Why are you here?

My late Father could ask that question in a way that would make you debate your very existence on earth. Like for real, Lord, why am I here? You would forget your rehearsed manifesto and acknowledge defeatedly that you most probably had no good reason for being wherever you were, in that moment.

Today, I'm addressing the critics of social media junkies (I happen to be a card carrying member- hello!):

It's been discussed countless times, outright or with disdainful insinuations.  What makes social media junkies tick?

We must (be):

Narcissistic
Vain
Self absorbed
Have low self esteem
Need validation from strangers
Have no friends in real life - this made me chuckle
Be ugly- ha!
Have nothing better to do

I won't even debate the above, but let me throw the question back to you, non-social media junkie, that might agree with the above - OR- the proud non social media junkie that eschews posting or commenting or liking any post- but still yet knows a SM junkie's every single move?

Are you a:

Stalker
Hater - ha!
Lonely
Jobless
Pathetic
Cowardly
Not confident
Uncreative
Low self esteem having
Obsessed
Unmotivated
Non innovative
Judgmental
Secret Fan?

I didn't think so. So, again I ask- why are you here?

Don't forget to secretly subscribe before you leave!



*Seriously, when I found this mirror at T.J Maxx, I started looking around for my 'peoples'. We're out there, it's a movement, get into it!

Love your selfie, 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

Brava! (Escape from Alcatraz)

At least that's how I felt when my friend (who is visiting from the U.K) and I were finally able to coordinate a girls night out. Finally. Ah, Sweet Freedom. No burps nor bibs, no mess, no kids. No nursing bras - can I get an Amen, someone? Just me, my girl, subdued lighting, animated conversation and delish Sangria. I really don't need much to feel human. Plus I clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myself. (Hic) :-)