Kelle, Author at Enjoying the Small Things

Enjoying the Small Things (and bad pick-up lines for Life)

December 28, 2010 By Kelle

When I lived up north, I remember every year, post-Christmas, I entered a dreaded funk. Christmas was over, the cold continued, and all the ghost town store aisles of broken candy canes and clearanced winter scents echoed the let-down. I actually quit my college Victoria’s Secret job the day after Christmas one year because I didn’t want to leave my sister’s and couldn’t face the hour long snowy drive to a depressing mall. I just called up the morning I was supposed to work and said “I quit.” This irresponsibilty, of course, led to the explanation that I could never be hired by Victoria’s Secret again, and I think I replied with something like “Yeah, I’m cool with that.” Thankfully, other things worked out. But I still regret the impulsive irresponsibilty. (Sorry, Victoria. I still dig your bras.)

Which brings me to this…

Florida rocks post-Christmas.

It’s like straddling the best of both worlds. One foot still grounded in that homey vibe of quilts and firelogs and mistletoe candles and one bravely stepping into the promise of a new year with sunshine, blue skies and palms unfurled.

The bonus: I still get to wear boots and scarves.

Okay, totally laughing…I just noticed… Dude, my zipper’s undone!

Today is the last day I will bask in my thirty-first year. I am swimming vigoriously these last laps because I hear the crowd roaring, I see the blur of the finish line, and I know this year was one hell of a victory.

Tomorrow I will dance. Tomorrow I will write. Tomorrow I will squeeze tight the goodness this year has brought and reflect on it all.

But today?

Today, I will enjoy the small things.

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SHADOW WAVES

She spots her shadow all the time. Actually sets out searching for it and when she finds it…she waves. And smiles. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

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THE DISASTEROUSNESS OF THE GIRLS’ ROOM

Lainey made a new sign for her door and hung it all by herself. I don’t know what it means but I’m pretty sure, by the looks of things, it means “My room looks like hell. Stay out.”

Ever step on an upturned click-clack shoe? It hurts.

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CAMOUFLAGE DOGS

Thankfully, Latte is safe from any lake predators.

It is not unusual for our lake trips to include us screaming for Latte who, we think, ran off. Nine times out of ten, she’s right in front of us. Just hidden with the poodle-fur grass.

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THIS SONG PLAYING.

(Song not available for photo at time of post)

Love it. Dance, dance, dance.

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SLEEPING BABY EYELASHES.

Can I get an amen?

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FUNKY MORNING HAIR.

She has a wild chunk of hair, front and center, that kind of does its own thing, and I totally love it. Even if I have to barrette it down during the day.

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INVIGORATING SUNSHINE

You know, the kind that stretches through the bite of cold air, warms every puddle of lingering potential within you and possesses you with the thrill for the new year and everything it holds? Yeah, that kind.

We walked to the lake today, me a few steps ahead of the rest of them, her pedaling like mad to reach our strides, and the littlest her kicking, waving, and content to just be.

We fished and lounged and called for the dog who was, come to find out, just rolling in the dead grass a few feet away.

Lainey’s sweater made by my mama; Lainey’s dress made by the talented Kiki. I want everything in her shop, especially this and this and this.

And it was lovely.

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AS IS HER BUDDING LOVELINESS ON THE BRINK OF ONE

She is changing, growing, beaming, blossoming into more goodness, and we are turning the pages to new chapters that hold more joy.

I find myself laughing a lot these days. Mostly because she can make a hell of a beeline across the tile, around the bend of the laundry room door, to the dog dishes in a New York minute. I’ll hear the ceramic bowl scraping against the tile, run in there, and here she is, just a grinning. Because she knows she’s funny. It kills me in the I-wish-I-could-have-understood-this-happiness-last-January kind of way.

I am feeling all sappy and celebratory and quite in love with Life tonight. In fact, if I bumped into Life at a bar right now, I’m pretty sure I’d have no problem embarrassing myself with bad pick-up lines.

Hey there, Life. The voices in my head told me to come over and talk to you. What time do you have to be back in heaven?

And then Life would say something back, I’d laugh and the two of us would run out the back door into a field of daisies. Cue sunset.
Or something like that.

Dance. Dance. Dance.

Worth It

December 26, 2010 By Kelle

Our house looks like a bomb hit it. Like if someone rang our doorbell right now, I’d shout for everyone to freeze and lay down and pretend we’re not home.

But here I am, amidst wrapping paper and boxes and quilts from abandoned forts strewn on the floor, cupping my favorite gift–a hand-painted pottery mug from my girl–and I am so entirely fulfilled.

The winds have shifted, drawing the northern chill down to our warm town, and I am looking forward to the coming days of home and family and possibly cleaning up the mess.

But, in this place right now, after staying up ’til 2:30 Christmas Eve to braid the bread that ended up rising out of control while we slept…

…after finishing a wrapping ceremony that began with perfectly cut paper, satin ribbon bows and caligraphy tags and ended with jagged edges, half-ass taping and some crappy labels with “To” and “From” sloppily scribbled across the top…

…after all the work and far-fetched imagination that goes into this thing, it is so entirely worth it.

We celebrate birthdays for everyone in our home. We make big deals over each year in their lives and blow out candles, eat cake and make them feel like superstars for evolving into more fabulousness each year. And I guess Christmas for us is kind of a birthday for our family. Not to take the Christ out of Christmas–Believe me, I know what it’s about and have enough “Oh, Holy Night”s and manger reenactments from over the years to prove it.

But it seems fitting for all the effort of making moments on this day that we celebrate this last year together and feel like superstars for evolving into more fabulousness. We’ve come a long way, Baby.

Left: Christmas Eve night, 2009; Right: Christmas Eve night, 2010.

Our family celebration this year seemed to take all those feelings I have about this past year and did them right.

A nice chunk of our village showed up the night before Christmas Eve for our fourth annual Hot Cocoa Wagon Walk. What’s a Hot Cocoa Wagon Walk, you ask? You decorate a wagon, you make cocoa, you hoist a boombox blaring Burl Ives on your shoulder, and you walk through the neighborhood, knocking on doors passing out the goodness of hot drinks and off-key renditions of songs no one knows the words to.

Oh, and you dance. In the streets.

That’s Nana Kate, skippin’ a little jig.

For lacking family this year, we totally made up for it in loving the village of good souls on our street. I hate calling them “neighbors” because that’s trite and anything but what they are. They are our friends and our family, and you wouldn’t have known the difference Christmas Eve when the girls blended inconspicuously with Nana Kate’s grandkids.

We’ve always gone to the candlelight service at a church a few miles away for Christmas Eve but found out a few hours before we were going to head out, there was no service this year. So, we made one up. And it was even better. Lainey made up songs and forced us to sing them and yelled at us when we got the words wrong. My favorite went something like “Happy Christmas everyone loves Santa merry jingle bells my family I love you.”

Brett made a runway this year for the reindeer. A nice twinkly light guide for their hooves (hooves…that sounds funny. Hooves? Hoofs? Who makes these words up anyway?), and Lainey filled it in with carrots and pre-made reindeer food.

I gained new smile wrinkles that night. And had another insane moment where these memory receptors are firing like crazy in my brain, and I’m very well aware that I will forever remember this exact moment. The way their polka dot jammies hug their bodies, the intent look on Lainey’s face as she lines up the carrots just right, the way Brett is nonchalantly talking with the neighbor but by the way he’s nodding and smiling I can tell he’s only half-listening because he’s more consumed with keeping Nella’s hat on her ears and making sure she’s cradled properly in his arms.

And after putting kids to sleep and several more hours of preparations, I woke up the next morning to hums and coos and rolled over to see two soulful eyes in the dark and a little “Hi, Mom” face. It was an appropriate greeting for my first “Merry Christmas” of the day.

The rest followed suit.

Checking out the reindeer proof and snowy hoof prints.

Remember this fashion plate toy? I had one as a kid and didn’t know they still made them. Lainey loves it.

And Lainey’s gift from Santa was a hit.

…and not just for Lainey either.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m a sentimentalist. I know not everyone likes Christmas, and it can be a painful time for those who have experienced hurt and have difficulty defining the distinction between reality and idealism and all the blur in between. But the pain of life always makes the good stand out even more…like water rising above the oil.

We’ve cried this year. We’ve complained and cursed and cleaned up messes, just like everyone else. There are scuffs on our walls and bruises on our heart. But, in the end, there is good. And we know when to celebrate, and celebrate we do.

So, last night as neighbors gathered for a fireworks show (thank you, Brekke) and I watched the interactions of every one of my blessed family members, I stopped the inner dialogue of defining that fine line of reality and idealism, and I settled into the moment. Because what was happening in our driveway was very real indeed. And it was good.

This was my very favorite Christmas yet. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real and good and comfortable.

And all the efforts we put into this grand celebration…it was worth it. Every bit of it. Merry Day-after Christmas.

Celebrating our new sponsor, MeYou Health. I’ve talked about them HERE with their daily challenge, and it’s a perfect time with New Year’s resolutions to join. Basically, it’s a fun, easy way to be more mindful of a healthy lifestyle, and you can sign up through Facebook. Costs you nothing.

Hoping everyone had a meaningful holiday, and wishing you more happy moments this week.

The Art of Christmas Nothing

December 23, 2010 By Kelle

Lainey says “Kimmif” for “Christmas,” and I stifle laughter every time she says it. Like “Hey Mama, maybe we can color Nana Kate a picture for Kimmif” or “Hey, can we have bacon for breakfast on Kimmif?”

Well, to clarify, for Kimmif, we are exploring the art of nothing. As in every time my phone beeps, I click it off and ignore it. And, as much as this has always been my place to “feed the good wolf” and get away, the computer’s not the place I want to be right now. There’s Candyland and cookie dough and another Lifetime movie about a single mother who falls in love with a smoldering mountain man on Christmas Eve and lives happily ever after.

For the first time ever, we are “just us” on Christmas day. No grandmas or grandpas or other speck of extended gene pool. Just us, and we’re rockin’ it. (although, for the record, if any family happens to walk in our door on Christmas Eve to surprise us, I’d die a million deaths and be forever grateful…just sayin’.)

We soaked up Brett’s mama and stepdad before they left for up north.

Today, we headed out to see Santa. Lainey was a little iffy on the whole seeing-him-in-person thing, and we swore she’d cave and lose it when it came to sitting on his lap. In fact, I would have bet money on the fact that she’d be in the stroller crying and hiding her face while Nella swooned and charmed him, but, alas, my big girl was cool and the little one lost it.

Thank you, Peyton, for Lainey’s sparkle shirt!

And this whole Santa picture experience does nothing but entertain the grown-ups because the kids are all frozen and posed, and the interaction between Santa and child is completely awkward and a bit silent, but behind this whole scene? Why, there’s Brett and I, snapping pictures and laughing our asses off because the weirdness and stillness is completely hilarious and memorable.

Why this is so funny, I’m not sure. But hey…we have cool pictures for the scrapbook.

There’s a lot I want to say. There’s a whole lot of high-on-Christmas stuff flying’ around my brain these days, and I could gush disgustingly right now on just how much I love these days. But, you get it, right?

My sister says Blitzen hates carrots and that he spits them out in the driveway on Christmas Eve. She says her kids loved this little story bit. So, I told Lainey this whole thing, and she’s thrilled by the story line…can’t quit talking about how we’ll leave carrots for Donner and Vixen, but that she knows Blitzen’s just going to spit them out. That alone has my brain spinning, and it’s dominoes here after. It reminds me of the power I possess. I am the matriarch of our family traditions, and Dammit, they’re gonna be good.

We call this the “Love Touch.” It happens several times a day. She reaches out and touches our faces, and when it happens, time stands still.

So, there.
It’s family time right now.