Kelle, Author at Enjoying the Small Things

A Spooky Halloween Night

October 31, 2016 By Kelle

Happy Halloween! This is it, folks–the night of childhood dreams. Grab your brooms, light your candles, stock your candy. I love Halloween–but that’s obvious because holidays are my jam. To be honest, I think we all have a little something extra when it comes to chromosomal makeup, and we figure out what it is along the way. Mine definitely includes some kind of over-the-top enthusiasm for Halloween, but enough about me. IT’S HALLOWEEN!

This is the first year we did a Halloween party, and because I could not come up with anything more original, I called it SPOOKY PARTY but always said it dramatically and with a British accent and followed by a dracula laugh (moo-ha-ha-ha-ha).

I turned Lainey into a witch in this picture using Pic Monkey, and Brett’s dad printed it for me for some festive fireplace party decor.

When I went to Utah a few weeks ago, one of the moms was telling me all about the Halloween party she does every year, and I was so inspired, I stayed up in my hotel room googling Halloween-inspired food and ordered a fog machine. That’s how these things start. Whatever the case, we had so much fun. It even felt–dare I say–a little bit like a night at Hogwarts. Dash had his own sleepover with his grandma that night, so it ended up being a girls’ party. And the morning of, Lainey woke up early, came and found me and said, “Mom, I’m so excited I can’t sleep.”

Cue Harry Potter theme song, cue fog…

We served a full dinner of Halloween-inspired food including a witch wart potion that smoked and bubbled all night (I’ll never do Halloween without dry ice again!).

Turns out spaghetti is super easy to die black. Just cook pasta as usual, and then soak for about 3 minutes in a big Ziplock with a little bit of water and several drops of black food coloring.

The bat bile was a mint mousse that turned out delicious–just heavy whipping cream, melted white chocolate, powdered sugar, and a little green food coloring and peppermint extract.

As for decor, the Target dollar spot was ON POINT this year–flasks and beakers and test tubes, graveyard stones and almost everything else we needed. Throw some inexpensive spiders and snakes in the mix, drape some spider web, blast a fog machine, and everything turns spookatacular.

Radioactive bat poop favors (Nerds).

The brain cupcakes were super simple to make, and I swear I don’t mean that in a Martha Stewart “it’s so easy, all you need is 10 professional pastry bag tips, a blow torch and 6 free hours” kind of way. It’s just two shades of pink frosting. You frost the dark layer on first, gently slice a knife to make two hemispheres, and then pipe the light pink frosting on with a big Ziplock bag. (also, not my idea–found these on Pinterest).

Madame Zelda came to the party too and set up a fortune telling boot.

And giggling little girls all in witch hats, eating around the table in a mist of fog and illuminated by candlelight? BE STILL MY HEART. Magic.

The fortune telling ended up being a huge hit. They all lined up and took turns as Madame Zelda read a fortune fish for each girl (have you tried them? So much fun!), and then looked into the crystal ball to see their future. I made up fun tales for all of them and included some that Lainey had written for them earlier–like “Tonight you are going to do the Dab Dance with a skeleton.” It is pretty easy to make fourth grade girls giggle. I’m not sure we can pull that off in another couple of years, but it’s fun while it lasts.

We got this $20 plasma ball to use for our crystal ball, and the kids loved it. It’s definitely something fun we’ll tuck away and pull out for parties again.

Little Ivy was all big eyes and 100% belief for her reading. It was precious.

A few of our Instagram stories from the night:

The girls also made witch balm for their lips, and everyone got to take home their own tin. It’s a great party activity, is pretty easy to make, and kids have so much fun creating their own flavor concoctions. We made the balm from this post–four simple ingredients, and it’s my favorite lip balm. I keep a tub of it in my kitchen cupboard, and it lasts me forever.

And what’s a sleepover party without s’mores? Halloween style, using black widow egg sacs instead of marshmallows, of course ;o) We love our indoor s’mores maker. It’s so much fun to have for sleepovers and cozy movie nights–or breakfast, har har. Speaking of sleepover, does anyone have any tips for how to get a bunch of girls to STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP?! Brett kept coming out and asking me, “Aren’t you going to tell them to go to sleep?” And I was all, “I did. Five times.” YONO. (you’re only nine once)

A few easy ways to transform a party into a witchy good time?

*Switch out light bulbs with green ones–found in the regular light bulb section and a cheap transformation.
*Buy dry ice! We got a huge chunk of it at Publix for $12, and popped pieces throughout the night into our witch potion punch which kept it bubbling and fogging all night. You can also drop a small chunk into individual glasses–better with bigger kids as you don’t want little ones touching the actual ice.
*Fog machine. You’ll use it every Halloween. Makes everything look spooky.
*A candleabra. It added the perfect Halloween touch to our table and made for a great centerpiece. Very Hogwarts. The more candles, the better.
*A spooky playlist. You can find a ton of Halloween playlists on Spotify, from Monster Mash to Thriller.

And the best part? We get a whole ‘nother round of Halloween fun tonight. Grab your brooms, witches!

And a favorite Halloween post from the archives: Our Storybook Halloween.

Have fun tonight!

Leaves from Home

October 28, 2016 By Kelle

In the open woods behind our house, nestled between palmettos and tall slash pines, is a pile of leaves in a kaleidoscope of fall colors that stands out against the green scene we’re used to in October.

The pile is mostly flattened now, leaves tangled in dried needles, but the colors are still there, even two days after we scattered them. They’re foreign to Florida’s landscape, but they’re home to me. And every October since Lainey was a baby, we wait for them to arrive–delivered to our doorstep from the UPS man. I check the return address, see my cousin’s name and the promise of what’s inside with two little letters: MI. Michigan made it to my babies once again in a box that holds tradition and memories and family, and things I want them to know–the smell of a northern fall, the way one small Maple leaf can hold sixteen different colors, the happiness that comes from getting rained on by freckled yellow leaves that flutter to the ground in slow motion.

My kids are all old enough to have enough of these October memories stashed that they know the drill. They run to find “fall clothes” and meet me outside. We walk together to the woods and huddle around the box while I carefully open it. I pull the tape off the sealed bag, give it a shake and watch it expand with leaves awakening from their postal journey.

“Oh my goodness,” I say. “I think this is the best box yet. Look at all those colors.”

And then the moment they’ve been waiting for–I tip the bag upside down and release hundreds of vivid presents onto the ground.

“Ahhhh–smell that? That’s heaven.”

“Have at it! Jump in! Throw them! Make it rain!”

And I watch, in pure contentment, as my kids experience a sliver of happiness from my childhood home.

It’s officially fall.

We have a big Halloween party tonight and a sleepover that will, no doubt, keep us up late. So another cup of coffee is in order, and I may just take it to the woods for one more inhale of that heavenly pile of home. They’ll be fading fast.

Happy Friday. Happy Fall.

If You Could Take Her Down Syndrome Away, Would You?

October 26, 2016 By Kelle

I took the kids downtown this past weekend, an impromptu decision brought on by taking the dogs out early Sunday morning to be met by what us Florida folk call “a chill”–a drop in temps I’ll liberally define as “comparable to a northern fall.” Regardless, it was the kind of weather that begged us to be outside, so I dress the kids in long sleeves, throw Dash’s trike in the trunk, text Heidi with an invite to meet us and head south toward the fancy part of town we go to window shop and play at the good park.

“I’m doing this every weekend,” I always tell myself at the sight of so many people out and about, enjoying Fifth Avenue–mostly spry well-dressed rich people walking their dogs, but there are a few regular folk who help us blend in–that is, if you don’t count Dash ramming his tricycle into the front window displays of stores we have no business walking into. Or Nella, investigating the nether regions of street statues to see if their privates are showing.

But the dogs–so many dogs, and my kids want to stop and make friends with every one of them.

What’s his name?
Is he nice?
Can we pet him?

We pet Boomer and Kiki and Reba while their owners wait patiently and smile at my kids.

Heidi talks to a woman who’s sitting in the sunshine, enjoying a coffee. I’m distracted, making sure Dash is gentle with the dog he’s petting, but look up when Heidi calls me. “Kelle!” She smiles. “She has a son with Down syndrome,” she says, pointing to the older woman who’s intently watching Nella play.

“You do?” I say, “How old is he?”

There’s a pause that prepares me for what I know follows. “He passed away,” she answers. “Thirty-two years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I bet you miss him every day.”

We talk a little bit about how things have changed for people with Down syndrome these past several years before I gather the kids to keep walking, and then Heidi grabs my arm.

“I’m sorry, Kell. Is that hard to hear?” she asks.

“I’m used to it,” I smile. “I guess I’m just thankful that so much has changed.”

For one, how did word travel thirty-two years ago? How could a mother tell the world the secret story she discovered when she took that baby home? That the joy and love her child radiated and his will to learn and contribute was far more powerful than the narrative she had been told to believe about him. How could she spread word of the powers of human connection she was discovering–the way she saw things differently, the way all her investments in a life of comfort and convenience had crumbled only to give way to something new she didn’t realize existed–an understanding that allowed her to love better, fight harder, and appreciate people for every ounce of spirit that beams from their very existence.

Do you know what the life expectancy was for a person with Down syndrome in 1983? 25.
And today? 60, with many people with Down syndrome living into their 70s. And while much of this is due to the end of inhumanely institutionalizing individuals, I believe so many of the actions that have changed the outlooks for our children’s future are due to the power of story–moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas, brothers and sisters and friends shouting to the world, “She is worthy, she is smart, she is beautiful, she is happy, she is funny, she is capable, and you know what? She’s a lot like your kid.” Now that we have more tools to be heard, seen and to tell our stories, the world is expanding.

This month, for Down Syndrome Awareness month, I’ve read countless stories from families of a child with Down syndrome–how much these kids are loved, how much their families can’t imagine life without them, how they believe in them, advocate for them and continue to discover–alongside their children–what life is truly about. Based on the algorithms of who I follow on Instagram, my entire Explore page is full of babies of Down syndrome, so I frequently pop in to see these new families beginning. Behind the rawness of the uncertainty of those first few months, the love is palpable, and that’s the most powerful foundation a story can have.

Last month I spoke at the annual conference for the Utah Down Syndrome Foundation, the theme of which celebrated the power of storytelling in advocacy. Yes, things have changed and yes, raising a child with Down syndrome in 2016 is so much easier than it was in 1983, but there’s still an outdated narrative that our stories need to flood out–that this isn’t some sad thing that happened to us that burdens our everyday life. Someone in the crowd raised her hand and asked a question I hadn’t been asked in a long time–“If you could take her Down syndrome away, would you?”

It’s a hard question to answer. We try and separate Down syndrome from who Nella is and often compare her challenges to that of asthma or allergies in that it’s just something she has, not something she is. And yet if you asked any mama if they would take away asthma from their child, I’m sure they’d jump at the chance. No one likes to see their child go through physical struggles, especially ones that affect the opportunities they’re presented with.

But I can’t imagine Nella without Down syndrome, and in a way it is part of who she is. There’s a love, a vibrancy, a compassion, an awareness of people’s need to be seen, and a determination to take in the world that is just…well, Nella, and I don’t know how much of it may be wrapped up in the mystery of that extra chromosome.

Would I change her? Not her spirit, not her face, not her will, not her heart. Not the way she’s taught me to slow down and stop expecting life to roll out exactly how I planned. Not her crescent moon eyes that squint into tiny slits every time she smiles or the way, when her hand is in mine, I don’t worry so much about tomorrow because this moment right now demands all the emotion I can muster…and that’s happiness. She exudes it. So I will attempt to change what I can–the world around her. To value her, offer opportunities, expand its definition of beauty and success, and to celebrate the many things that make us different.

As for quality of life, I’ve got six years on this now. Our cuddly baby with the big blue eyes and milky skin grew into a girl, and we entered realms I used to worry about–public education, IEP meetings, bigger social settings and opportunities where her challenges are more prevalent and less cushioned by the bliss that is babyhood. But you know what? Life continues to get more beautiful, stretching my perspective, demanding growth and yet, without fail, offering more–more beauty, more love.

I am so grateful to be living this story as her mom in an age where I can watch, listen and learn from the many others who share it with us.

If you haven’t seen these, three online mama friends shared their stories in beautiful ways this month, and they made some incredible impact in the media: Amanda Booth and her little Micah, Oakley Peterson’s video of Welles’ story and little Sofia, self advocating like a boss. Your voice, your stories…the world needs them. It’s the most powerful advocacy tool we possess.

Happy Down Syndrome Awareness Month.