In a thrift store jungle, she finds her gold, Turns a chipped old mug into something bold. Crochets love into every stitch, Fixes hearts with a garden and a glue gun kit. Puzzles stacked like a mental gym, Sourdough rising on a baking whim. Leaves patience hanging on every word, A soft voice louder than most are heard. She laughs ’til she cries, and then we all fall, Wiping tears while we’re gasping, barely breathing at all. She’s the calm in the chaos, the spoon in the stew, The roots in the garden that always break through. Nicole, you’re the rhythm that makes us whole, Mama, you’re magic — you’re pure Nicole. With Kona and Millie guarding her steps, She’s the queen of cozy and cleverness. She’ll lift a couch and lift your soul, Then tell a thrifted lamp it’s beautiful. She gives like the sun and holds space like the moon, Sweatbands on — hitting goals by noon. Takes care of herself the same way she taught, That love is an action, not something you bought. She doesn’t need noise, doesn’t ask for a stage, Just a sunny windowsill and a notebook page. She’s the calm in the chaos, the spoon in the stew, The roots in the garden that always break through. Nicole, you’re the glue that makes us whole, Mama, you’re magic — you’re pure Nicole. She’s the hug in a meal, the thread in our seams, The softest place to land in all of our dreams. She showed us that strength wears a gentle face, That slow, steady love is life’s greatest grace. She’s Sunday mornings and candlelight, Midnight talks and holding tight. And every version of who we’ve become, Started with her — the original one. She’s more than a mom — she’s a compass and map, The reason we hope, the hands in our laps. If you ask what a hero looks like, we’ll say: Wears leggings, makes soup, and saves the day. She’s the beat in our laughter, the thread through it all, The one who still catches us when we fall. Nicole, you’re the song we’ll never outgrow, Mama, you’re magic — you’re pure Nicole. So here’s to the garden, and here’s to the bread, To the words that she speaks and the tears that she shed. To Nicole — the roots, the rock, and the soul… Mama, you’re magic. You’re pure Nicole.
