Enjoying Archives - Page 16 of 23 - Enjoying the Small Things

Stream of Consciousness

June 27, 2011 By Kelle

I am deeply moved by music. In fact, it is not unusual during a gathering of friends for me to hear the distant tunes of some inspiring anthem in the background and then hush everyone for a moment of meditation.

Shhhh. Listen. Hear that?

I close my eyes, hypnotically smile, sway my body and wait for others to feel it too. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they laugh because my moment is weird and funny and untimely.

I get the whole lighter-in-the-air at a concert thing though. And I did the hands-toward-the-heavens thing in worship services when I was a teenager, even though it felt awkward. I have a hard enough time figuring out what to do with my hands when I’m talking to someone without a drink to hold (on your hips, folded behind you, criss-crossed in front? Seriously, where do they go?), stretching them in the air and holding them in the middle of a sanctuary of people just never felt comfortable to me.

Music is a key. There are gripping songs that speak to me, lyrics that unleash my voice, and harmonies and rhythms that mysteriously unlock something within me and awaken my senses, heal my insecurities, and motivate me from hesitation.

I’ve been listening to this song lately, dancing to it in the kitchen, turning up the speakers in my car until its beat reverberates from my seat and soul alike. And while there are many songs in my mental repertoire that remind me of the autumn we met, the year she was born, that one summer, that restful vacation, that fabulous time, that tearful moment, that really great night on the dance floor…this one is just mine. It all just sort of comes together when I listen to it. A hundred times.

Thank you, Jen, for the song.

*****

It was a weekend of many creatures.

I highly recommend this butterfly kit, a gift a friend gave Lainey for her birthday.

We watched first the slow movements of our caterpillars that creeped within the small space of their cup. Lainey hesitantly observed them, that half-inch of plastic barrier drawing her a little closer than she would otherwise attempt. A few days later, they zipped up muddy sheaths around them, magically velcroed to the thin paper and hanging from it like stalactites. Lainey says “chriff-o-liff.”

Finally, this weekend, they emerged, more beautiful and colorful and far more appealing to Lainey than their wormlike state.

And our ‘wow’ shot. Wait for it….

….

Bam.

We’re in the process of naming them, our five painted ladies that will soon be set free to explore the woods before their short life cycle is over.

*****

We attended to the weekend properly–sleeping in (yeah right), showering late, slipping back into sweats and stretchy t-shirts for the remainder of the day.

Morning after unwinding two tightly secured buns.

Lainey gets her hair washed in the kitchen sink.

Something’s up with this one.

Her schedule’s off, and she yearns to be secured to my hip and in sight of me at all times which makes for more trying days…and nights.

In a moment of sheer brilliance this weekend, I decided a bike ride–just me and the girls–would be the perfect distraction. Nevermind the fact it was ninety some degrees, Nella hates her bike helmet, my front tire is askew and our Craigslist kiddie cart is on its last leg. No, I was determined because “it’ll be fun” rolls off my tongue instinctively and somehow, I believe it every time. How about it’ll be fun-ny?

I strapped them both up, simultaneously calming Nella’s crying and admonishing Lainey with a “Get your elbow out of your sister’s face. I’m serious.” I was convinced once we were rolling, once the stagnant torridity of a late dog day in June was relieved with the slight breeze my rapid pedaling would produce, they’d be fine. They’d be happy. They’d be smiling with an obvious “thanks Mom, you’re the best.”

So I pedaled. Hard and fast. Until I heard a clunk and a scream and realized, I was pedaling alone and the crappy kiddie bike cart with two hot, screaming kids was rolling solo and soon lying cock-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk while the distance between us grew. I stopped my bike, threw the kickstand out and ran to the girls, thankfully finding them unscathed, just pissed off. And, I’m sorry, but the sound of them screaming and the sight of that slanted cart, their bulky helmets, me running to help them, my own bike abandoned…well, it was funny and I was laughing so hard, I was of no help to the girls. The weight of my bike overpowered the kickstand within seconds, and it too fell with a metal-scraping crash. I scooped up Nella, calmed Lainey and literally sat on the cement because I was afraid I’d wet my pants if I didn’t. Brandyn ran to help and managed to snap this picture of our shameful walk home. Oh yeah, there was a dog in the cart too.

My bike and I are currently not speaking to each other.

*****

Despite that comedic little bump this weekend, we enjoyed ourselves.

Dot came over, and Lainey asked her to sit still with her mouth open and this hat on her head so she could sketch her.

Dot made Lainey a new pillowcase dress in about 45 minutes. Lainey loves it and chose to accessorize its debut on a trip to Target with a pair of mismatched shoes. On our way out the door from Target, I looked down to see one shoe bit the dust somewhere along the way and apparently, she was cool with it because she never mentioned it. Thankfully, it was a cheap Dora flip-flop I was praying would get lost to begin with.

*****

In August, I will celebrate my eighth year in Florida. It took five years to beat the homesickness, two more to not cry over the absence of a cold, snowy Christmas and finally, this year, I’m comfortable with the heat. I forget to complain about it, instead remembering to wear ponytail holders as bracelets, keep bathing suits in the car and stock my purse with blotting papers.

The soundtrack of summer definitely includes the rattling chime of spoke beads.

June challenge is almost over, and I’ll dish later on how I failed a few times, picked it up a notch, but in the end succeeded.

Tune in this Thursday evening (June 30) at 7:30 p.m. to BYU’s Fresh Take TV (checked our TV Guide, and we get the BYU channel.) Our Inspiring Story episode from this trip will be airing.

And that, my friends, is the end of a willy-nilly stream of consciousness post. When sleep schedules are amended, order will resume. Until then, have a happy week.

First Position

June 22, 2011 By Kelle

I’ve had an obsession with ballet since I was young. I never took any classes–always wanted to, but never really spoke up about it until it was too late. Instead, I pretended I was a dancer. A real one. I even asked a friend if I could have a pair of her old scuffed pointe shoes just because I thought they’d look cool lying around my room. Maybe I once forced my feet in them and tried to do an arabesque. Maybe I twisted my ankle and fell over. Maybe I was nineteen and far too old for such nonsense. Regardless, ballet was delicate and graceful, and I never really felt delicate and graceful in life. I was loud, impulsive, clumsy–a Saint Bernard yearning to be a Saluki.

I dressed up the first weekend in December to see the Nutcracker every year, one time all by myself. I was a teenager–not a dancer–and yet I studied the program, the dancers’ names, where they went to school as if I was the understudy next in line to take the role of Clara. Ineke Rush was her name–the girl who played Clara, and I remember because I held a pen light to my program from my seat in the dark auditorium of The Whiting on Kearsley Street–a small corner of Flint, Michigan that felt cutural and refined against a backdrop of strip clubs and dilapidated bars. I found her name in the program, analyzed her bio and decided I wanted to be her, the ballet dancer with the long, skinny legs who floated gracefully and confidentally in my binocular view.

In college, I took a leap and registered for Modern Dance to fulfil my Fine Arts credits–a decision that would serve futile as I’d later transfer to a Christian liberal arts college where dancing, wouldn’t you know, was not recognized as a transferable credit because–well, have you seen Footloose? Apparently, the Lord sayeth something about it.

Here’s what I learned about Modern Dance in college: It’s not ballet. I don’t know what I thought it was going to be, but I think I at least hoped there’d be some tights and legwarmers involved, maybe some ribbons that criss-crossed up my shins. I wanted to chalk the bottoms of my feet, tape my toes, stretch in front of a barre to Bach and Handel, and instead it was a lot of gyrating to African beats and pretending I was a tree. Which is funny really because, while it was embarrassing at the time–especially because I was insecure and overweight–I’d totally dig meeting up on a Friday night to wildly gyrate to African beats today. I’m more confident now, not only with my body but with letting loose and accepting the fact that there are other forms of beauty, movement, art and life outside of that breathtaking perfection of what’s expected to be so beautiful…classical ballet.

I guess this is all just to say that this whole ballet obsession is partly why I love watching my girl every Tuesday and Thursday from behind the glass where I sit in the studio.

She’s graceful and poised, and she’s enjoying pointing, flexing and stretching at the barre just like I would have enjoyed it too. I love the classical music, the reflection off the worn wood floors, the way the parents laugh when their child is making faces or hanging like a lemur off the barre when they’re supposed to be in second position.

I like how Miss Blair’s hair is pulled back tightly into the perfect bun, how I stand straighter when I’m watching the class and how the girls’ leotards and skirts are the softest shade of pink–like the inside of a conch shell.

I still may be loud and clompy, more of a gyrating modern dancer than the graceful arabesque-ing ballerina I always wanted to be, but the Ineke Rush inside me smiles when I watch my girl do that something I always wanted to do. I think we all want to give our kids that–the opportunities we missed out on. We want to gather all the good in our past–memorable vacations, cherished traditions, words of wisdom passed down from our parents–repeat it for our own kids and make up for all the regrets. My kids won’t live in a broken home, I promise myself. We’ll take more vacations. The girls will travel overseas, speak a second language, and learn to play sports because I always wished I did. But you know what? I can’t do that either. While I use both the good and bad of my past to navigate my way through parenting decisions, I also have to let go. There will be disappointments and paths we didn’t expect, both of which are important lessons in life for parents and children alike. And while we present opportunities for our kids, we also have to be open to the fact that they will choose their own path someday.

I will support my girl no matter what. I will smile and nod if someday she ditches her tutu with a “Hey Mom, I want to play shot put.” And I will make sure she has the best damn shot put shoes they make. Because I love her.

But today, I am happy watching my graceful girl flit across the old wood floors in her ballet class, her toes pointed to mimic her teacher’s. I am loving today.

*****

The giveaway winner of the Scenstsy goodies is Comment #411, Nicole: I hear ya on the “creative alien” that needs to be let out…she’s in me too. Beautiful blog, so happy I’ve discovered it.

Nicole, leave your garbage out, chop some onions, don’t flush the toilets. It won’t matter when you get your Scentsy pot. Oh, and e-mail your info please to kellehampton@comcast.net. Congratulations!

*****

This kid says “baby” now.

Not ba-ba. Not something that sounds like baby. Baby. Long A, long E. She says it when she’s rocking her dolls to sleep.

I am learning to quiet the voice that says “brace yourself.” The one that cautiously admonishes the celebratory voice to calm down…just in case I get my hopes up and it doesn’t play out as I wish. For some reason, I’ve felt for every victory of Nella’s, I’ve had to weigh the claps and “Hoorays” with the counter response of “…but we’d love her just the same if she didn’t do this” or “she might not always be this progressive and that’s okay.” No more disclaimers. That does nothing for her, for our expectations of who she can and will become. When someone compliments Lainey, we certainly don’t react with a “yes, she can write her name nicely but we’ll still celebrate her if that’s all she ever writes.” Because, of course we’d love and celebrate her just the same, no one would ever doubt that, and going out of our way to state it–or even think it–is, well, silly.

The last couple weeks have been really remarkable for Nella, and we are thankful. We are celebrating…simple as that.

Talking on the phone with Nana Kate

Don’t forget your subscription to Mamalode if you’ve been meaning to get one.

Somewhere, there are a pair of pointe shoes calling my name.
Arabesque, plie, grand jete…and good night.

Run on: Enjoying the Small Things.

June 3, 2011 By Kelle

(Note: something changed in Playlist. If you want music with the post, it won’t start automatically. You need to scroll down and hit play.)

FYI: Playing the Rocky theme song immediately cuts the required effort in half for any challenge. Trust me.

June challenge has commenced, and after reading your June goals, I am fiercely inspired to do this. You paint that wall. You frame those pictures. You drink up those instructions in Knitting 101 and you chain, loop and purl like it’s your job. And I’ll be joining you. Stomping the pavement, pacing my breaths, rocking out my $2 Jet Blue headphones.

Game on.

A few of your challenges: (thanks for sharing)

The Mommy Therapy: For June I challenge myself to submit a piece to at least three publications big or small. The journey and joy of trying is most of the reward, right?
Tahnie: In June I will finally decorate my front living room wall with a fantastic polaroid heart of our sweetest memories. I will also finally FINALLY find the courage to finish writing Sookie’s birth story.
My Secret Rooms: Making every breakfast moment a “Hotel de la Anna”-moment with soft music, candles, napkins, juice and The New Yorker in the iPad. So, I’ll promise it here as well!!
Amypins: That’s my goal for this month. To learn some editing for my photoshop elements and actually order some pics to put in frames and show off in my house.

I’ll ask for some pics and stories later in the month. I love new challenges, starting lines, knowing there’s room for bigger and better. Exciting in that first-day-of-school kind of way. When the pencils are freshly sharpened, the backpack is organized and the Trapper Keeper hasn’t yet been covered with NKOTB stickers. It’s called potential, and I like it.

And now, Friday’s random bits of loveliness:

The Shift.
I know kids go through natural phases and therefore I don’t panic when my kids’ behaviors shift, as just about the time I’m worried, a new chapter arrives. Public nose picking is replaced with proper tissue techniques and grocery store tantrums intuitively transform to more acceptable forms of toddler communication. And while some behaviors carry on indefinitely like the state of a country’s economy, others are short-lived like phases of the moon. Lainey’s attachment to her puppy blanket is still in recession while coloring on walls lasted all of a waning crescent moon. My point is, I try not to concern myself with ephemoral stages. Nella will eventually choose to eat foods beyond applesauce, oatmeal and mashed spaghetti, and I’m not going to stay up at night concocting ways to blend spinach in her cereal because, frankly, I don’t care. She’ll eat it when she’s ready.

However, there has been a very recognizable attachment period for both of our girls that made me question if it was beyond just a phase and, I’ll admit, I wasn’t completely comfortable with it. Lainey runs to Brett, Nella chooses me. Always. I’m fine with “Daddy’s Girl”/”Mommy’s Girl” tendencies, but some times it felt unbalanced. While we’ve always made it a point to share all duties with both girls, we’ve been more thoughtful the last few months to shift our care and attention a bit. I’m so happy to see there’s a new moon this month.

When Nella hears Brett’s voice, she slaps the tile a little faster now, weaseling her belly across the floor, through obstacles to get to him. And when he’s holding her and I walk by, she doesn’t dive to reach me anymore. Likewise, Lainey’s been declining Brett’s help, insisting instead that Mommy ties her shoes, pours her milk, reads her Green Eggs and Ham. It feels good and balanced and how it should be. That is all.

Meals.
One good thing leads to another, and the good intention of lacing up my running shoes has overlapped into the kitchen where I want to be spending more of my time. Last night, we enjoyed lentil soup and crusty bread.

Mikey likey!

And I found a fabulous recipe for cherries. Country Living’s Fresh Cherry Turnovers. The cream cheese dough with crystalized ginger is delicious. I used 4-inch dough circles instead of 6-inch, mainly so I could eat three in a row with a better excuse. Like 10 donut holes is better than one donut because they’re smaller, right? And I threw a little sugar in our cherries even though it doesn’t call for it.

Target Escapes.
It is a playground of sorts for my kids. The perfect outing. I smell candles and browse cheap beach toys in the dollar section and the girls test out futon comfort, cracker samples and how fast it takes to run from one end of the towel aisle to the other. Win, win.

Water Babies.
Nella arches her back, twists, cries and contorts relentlessly to get to water.

And Lainey’s gills develop more every day.

June equals pruney toes and wet towels for us.

And sometimes, it’s easier not to redress them.

Playdate.
Wednesday, Lainey and I joined friends for making art.

She chose a porcelain jet ski for Brett and swirled a nice combination of colors onto its handlebars until she got tired and wanted to play with the hairdryer instead.

Post painting celebration followed at a hidden coffee shop downtown…

My girl loves her Beckham something fierce.

She said “I’m gonna give you a kiss,” and he closed his eyes. Heidi and I were dying laughing. Where’s Richard Marx when you need him?

This Doll.
Nella is hell bent on making sure this pacifier is always in this doll’s mouth. It’s her mission in life. If she sees the baby pacifier-less, she’ll crawl over, attach the plug and move on. Important work she’s doing. I think it’s her June challenge.

Cute Shirts.
Piccadilly Circus is back as a sponsor with a nice stocked shop full of their fabulous custom shirts. We love ours (and they wash great!)

Have a fabulous weekend!

Heidi took these pics, and I love them.

Bonus: My current favorite running songs. Use appropriately for any gotta-get-it-done situation. You’ve Got the Love – The Source feat. Candi Stanton , It’s Amazing – Jem , The Time – Black Eyed Peas , On the Floor – Jennifer Lopez , Bittersweet Symphony – The Verve , Black and Blue – Miike Snow , Human – The Killers , Just Can’t Get Enough – Black Eyed Peas , We are Golden – Mika , Rain – Mika , World, Hold On – Bob Sinclair , Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough – Michael Jackson , The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance – Vampire Weekend vs. Miike Snow , Amazing – Seal , American Boy – Estelle , Kanye West – Stronger