The perfect morning

beyonce-mugI have been one of those insanely sensitive and absurd bleeding heart liberals who can’t get her head wrapped around the election results. (Don’t worry, this isn’t about politics, it’s about how ridiculous I am). The crying, the denial, the crying, the anger, thinking my whole family hates me, the f**king crying. I am about to break up with myself.

Having said that, I had the perfect morning this week. Thursday was our office Thanksgiving. I was cooking one of my favorite recipes from Queen Ina Garten. Her bacon balsamic Brussels sprouts. Although I did all of my prep work Wednesday night, for the sake of food integrity I waited until 6:30 a.m. Thursday to cook. No ma’am, I am NOT serving soggy refrigerated Brussels, even to my co-workers. The Queen would not approve.

So for just the first few hours of Thursday morning, I was that woman who could DO IT ALL. I cooked three and a half pans of only the good Brussels sprouts (get it, Ina fans, GET IT?), I worked out, I walked the dogs, fed them and the cats both (please note I do this every morning, I don’t starve my kids), made and finished my smoothie before I left the house, and managed complete hair, makeup, and outfit to get to work earlier than normal. Please note: if you want me to start working before 9 a.m., you need to let me work at home permanently. Otherwise, I stand by my conviction that my optimal work day would be 11-7.

Most of all, that morning I was in a GOOD MOOD. I did not hate myself.

Here’s the problem with The Perfect Morning. You start getting ideas. It’s kinda like how you go to your first yoga class in months and you almost sign up for an unlimited membership immediately because of how good you feel. When you probably should just try to go once or twice a week for a few weeks before being an idiot. But The Perfect Morning makes you think you should do this more often. Like, you should get up even earlier, workout 10 extra minutes, walk the dogs 10 extra minutes, maybe do a load of laundry or dishes, read the papers and trades BEFORE work, and maybe even get to the office “on time.”

This, much like my mood swings the past 10 days, is ridiculous. My bed is awesome. My dogs are old and sleep even more than me. Dishes and laundry are stupid. I work out more than anyone I know already. And reading the papers and trades, as everyone knows, is what the first 30 minutes and cup of coffee at work are for. Don’t get crazy.


DEBUNKING DETOX: Look Good, Feel Good, Do Good

Today is Day 15 for me on Whole 30. Although I feel absolutely amazing (seriously, better than I have in months!) I am still very tempted by many things. Mostly pizza. And cake we’ve had in the office THREE times. I look for inspiration wherever I can get it. This post by Tiffany Hendra on Sanctuary of Style, especially that infographic, hit the spot today.

Read it here: DEBUNKING DETOX: Look Good, Feel Good, Do Good

In other blogs: “my husband is not my soul mate”

e644d2548aa94da823153fb9f739efb7A couple of weeks ago one of my girlfriends sent me a link to a post on Trusty Chucks entitled “My Husband is Not My Soul Mate.” Given who sent it (we have very similar beliefs about many things dating and marriage related) and the title itself, I knew I was either going to hate it entirely or absolutely love it.

First of all, Trusty Chucks is a fabulous site. I have complete blog envy of Mary Graham and the work she has done. Second of all, how she got the idea for this particular post was both heartbreaking and eye-opening. One of her students, a 7th grader, wrote, “It’s not fair that people with disabilities get judged by how they look. Some adults don’t get soul mates because of how they are looked at.”

Well played, 13 year-old. I both hate and love that you know that. I was less than a year away from thinking Mike Modano was my soul mate at your age. You, my little friend, have a much better grasp on reality, no matter how bad it sucks.

As Mary goes on to say, that student’s statement alone is worth a thousand different topics, but it was the words “soul” and “mate” that got her attention. She said her first instinct was to immediately run home and tell her girls “that soul mates aren’t real. That this isn’t something to dream about, something to wish and hope for. Because it will let you down and make all your real, healthy, and sometimes-disappointing relationships feel less than.”

When I read that I realized even at my advanced age, divorced for five years and still single I have absolutely no freaking idea how I feel about any of that. My first husband was obviously not my soul mate. I have a list of 438 reasons why I am perfectly okay with that, one being I had no intentions of being a level 50 mage when I grew up (yes, that part of my life was totally an episode of Big Bang Theory). But here’s the part that will potentially make you roll your eyes at me: I still believe in soul mates. But I also believe what Mary had to say:

He is my husband, my best friend, my lover, my favorite person to talk to, my biggest cheerleader, and my family.

But he does not complete me, fill me up, or make my world.

He challenges me, encourages me, and talks me down off cliffs, but he isn’t the end-all-be-all of my world. That is a dangerous thing to ask of a relationship because I’m in love with and married to a flawed man. And he married a really flawed Mary.

I could honestly cut and paste the ENTIRE post because it’s that good. But her site is more than worthy of your visit, so I will refrain. The way she described her husband, Chris, is what I personally believe to be the quintessential description of a soul mate. As she says, I also don’t believe in anyone “completing” anyone else. That is absurd. We are in control in completing ourselves. I do, however, want someone to complement me.

I am a grown ass woman. I have many faults. Among them, I despise cleaning and wasn’t exposed to good financial habits growing up. Those are two things I am working on but with which I find extreme, mind-numbing difficulty. But I know how to take care of myself without much help. I’ve never missed rent, my car is paid off and my electricity stays on. Neither I nor any of my animals go hungry (though they’ll try to convince you otherwise). So as much as we all have our moments of lusting for a “sugar daddy” (do not lie, you’ve done it too!) I do not need that or really any man. I proved that to myself by surviving an unexpected eight months of unemployment on my own. But would it be amazing to have a partner in crime with whom to get into shenanigans, navigate the rest of this life, support my bad decisions and screw up our own kids? Abso-freaking-lutely. I don’t need you to find my missing glass slipper and whisk me away to your castle. I just need you to be able to carry me out of the bar when my glass slipper breaks my ankle – cause it’s been known to happen – and take me to our regular sized, maybe kinda messy home. I also need you to kill wasps and make sure the tires on my car are rotated. I don’t have unrealistic expectations here, people!

That was a long explanation of saying I know it won’t be a Jerry Maguire-esque ending of “you complete me”. It won’t be rainbows, butterflies and fairy dust. My pastor recently said that marriage isn’t defined by the for better, for richer and in health moments. And I completely agree with that. It’s the worse, the poorer and in sickness moments when it would be lovely to have someone the most.

Xo, Nikki


I have reached a place and age in which I don’t want anyone in my life who doesn’t drive me to be a better person. Many of the reasons why are listed in this post!