tollipop

looking for narnia

 
Dear reader, do you ever go looking for Narnia?  Do you ever think there must be a wardrobe door waiting somewhere, just for you?

 
And what if you found it and climbed inside, past all the musty smells and thick winter coats, until gradually the coats began to feel like pine needles brushing against your face, and the air would feel crisp, clear, and cold?

 
And something about the place would stir your heart and make you feel there's a bit of magic in the world, after all?

 
You might wonder at how still and lonely it is in this ancient place.  How very quietly the snow is falling. 

 
And yet, it doesn't seem as if you are all alone.  Such curious, frozen statues!  And the tracks of a faun on the pathway tell you perhaps there's a friend in the distance, waiting to say hello.

happy trails

 
Dear reader, I know I'm talking a lot about running these days.  And I feel I should offer this brief caveat in the event you are actually paying attention to what I say: I am no expert on the subject. 

The death squad constantly showers me with offers of training programs and diets and ways to turn your soul into a horcrux.  But I will probably never take them up on these offers for the simple fact they are too complicated. 

You know?

I just want to get out there and run.  I don't want to measure BMI's or BMR's or detect the difference between a 8:30 minute mile and an 8:33 minute mile.  As it happens, running has been distilled into quite the science these days.  Some of it seems pretty quacky, some of it is no doubt solid.

But for me, it is simply too much information.  My frail mind has demonstrated its inability to follow even the most basic of recipes in the kitchen time and time again.  So when someone starts chatting me up about oxygen levels, distance vs. speed training, and how you can split your soul into a thousand tiny pieces and hide them beneath rocks in the desert, I don't want to be rude, but...my mind starts to wander.

Good thing there's one demographic out there who is completely fascinated by the death squad.

The death squad. 

At any rate, I went back out for another trail run yesterday.  And this time I decided I would take the advice of the death squad and attempt some intervals. 

In case you didn't know, the basic concept of an interval is this: when you're standing on top of a hill, yet not quite sharp enough to register that fact, you go down and run back up again just to make sure.

As I was in the process of this elite training maneuver, just as I was nearing the bottom of the hill and preparing to turn around, I crossed paths with two hikers coming up the trail.  Not wanting it to seem awkward when I ran past them, I informed them of my plans with the admonition not to think it was weird. 

They nodded, probably thinking I was already off my rocker.

But the best part was when I charged by a few moments later and one of the hikers loudly exclaimed, "Well, that was weird!"

Dear reader, I assure you: I used my last bit of oxygen to laugh my head off. 

facing my demons

 
This morning I got up early to go on a trail run.  But not that early.  I went by myself, which is intimidating enough without factoring the cold and darkness into the equation. 

Plus there's wildcats in them there hills. 
 
Why did I go without the death squad?  Well, as it just so happens, I am a newly minted athlete in training.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  An erstwhile friend talked me into doing a little race next month.  My first race ever, unless you count this dark moment in history.   
 
Which means I can no longer rely solely upon the death squad and their mysterious way of gliding across the wilderness to get myself up to speed. 

 
Truly, I never relied on them for that anyway.  Might I even go so far as to suggest if you ever find yourself relying upon the death squad for anything, it's a good sign your life is in the crapper.

 
So it's just gonna be me and the big blue sky for the next little while, cranking out the miles, being very zen.  

And if, perchance, I should find myself at the starting line of this race and some girl comes up and grabs my chin, she better watch out.  She better think twice. 

Because this time I'm not giving her a gentleman's agreement.

This time the wood chipper is revved up and it is game on. 

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{Disclaimer:  Hopefully this goes without saying, but I actually have loads of respect for the death squad.  It's just funnier to write it the other way around...}

wonka's factory

 
Dear reader, do you believe in lickable wallpaper?  Do you believe in edible grass?  Do you believe in a chocolate river with a waterfall that actually churns its own chocolate?

Do you believe in the magic of butter, sugar, and cream?

I do.

 
Every year of my childhood, at Christmas time, our house turned into Wonka's factory.  It really did.  Oh, the wonder!  Oh, the joy! 

 
Rich, creamy fondant bubbling on the stove, humidifying the air with sugar.  It was enough to intoxicate a small child with happiness. 

 
So when my little brother came to visit this weekend and we were wondering what to do, it was only natural we should try to recreate the magic.
 
 
And did we succeed?  I should say so.

 
Because this right here, dear reader, is the gateway to nirvana. 

One bite and you feel as if everything that went wrong in your life suddenly went right.  It's like Mr. Darcy is staring at you from across the room.  It's like you can speak French.  It's like there's a knock at the door and an editor from Penguin Classics marches in and hands you a book deal.   It's like you got asked to prom.  It's like you went to a party and got the piece of cake with a rose on it.

It's like taking a dip in that marvelous river with the waterfall that actually churns its own chocolate.

how to make dinner when it's late, everyone is starving, and you don't feel like cooking

 
1.  Come home from music lessons or whatever else has been keeping you out all evening.  Listen to your children say for the millionth time: What's for dinner? I'm starving!

2.  Consider saying ice cream.  But don't say it.  That sets a dangerous precedent.

3.  Hope against hope, as you walk through the door, that a magical nanny has come down the chimney during your absence and tidied the house, fixed your printer, and made a stout, hearty stew bubbling on the stovetop.

4.  Did that happen?  No.  So now you will have to figure something out all by yourself.

5.  First things first.  Turn up the music.  Loud.  And don't go for the logic of Bach, the pretty manners of Mozart.  Go for something that will shake the rafters.  Go for something that will make your heart pound.  Go for something that will make you forget it is late, people are starving, and you have yet to make dinner. 

6.  Light candles.  Which may seem like a contradiction to step 5, but light them anyway.  Candlelight always makes the quotidien seem fraught with possibility. 

7.  Decide upon crêpes.  Why crêpes?  Because you probably have milk, eggs, flour and butter on hand.  Plus your kids will think you're the best mum ever--gratification which may not seem evident on a regular basis and which is therefore not to be taken lightly.   

 
8.  Do you need a recipe to make crêpes?  That depends on your personality.  My main objective, as I see it, is to ensure the blender is filled to a certain level with negligible quantities of milk, eggs, flour, butter, and a pinch of salt.  Beyond that, I wash my hands. 

9.  Besides, I'm too busy dancing.  I'm too busy spinning and twirling and leaping around the kitchen to pay attention to the fact I'm making dinner, darling.  Why, if I gave that too much thought, I'd probably climb down from my chandelier, curl up in a corner, and go right to sleep. 

your caption here:

 
"Hey guys, if we just throw our collective BMI into it, we should get this thing open in no time.  Oh wait, I forgot: we don't have any BMI."

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"Don't tell Kirsten, but I secretly wish I was Canadian."
"Me, too.  Canadians are awesome."
"Me, three.  Tell me aboot it, eh?"

(Everyone dissolves into sophomoric laughter...)

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Dear reader, it's your turn to have fun at the expense of the death squad.  There's no need for restraint, by the way.  I can assure you, given the opportunity, they'd do the same and then some.  Trust me.  Please leave your caption in the comments section below.  I'm in the mood to laugh today...

happy valentine's day

 
Happy Valentine's Day, dear reader!  If only we could bottle the thrill I feel in my heart, I think it would power a jet to Paris.  With a seat reserved on it for each one of you.

 
The day is off to a grand start.  A very early grand start.  I got up in the darkness with my middle schoolers, hugged them,  serenaded them with love songs (oh, yes I did), and didn't say a word about their unmade beds.  Because that's what love means on this day. 

On other days, love doesn't mean that as much.

 
Late last night, I made them each the sweetest felt heart.  Staying up past midnight with the sewing machine reminded me of my mom.  And I loved that, too.

 
And what would this day be without robot love notes...

 
Folded up teeny tiny, and tucked into lunchboxes?

 
I told my girls each time they look at these heart pins, I hope they think: My mum loves me.
 
Because I do.

 
To be honest, I'm feeling so much love I could burst.  I hope you are feeling it, too.

So many nice things have already happened:

My husband sent me the sweetest note, remembering a road trip we once took together along the Pacific coast.  Just the two of us.  And he asked me to meet him for lunch at our favorite Indian restaurant.  Which can mean only one thing: mango lassis.

Caroline and I enjoyed a lovely walk to school.  We had to run a little, as we were late, but we smiled at everyone we saw. 

Sophie gave me a big hug on her way out the door.

Izzy texted to say how much she loves me.  Only she says it like this:  I lalalove you.

A dear friend sent Valentine wishes.

I am enjoying the comments you've left this morning (and Becky, yes, let's do lunch!)

And I'm excited, because I mailed a few Valentine surprises last week and I'm simply beside myself hoping they arrive on this day!  Oh, the anticipation!

And you never know what else may happen, dear reader.  How much beauty may come your way.  How much happiness you may bring to someone else. 

That's the magic of Valentine's Day. 

Of any day. 

iphone valentine

 
I'm trying to make up for lost time, dear reader...it's tomorrow, you know.  Valentine's Day.  Practically my favorite day of the whole entire year, which is saying something, since I'm fond of all 365.

At any rate, I just wanted to drop by and share my philosophy on love...

 
Put it out there.

 
Yes, put it out there, dear reader.  Every day, of course, but of all days--Valentine's Day. 

Smile at everyone you see.  If you happen to cross paths with a little old man, blind him with a smile he'll never forget.  Leave a treat on someone's doorstep.  Assemble a bouquet.  Recite a verse.  And let us not forget handwritten notes.  Write a note and fold it into a tiny square, so the recipient must first unfold it a million times.  Remember doing that as a kid? 

Sprinkle red glitter on people (with their permission, of course).  Hug.  Kiss.  Spin.  Twirl. 

Say I love you as many times as is humanly and legally possible. 

I'm wishing you a wonderful day tomorrow, dear reader.  I hope you giggle.  I hope you blush.  I hope you have a lovely surprise.  I hope your day is filled with happiness, sweets, and real, genuine love.   I hope someone hugs you and tells you what makes you so special. 

But more importantly, I hope you do that for someone else. 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

l'amour, c'est l'espoir du coeur

 
I just made that up, dear reader.  Really.  Isn't it amazing how French channels your inner lover? 

There is a small part of me which laments the fact we are this far into February and I have yet to devote any effort to discussing the nature of love, from romance to friendship and everything which exists on the spectrum in between and beyond.  On the other hand, I think I've devoted more than enough space discussing our lagging health, so I'll spare you my excuses. 

But just so you know: oh, how I believe in love!  Giving and getting.  Every minute of the day.  Every day of the year.

And for your whim and pleasure, I wanted to bring this post to your attention...in case you have yet to pen the world's most ardent love letter and are looking for a little inspiration.  I hope these help. 

xoxo

adieu, school chums

 
Dear reader (and especially Simone), I finally sent the goody bag off in the mail yesterday.  For some reason it was very difficult to part with the school chums.  They are so sweet.  Their little faces, the nature of their conversation (conspirational, of course!), the contents of their bags, their striped socks...luckily I made a print version so I can enjoy a copy for myself.  I'll add it to the shop soon, as well. 

Did I ever happen to mention I had scores of rabbits as a child?  Really too many to count.  I spent so many hours with my rabbits I probably smelled like one.  I would sit with them quietly, convinced I could read their minds.  And I often had a shoe box at the foot of my bed in which was nestled a struggling runt.  Oh, how my heart broke and body racked with sobs for those tiny, fragile souls!

At any rate, it may be I'll take a little break from Tollipop for the next few days.  We are all, with the exception of my husband, flying at half mast around here.  Really worn out, coughing our heads off, that sort of thing. 

Then again, it could be I'll return tomorrow with absolutely loads to tell you. 

It turns out even I can't predict myself very well, which is why I am always hesitant to announce my intentions about anything.