happinessoverhaul

For the record: I'm not from Belgium.

This clip made me smile, and then cry. I don't know why. It's a happy clip, absolutely NO reason to shed tears. But they were flowing abundantly. May be it's because I'm home sick. May be it's because I feel emotional about going back home exactly a week from today. Who knows... Every so often, my laughter seamlessly morphs into a cry. I'm just silly like that.

I risk, therefore I am.

I finally did my "about me" thingy. There, on the right side of the blog, above my picture.

When Lexi and I did our blogging course this winter, the teacher mentioned several times that my "about me" stuff was missing.

It's  not that I didn't want to fill it in, I just didn't know what else to say about myself. After all, I had already made an ass of myself here.

Lexi suggested I would point out to you that I am from Holland and therefore you should read this blog with a dutch accent. But that wasn't enough. So I just left it blank. Last night I finally got some inspiration, sparked by a question of my 7 year old.

Go on then... read it for yourself! And come back to let me know what the biggest risk was you ever took. (yeah... now you have to go over there and see what I'm talking about). 

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.

My daughter is already excited for her 8th birthday. She's planning, enthusiastically making list of the friends she wants to invite, the fun activities she wants to do, how magical her cake will look and of course: what presents she is hoping to receive. Her birthday is not until the end of October.

MY birthday is tomorrow. I’ll be 38. Tomorrow!

Still don't know nothing.

How was that for a cliff hanger, huh? I received emails (feel free to leave comments, it’s not scary) asking me what happened at the psychic. Well, here it is.

I went with my friend Jennifer. We were running late and joked about it. “He’s psychic, he already knows we’ll be late”. Yes, one makes lame jokes when one is nervous.

A tall, dark man with a friendly face opened the door. He led us through a tiny hall into a small waiting room. He whispered and rushed us through the instructions. Apparently we had mixed up the times. We weren’t late. We were 20 minutes early and interrupting somebody’s session. He was very friendly about it and returned to his client. So we set there, in the small waiting room, staring at the dark red walls, completely covered with African masks. Incense were burning, new age music was playing. We waited. We giggled. I still didn’t know what two questions to ask at the end.

How to lift your vibrations (or: what a difference a day makes)

Enough with the pity party. I don’t think I will figure out the bigger questions of life by tonight, unless I drink the whole bottle of wine and get all philosophical. And I won’t do that, even though I want to. After all, the doctor told me that this pregnancy is pretty much a done deal so technically speaking I might as well be drinking again. I'm just sitting here in limbo. The doctor's office never called me back with my blood results. So even though I know it's over, I will be sitting all weekend with the nagging little thought that it aint over ‘till the fat lady sings. Or calls, in this case (not that I'm implying that my doctor is fat or anything…).