

And sheets? Oh. Mah. Goodness. Don't get me started on the sheets! In my youthful perspective, there was not a single thing that was interesting about sheets.

And yet, my Mom seemed to love it. She would browse around, deep in thought, touching, picking up, and scrutinizing everything.

One day, when I could take it no longer, I asked my Mom to make me a promise. "Please, please, puh-LEASE Mom... just shoot me if I ever tell you that I find linens interesting one day, okay??"

Mom chuckled good-naturedly and decided to end my misery by leaving the store.

It wasn't until a few years ago, when registering for our wedding with my husband, that I recalled those moments with my Mom so many years ago. Wedding registry list in hand, I came across the towel section at the Bay.

I stopped for a moment... tentatively let my hand graze the Liz Claiborne selection. And then it hit me.

I loved towels.

From the giant bath towels to the cute little face cloths... even the matching hand towels... oh my goodness - were towels always like this?? The colours and the softness and the variety.

It was like a new world to me. I had discovered a new towel-loving reality that I never knew existed within me.

Perhaps I was more like my Mom than I realized. Perhaps I was just maturing. Or perhaps I hadn't given towels their due respect when I was a kid.

Whatever it was - one thing was certain. One day I would be inflicting my own child with the Linen Store Torture that I faced as a kid. And if he or she thinks loudly sighing and rolling their eyes will pull me away from the beauty of it all, well - they're going to be sadly mistaken.

I'm just not as patient as my Mom proved to be.

Trying to lay off the "woe is me" thing

My Facebook status for today:

"Hez thinks the only way my morning could possibly get worse is if someone were to shove my face into a pile of mud and then dance a jig on my back while laughing and pointing at me."

Yes, that just about sums up my lovely morning thus far.

As I type this, I'm sitting here with soaking wet jeans, drenched socks and shoes, a headache, cold fingers and I'm exhausted. (Walked to the train station today in a torrential downpour. Now I'm sitting in my office freezing.)

However - that's all the complaining I'm going to do. Because yesterday, I had a chance to chat with a coworker who I don't know all that well. And I learned a few interesting things that really made me think.

Among the things I learned about her was the fact that she's a single Mom, her own Mother recently passed away... and, each day, she has a 2 hour commute to and from work. So, when she leaves work around 5:30, she doesn't get home and get her son from the babysitter's until 7:30. Then she's got to make dinner and feed him, do homework with him, then get him to bed - THEN do a little of her own work at home sometimes. Then start all over again the next day.

So, in light of that, my soggy jeans aren't really that big of a deal. I lead a good life... sometimes I just need a reality check.

How I spend my weekends

Had some people over for a little shin-dig this weekend (even though I was still getting over being sick. You just can't stop the die-hard partier in me!)

Sadly, nobody brought cake. Which is probably a good thing. Cause this kind of stuff is known to happen...

First, the cake fight is all fun and games. Ah, the look of merriment

on my face... the pure joy is almost contagious.

Admiring my cake stains. I still appear to be amused at this point.

Suddenly, I realize that I really hate to see good cake go to waste.

Saddened by the wasting of cake. But still willing to pose for

the ever-important "Truce Photo".

These are my weekends, folks.

Head cold haiku

Sore throat and sore head

Not very happy at all

Going to bed now.

Is this wrong?

Okay. So I'm about to admit something here that is kinda shameful. It's not exactly politically correct. But if I can't tell you, dear Internet, then who the heck can I tell? This blog is supposed to be an outlet for all my inner thoughts and shit. Here it is.

I find stereotypes really funny.

Even the ones that aren't considered "polite" to find funny in this day and age. Like, the baaaaaad ones. (Shhhhhhhhh... don't let anyone hear you say it....)

Last night, I encountered one such stereotype in hot yoga. Let me tell you about it and after you've heard it, you can judge me and my political-incorrectedness.

So, I went to the yoga studio last night and saw the name of a new instructor when I signed in. It was Manoj. Didn't think much of it, since I live in Canada and all. Not exactly an unheard of name around these parts.

When I wandered into the class, I saw a very pretty Indian girl sitting at the front of the class. I assumed that was Manoj and she'd get started any minute.

But THEN, as I was mentally preparing myself for some good ol' downward facing dogs, the littlest Indian man walked into class. This guy was short and had THE SKINNIEST legs I've ever seen in my life. I am not exaggerating when I say his thigh was about the same size as my upper arm.

I watched him and his little head that carried a little pair of glasses on it, walk to the front of the class, sit down and instantly go all pretzel-like into the lotus position (where you sit cross-legged, but with both feet resting on your legs instead of the ground). He put his hands into prayer position and started talking to the class.

And all I could think was, "I've got Gandhi reincarnated as my yogi tonight!!!" He's GOT to go by Swami Something-or-other. Manoj must be his Canadian name.

Like, really? Could you get any MORE stereotypical? There's a little Indian man, that I could snap in two without breaking a sweat, all pretzel-like, up front in my yoga class. The only thing that would have made it better was if he sounded just like Gandhi (or, what I imagine Gandhi sounded like in my head).

So, I tried stifling a giggle and focusing on my breath, instead of Swami Manoj's skinny little legs and natural aptitude for bending into unnatural shapes.

And yes, I thought he was kinda funny. But I was also pretty darned impressed with his cobra.

So that makes me less politically incorrect... I think.

Run, Hezzie... RUN!

May is the month of races for me: Two half marathons. Two weeks apart from each other. Only 3 weeks until my first one.

(I will pause to allow this scary fact to actually SINK IN).

Ack!

Yesterday I ran my longest training run until the actual race. 20kms... bright and early in the morning. It took me longer than I would have liked... but then again, it's just a training run. And it was 20k!! (Not easy, I tell ya.)

Anyway, so I don't want to jinx things, and have been knocking on wood all over the place... but... I'm feeling good this year. (Last year? Was not so good. Had LOTS of leg pain. Was injured. Probably shouldn't have run the half marathon). But this year... I'm thinking I might actually be able to run, pain-free.

Everybody please knock on wood along with me now... *knockknockknockknock* and an extra *knock* for good measure.

We'll see how it goes. But, yeah. The running thing is making me feel pretty darn good about myself lately.

Last year's race bib. That's MRS. 3909 to you, bub.

Cuteness personified

I'm leaving for the company offsite soon (curling... getting drunk... yelling "HURRY HARRRRRD!!!" as loud as we can).

So... I don't have much time for a blog entry. Instead - I'd like you to try, just TRY, not to melt at the insane cuteness that is my little nephew.

"If I smile at Auntie Hez just like this, I'll get anything, ANYTHING I want from her for the rest of my life."
This kid, he's planning for the future. So smart.

OMG, that face. Would you look at that face? This guy has successfully mastered the art of wrapping me around his little, itty-bitty finger.