Breaking Newz!

As some of you know, my previous design group basically disbanded a few weeks back due to irreconcilable differences. :) A whole bunch of us, however, liked each other so much that we just had to stick together!! We're listing with a new name--Boutique Newz. Come check us out!

Billionaire

Some days this is me, a thousand curled petals craning toward the early light.

These are the days I'm sharply cognizant of my wealth.





I'm rich with a quartet of eager faces who trust me implicitly.

Rich with a redemptive grace that outstrips my failure.

Rich with a husband who thinks this song is about me.

Just saying.

It's a sad day indeed when you lose a game of memory to your six-year-old.

I'm trying to chalk it up to his brilliance, but I also suspect that a bunch of my synapses have taken an early retirement.

perspective

It's not about me.



This is what I keep coming back to, the truth that saves me, this awareness that it's not about me.

My life, ultimately, thankfully, is not about me. It's meant to be about pouring joy into the people around me and, above all else, enskying God. Soli Deo Gloria.

Much of my so-called-mid-life-crisis has centered around this notion of wretched ordinariness, of feeling unchallenged, untapped. Of watching my innate abilities collect dust on the shelf of my daily life.

I won't plague you with details, but it would suffice to say that I have no clearly defined answers right now. I want to be patient, but at the same time, if God's deliberately equipped me for something specific and I'm just missing the memo, I'd like to stop squandering time.

Until this sorts out, I'm reminded to give the everyday tasks my unfettered best...be it stitching careful seams, reading board books with animation, or swabbing the kitchen floor to aseptic status. Even when it feels banal, prosaic.

Because it's not about me.

I love this kid.

My two-year-old has a current penchant for walking backwards. It's awfully cute, but it takes her four times longer than normal (and normal was already dreadfully long) to get anywhere. Not to mention the times she walks into chairs and lego boxes, and doesn't get there at all.

Ah yes, do I ever love this kid.

for the grandparents

The 2nd Law of Purse-o-dynamics

See this here purse? Cutest thing ever. This is the latest edition to Elle's collection, courtesy of her great-aunt Kay (who, I hasten to add, isn't anywhere near old enough to be a great-aunt).

Elle loves this thing with enormous intensity, which is almost as much as I do.*

Which got me thinking.

Isn't there a vague law concerning the inequity and general unconstitutional-ness of a two-year-old owning a purse more expensive than her mother's? Surely there is. Somewhere.

We've discussed this before, I think, but for those of you with short term memories like mine, I'll brief you on the situation at hand:

I own a purse. Singular. Small, lime green, of the $15 Target variety. I actually would not own even this purse without the insistence and generosity of a friend who found my non-purse status ghastly, and who questioned whether or not I qualified as a female of our particular species without one.

My daughter owns purses. Multiple. The aforementioned newest is a Vera Bradley, in which she carries flavored chapstick and restaurant-quality crayons.

Somehow this is just not right.

Lucky for me she is sporadically generous, and even when she is not, she does go to bed at 8:00. So if I happen to hit the town with the girls (a phenomenon which appears about as often as Halley's comet), I can sneak it out and back before she ever wakes up.

Although I might leave the crayons behind.


*Footnote: For those of you who are now concerned that I've just experienced head trauma, relax, this post is in jest. I still don't give a sideways hoot about purses. You may put down the sympathy cards and carry on with your regularly scheduled life.

birthdays and whatnot

Today is my older brother's birthday.

Over the years, I have found that older brothers are good for many things. Such as:

1. late night analyzing of your preteen crushes

2. doling out advice which may or may not be harmful to your chances of survival ("Just jump! It's not that high!")

3. keeping your secrets (mostly)

4. thoroughly whomping you at anything involving speed: timed tests, quiz meets, 100 meter dashes

5. singing duets with you at church, plus a good deal of pointing out that he has the better voice (it's true)

6. missing the irony of hammering your arm but not letting anyone else touch you

7. helping you get yourself grounded at age five for joining him in a mud-slinging event involving a neighbor's house

8. eating your unattended leftovers (younger brothers and fathers are good for this, too)

9. threatening the general welfare of your psychotic boyfriends

and

10. putting things in crisp perspective for you; i.e. "Well, you're sort of cute, but I have the best nose" (unfortunately, he does)




Happy birthday, Nathan! I do love you so.

remerciement

On this particular day of the year, I'd be remiss not to admit that between my brothers and me, my mum had to navigate through double her fair share of grief and vexation. I'm fairly certain that she has earned herself quite the mansion in heaven, complete with back deck, pergola, and in-ground pool.

So um, yeah, we were just planning ahead for her, being thoughtful.

You're welcome, Mom. ;)

this is May impersonating August

On an afternoon roasted and sticky, there's only one reasonable course of action: reacquaint thyself (and thy progeny) with a sprinkler.















After all, someone's got to water those dandelions.

Donations, please

This game is jolly good fun, and mindless to boot.

Google your name plus the word needs in quotes (ie "Nicole needs") and see what you come up with.

Here are my gems:

"Nicole needs a taco." (Yep, and shortly after reading that I made a batch of 'em. Oh, the power of suggestion.)

"Nicole needs serious intervention." (This is true.)

"Nicole needs a boob job." (Again, true, but do we really need to point this out?)

"Nicole needs a MAN. She needs a sweaty, musky, hulky, handy, brute of a man like Daniel Craig." (Not sure about this Daniel Craig fellow, but I do have a man, thanks for your concern.)

"Nicole needs a new page." (Um...what?)

"Nicole Needs a Bath." (Perhaps. Can they really smell me all the way out in cyberspace?)

"NICOLE NEEDS TO GET OUT" (Why, I'm not sure, but if it's in all caps I suppose it's serious business. Perhaps we'll take a walk today.)

"Nicole needs to take some vitamins at least." (This was probably written during the 36 months I was pregnant, where I remembered to take my prenatal vitamin an average of oh, about twice a month.)(My kids, by the way, turned out fine.)

"Nicole needs to grow up" (Well, I suppose, but can it hold off another ten years?)

"Nicole needs to be in rehab for 180 days." (I admit there are quite a few things about me in serious need of rehabilitation, but I'm a little busy right now.)(And six months? Really? Do they have internet access?)

Who knew how much entertainment could spawn from sharing a name with Anna Nicole, Nicole Richie, and Kidman.

In fact, I'm highly considering changing my name to "Paris" or "Britney" or "Madonna"...

gasp...pant...Ack!!

Dangit! Will you people stop running so fast? I'm trying to catch my breath here!

I guess I'm getting slower by the week because I keep getting tagged for all sorts of random joy. (That might have been sarcasm but it was not, I assure you, complaining. Ahem.)

The fantastic Linda and Amelia tagged me to do a seven things meme. I did a six things back in January, and I figure that's close enough. Right? No? Well, here it is anyway for the curious and brave among you: Click here at your own peril risk.

Alright, so seven new things. Hmmmn. Usually I think I'm terribly intriguing until I'm asked to share seven things about me that no one knows but might actually want to know and...

well...

um...

...nope, nothing juicy. But that's never held me back before, so why start now, eh? We'll just begin a list and see how it goes.

1. In fifth/sixth grade my nick-name was She-ra, Princess of Power. Yes, some of you already know this, and if you were in my GT class you had something to do with this (yeah, um...thanks). So you know how you hear about the girl who peaked in high school? Well, I'm the girl who peaked in fifth grade.

2. I only like complicated salads. And by complicated I don't mean difficult to assemble, I mean lots of stuff in it. To me, lettuce and tomatoes with vinaigrette taste like grass and tomatoes with vinaigrette. Not that I've eaten grass, but this is how I imagine its flavor. I need to overwhelm the essence-of-grass with chicken and cucumbers and carrots and black-eyed peas.

3. My brothers and I used to watch the Japanese cartoon Robotech. Sera was the coolest, followed by Lancer (aka Yellow Dancer).

4. I have progressed to the degree of civility where I wear make-up in public. Most of the time. Okay, like 60% of the time, but that's pretty good, right? (And here's a blanket apology to those of you who've witnessed the other 40%. Je suis désolé. You can send me your therapy bills later.)

5. On the subject of make-up, my overriding principal is that altogether it must take a total of 90 seconds or less to apply or I have no time for it. (Yes, I do time it.) Foundation, eyeliner, bronzing powder. And I can usually squeeze in a swipe of Chapstick for moisturizing purposes.

6. My motto for life is, How Hard Can It Be? As in, "Have you ever changed a tire before?" "Well, no, but how hard can it be?" (Sometimes I find out that the answer is, "Hmmmn. Pretty hard.")

7. For a good portion of the third grade, I had a major crush on Daniel LaRusso of The Karate Kid. Not the actual Ralph Macchio, mind you, who to me did not really exist. But I pledged undying devotion to Daniel, who was really quite a punk with temper issues, now that I look back on it.

Phew.

Here's a fabulous idea for all you track stars. The next time someone tags me, could it please be for something lovely like, oh, go eat a chocolate torte.

Soak in the tub.

Read a Jane Austen novel.

All of the above.


See...now you all want to be tagged, don'tcha? Okay, okay. De, go play in the sprinklers with your kids. Loren, go to a movie. Kim, gloss your lips. :)

Now why didn't we think of this sooner?

First love

My boys eat, breathe, and dream Star Wars.





It dominates their conversations, pencil drawings, birthday wish-lists.





They duel with imaginary light sabers in the back of the van on the way to church. ("I get to be Anakin!" "Okay, then I'm Obi-Wan!")





We sense that it's starting to get out of hand. As in, they might actually love something more than their mother, which just isn't right. At all.

So I may have to go hide all their Star Wars figures. (And Star Wars ships, and Star Wars LEGOS, and Star Wars pajamas, and Star Wars books, and Star Wars video games, and Star Wars underwear...)

Oy.

Sorrow

Right now I'm held still by the frailty and inestimable value of human life. It's always this precious, this fragile, but most days I don't consider it.

Most days I'm impatient when my four-year-old dawdles with the toothpaste at bedtime, or I'm nettled when I walk into the kitchen I just cleaned (just cleaned!) only to find all the colored Monopoly money strewn across the floor.

But then someone I know loses someone they love, and I'm forced to pause, to consider.

Keegan's family (first post, update) has just got to be reeling today. When I think of him, I imagine him looking just like my youngest son.

A friend of ours unexpectedly lost her husband in March. When I picture him, he has my husband's smile and eyes the color of sky.

I'm not sure why I always picture someone else's sorrow as my own, but it seems to help me ache for them. And it chastens me to pay attention to the people who walk around in my house every day, to treasure those lives.

If you are on speaking terms with God, please pray for Keegan's family.

May Day

So apparently we have a lot of dandelions. My apologies to their father, but I let Em and Elle* blow to their hearts' content...guess we'd better add Weed & Feed to the shopping list.



Languid afternoons bring to mind this song:

Picture yourself on a boat on a river
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green
Towering over your head
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes
and she's gone

~Lennon/McCartney (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds)