Livin' the Dream.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Welcome to the 2nd installment of 
Livin' the Dream, 
here at the 'ol blog.
What's new?  Let me see. . .
Just Livin' the Dream.
I really am.  
 Easter fun wrapped in remnants of Christmas.
Chalkboard bubbles. . .as about as creative as I get in this house, you know, with crafts.  For an "artsy" person, I'm really not.  But she is.
Early (bright) mornings.
Filled with Blue Macaws and pants-less little people.
The may be pants-less, but the most beautiful pants-less people
I've ever seen.
I could take pics of Gracie in her little girl room 
from here to kingdom come, and never grow tired of it.
Breakfast barricade's (because they can't stand to hear/see each other chewing.  Neither can I.
Bath times and bed times.
Pre-bedtime naps and Ruby Tuesdays on a Friday night.
Fridays.  The day where I give up.  On everything.
I have given up SO much, 
that I've found myself at Ruby Tuesdays.
The antithesis of what I find to be nutritionally sound, 
in a clean, human and earth friendly environment.
F**ck it.  It's Friday.
Despite the questionable entrees, the service is excellent.  And the kids are happy.  And that's all that matters.
{Oh my gosh, I'm such a food snob.  Especially when it comes to my burgers.}

A satisfied customer.
Really, just Livin' the Dream.
Car wash days, just me and my sweetest.
Where the popcorn flows like wine 
and my monstrosity of a mini-van goes through a major detox 
after a long winter.
Hockey nights.
City lights. 
My weekly escapes to guide the ready and willing, 
through a Yoga practice.  
Livin' MY Dream of serving and nurturing in my cities.
Little do they know, the students are guiding and nurturing me.
And all the in-between moments in Livin' the Dream.
Charlie and I on slow Mondays,
Where we're all about setting our "weekday" life
in motion.  
Slowly.  Until the next weekend.
Living room picnics.
Baking Banana Bread, because they love it.  I won't eat it.
You know, trying to make good choices and all.
Never mind I just funneled half the bag of chocolate chips into my mouth.
What.  Don't Judge.
Embracing that when I cook, I annihilate.  
Making a complete mess at every turn, instead of cleaning as I go, which my husband doesn't understand and drives him bonkers to no end.
It's how I roll.
Vintage shopping with my baby girl.
Who insisted on this purse.  And I couldn't say no.  It was $8.
Reminding me of the purse I bought when I was in sixth grade,
a new school in a new town, wanting SO desperately to be liked and to fit in.  
All the girls had these horrifically boring but sweet navy and black Liz Claiborne and Guess purses, too expensive for us.
So I bought one like the one above.  Thinking I'd be really cool.
I was laughed at and teased by my mean and nasty (insecure) junior high classmates. 
Through tears I held strong and rocked that purse the whole damn year.  Even if it WAS totally hideous.  It was mine.
And she wanted this to be hers. 
Rock it, girl.  With your matching sweats.
Overdosing on tea, the Spring cold of my 4 and 6 year old having finally caught up with me.
Damn it.
But falling asleep in a pool of my own drool, 
to Jim Nantz's voice and the Masters.
I could probably work his voice in to one of my Yoga playlists and do alright.
Blowing my nose in my husband's white tee (he's not wearing it,)
because we have no Kleenex and toilet paper isn't cuttin' it.
Livin' the Dream.  
Just Livin' the Dream.


Post a Comment