Tuesday, October 28, 2008

going retro.

Let me explain...

I don't need these. As the husband would state, I don't need the majority of what I manage to purchase in a month's time. However, I couldn't resist. Sensing that resounding theme of incapable resistance yet? In my typical shock-and-awe fashion (again, according to the man), I made an impulsive purchase that set me back $16... along with an entirely necessary splurge on two magnificently Euro-sized pillows for half the retro-ness of the aforementioned. It's a personal give and take: I give myself (inadequate) permission, and take what's enticingly unnecessary. I've mastered that technique, much to the husband's dismay. I have no excuse.

But can you blame my stumble? That blue had me at hello. Hook, line, and sinker. Despite whether I use them or not (which, unquestionably, I will... often), this lady would unashamedly lay them on her counter for appearance sake and appearance sake alone. I'm oddly vain when it comes to my kitchen utensils. Obvious?

OH, CUISINART!

Sigh.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

ode to a second love.

When I hear the phrase "hopelessly addicted," my mind unquestionably wanders to those notions of want when I undoubtedly find myself lost amidst the lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, and gerbera daisies en route to the deli meats at the Harris Teeter. I acquired, like most women, this astounding desire to not only flood my home with the sweet, enticing smell of fresh flowers but to bring something aesthetically simple yet entirely room-altering to this nest of ours. It's nearly impossible for me to refuse them. Nearly. I try for the sake of the husband. I do. But I'm fairly weak when it comes to resistance. My body seemingly has this innate ability to repel it. As much as this repellent nature may aggravate the man, he's learning to cope... by mode of ignoring the reality of my hopeless addiction. But he aides more than he'd like to admit...

A simplistic just because...

Or an affectionate (and intentional) stray away from the generic on Valentine's Day; his personal favorite.

He caters to my every whim and fancy, that man. And typically, in every circumstance, it's entirely undeserved. Entirely.

But if there were any scenario in which heart palpitations were to inevitably ensue, it's the rare pleasure of coming across what my heart becomes most hopeless for: hydrangeas. If the likelihood ever arose that I happened to only have enough to purchase milk, eggs, and bread in the same instance that I found myself face-to-face with these massive, bulbed beauties, you can say goodbye to any ounce of internal conflict in this ladies' body. Hydrangeas over survival. No debate necessary.

Of my grandmother's making, freshly clipped from her garden.

I melted mid-aisle over these. I wish I were kidding.

I'm hopelessly addicted, but all the better for it. All the better...

Friday, October 24, 2008

meet my new friend, writer's block.

I've plateaued. I'm only thirteen posts deep, and I can't manage to piece together anything even remotely worthy of reading at this point. Not that my life doesn't exude it's fair share of wildly entertaining tales, but this week, these storytelling capabilities I assumed I possessed have vacated the premises. I hesitate to say permanently, though. I had made the assumption far too soon that my life would easily fill these pages with humor, angst, blissdom, and a fine blend of insanity and grace daily, but I've met writer's block, and we've officially made the best of friends. Albeit, when the fog clears, I plan entirely on making a swift, clean break from said new friendship, but by the looks of things, it seems we'll be paling around in wordless misery for some time to come. Sadly, I've been undeservedly greeted by the bane of my blogging existence, and I am no fan. Here's to a resounding, "Woe is me!"

Monday, October 20, 2008

husband & wife.


"Let the wife make her husband glad to come home,
and let him make her sorry to see him leave."
- Martin Luther

Honor.

Cherish.

Keep.

This man enhances every ounce of this ladies' simple life.
Utterly. Genuinely. Completely.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

cover your ears.

Last Sunday was especially monumental for me. In a relatively simple way, too. Now, I'm fairly well aware that I'm moments away from gravely disappointing a few folks, because the term "monumental" bears quite an astounding reputation, but my monumental is not easily paralleled. My monumental is consumed by the basic that presents itself as extraordinary. When the husband finally deems the triumphant return of my hibernating Christmas with the Rat Pack cd as acceptable no sooner than the day following Thanksgiving. That's monumental. When I come across a Law and Order: Criminal Intent mini-marathon on TNT in the absense of the man. That's monumental. Even more simply, when I get a moment of quiet, a moment to be still. That's monumental. By definition, that's the reputation that precedes my unparalleled monumental.

Well, Sunday created a whole new scenario for my exuberant outcry to what's basic. To paint an appropriate picture, I'm accompanied by three gentlemen en route to Hable's Hearth for lunch. As usual, most resturants on Sunday afternoon typically take us past the illustrious addition to the already fantastic Friendly Shopping Center, The New Shops at Friendly. This trip, no different than others, caused an entirely unprompted scream of pure euphoria.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH! THEY'RE PUTTING A WILLIAMS-SONOMA AT THE NEW SHOPS AT FRIENDLY!"

Now, the "shut your mouth" bit wasn't really directed at any particular individual, but unquestionably, I certainly stunned my companions into silence. Which then, of course, erupted into hysterical fits of uncontrollable laughter. What person in any state of mind screams over Williams-Sonoma? If you never thought you'd meet her, let me introduce myself. I'm Nikki Lillard. Wife to David Lillard. Daughter to Chris and Vickie Brown. Three immensely gracious individuals that hopefully will remain claiming me post- (well) this post.

Ever since the inception of The New Shops at Friendly, I've found it exceedingly easier to avoid making the trek to the mall. I typically voyaged once every few months only for the sale selections at J.Crew or to fulfill this unnecessary urge to purchase even more dishcloths than any one person should at Williams-Sonoma, but for obvious reasons, I've willingly aborted the horrendous missions altogether. Albeit it has its redeeming qualities, the mall's just not my place of choice. So, you can imagine my enthusiasm upon the recognition of those brilliant gold letters in a more familiar, convenient environment.

Yes, I screamed. And, proudly, I claim the noise. So, excitedly, I anticipate Williams-Sonoma's grand admittance to the Friendly lifestyle. It's bliss, people. Yes, bliss.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

gourds galore.

I spent the better part of thirty minutes this afternoon perusing the 2/$1.00 bargain bin of Harris Teeter's finest ornamental pumpkins and gourds. Yes, seriously. You jest, but it brought a pretty permanent smile to this face that, mind you, I've clearly still managed to keep for an impressive five hours. As if the 2/$1.00 deal wasn't rewarding enough, these (12) lovely replicas of everything I adamantly adore about fall rung up at a mere and beautifully low 19 cents. Yes, 19 cents. And yes, 12. Overindulging on the inexpensive is a forte of mine. Suppression of said overindulgence just wasn't an option.

I'd be an impressive liar if I told you...
I didn't have a thing for glass jars, either.

I'd also be an impressive liar if I told you...
I wasn't already planning a second trip in the back of my mind.

One for the flowers...

Another for the gourds.

Sigh. The completion of a gourd-eous afternoon's work.
(Yes, I anticipated the pun. No, I didn't expect it to inflict ab-numbing giggle fits.)

Monday, October 13, 2008

solution.

Really, what consumes this heart...

Solution, Hillsong United.

It is not a human right to stare, not fight,
while broken nations dream.
Open up our eyes, so blind, that we might find
the mercy for the need.

Singing, hey now, fill our hearts with Your compassion.
Hey now, as we hold to our confession.

It is not too far a cry, too much to try,
to help the least of these.
Politics will not decide if we should rise
and be Your hands and feet.

Singing, hey now, fill our hearts with Your compassion.
Hey now, as we hold to our confession.

Woah-oh-oh.
God be the solution.
Woah-oh-oh.
We will be Your hands
and be Your feet.


Higher than a circumstance, Your promise stands;
Your love for all to see.
Higher than a protest line and dollar signs,
Your love is all we need.

Singing, hey now, fill our hearts with Your compassion.
Hey now, as we hold to our confession.

Woah-oh-oh.
God be the solution.
Woah-oh-oh.
We will be Your hands
and be Your feet.


Only You can mend the broken heart
and cause the blind to see.
Erase complete the sinner's past
and set the captives free.
Only You can take the widow's cry
and cause her heart to sing.
Be a Father to the fatherless,
our Savior and our King.

We will be Your hands.
We will be Your feet.
We will run this race for the least of these.
In the darkest place, we will be Your light.
We will be Your light.

We will be Your hands.
We will be Your feet.
We will run this race for the least of these.
In the darkest place, we will be Your light.
We will be Your light.
We'll sing.

Woah-oh-oh.
God be the solution.
Woah-oh-oh.
We will be Your hands
and be Your feet.


We will run.
We will run.
We will run with the solution.

We will be Your hands.
We will be Your feet.
We will run this race for the least of these.
In the darkest place, we will be Your light.
We will be Your light.
We'll sing.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

seared scallops with roasted corn and herbs.

I eat scallops like candy. Addictive? I'd be quite the liar if I didn't enthusiastically scream, "yes." So, imagine my elation when these eyes landed on this recipe. Shamefully, even in my two month, workforce hiatus, I've never actually attempted the culinary beauty. However, its simplicity and my inherent inability to turn a blind eye to temptations of the mouth have me eager... and drooling. Thus, I'll restrain you no longer...

Seared Scallops with Roasted Corn and Herbs

Ingredients:
  • 5 tablespoons EVOO- Extra Virgin Olive Oil, divided
  • 4-5 ears (2 cups) fresh corn, cut off the cob
  • salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • 8 large, dry-packed sea scallops
  • 3 shallots, minced
  • 1 clove of garlic, minced
  • 6 tablespoons fresh parsley, finely chopped, divided
  • 1 tablespoon fresh thyme, chopped
  • 1 tablespoon fresh chives, chopped
  • 1/2 cup dry white wine (preferably Sauvignon Blanc)
  • 2 tablespoons butter
Preparation:
  1. Heat 1 tablespoon of EVOO in a large skillet over high heat. Add corn, a good pinch of salt, and 2-3 turns of freshly ground pepper. Toss corn to coat lightly with EVOO and cook until slightly browned and caramelized, approximately 2-3 minutes.
  2. While the corn is caramelizing, pat scallops with a paper towel. Score them on one side with a sharp knife and season with salt and pepper.
  3. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, add 2 tablespoons of EVOO. Sear scallops, scored side down, until browned and caramelized, about 2 1/2 minutes. Flip scallops, cook 1 minute more, then remove from heat. Scallops will be nearly done and will finish cooking in the corn.
  4. Lower heart under corn to medium-high. Add remaining 2 tablespoons of EVOO to the pan along with the shallots, garlic, 5 tablespoons of parsley, thyme, and chives. Re-season with salt and pepper, give everything a toss, and cook until the shallots are translucent. Deglaze the pan with the white wine, scraping the bottom of the pan to pull up any brown bits. Cook for 1 minute.
  5. Cut butter into small chunks and scatter over corn. Place scallops in corn mixture (with the darker brown side up). Add pan drippings and any brown bits from scallop pan to the corn and stir lightly to combine. Cook till the wine is reduced by half.
  6. Plate the corn on a platter and top with scallops, darker brown side up. Sprinkle with remaining parsley and serve.
Compliments of Pete Bakel, the esteemed "Sweet Pete" of Rachael Ray's Hey, Can You Cook?! competition.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

scrubber extraordinaire.

My husband cleaned the shower this morning.

I repeat, my husband cleaned the shower this morning.

People, I ecstatically declare that I am indeed the wife of the most considerate man in existence. I hate cleaning the shower. With a deeply rooted passion, hate it. If it requires excessive, literal full-body scrubbing, you can count me out. Had we not had a greater need for our current shower caddy, I would've invested in Scrubbing Bubbles' Automatic Shower Cleaner ages ago. It goes without his saying, though, that he loathes the rigorous task to a greater extreme. Really. But without my urging or even a mere suggestion, he tackled it regardless. That man. Lord. He has this astounding ability to recapture the heart of this lady in the most basic ways. Consistently. Repeatedly. Always.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

eyeing relief.

I have this thing for vacations. Getaways. Time spent away from routine; monotony, even. I typically, by mid-October, feel some sense of entitlement to a well-deserved and hard-fought for few days away.

Hard-fought for, you say?


In so few words, I'd quite revel in the privilege of spelling it out in the clearest, most obvious form of English that I can: I specialize in "crowd control." Plainly, I teach kids.

I'm a glorified babysitter. An architect of character. An attitude connoisseur. A retriever. A potty trainer. A maid. An interpreter of all things gibberish, outlandish, and Aramaic. A well-oiled thank you card machine. A bodyguard. A punching bag. A fixer of the broken. An excavator of lost socks, dropped plastic spoons, and misplaced glue sticks. I console. I break up bickerers. I wipe tears and runny noses. I endure more knock-knock jokes in a day than you can fathom. I chase bugs of the invisible variety. Amphibians, too. I apprehensively chase bugs of the not-so-invisible variety. I discipline. I perform etiquette miracles. I parent. I parent. I parent.

But, in even fewer words, I adore my job with a consumable passion. Albeit, it drives me to this innate notion of deserved time-off, it's ideal. Simply, ideal. However, strategically, the month of November certainly tends to these vacation woes of mine. Genuinely, this lady will ever-so fondly greet Election Day, Veteran's Day, and gratefully, Thanksgiving with warmly open arms.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

conquered.

I don't typically dread Sunday evenings. Largely due in part by the fact that embracing Monday mornings has become more a pleasure, actually, than a chore. Gasp if you will, but surprisingly I've started to enhance my weeks recently with things I can't seem to get enough of- all of which really mirrors the consistency of my weekends, just in extended form.

I fill my days with vivacious (immensely humorous, even) kids, my afternoons with 2-hour marathons of my husband's least favorite show (Law & Order, of any variety) without remorse, and my evenings with family dinners, incessant face time with people I can't live without, or in the presence of the man, whether it be on the couch engrossed in whatever's plastered on our beautifully high-definitioned plasma or on opposite ends of our nest with his nightly Halo battle cries lulling these eyes to sleep. I read. I relax. I clean. I nest. I entertain the thought of finally scrapbooking our wedding proofs. I like my weeks. I've learned it makes Sunday evenings not so unbearable.

This Sunday evening, however, I'm not as enthused to be greeted by tomorrow morning. My weekends, of which I adamantly adore, are still typically predictable. I like spice. New things. Altogether, out of the ordinary. The stuff spectacular weekends are made of. Genuinely, my weekend screamed spectacular. My mother finds it laughable, but camping was ideal. Truly. This season grows on me the older I get, so spending the better part of my weekend in the open air made my heart grow even fonder. The weather was perfect. Conversation, perfect. Surroundings, perfect. People, perfect. Hanging Rock, despite it's perilous terrain, was worth the heavy panting, exhaustion, and intensely sore thighs. You can't pay for views like these.


In the aftermath of this weekend, it goes without saying that aiming high for the week to come would be nothing short of entirely advisable. And precisely what this lady intends to do.

Friday, October 3, 2008

the elements...

12 twenty-somethings.
3 tents.
12 sleeping bags, pillows, and pairs of thick socks.
An abundance of matches.
An equal abundance of firewood.
A ridiculous quantity of quilted goodness.
12 collapse-able chairs.
2 bags o' marshmallows.
A box or two of Hershey's bars.
1-2 boxes (factoring in a fair amount of greed) of graham crackers.
Truckloads of sweatshirts, fleeces, and beloved North Face's.
At least 6 decks of cards.
A handful of flashlights.
1 family-sized Black & Decker griddle.
1 converter box.
2 spatulas.
A couple dozen eggs.
Sausage. Bacon. Bagels.
Hiking apparel and tennis shoes for 12.
Cameras to capture the true inevitable beauty of it all.
(i.e., embracing fall... camping with the finest.)

Thursday, October 2, 2008

an affectionate thank you.

I am a self-professed Pottery Barn addict. But more of the visual persuasion. Meaning, I look (obsessively) but manage never to touch (unless 75% markdowns are in the equation). I revel the day when all four catalogs (yes, four- believe me, if there's a Pottery Barn catalog to be perused, I don't discriminate; however, investing in PB Kids and Teens has left me in dire longing for an adolescent bedroom re-do), crammed to the brim, are removed ever-so gently from their brief, compact home. Sometimes I scream. Mostly, I internalize my overwhelming joy for the pages upon pages of beautifully crafted perfection, in centerpiece and bedding form.

It's strictly a love/love relationship. I affectionately display her pages on practically every available surface space while she gingerly presents aesthetically stimulating design masterpieces that make me drool. Literally, I'm indebted to her.

She inspires me.
Motivates me.
Encourages me.

I'd be in a pit of eternal design despair without her. So, a genuine thank you to you, Pottery Barn, for allowing me the privilege to retain your utter creative genius. Truly, I'm most appreciative. The husband would highly beg to differ, but I contend it's a deeply rooted issue of jealousy that stems from his inability to grasp your finer qualities. Surely, he'll thank you in his own time.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

a simple introduction.

So, ever since the conception of this blog- which was, in fact, yesterday, so not the most valid of statements- rather the conception of the thought of this blog, I've been eager to lavish it lovingly with photos. Photos of the husband... of our nest. Photos of my ever-so valiant attempts at creativity. Photos of places... of moments. Ones that define me in a most genuine way. Ones that fit. So, with every ounce of mustered enthusiasm- which, mind you, is immense- here, the graceful imperfections of this ladies' life.

Meet David.

Simply, this man...
is my sweetest asset.

Solace-sought retirement in Jamaica? Yes, please.

My heart swells with this one.

Crowd control...
glorified babysitting...
crafting thank you notes.
i.e., Teacher's Assistant.

To avoid over-indulging, I'll save the rest for future lavishing...