Yo Momma

Another Mother's Day has come and gone and I have not received a damn thing from Sofi. Seriously pup, do you not appreciate me at all?

Of course she does, she's just bad at communicating her feelings... I wonder where she got that from?

But this post is not about Sofi, it's about me and my wonderful mother.

In the case of me and my mom, the apple has certainly not fallen far from the tree. We have so many similarities that I often wonder if she's copying me. She probably wonders if I'm copying her. Self-involvement might be one of our common threads. Kidding Mom.

We share a love for all things bohemian, the Beatles, being a drama queen, and the Gap. We both come home from hikes with pockets full of rocks, paint every piece of furniture in our homes multiple times, and have the same devotion to Clinique. We even cosmically end up buying the same shampoo without knowing it.

However, there are many ways that she is different and they are the ways in which I wish I could be just like her.

She is completely fulfilled in her day job, working with unfortunate children. She can whip up a fabulous, healthy meal for ten hungry people in twenty minutes flat. She never fails to land the upgrade at every hotel she's ever stayed at. She always makes time to focus on her health and fitness no matter how busy she is. She is a vault for every one's secrets and gives advice that can seem life saving.

I count myself lucky for the ways in which we are the same and admire her for the ways in which we are not.

The latest similarity was revealed to me on Mother's Day when we went to a yoga class together. Typically I prefer not to be beside her at yoga because it only takes one look to get us both giggling in a very non-yogic way.

The closing of the class came with the dreaded group Om. After doing yoga for five years, I still avoid having to chime in and hear my own voice. My solution to this has always been to move my mouth into a circle and just let air, not noise, pass through my lips.

I glanced over at my mom and saw that she was doing the same thing.

"Did you just lip sync your Om?"

A quick nod let me know that she had.

Yep. She was Milli, I was Vanilli.

But rather than blaming in on the rain, we chose to blame it on our hereditary lack of pitch and the fact that we are two of a kind.

Two peas in a pod.

Quite fitting actually, considering that we are both vegetarians.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you.

I Was Lucky Like A Four Leaf Clover

Maybe if you made a wish twice a day, both times at 11:11...

Maybe if you found a lamp with a genie inside...

Maybe if you wished on a million shooting stars...

Maybe if you rubbed a Buddah's belly...

Maybe if you had a rabbits foot on a keychain (you murderer)...

Maybe then you'd be as lucky as me, to have four best friends like I do.

But I doubt it.

I love you.

Shout Out: The Russian Edition

Здравствуйте!

Much to my delight when checking on my stats today, I realized that it is not just my parents and Jay and Gigi that have been reading Life Is A Lark. Unless they've taken a group holiday to Russia and left me out.

55 views from Russia. What??? Thanks Ruskis! (I really hope that name is not derogatory!)

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my blog. And while I'm at it, thank you for a couple of other things.

First and foremost, vodka. When the red wine has run dry this is my reliable backup that helps me get through the toughest of times. Like when the red wine has run dry.

Russia is the native homeland of one of my favorite authors, Ayn Rand. If any of you have checked out Voracious Lu, you will understand my love for this woman's writing and my curiosity of her politics.

Many other great things come from Russia, Regina Spektor, Anna Kournicova, Chanel no. 5, the periodic table, and mail order brides.

But the best things that I can think of that are from Russia are you, dear readers.

Thank you for tuning in!

It's Not My Party... But I'll Cry If I Want To

Oh the days following a birthday. After having my ego stroked for about a week now and celebrating at any given chance, the festivities are officially over. And things are starting to feel weird up in here.

I don't get a cupcake with a candle and a wish with every meal??

You don't want to treat me to lunch??

You're not calling me just to say how much I mean to you and how happy you are that I'm alive??

Yay, is that a present for me??? No? Ok. I didn't think so anyways.

Has it seriously been a half an hour since someone wrote on my Facebook??

This tiara wasn't for everyday wear??

Bummer.

For all of the birthday memories that red wine has stolen away from me, today I found a momento of this years birthday that brought a tear to my eye and that I will hold onto forever.

The most precious card I have ever received from my dear friend/sister/neighbour Gigi. An artist with more natural talent and ability than I can decribe. And she has quite the way with words as well...



Tears. Lots of them.

Not just jealous tears because I wish I had her printing abilities, or laughter tears because the drawing of her cat Betsey is so accurate that I know this isn't the first time Bets has sat for her. Or the fourth time or the hundredth time. Or the last time.

Tears because I have a friend who loves me for me and says it in words that I can believe. Someone who gets me, probably because she is part of me in so many ways. Someone who will lie about my home-made vegetable cake tasting delicious or say that my last rage blackout probably didn't scare him off forever. Someone who can be my reckless partner in crime on a runaway party night and can also appreciate a lovely crafting night in, and with equal vigor.

And she is definitely someone who will not judge me tonight when I ask her to please sing Happy Birthday to me for the last time while I blow out the last candle on my last cupcake.

She'll probably even make sure that my tiara isn't on crooked.