Home Stretch

Roughly about 49 required posts left of this blog before I've gotten to my year's mark. Not that I'm counting. Heavens, no.

It'll be nice to only blog when I've got something I want to say, not out of sheer obligation. Poo-poo on these once-a-day resolutions. They never seem to change a person, merely make them feel obligated to do something (and then excessively guilty when they don't follow through). That's not a way to self-improve.

Granted, I'd like to make sure I get my required glasses of water a day, but if I mess that up, I won't beat myself up over it. Sure, I'll get dehydrated, but meh.

In other news: Monday? I'm ready for you. Bring on your drudgery. I'm gonna slap it square in the mouth and show it who's boss. (Hashtag: motivation.)

Crafty

Today, I learned that sewing machines can be as expensive as $7,000. I also learned that Mimi's Cafe makes a darn good turkey croissant with brie and cranberry relish. All in all, I also consider that it's been a successful Saturday, since I can lay claim to having made one of those fleece tie-blankets.

No joke, y'all. It's pretty much the greatest thing ever made.

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen, brought to you by the fact that it's now the weekend!

"Thank you, God," is right!

Birthday Bear

Some folks will tell you that they can't remember anything from when they were three. Call me bizarre, but I have a few very vivid snapshots or two. One of those memories was when my family moved across town. I sat in the moving van and wore a yellow t-shirt with a pocket in the front. I remember my shirt sleeve flapping from the wind outside the window.

I have another distinct memory from when I was three years old. It was 1989, and my mom was great with child. In preparation for the baby's arrival, she had a boatload of stuff, including a little Snoopy rattle.

On this quite ordinary day, she was standing in the dining room, facing out toward the living room, and let me shake said Snoopy rattle at her belly. I was told that my soon-to-be-little sister would probably like that sort of thing.

Not quite the same model, I don't think. But close.

A short time later, that very sister decided to arrive. I remember staying at the Pogorelecs' house, friends from church, while Mom and Dad were at the hospital. That morning, I wasn't hungry for anything, barely even finished half a glass of orange juice as I overheard Marie talking on the phone with my parents about the new little bundle of joy. Her name? Nicole Marie.

That was 23 years ago today. I've had 23 years of sisterly love from the wonderful Nicole Marie. Yes, we bickered -- sisters have to; it's a requirement -- but so much of my memories of those years were nothing but playtime with our overly active imaginations. Our Disney barbie dolls got into so many predicaments (I never did understand why we made John Smith the idiot), and our "radio shows" that we recorded on re-re-re-re-purposed cassette tapes couldn't be beat.

Three and-a-half years' difference provided quite a strain sometimes (because, let's face it, there was a vast difference between what a ten year-old wanted to do for fun and what a fourteen year-old wanted to do), but as we passed on into our later teenage years, it simply didn't matter. We simply became pals. Best pals.

To this day, she and I maintain a connection that many have tried to decode, but none have. We'll speak entirely in You've Got Mail quotes (including the occasional Heavyweights or Cool Runnings throwback). We'll recall all of the inside jokes that have "technically" made it into our lexicon throughout our childhood. And then, when all else fails, we'll be snuggly and be sisters. I couldn't ask for more.

Coley, you're a beautiful young woman. You're 23 today, and although you've grown to be plenty capable and plenty grown-up over these past few years, you'll always be a fussy little Bear -- one that Daddy always lets roll just one more time at Yahtzee -- that I happen to love so very much.

I'm so thankful we're sisters. My life's experiences have been made so much sweeter with this simple fact: you've been part of them. You're positively beautiful, charismatic, spirited, so very full of life and love. I'm proud of you. I love you.

Happiest of birthdays, Coley Bear.

PS: Good thing it wasn't the fish.

Disgraceful, Denty

First I was all

But then I was like

Disney. What. Is this madness. "Fresh and relevant," my backside. Cindy would never throw her hips foward all "hey girrrl" like that. (I was trying to find a good photo of some of the other princesses; it's not pretty. Belle be looking all trampy and they gave Snow White a perm or some insanity.)

A thing of beauty

I really love painting, I've decided. These painting sessions I've attended here and there are downright therapeutic. I feel better, more peaceful when I paint.

And I've never done a Burton-esque tree, so that's pretty fabulous.

RachRabbit

Today is someone's birthday. Someone awesome's birthday.

That someone is a friend of mine that I've known for ages. Years, really. She's quirky in the best way, insightful in the most valuable ways, and there in every way. 

Rachel, you're one of the most genuine, amazing people I know. Your humor is contagious, your spirit infectious. You make gorgeous effortless and yes, even Amy Adams is jellin. I'm so excited about what the rest of your time in South Korea has in store for you, and even more excited when you're back stateside and I can finally give you that long-sought-after hug I've owed you ages ago.

I love you to bits, missy. You'll always be welcome with me (physically or otherwise, but let's be honest, physically is preferred), and you'll always have the Fonzie suite reserved with your name on it.

You deserve a happy birthday, most certainly, but I wish you a happy day-after-your-birthday, too. And a happy day-after-that. And day-after-that. And so on. A happy life. Always.

Happy birthday, my dear friend. Now go have a Will Smith dance party. You've earned it.

 

And yes, I do hope as you celebrate with your nearest pals tonight with The Princess Bride and wine, that it'll only be the culmination of what I know will be the...

Best. Day. Ever. <3


Love Always,
Mrs. B

Determination

I should be miserable because

(a) It's Sunday night,
(b) I'm not even tired yet,
(c) I've got to get up early tomorrow
(d) to go to a job I'm generally unhappy at
(e) and repeat it again for five days before an all-too-temporary reprieve.

While those are all valid reasons for being disgruntled, I know that life is too short to spend it being grouchy about circumstances beyond my control. In fact, I'm happy because

(a) I have a job at all,
(b) I had an amazing day in the mountains with my awesome husband,
(c) I have an awesome husband,
(d) the weather was exceptionally pre-fall,
(e) I get to make gnocchi for dinner tomorrow.

Perspective. I'm gaining it, slowly but surely. There's so much to be thankful for in so many arenas. I'm hoping to re-align the puzzle pieces to go back where they belong to create that full, complete picture.

The good stuff

Sometimes, I can't help but feel like much of my life is like a magazine. And, so far, all I've been doing is thumbing through the five-hundred pages of fluffy ads. I haven't even reached the substance yet.

Guys, I'm desperate to rip all of the unnecessary ads out of my life-magazine. That might only leave me with a remainder of ten pages, but those ten pages are actual content. They're substantial. They matter.

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen, because, let's face it: can we ever REALLY get enough of Gangnam Style?