The little things

Sometimes all you need is the little things. Not a whole lot of muss and fuss. Not a lot of words, or a mish-mash of metaphors, none of the bells and whistles, special effects or elaborate plans.
When was the last time your kids told you they could not have fun if you didn't take them on an expensive, pre-packaged vacation?



Or "No mama, we don't wanna go outside today." I didn't think so. :)

A picture is worth a thousand words.



A blog post with two words is better than holding out for the perfect alignment of pictures, writing flow and camera-ready moments, cause as we all know, when do those really happen? I mean really.

Sometimes, you just gotta let the little ones drive the boat.



Then one day a miracle will happen. They will say "I don't wanna watch T.V today. Wanna do work on the 'puter." And pigs ain't flyin' either.

Next thing you know, they're doing laundry. Unprompted. :)

Some days, all it takes is an old blanket and 4 cupcakes on your lawn for the perfect picnic.



The little things.

Frugal Foodie

I used to be that girl. You know, the one that ate out every other night. Just because, hey, why not? '1789' for anniversaries, 'The Charleston' for lobster bisque (yummers), 'Cafe de Paris' for crepes and duck, 'Bob Evans' for banana bread etc etc etc. And some days, I'm not even gonna lie - I wanna be that girl again.

But, I don't know if you've heard of this little here thing called, ahem, the recession? Well, yeah. These days, the whole eating out thing? Well, not so much. I mean for special occasions, yes. And some occasions, we have to defer to life and 'da billz', yo.

So, this is where we get creative. It's all about using the formal dining room, whipping out the 'good china', splitting a bottle of great tasting muscato, and splurging on a good cut of meat. Cooked at home. By a man I love. Whom, I might add, just happens to love me.

I'd rather be this girl, methinks.

And so, I daresay, would she. (principessa with daddy on his birthday @ Chez Prada)

Can I say that the wine was $9, the beef wellington prepared by my hunnybunny was priceless, and the occasion was - you guessed it - 'just because'. Mmm hmm, we're living it up, peeps. :)

Egusi, garri and bud lite with lime. Don't sleep on it, people.

Bon Apetit,pp

Not to brag but...

... How did we get SO lucky?


Blessed, more like it. I thank God for these three every day. Nevermind the recession, or the fact that I have not slept past 6am for the last six years. Or the stretch marks. Or the crayon and pencil marks on the sofa and walls. The 2am emergency room huddles are a distant memory when I look at these three.


Ah, how do I love thee (Numero Uno, Monkey boy and La Principessa?)

Let me count the ways.

You are all so alike, yet so different. You feed off each other and make the puzzle complete and perfect. The Trifecta.



You blow my mind (and my eardrums at times). Never mind that, though - hearing is overrated.

Thank you Lord, for these ones! I cannot believe that I got to do this thrice!

loving my 3 musketeers, pp

And just because...

...She's so sweet! I offer you my gratuitous post of the month. I know, she's adorable.


Introducing 'La Principessa'. She rocks our world and she doesn't even know it. Perfection, I tell ya. Yum. We're SO glad that you're ours!
Sugar n Spice et al, PP

Frenemies, friendships (or lack of therein)...

I like to be positive. I am a pretty sunny person, overall- just my nature, came by it honestly from my dear Daddy :)). So this will be the last of these kinda posts. But sometimes 'needs must go there'. So here we go.


Frenemies. Sigh. A house came between me and mine. My house. It was like an obsession with her - as long as we lived in this house, she could not, nay would not, visit- we could not be friends.

She resorted to snide comments and subtle (later not so subtle) comparisons and 'oneupmanship(s)'. Like ridiculously expensive private school tuition. We could have our house, but could we afford 20k a year tuition for our kids? If we really cared about our kids, we would sacrifice 'the house' and move back into our two bedroom townhome and make do. After all, that was what she was doing? Never mind that she had a (cramped) closet full of Chanel bags and what not.

My issue was not so much the unsolicited 'advice' on how to apportion my finances, nor the insinuation that she was somehow a better parent, not even my mild irritation with the age-old private vs public debate (my take, private, duh), but that she thought so little of our 'friendship' to let a little envy get in the way.

I mean, we all feel pangs of it - "Aw man, I wish I could...drive that... vacation there...afford that...". But how many of us actually launch a whole campaign around it(lol)? Abandon a friend/friendship, drop off the face of the earth? That's a frenemy right there.




Walk a mile in my shoes, don't beat me over the head with 'em. Dag. I mean, geez...(disclaimer: not my house, lol - MARC train yucky floor!!!)


Well, I mourned the loss of the friendship for all of a minute. that was all it was worth to me. The 'house' thing was her issue, her area of insecurity and once I realised that she was trying to make a pricey kindergarten education mine, we were done. What, so we can't be friends if I don't fit into the little box you created for me in your little mind? Awww, so solly. Must go now. Boo, hiss.

Don't get me wrong - a little friendly competition is great. Not being able to happy for your 'friend'? Not so hot. So adios 'amiga'! Don't let my huge, fancy oak door hit you in the tuckus! :)


Femme du maison :), pp

Public (Enemy) ahem - School

I am not a snob - far from it, actually. Except for this one thing - a quality education. We can debate this all day long, about if more tuition equals better education and yada yada yada. Of course I realize that it doesn't, but I do know that the test scores and statistics do not lie. And private schools appear to have the upper hand on that one.

Sigh. It is happening to Prada. Numero Uno son is leaving his cocoon of Spanish/yoga/Montessori privateschoolism and entering the big harsh world of public school, riding the bus and lunch rooms. Oh Brother. Now, I wouldn't have that much of problem if this school was highly rated, but on the other hand, I am not freaking out as much because their First grade program and teacher has received best teacher/best program state-wide recognition consistently for years now. So much so that a roll out for First grade in the county is being adopted based on the one this Elementary school already has in place. (This pep-talk is more for me than it is for you, so bear with, please.) Second grade and beyond? Well, keep a-prayin' folks! :)

Ach. The choices we have to make as adults. The guilt that comes with it. Judgments from 'friends' (there is a post in the works on this - watch this space). The emotions - pride at the fact that your baby is growing up, trepidation that he is 'leaving the nest' venturing into this world of six year olds - (they all look so big in comparison!). New faces, new teachers, new parents. New experiences are a cakewalk for me. But I detest the unfamiliar for my baby. Good luck, Numero Uno. It will be well with you. And we're in this together, Prada and her boy.

Le etudiant publique, himself (Disclaimer: Of course this may or may not be real french, i have no idea, quote me at your own risk:))
smooches, PP

The Garden

Let me tell you a story about a garden. Except it really isn't about the garden (is it ever, really though?) Truthfully, it is more about the gardener, or should I say the relationship between the garden, gardener and 'gardenee '(prada herself). Now, we are getting somewhere. (P.S. Hurray for big pictures. You're welcome.:))

I have a love-hate relationship with my garden/yard/outdoor space. This extends to its caretaker - whom we shall refer to simply as, 'the gardener'. My garden is, at its best, awesome. It is the perfect place for my two little boys (Numero Uno and Monkeyboy) to run around, ride their bikes, plant cherry seeds (that never ever grow), swim, dig up dirt etc etc. I have no problem with that - in fact, this is why I label the garden as 'awesome'. My beef with the garden is that it is unruly, temperamental, home to rabbits and the occasional little snake (when left untended) and this is where the gardener comes in. His task is simply to 'reason with the garden', tame the garden, nurture the garden. (READ: Do whatever garden needs so that we do not dwell in perpetual state of Jumanji.) Is this too much to ask? Apparently so.


So for years, I have tussled with the gardener. Made excuses for him. "Oh, it's too hot", "It's raining", "But he's so honest", "We'll never find a better deal." etc etc etc. Thus round and round we went, an infinity ring of paydays, unmet expectations, payday, attitude and threats to leave, paydays and complete silence from gardener. Even more paydays. Then the realization that I (well it was more like Hubby had had enough and just fired him and hired someone else, but it reads better my way) just had to step out of my comfort zone and embrace change. Familiar doesn't always mean better. Good friends rarely equal good work ethic. Honesty is not efficiency and as cliched as it sounds, 'there's always more fish in the sea'. I know, groan. Enter our new gardeners. Enter Nirvana. I so wish I had a 'before' picture to show you so that you could fully grasp how far we've come, but you should be impressed with just the 'after'.

What's your 'garden'? Who's your 'gardener'? Yes, I'm getting preachy - it's Sunday and Prada just had a 'hallelujah' moment. Thank you, Lord!


And totally off topic - just because it's a great moment captured by my trusty blackberry camera that never captures anything, thanks to its annoying shutter delay thingy. CAPTION THIS, WILL YA PLEASE Somebody!!!

(Mama please may I? I know I can, pleasepleaseplease! Don't say I'm just a baby, I can do it- just put me on one of those bike thingies and I'll be good, promise! Wait for me, Monkeyboy! Numero Uno? Aw man!!!) Just wanna snog them all cause they are so precious- Monkey boy, Numero Uno and Principessa. I know, her proper introduction is coming soon, promise. :)


garden couture anyone?
PP

Hello Blog, it's me, Prada :)

Monday was a blur. I can barely remember what shoes I wore or what I ate - and for those of you that know me, that is tres big deal. As in my days are pretty much filed away under those two things - I have the summer of the 'over priced (READ:buyers remorse) Tory Burch color-blocked wedges (cough, cough - this summer). The week we had that uh-mazing Pho - yup, that would be this week. And so on and so forth. But Monday was infinitely forgettable, I must say.

My amnesia was probably fueled by a seven day work week and the bone crushing fatigue that comes with the Worker-Mommy-Wife thingy (or WMW as just made up by moi - and yes, i'll be here all week, folks:)). But check this out - I do remember how for 45 minutes or so I whooped it up and pranced around like I hadn't a care in the world with a very special little girl. We did the baby equivalent of swinging from chandeliers, al beit in an extremely bright, primary colored 'crayola-suessish' padded kiddie club enviroment. (Shout out to all the 'My little gyms' out there!)

I drank in her cheeks and sweet smell and bit back my smiles at her ungraceful tumbles, manic crawling spurts and fascination with the mirror. (Already? Oy.)

Like I said, Monday was a bust. Except for this part.

Hug your 'little' today, pp

p.s - I know, I know - proper introduction will be done later. this was just one of those days when my creative smeagol was gonna eat his way out of me if I didn't find on outlet. Hence my first post in like forever.