So what I’ve finally decided on is that to blog daily I just have to blog about me.  My life, my day, my likes, my dislikes.  If one day I feel like telling you about my search for the holy grail of mascara then I’m going to tell you about it.  If want to laugh, or cry, or tell you a secret, I’m going to write it down.  Because truth be told, no one is really reading this blog on a daily basis anyway, so it’s mostly for me. 

The story of my life, or whatever the case may be.

You know what I’ve come to hate though?  Platitudes.  I hate hearing “when it’s meant to be, you’ll find someone,” or “maybe God has a different plan for you,” or the classic “when it’s the right one – you’ll know.”  Really?!?  Will I?  Because I’ve known it before and everything fell apart.  I’m still alone, I’m still waiting and I’m still wondering “are you there, God?!?  It’s ME!“  I’m trying to have faith and I’m trying not to sucker-punch the next person that tells me that “maybe God is teaching me patience,” but some days its just so gosh-darn hard I want to kick puppies just to relieve my frustration.  (*Note, no actual puppies were harmed in this blog post).

I feel like I am the oldest single girl on the planet, and to make matters worse, I’m becomming the butt of the family jokes.  You see, I used to tell my younger cousin, the next girl in the line of granddaughter’s after me, that I’d die if she’d get married before me.  I jokingly begged her not to.  I mean, law of averages, I’m 12 years older than her so I should get married before her – right? WRONG .  Last week, at 19 years old, she eloped with her boyfriend of 9 months.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m mustering happiness for her in my heart iright now as we speak because let’s face it, I love the kid, I named my daughter after her for goodness sake, but really?!??  Are you freaking kidding me?!?!?  Now the family is joking that my next cousin, who is 17 years younger than me, is surely next!  And my five year old daughter is telling me now that she’s getting married before me!!! (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

It’s not my cousin, or my next cousin, or my daughter that I’m mad at or frustrated with, it’s the course of my life.  Every time another person gets married before me it just painfully reminds me…that I’m not.

Love,

An Irish Lass

“What’s that?” you say.  Well, I’ll tell ya.  That’s what happens to a blogger that is afraid to perform now that she knows she’s being watched (er, read, sorry).  You see, after the other day’s “Morning at Our House” blog, I had more hits in one day than I’ve had since the inception of this blog.  141 people, yes, one hundred forty-one people read, or at least landed on, my blog.  So now I’m afraid I can’t keep it up (it’s days like this, and when I can’t seem to get the key into the hole in my car to save my life, that I am so utterly and entirely thankful I am not a man).

This timidity trickles (ha, literally) into other areas of my life as well.  I’m the girl in the bathroom stall that takes forever if someone is sitting in the stall next to me, because I’m a…you guessed it…timid tinkler.  I just can’t go when I know someone is listening.  That creeps me out.  Then there are the ladies that sit in the stall next to you and actually start a conversation.  When that happens it’s all over for me. I may as well, sit up, zip up and move on, because there’s no coaxing it back out of me at that point.  Seriously ladies, I’m just in the bathroom to discreetly do my business, please don’t comment on the weather, or ask me where I got my shoes, I don’t want to talk about it!!

However, I do want to talk about (maybe even enough to strike up a convo on the throne), the new pilates DVD I tried last night.  See, ever since I had Lauren and went back to college, I’ve lost a ton of flexibility.  I used to be the girl that was like, freakishly bendy and could do the splits until I was 25, but child birth, gaining weight, and being a full-time employee/full-time college student, really has put my body through the ringer.  All that, topped with the fact that I just turned 31 and have a family history chock full of arthritis, and I’m one stiff, gripey girl of late, so I purchased the DVD “Pilates for Inflexible People.”

It really is a great DVD with a lot of subchapters where you can customize your workout (which I love) and two extended information segments on the benefits of pilates and basic techniques, if you’ve never tried it before.  I myself have done pilates for years, but I still wanted to get a feel for the instructor and the tone of the DVD, so I watched the Intro to Pilates section.  It started off great, with the woman instructor being thorough and quite knowledgable about the history and many benefits of pilates, and how pilates is sometimes fused with yoga, to provide optimal body/mind conditioning.  I get all that.  I’m totally new-agey at times and down with the body/mind/chakra thing.  I like yoga, I’ve even done some pretty far-out kundalini yoga tapes with chanting and “the breath of fire.”  I was however not aware, that pilates has ever been fused with kung fu theatre, as it was on this particular DVD. 

You see, about mid-way through the intro, and then through the entire workout series I performed last night, the instructors mouth did not move in time with the words being said.  It was so distracting, that about half-way through it, I had to sit there and laugh at the rediculousness of it all.  If you’ve never watched Kung Fu Theater, or seen old kung fu movies, you have no idea what I’m talking about but literally this womans mouth was moving “chingblahchangdahchongyaddawongdingfunglanglong” and the audio was “at this moment take a deep breath inhale, press your spine into the floor, and exhale…goooood.”

So yeah. I advise anyone looking for a good workout (because it really is an exceptional DVD) and a good laugh to check it out.  Afterwards I felt grounded, more flexible and totally hardcore after doing my “kung fu pilates.”  Hey – belly laughs are good for the soul!!

Namaste!

I’m sure you are wondering just how picky a four-year old can be about their clothes, and I’ll tell you.  No, I’m not one of the lucky ones that is blessed with a little fashionista that understands fashion = pain.  Don’t get me wrong, Lauren loves clothes, she loves new clothes and she loves to be comfortable.  Thank goodness for all that because she has a Mommy, MeMe and a Maw Maw that love to shop and love to dress Lauren in the cutest, most fashionable things possible.  Seriously, the kid didn’t wear the same thing twice during her first year of preschool.  I know, I know, there’s a recession going on.  I have shown restraint this year…but not much.

All that aside, Lauren is one picky kid not when it comes to what she wears, but rather how what she wears fits.  Here are a list of the requirements dictated to me by my four-year old, and what has caused us to now learn that she has to try every single solitary thing we buy on first, in no particular order:

1) rise of the pants must be enough in the back that her butt crack doesn’t hang out even during deep yoga poses, that she does like ya know, daily;

2) however, said pants must have a rise in the front that sits below her belly button – heaven forbid anything go over it;

3) above-referenced pants must be one-size larger than her actual size and be made only of comfy, cottony material, no metal buttons, or uncomfortable zippers, pull-ons work best;

4) panties must be of the “granny” variety, and not cause any of the following: wedgies, melvins or ride up over her wasteband;

5) t-shirts must fit well around the bustline for fear that her “boobs” might hang out;

6) t-shirts should not have any puff-sleeves, trims around the arms (apparently her arms get claustrophobic), or spaghetti straps (for fear she’ll feel naked);

7) speaking of feeling naked, her dance leotards and bathing suits must be high-necked – in the front and the back – so as to avoid said “feeling of nakedness“;

8 ) while she understands, (and I quote) “that she’s glad she has a Mommy that knows to teach her ladies wear pantyhose,” said under-things are only to be used in dire circumstances and only under the condition that she can take them off in the car the instant the fancy-pants, whatever-it-is that made her have to wear pantyhose soiree is over;

9) socks, apparently, are not mandatory; and finally

10) her shoes should look “hot” while still maintaining an air of her pipe dream of living a bohemian/sufer/hippie life-style (i.e., flip-flops or UGGS, year-round).

All of the above can create chaos in the morning, to say the very least, ending with one or both of us in tears, and several new articles of clothing tossed in the trash (or hidden by her from me, to get out of wearing them).

Mornings do have their upsides though.  For instance, most mornings Lauren starts singing to herself while she gets herself dressed, and lately, the song of choice has been “Whistle While You Work” from Snow White.  So, since she can’t whistle and I’m in the vanity area doing my hair while she’s in the bathroom getting dressed, it typically goes like this:

Lauren: Whistle while you work…

Mommy: (whistling) do, do, do, doo, doo, doo, doooooo

And so on.  This morning however, after a particularly grueling morning waking up late, having to pack lunches this morning since I opted for bed instead last night, and arguing the legal theory behind the State-wide sock requirement (what, you don’t have one? Here in Texas it’s under Tex. Civ. Prac. & Rem. Code Ann. § 42…. oh whatever, it’s in THERE somewhere I’m sure)….I was falling behind on my job.

Lauren was on the bed pulling on her boots and I vaguely heard her sing “Whistle while you work…” but I kept hauling hiney to get ready on time.  Then I hear her start again “Ahem. Whistle while you wooooork….”  Still not thinking anything of it, I brush my teeth.  A few more false starts and then finally I hear “Helloooo!!! I SAID “WHISTLE WHILE YOU WOOOOOORK….where’s my do, do, do, doo, doo, doo, doooooo singer?!?!”  To which it finally sunk in I was falling behind on my job.   You know, the most important job I have, back up to a four year old singing Disney tunes.

I thank God daily for putting me in a position to be a do, do, do, doo, doo, doo, doooooo singer.  It really is the most awesome job to have and I’m humbled that He’d pick me to do it.  See, looking at it that way, our mornings don’t seem so bad after all (even though I’m afraid her panties didn’t make it to her bottom today and instead ended up stuffed in the dirty clothes, but I digress…do, do, do, doo, doo, doo, doooooo).

Where to begin with this whacked out day?!?  The day started by greeting us with like a bakillion inches of snow on the ground.  Okay, maybe not a bakillion, but probably 5 inches or so, which is a lot for West Texas.  I knew after looking outside that school would be cancelled for Lauren, so rather than getting up and getting ready so we’d be somewhere on time, I went back to bed for another 30 minutes and blamed “the elements” for my tardiness.  Well, not just my tardiness, seeing as Lauren was my stow-away to work today.  We came armed with crafts, color books, video-games, learning activities, and her handy-dandy portable TV/DVD player to keep her occupied and she camped out in the office next door to mine.  Just another one of the many, many perks of working for the same man for 10 years and pretty much running the show.

The roads really were pretty bad, not so much for people who have any experience driving in snow (as I do), but for the average West Texan who drives like it’s a blizzard out when it’s raining.  We just took our time and made it downtown safely and ding, ding, ding, as I was pulling into the parking garage, I got the call I was waiting for.  The call.  Okay, no, not really the call, that call is still in the works, but I my friends, took my first step towards ever-loving happiness, towards getting the call,  by talking to my minister about Mr. Big.  (GASP!)

In case I haven’t brought you up to speed, I’ve been all amped up to just go for it already and talk to Mr. Big.  That would be all fine and dandy, and probably would’ve already happened by now (and I’d be dead from embarrassment, or at the very least, hyperventilation), but the dude quit showing up to church.  Not one to be swayed, I set out to find out the scoop, and see if I couldn’t get someone, anyone, to help things along.  Sometimes people just need an introduction, sometimes they need a gentle nudge and sometimes they need a swift kick in the…but I digress, I was just politely inquring as to whether Mr. Minister knew anything about Mr. Big, and if he knew of any way to make an introduction more likely (you know, without me walking up to him cold turkey, starting a sentence, screwing up, getting embarrassed and high-tailing it out of there never to return again.  Screw my mortal soul, I don’t want to look like a dork in church!)(Not really, that wasn’t very nice to say, but for the reals, it would be hard for me to face him (or anyone) that I made a fool of myself in front of at church, I feel very insecure there, to say the least).

Anyway, I think Mr. Minister got where I was coming from, didn’t think I was a dork for asking, actually thought Mr. Big might be receptive to at least a friendship, and said he’d talk to him on the down-low and scope the situation out.  I know I’ve never said it before, because I’ve never written a blog about it before, and it has nothing to do with him offering to help me, but I adore our minister.  He’s the kind of great, cool guy that just brightens your day to be around.  I know for a fact that he’s had hard times in his life, but you would sure never know it to meet him.  He’s the most upbeat, friendly person I’ve ever met. 

Someone I should strive to be more like.

But for now, I’m taking baby steps.  And for me, that’s huge.

1)  Lose 40 pounds – sensibly;

2) Track my points every day for a year  (I’m a Weight Watcher, if you haven’t already picked up on that);

3) Get hardwood floors put down in Lauren’s room;

4) Get the playroom cleaned out, painted and completed;

5) Leave my saving’s account drafts alone unless it’s really an “emergency”;

6) Work up to walking 4 miles a day, or 24 miles a week;

7) Get a freaking Yorkie already;

8 ) Get the house cleaned out and organized.  Time to clean out the linen cabinets, closets and cabinets of unused, unneeded stuff – I desperately need to declutter;

9) Get Lauren to sleep in her bed;

10) Donate more time to charity;

11) Get involved in the church’s VBS ministry (already tackled that one last night.  I nearly threw up I was so nervous, but see, one NYR down already!);

12) Befriend Mr. Big;

13) Get regular haircuts for me and Lauren every six weeks;

14) Get outside more;

15) Take Lauren to Disneyland like I’ve planned for December;

16) Make all my yearly physicals: eyes, girly-bits, thyroid;

17) Read more;

18) Cut out my potty-mouth;

19) Cut way, way back on Diet Coke;

20) Watch an Affair to Remember;

21) Keep my car cleaned out (Lauren’s crap accumulates – quickly!);

22) Take guitar lessons with Lauren;

23) Get closer to God;

24) Keep in contact with my friends better.

Whew!  That’s a pretty long list!  I’ll check back in periodically to keep ya posted on my progress of tackling my New Years (er, well, almost March 1) Resolutions!

OH WAIT!!! I forgot one!!

25) INCUR NO NEW DEBT!

The idea sounded good, in theory.  I had even decided to take Lauren out of school on Friday and let her have a four day weekend as well, since Monday was President’s Day, and she already had that off.  But then, reality set in as I realized that Lauren couldn’t miss school on Friday because it was her class’ Valentine’s Day party and I’m the room-mom and all.  There began my troubles.

SNAFU

Hopefully enough of you have watched old war movies to understand what SNAFU means, if not, Google it.  My snafu began at 5:45 p.m. on Thursday, as I’m rushing out the office door to make it to the bakery before 6:00 o’clock to pick up the cookies I had special ordered for the party.  Two dozen heart-shaped sugar cookies, frosted in pink and white, with heart-shaped glitter sprinkles.  I was running late after trying to get everything done so I could take my 4-day weekend and the elevators in our building were nothing if unforgiving.  I waited.  And I waited.  And I waited some more.  Just when I thought I might have to rush down 16 flights of stairs…in heels…the darn thing finally showed up.

I ran through the parking garage, hopped in the car and speed out of the 8 story parking garage like a speed demon on, well, speed.  I then honked my way through 4 blocks of traffic and zipped into the bakery’s parking lot, which was crowded with cars of other moms, hauling hiney to get their respective Valentine’s Day goodies.  Got inside and was waited on immediately, cookies were ready, and quickly wrote my check (no credit cards accepted?!?) and hustled out the door.

Whew!  After all that, I had to rush over to the grocery store to buy the rest of the party supplies, and I decided with all I had been through (and the fact that I had 10 more cookies than I really, really, needed) I needed to sample the cookies that were worth $18 for two dozen.  I opened the box, giddy with anticipation, only to find that instead of 24 frosted, sprinkled-y cookies, I had 24 PLAIN-JANE sugar cookies.  CRRRRRAAAAP!  I’m sorry folks, I know I could’ve just moved on and either frosted them myself or given the kids plain cookies, but I paid $18 to have someone else frost them and make them into glittery-sprinkled-y goodness.  I wanted the cookies I had ordered!!!!  So with that, I busted a u-turn (in heavy traffic no less) and headed back to the bakery, racing against the clock to beat closing time.

I got there quickly (and safely, I might add) and fortunately, exchanging the cookies for the correct ones was simple, easy and quick.  Crisis diverted.

I went along my merry way, and yes, ate a freaking cookie (sorry Weight Watchers, please forgive me) and headed off to the store.  Traffic was a nightmare, and I was chatting with my mom on the phone, but as I was pulling in to the grocery store, much to my surprise, Lauren and her Dad were pulling out.  I waved (as best as I could while turning the steering wheel and holding my iPhone), excited to see my little one, even if for a brief second, since Thursday nights are visitation nights.  That little run-in lifted my spirits enough to get me in and out of the store in a jiffy and off to the house to get everything ready.

FLOWERS, V.1

At 8:00 o’clock, right on the dot, I saw the lights from Lauren’s dad’s truck flood the living room, signaling they were home.  I always wait for her to come to the door, because she likes to ring the doorbell, but I generally get up to see her come up to the porch.  I looked out the window, hearing her giggling, and saw that she was hiding a very large bouquet of pink and purple daisies (that she had picked out herself) behind her back.  She couldn’t quite figure out how to ring the doorbell with the flowers, so she pulled them out with a big “surprise!!!!!”  I was surprised.  Not at my daughter’s thoughtfulness, because she’s always thoughtful, but that her dad had actually taken her to do something nice for me for my birthday.  That’s the first time in 5 years that he has done anything for me.  Not that he owes me, but I feel like as Lauren’s parents, we owe her the decency of helping her have something for the other of us on our respective birthdays or Christmas.  I take Lauren every year shopping for her daddy, not because I want to but because she wants to have something for him, and that’s okay.  She should.  It was a really nice gesture, and while I know we will never really be friends again, I feel like we are at least headed in a direction somewhere away from complete and total contempt.  With the gift of the flowers, Lauren convinced my grandma to go ahead and let me open their joint gift, which were the hot pink New Balance shoes I’ve wanted ever since Tesleigh got them, so all in all, I was completely stoked.  It was going to be a fabulous weekend…..right?

Wrong.

SNAFU, REDUX

So….I get up Friday morning, get Lauren off to school, and head home to get myself ready and get everything ready for the party that’s not until 10:30.  I was really, really afraid that I’d forget something.  I was in charge of cookies, drinks, yogurt, spoons and conversation hearts, those candies with little love messages (that I think are gross), which the kids were going to use to play Valentine’s Bingo with.  I really figured I’d forget the cookies, because they were expensive, couldn’t be chunked in my bag with the rest of the stuff and I’d already had so much trouble with them.  I took plenty of time to get everything together, checking to make sure I had everything….especially the cookies, and then headed off to her school.

I got there in plenty of time, felt plenty confident that I had done a great job planning this party, and headed in to start unloading everything.  As we were getting ready to start making plates for the kiddos, I realized – to my horror - that I had left those nasty, disgusting, but crucially important, conversation hearts — AT HOME.  Now, if we had lived in the neighborhood, like a lot of the kid’s families do, it would’ve been no big thing I could’ve rushed home and got them.  But noooooooo, we live out in BFE and there was no way that I could make it home and back before the party was over, much less before it started.  I don’t have the best relationship with her teacher, so when I admitted my error, thinking surely (and foolishly) she’d say “no problem, we can use something else,” she said, “well go to Dollar Tree, they had a ton of them and the lines won’t be long.”  I grabbed my stuff and rushed out the door, trying not to cry in frustration, while Lauren did cry because I was leaving.  FREAKING-A, man!  If I ever say I want to be the room-mom again, shoot me! 

I drive like a freaking maniac (that’s becoming a real problem as of late) to the Dollar Tree, push past an old couple to get in the door, and see that their entire Valentine’s Section is SOLD OUT.  I go up one isle, then down the other, and thankfully, THANKFULLY, find 5 packages of 4 boxes each of those stupid, wretched, gross conversation hearts.  I grab all five boxes, and some Easter candy, just in case, and head to the checkouts, with lines 5 deep, of people buying last minute Valentine’s supplies (and 2 other mom’s in the same boat as me, rushing to get back to party’s with the pivotal items we forgot). 

I did manage to get back to the party before it started, and I didn’t cry….that much, and things turned out fine.  But really, man.  Really?  On my birthday?  What crap!

FLEURS, VOL. 2 (THAT’S FLOWERS FOR YOU NON-FRENCH SPEAKING FOLKS)

Saturday morning…the day of my family party for my b-day, I’m heading over to my grandma’s house, where Lauren spent the night since my mom was in town.  I have her clothes in my hand, along with my purse, because we are all getting ready to head out for a day of shopping, and who knows what.  As I’m walking over, a FedEx truck stops in front of my g’ma’s house, and I take the package, assuming it’s for my g’ma.  Well, low and behold, it’s a box from Pro Flowers — and it’s addressed to LAUREN!  I take it inside, and she’s excited to see that she got a dozen star-gazer lilies with a card that read “Happy Valentine’s Day Sweetheart – Love Daddy.”  I almost fainted right there.  I think my grandma did faint, and I’m pretty sure my mom went outside to check the temperature, just to see if hell had frozen over.  This is the first time, in Lauren’s entire life, that her dad has done anything for her unprompted, unsupervised, and because he might actually, you know, CARE about her.  We called him so she could thank him, and after she got off I myself thanked him for thinking of her, and told him how proud I was of him.  Way. To. Go. Josh.  It only took you 6 years, but hey, finally you’ve caught on.

SKUNKS

So, now I have to back-track a little.  Friday night my g’ma, my mom, Lauren and I went to see our local community theatre’s production of the Wizard of Oz.  It was great and we had a really good time, wrapping up our evening at Whataburger at midnight.  They dropped me off at my house, where I was staying alone since Lauren was sleeping with my mom over at my grandma’s.  Usually it freaks me out to be at the house alone now, I don’t know why, but I was way too tired to care.  I got in my pj’s, washed my face and went to bed, but seriously, the minute I turned out the light I was assaulted with the sound of my g’ma’s dog barking (she’s been getting out of her yard lately) and then my furnace kicked on, and I realized what she was barking at.  A skunk.  How do I know this?  Because the damn dog must’ve chased the skunk under my pier-and-beam house right under the intake for the furnace because when it kicked on, my house was literally flooded with the smell of fresh skunk.  Mmmmmm.  Just what I want to smell before bedtime.  And I got news for ya, that smell lingers.  And lingers.  And well, lingers, it’s been a week and I can still faintly smell skunk when walking into my house at night.

Late on Saturday afternoon I had to talk my uncle into helping me block the hole that the dog chased the skunk into hoping to either keep them out, or, in the even the skunk was still under there, starve it or something.  Doing all that work made me have to super hustle to get ready for my par-tay, but I managed to pull it all together and look somewhat presentable.

‘NOCULARS

Backing up again, (I’m all over the place today, but hey, it’s my blog) on Saturday afternoon, Baleigh came rushing into Maw Maw’s house wanting Lauren to go out to the barn and see their new “tree house.”  Now, stealing a line from  my momma, “you might be a redneck if your tree house is really a deer blind” and yes folks, we’re country, even if country isn’t cool.  The girls quickly scampered up the ladder and proceeded to play in the deer blind, which with the camo panted on does kind of look like it’s in a tree (or something…).  Scott was cleaning out his truck and handed Lauren some binoculars to play with in the “tree house” which she loved, because she likes “‘noculars.”  I was sitting there visiting with Scott, and Lauren yelled out from up high “Hey! Scott!  Get this!  I was lookin’ out my ‘noculars, and then all of a sudden I saw you and it was like ‘Whoa! There’s Scott! Like you was right there!’”  It was seriously, the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and reason 5,058,984 why I adore my child.  Her and her ‘noculars.

PEA ON YOU

We went to birthday dinner at Bushido’s Japanese Steakhouse and Sushi Bar.   One of those places where you sit around a table and they cook your food right there for you.  I love sushi and Japanese food, so I was really looking forward to trying it out.  Unfortunately, they don’t really take reservations, you just get put “on the list,” which we had been on since noon that day, and we still ended up waiting an hour and a half for a table.  That really didn’t bother me since Lauren had finally fallen asleep on the way to eat, so I sat in the truck with her while she napped and talked to my mom.  We finally got in, got seated, and got ordered and the show began.

The chef comes out, sets the grill up in flames, then starts the show, chopping, sauteing, and throwing rice.  What really made Lauren’s night is when she refused to try to catch the rice he was throwing in her mouth, he threw a pea from the fried rice on her plate and said “well then, pea on you!”  Lauren just died laughing “Mommy, he said ‘pea on you’ isn’t that funny” and did her evil genius laugh.  Hey, they may not appreciate her humor at school (where I hope she doesn’t repeat that) but all in all, it was worth the snafus and the skunks, for a great family birthday dinner.

P.S.

JEWELRY

My mom got me some of the most amazing jewelry for my b-day.  I’ll try to snap some pics and at least put them in my flickr if I don’t post them here.  Seriously, gorgeous and to-die-for.  That’s why I  love her.

XOXO

For instance, I like to expose my child to culture.  Whether it be the symphony, art, Sesame Street Live, history, French lessons, music or Broadway shows, I try to give her as many opportunities as possible (and that I can possibly afford) to have a strong foundation of experience to shape her little psyche.

In December, we got dressed up in our fancy-pants finest and went to see The Nutcracker ballet.    Before the show we went to Luigi’s, an Italian place downtown, for a fancy-pants dinner.

Here’s Lauren, looking like a supermodel, posing in the parking lot:

And showing off her dress in the alley leading to the backdoor (yes, yes, she comes from a family with fine taste and a no-holds barred approach to spending when it comes to a 4 year-old’s closet):

So one would think with all the beauty and grace that she exhibits in the pictures above, that she would be a refined, dignified child….not hardly so, as exhibited by this beauty:

And while I appreciate her humor, I’m always aiming for cute pictures to spread around to the family, so I begged her for a “pretty face” and this is what I got (remind me to be more specific since you know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder):

After the show (and doing grand pliés, ronde de jambes and pas de bourrés all the way back to the car), I finally, finally talked her into a sweet, pretty photograph, while showing off her new snow globe:

And with this picture I realize just how much I love my sweet little walking contradiction.

(Photo credit and blog idea from thepioneerwoman.com)

I love…

 
Lauren.

Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Williams-Sonoma.

Sunny spring days.

Rain.

Babies.

Family.

Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.

The fall.

Dry humor.

Sarcasm.

Friday evening.

Mountains.

The ocean.

Abstract art.

Purses.

Puppy breath.

Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion.

The Notebook.

The Seventies.

That 70′s Show.

My momma.

Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Talking.

Silence.

Solitude.

Cat Stevens.

Ghost/haunted house stories.

Black.

Anything irridescent and/or shiney.

Red wine.

Sleepless in Seattle.

Johnny Cash.

New clothes right off the rack.

Staying home.

Compliments.

My grandma’s chicken enchilada casserole or meatloaf (yum).

Riccotta cheese, chamambert and brie.

Mozart.

Dill Pickles.

French, Italian and Mexican cuisine.

Flaws.

Old people.

The Bible.

The theatre (like live, with actors).

Dryer sheets.

Show tunes.

Steel Magnolias.

Friends (the TV show and the real deal, man).

Blueberry oatmeal.

Blogging.

Cilantro.

Butterflies.

Honesty.

Self Magazine.

French culture/history/language.

Vocabulary.

Travel.

Pigs in a Blanket with Jalepenos.

Jalepenos.

Finding a new favorite song.

My grandmother. Oh, how I love that woman (even if I’m having a hard time showing it).

Memories of summers in Amarillo spent playing with my cousins.

Emily.

Kristi.

Yoga pants.

Yoga.

The Golden Girls.

Cookbooks with pictures.

European History.

Julia Child.

Baby cows.

Sid, Jr., Lauren’s pony.

The roosters in my kitchen.

Shabby chic anything.

Vintage photography.

Orange Julius.

Black liquid eye-liner.

MAC eyeshadow in Mulch.

Kind people.

Selfless people.

My cousins (here and in Amarillo).

My brother (even though he drives me crazy).

80′s movies (Pretty in Pink, Weird Science, Say Anything, The Breakfast Club and 16 Candles – hello Jake Ryan).

Dermot Mulroney in My Best Friend’s Wedding.

Sci-fy’s Ghost Hunters.

Les Miserables (the book, the movie and the musical).

Breakfast at Tiffanys.

Holiday Inn.

NARS blush in Orgasm (gasp!).

Laptops.

C.O. Bigelo Rose Lip Salve.

Christmas Eve.

My Zune.

Towels fresh out of the dryer.

80′s hair bands and 70′s classic rock.

The Wizard of Oz.

Quiet confidence.

Nerds.

Ralph Lauren.

Over-sized purses.

First kisses.

Lingering looks.

Hugs when the person doesn’t expect you to hug back.

Bird of Paradise candles from Circle E.

Faith.

My late-grandfather’s singing voice.

Norah Jones.

Big sunglasses.

Chunky jewelry.

My home-made enchiladas.

Pajama pants.

Flip-flops.

Fiestaware.

My uncle Scott.

Saturday mornings.

Sense & Sensibility.

Colin Firth.

Bridge Jones’ Diary.

Reading.

Cheese.

Roses, geraniums, gerbera daisies, tulips and calla lilies.

Roller coasters.

Warm summer nights.

Fireworks.

Photography.

Shakespeare.

Grammar.

Hot bubble baths.

This list could go on for infinity, but you get the drift.  Even when life seems hopeless, there are a lot of things and reason to love.