Kelle, Author at Enjoying the Small Things

Fire and Water

August 18, 2011 By Kelle

Can I just say I’m loving this Hallmark gig? I’ve read every single comment you’ve left. There are some great stories out there, and I am inspired. Thank you for sharing.

My mom says she has this dream every once in a while. She dreams that we’re little again, and she’s back in the days of rocking us, reading stories, holding our hands as we walk across streets to parks and picnics and little adventures. She says that when she wakes up, for one second she thinks we’re still little and in her house, and that when she realizes we’re not, there is a moment of heartache–this paralyzing reminder that those days are gone, and we have moved on.

I think about this a lot.

I know my mom is happy–that she has supported our independence and explorations away from home. I know that I will be happy, supporting their independence and explorations from home. But I also know that what I have right now–two little people who comfortably remain in the security of this sliver of time where they are ours–is fleeting. During adventures like yesterday where one is slung to my hip and one is holding my hand, guiding me toward where she wants to go, and little friends and friends’ mamas are circled around us, I think to myself, “I’m going to miss this.”

As we grow, we will each stretch toward new independence–the girls toward their interests, their friends, their dreams and myself toward–well, my interests, my friends, my dreams. It will be good. We will still be intimately connected in new and exciting ways…but I know I’m still going to miss this.

So, yesterday morning I shoveled bananas into Nella’s mouth a little more quickly and swigged my coffee in all of three swallows to get out the door on time to make our early appointment with friends. It was a five alarm fire.

I have this friend who is great at making things happen. Interesting playdates beyond park and other park and park two streets over from other park. She’s all “I’ll arrange a fire station tour or call a local horse farm or set up a ceramics session in my friends’ garage” and I’m all “Sister, you are the coolest.”

Today was fire station day.

And when you have eight little kids topped with chief hats propped up on the shiny front of a fire truck, let me tell you, the scene on the other side is a little crazy. A lot of crouching and clicking and “Look here!” and “Nella, Nella, Nella!” and moms’ butts up in the air as we contort our bodies to get a different angle. And hot firemen are laughing through all of it–this lovely crowd of photo-snapping mamas who are well aware this sliver of time while they are ours is fleeting.

Nella drove the truck.

But gave up her seat for the real chief who was kind and patient and so fantastic with our kids. He took us for a ride with sirens and all.

Consequently, Lainey’s been mimicking the sounds of a fire truck around the house. It’s really great.

Thank you, Rebecca, for arranging fun that extends beyond the park.

Which isn’t to say we don’t still love our parks. Other park delivered yesterday too. Because something had to put out our fire, and “the powk with the spwinkwers” did the trick.

August in Florida is synonomous with balmy and sticky or, for some, heat stroke and short-of-breath. We need our sprinklers and pools and popsicles.

While September doesn’t exactly relieve us of the heat, I am looking forward to the psychological shift for me, the Midwest pre-programming that allows me to believe it’s crisper, cooler and ripe weather for Fall traditions. Joann’s has their scarecrows and wheat wreaths out now. I’m just sayin’.

Until then, I’ll savor the sliver while they are little and mine.

*****

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Lainey’s skirt: New Spring Twirl Skirt, Mountain Aven tote bag too!

One commenter will be randomly selected from this post to win a $25 gift certificate to Mountain Aven Baby. School’s back in session for many of you, and routines are shifting as the calendar slowly moves toward fall. What do you love most about this time of year–the summer/fall transition?

Happy Day.

The Friend I Want to Be: Hallmark

August 17, 2011 By Kelle

This post is another Hallmark sponsored post. I am being paid by Hallmark to write it, but all writing, ideas and opinions are mine. Thankfully, Hallmark and I share the same idea–that little moments are to be celebrated and that good people, good efforts and good intentions deserve a spotlight. See Hallmark Life is a Special Occasion for more details, like them on Facebook, and/or sign up for their e-mail messages HERE.

In my teens, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was homeschooled, a bit sheltered and the closest I came to sleepovers were the ones I read about in Seventeen magazine where pictures of pretty girls with pretty teeth, painting each others’ nails, piqued my interest of a more social world. I met a couple girls in college with whom I really clicked, but I lived with my grandparents off campus from a small Christian school that breathed dorm life, prayer partners and residence halls that served as sorority letters. If you lived in Muffit Hall, you were practically an Alpha Delta Pi. I lived in the back left bedroom off my grandpa and grandma’s hallway—where doilies adorned my dresser tops and the echo of laughter and teenage conversation was replaced with the static of my grandpa’s nightly ham radio broadcasts.

And for the record, if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s not that I yearned for friends. I had them; they just weren’t my age. I worked in the Cardiology department of a hospital all through college and, along with a useful vocabulary of medical terms (“Print off his echo report, see if he had a thalium stress and send those cath films over to Royal Oak, Stat!”), I also acquired a nice handful of middle-aged women who served as both second mothers and good friends. I cried on their shoulders, pocketed their advice after bad dates and listened to them talk about their own kids who were thriving in college—lining up spring break trips and dog-earring cute bridesmaid dresses for the next of their friends to be married. Me? I was finishing term papers for Old Testament Studies, skipping required chapel visits and spending my weekends driving my busted-up station wagon (The Staysh) over to my sister’s house to live vicariously through her family. My friend Roberta (yes, who was over 50) used to tease me that if I didn’t get out there and meet some girls my age, someday when I got married I’d have an aisle full of bridesmaids all fifty and older—in mauve boleros and calf-length skirts.

And then I moved to Florida—the state that, I was convinced, had a population ratio of 200 old people for every young person. I was sure my someday wedding had expanded from fifty-year-old, bolero-wearing bridesmaids to an aisle full of walkers and nude orthopedic shoes with black knee socks.

But no. I met friends. Lots of them. Friends that taught me how to be a friend. Friends I would need a few years down the road when I couldn’t cope on my own. Friends that numbed my cravings for home and family—because they became home and family.

I’ve read enough parenting tips on raising girls to know it’s not recommended that you encourage talk of “best” friends because “best” just gets you into trouble and, like playing ball in the house never ends up good, publicly claiming someone as your “best friend” just sends another girl crying and crossing you off her birthday party list. But listen, this chick is my best friend.

And so are a lot of other girls I love. But I’m going to throw the term “best” around for a bit because it’s a well-earned adjective for my friend Heidi whose warm eyes and friendly smile should appear under “friend” in Wikipedia. So should her tomato mozzarella Paninis and the way she genuinely kisses your kids and treats them like her own.

Or the tone of her voice when she she’s sitting next to you, holding you, hugging you, telling you it’s going to be okay when your world has just been rocked. Or the loyalty and dedication in her eyes when you tell her certainly she’s tired and needs to go home, and she firmly replies…

I’m not leaving you. I promise I’m not leaving.

I want to be this friend. And though I sometimes fall short and kick myself for going too long before e-mailing someone back or sending a birthday card or going out of my way to let someone know what they mean to me, I am learning. I am learning how to be a good friend because my friends show me how.

And so, I’ve compiled a few admirable characteristics from the friends I know. Fool-proof tips of friendship that have changed me, supported me, made me feel loved and taught me how to be a friend—a really good one.

The Friend I Want to Be

Be Vulnerable.

You know that feeling when a friend calls you and she’s crying and needs you, and you say just the right thing to make it better? I love that. I always feel honored when a friend chooses me to share vulnerabilities. There is a level of trust and loyalty that strengthens a friendship. But it goes both ways. Being vulnerable isn’t always easy, but I’ve learned that when I genuinely share my heart—the good, the bad, the insecurities, the weaknesses, the moments of despair—it is welcomed by my friends. Women seek to relate to each other. We feel safe and free and challenged to be real when we realize others share moments like ours. The most beautiful moments I’ve shared with friends are always the raw and vulnerable ones. Alright, second beer on the dance floor with our hands in the air to Don’t Stop Believin’ is pretty beautiful too.

Tell them you love them.

Don’t wait for the perfect moment, the long phone call, the big thing that happens that draws the “I love yous” from near and far. Be random, be honest, be a good friend and blurt out nice things when you think of them. Text them after your friends leave your house—things like “Dude, you always amaze me with how well you listen” or “I watched you today with your son and I just wanted to let you know I think you are an incredible mama.” Or simply “I love you—just thought you should know.” It means the world to anyone who hears it.

Remember little details.

I’m always shocked when someone remembers something I said in passing. Like that I love sunflowers or Lebanese food or plain M&Ms. And months go by and then I have a bad day and someone shows up with sunflowers and Lebanese food and a bag of M&Ms. Because good friends stash away those details until they’re needed. And knowing someone’s favorite candy bar? It’s Friend Ammo. This, you should know. And how do you know these things? Well that’s the next tip.

Really Listen.

I’m not the best listener, I’ll be honest. And it’s hard today with cell phones and texting and thinking about that really cool thing I’m gonna say back when you finish saying what you’re saying. But good friends listen. They don’t just talk about their own stories. They ask questions about their friends’ lives and genuinely listen for their response. I’m getting better, and knowing how good it feels when someone is obviously listening to me and genuinely interested makes me want to do it even more.

Celebrate Successes.

It’s a given that you show up and support a friend during hard times. But when things are going great—when she nailed that big project, landed her favorite job, got recognized for something she felt passionate about—it’s still important to be there, cheering on your friend and letting her know you share her happiness.

Age Ain’t Nothin’ but a Numbah.

How silly I was to think I didn’t have many friends back in the day—just because the ones I had weren’t my age. Friendships don’t need EHarmony questionnaires pairing you with people who share your interests and fall in your age box. Some of my best friends are twice my age, and their wisdom and experience dissolves the many years between us. And let me tell you, Nana Kate can shake her groove thing just as good as the rest of us.

I have friends that are very different from me—some with no kids, some with grandkids, some who do laundry every Tuesday and never have piles of clothes perched on their couch cushions.

Dot never says a word when she uses my laundry piles for arm rests.

I need them. I learn from them. I love them.

There are more tips, more admirable qualities that take the spotlight when my friends step onto the stage and remind me with their performance to love like I’ve been loved. I fall short at times and have to challenge myself to love better, to gossip less, to at least post a “Happy Birthday” to a Facebook wall or send a text of “I know we haven’t talked but I’m thinking about you.” To make more efforts to hug their kids, praise their accomplishments, or pick up their favorite candy bar. But there’s time to improve. And many years before I rock out my bolero and calf-length skirt. I think it will have glitter. Yes, I’m pretty sure of that.

Tonight, I am grateful for my friends and what they’ve taught me.

What do you love most about your friends? Is there something a friend did for you that you’ll never forget–something that taught you how to be a better friend? I’d love to hear the qualities you most admire in your friends, and Hallmark would too. If you’d like, please share a story or endearing friend characteristic in the comments.

To see all Life is a Special Occasion posts from this blog, click HERE.

Unextreme Makeover: Lainey’s Room

August 15, 2011 By Kelle

On cooking shows, when, say, Martha Stewart whips up some eggs, scrapes in some butter, dollops perfect spoonfuls of creamy batter into muffin tins, it happens gracefully. Dishes magically disappear when she’s done with them, and of course she sprays her counters clean in between each step. Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be done. And cupcakes with lemon curd frosting taste so much better when you’re enjoying them in a clean kitchen, right?

The way I cook? Complete opposite. Egg shells cracked and thrown on the island, melted butter slopped on dish rags, batter carelessly dripping onto cookbook pages and never wiped off. It’s a measure of excellence: the more crusted crap on a cookbook page, the better the recipe.

Throw in a home improvement project with the cooking? Hay-ell no.

So it was last night, as I was making lasagna and tying up the last bits of my weekend home project, the kitchen took a beating. It had already served as the holding tank for all tools and homeless knick-knacks that I cleared out of Lainey’s room while I worked. And cleaning it up before I made lasagna wouldn’t have been any fun. So I spread noodles into my pan while I elbowed the cordless drill. I knocked over an Allen wrench, two screwdrivers and a USB cord while I stirred my sauce. And yes, it would have been so much easier if I did it the Martha Stewart way. But Girlfriend ain’t Martha.

Thank you Dad for giving up your weekend to make a couple girls very happy.

I like to mess up three rooms just to clean one. I rob Peter to pay Paul, dumping piles from Lainey’s room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to Nella’s room, from Nella’s room to the entry way, until the entry way serves as the audition tape for Hoarders. But what happens in the end is that I’m so excited about what I accomplished–about all the rooms that look new and refreshed, homey and inviting–that I’m inspired to clean that last room, those remaining piles–and clean it I did. I love new projects.

I needed a change, that is all. I wanted a new inexpensive home project and felt it was time Lainey had a space that was all hers. Most everything from this room is stuff we already had around the house. What we added was extremely inexpensive (Mason jars, marbles, dominoes, cardboard letters, paint, etc.).

When I was pregnant with Lainey, I poured all of myself into her room. When it was finished, I’d spend my evenings sitting on a chair in her room taking it all in. Sometimes I’d cry because I couldn’t believe the crib I ran my fingers along would hold a baby–my baby. Brett would wake up every morning to find me sitting in there–lights dimmed, feet propped, coffee in hand. “What are you doing in here again?” he’d laugh. And “Just dreaming” was how I’d reply. There’s something special about the space you create for your kids. This one was especially meaningful because now that I know her–what she likes, how she thinks, what turns the corners of her mouth into her infamous shy smile–it was so much fun to create ideas that would capture who she is. My creative, curious, colorful girl.

Her new space:

Lainey’s old Pottery Barn Kids kitchen–used to be pink. I repainted it red and put a coat of chalkboard paint on the refrigerator. My friend Rebecca made new curtains for the pie cabinet.

My one hold-up in this room was the chandelier. I hated it. This room used to be a dining room a long time ago and, to me, the light screamed dinner table. I wanted it gone. When my dad suggested we keep it, I fought him hard. He suggested painting it funky; I thought I’d hate it.

I humbly admitted once we were through that he was right. I freaking love this lamp.

Plain ‘ol toss pillow jazzed with some felt we cut, glued and stitched.

Toys adhered to wall with Velcro.

Discontinued Ikea curtains: $15 for both panels; shelf: $4 piece of wood painted and screwed into window opening.

Prints above dresser are 8×8 photos mounted on Styrene. I like canvas, but it’s expensive and I can’t justify it because I like to switch out photos and wall art when I get bored. These were $7 each from WHCC. You can also get them mounted on mat board with varied thickness.

Since we’ve finished this room, Brett has again found me sitting–lights dimmed, feet propped up, coffee in hand. “Just dreaming,” I say. Because it makes me happy.

It makes her happy too.

*****