Enjoying the Small Things

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Joan of Arc

February 2, 2012 By Kelle

Tuesday was ordinary, maybe even a little less than ordinary because I was multitasking in ways that had me frazzled, not quite present, edgy even. Ballet followed by lunch with friends was a nice retreat from the craziness I had created that day–a lost to-do list, papers scattered on my desk, clothes thrown on the floor, an unmade bed. It wasn’t a bad day. It just wasn’t, well, great. I’m okay with that. They can’t all be fireworks.

By late afternoon, I lost such direction that I stood in the middle of the room not once, but twice, and said out loud, “What was I just doing?” And somewhere around mid afternoon, when I noticed the long shadows in the driveway and the sun’s arrival over the back woods where it begins its nightly retreat, I decided I wasn’t letting the day go down without a fight.

I still had things to do, a house to tidy, mouths to feed, but suddenly at that moment the most important thing was finding a way to resuscitate life back into our day. Like it was hidden in a game of hide-and-seek and my challenge was to find it.

No brainer. It’s at the beach. I didn’t really have the energy to pack up pails and shovels and head out, and I knew Brett wasn’t in the mood either. But maybe those are the times you need it most–when it’s work. It started begrudgingly–our quick preparation to take the girls to a beach sunset–but by the time we drove the four miles and caught that pink horizon from our windshield right before we pulled in to the parking ramp, everything settled and my lost direction was suddenly clear.

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We arrived just in time as if that heavy pink sun hung still right before it hit the water line, waiting for our arrival.

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Onlookers clapped like they always do once it finally fell, and we stayed and relished its afterglow.

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Nella walked the beach for the first time, her little body confidently trudging right toward the gulf. It knocked her down a few times, and she shuddered as the cold water lapped over her legs and diaper. I pulled her back into dry sand, away from the intimidating waters, but that didn’t stop her. She trudged forward, like Joan of Arc, again and again and again. To conquer the water, to seek the thrill.

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Yesterday, ABCNews.com did a story on Living with Down syndrome and Nella. Cara, the producer, did a beautiful job, and I felt so humbled and honored to have the opportunity to represent this amazing community of parents and share what I believe to be very important–that we all have a choice in how we embrace hardship, and that it can open the door to living a bigger, better life. It’s a story we share with many. But, for some reason, I read the first comment after the post–nothing I haven’t heard before, a bit of a *yawn* by now–but still, the presented concept pissed me off at that particluar moment. That, my God, a story of a family living life to its fullest and celebrating their child who is doing great is ridiculous because our kid is two and it’s going to get so much worse. Here’s the thing–this person is completely right in the fact that it’s going to get worse–more hardship, far more difficult challenges than, say, occupational therapy. My opposition to the comment really has nothing to do with Down syndrome or negativity in a comment–we deal with both on a regular basis, and we tend to forget about them respectively.

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The problem I have with it is the theory that happiness and perspective and grabbing life by the balls is somehow discredited if challenges are still ahead. I got fired up, something I don’t often do anymore over a silly comment. Because if there’s one thing I have a problem with, it’s joy-suckers. Don’t suck my joy. Don’t suck someone else’s joy. You think I don’t know what’s ahead? You think I don’t have moments where I put myself there–ten years from now, thirty years from now, fifty years from now? You know what statistics say? I know damn well it’s a hard, hard road and there will be tears. But I trudge forward. Like Joan of freaking Arc, and I embrace the challenges and choose to be happy. Knock me down, Waves. I’ll get back up. I do cartwheels, okay? In my driveway. Sometimes in my nightgown. And I will never stop trying to live life this way.

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There is reason for everyone to be unhappy. There is reason for everyone to be happy. What’s your focus?

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I’ve been thinking a lot about adventure seeking. How people choose to climb Mt. Everest knowing it’s a brutal challenge. How my friend, Melina, slips in a kayak and paddles through life-threatening rapids because she wants to feel the thrill. How runners train for marathons when, certainly, a 26-mile run doesn’t promise a pleasant experience. How surfers suffer concussions and yet get right back out there because there’s something bigger on the other side. Adventure, victory, adrenaline, the self-awareness that comes from conquering something difficult.

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You can look at this big picture or small picture; it works both ways. Heading to a beach sunset even when you don’t feel like it. Pulling the craft bin out in search of glitter, knowing it will make a huge mess. Signing up for an African Drum class even though it’s one more thing on your already busy schedule (I’m thinking about it). Choosing to embrace the heartache of raising a child with Down syndrome and being happy, exhuberant, determined in spite of it.

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My point? You cannot wait for Life to come to you. You have to go get it–pursue it in a wild, passionate chase that includes the foreboding depths of challenge and heartache just as much as the ecstacy of triumph and success. You have to want it bad enough to seek it not only when things are rough and the pursuit of it brings the hope of change, but when things are comfortable and easy, and the quest for more living–more purposeful awareness–might even make you scared. It is in that fear–that breathtaking exhileration of “What If?”–that you rise to the occassion.

You step out of your comfort zone and experience the thrill of taking risks and the possibility of believing that, sure, things might be good, but if you stretched a little further, they might be great. I want to know great. And I will work hard to find it.

…and that’s why we went to the beach.

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*****

Introducing new sponsor, Thirty One Gifts Independent Consultant, Nicki Kusek. Thirty One Gifts has a brand new catalogue out as of yesterday, and it’s chock full of some great organizational totes and storage options.

Our new utility bag is like Mary Poppins’ bag–you can fit a house in it. Perfect for the beach.

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And Lainey & Nella’s personalized cinch bags came in handy when I organized everything they’d need while I was in NY last week.

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Totes are affordably priced, and there is a great variety of sizes available. Happy Shopping.

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Also joining Enjoying the Small Things this month is Mom Colored Glasses, a site dedicated to inspiring moms by providing ideas and information in a fun, well-organized way. One click on their site will lead you to a great collection of articles, recipes, crafts, forums, and little things that will surely make you happy. From ideas for better living to suggestions for both the best kid and mom books, it’s a colorful, lively place to be–a great source for motherhood inspiration.

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*****

I’m chasing life this week. Planning Nella’s little party this weekend is helping.

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Tea Party in the Woods to come. We will announce and celebrate the closing of Nella’s 2 for 2 Fund after this weekend.

And in case you lost that beautiful piece ABC News did in my fiery sermon, you can watch it HERE.

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Filed Under: Designer Genes, Favorites, Our Florida Home 452 Comments

a birthday post

January 22, 2012 By Kelle

It is easy to say “two years ago.” Two years isn’t a very long time, and the memories of her welcome, for the most part, are still clear. I remember what it feels like to cry so desperately that relief breaths can only come in short, stomach-jerking gasps. And, days later, how I listened to this song and this song, clutching to every word, praying it would be true–that we would be okay.

In the first two years, we talk about then and now, the difference between these two abstract eras distinct and concrete. But as the bridge between these two places slowly grows, the distinction likewise fades. A moment that changed me forever, yes; but the outcome a product of what was there all along. I had the love. I had the strength and courage. I was so capable of being her mama. I just didn’t know it.

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I think about that a lot–how I am the same person today as I was the day before she was born even though it doesn’t seem true. How I am the same person I am today as I will be thirty years from now. What stones will be unturned in life–whether victories or challenges–to reveal more love, more courage, more understanding? We evolve.

As Cher would say, if I could turn back time…

I would take that little body and hold it closer, breathe her in, study her long fingers and smooth pink cheeks and let my soul do what it begged to do–to connect with its counterpart and fully accept her as the gift we needed. I would wrap my body around her, smell her, kiss her, draw her right into the place she needed to be and let her feel a purer love. I would trace her features with wonder rather than apprehension and know that her tired little frown would evolve…just like we would.

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And while this day represents so much more, really it’s about a little girl who was born. A daughter who came to be, a sister who arrived, a baby like any other who just needed to be loved.

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Oh, how she is loved.

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This morning she woke up early–early enough I had to check the clock to make sure it wasn’t still the middle of the night. I heard the rattle of the crib railing and her happy whispers, and I finally reluctantly climbed out to welcome the day with her. I feel her low muscle tone most when I pull her from the crib. There is no resistance, no independent efforts to stand tall and pull her weight, and I love that. Every ounce of her sinks into my grasp as I lift her and pull her close, her bottom settling into my forearm, her hands touching my face, her chest fully dropping into my shoulder. I remember pregnancy yoga classes and how long it took the instructor to guide us into this kind of limber physical release. “Let go of your shoulders. Imagine your chest is dropping. Now release your leg muscles, your thighs, your calves…let go of it all. Submit to the peace in your inner soul,” she’d exhort and even after all those steps, there was still a part I couldn’t let go. After that experience I realize low muscle tone is hardly a disability. It’s an enviable ability…to just be.

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We walked out into the dark living room, her head still resting on my shoulder. “Is it your birthday?” I whispered. She pulled her head up and smiled. “Yeah,” she answered. I thought about exactly where I was two years ago. Counting contractions. Waiting for the doctor to call. Knowing I’d finally get to meet my daughter.

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It feels good to skip over the rest–to look back at the dark and difficult moments and stop right when it hurts to run and hold her. Like getting through the awful suspenseful parts in a movie you’ve already seen–not so bad when you know it ends well.

It’s two years later–not long, but long enough to know…it ends well.

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No matter what happens, it ends well because life is bigger than scripts and sets and how-it’s-supposed-to-bes.

And before I quote another singer–God forbid, Richard Marx–let me cut to the chase.

Dude, these two years have been grand. And we love her. We love our children with a deeper, purer love that is so infinite, it cannot be shaken.

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Happy Birthday, Nella.

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You are everything we ever wanted. I only wish we would have been cool enough to know it then.

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We know now. We love you so much, Birthday Girl. And we celebrate you today.

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And thank you, little girl, for my birth day–what gift that day, those moments, those tears will always be.

“Awareness born of love is the only force that can bring healing and renewal. Out of our love for another person, we become more willing to let our old identities wither and fall away, and enter a dark night of the soul, so that we may stand naked once more in the presence of the great mystery that lies at the core of our being. This is how love ripens us -by warming us from within, inspiring us to break out of our shell, and lighting our way through the dark passage to new birth.” -John Welwood

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Filed Under: Designer Genes, Favorites 427 Comments

The Big F.A.Q.

December 21, 2011 By Kelle

Q: How do you keep on top of your photos?

A: I take photos almost every day. Without even thinking about it, my routine is to download them at night and click through them to choose my favorites. I store them in folders by date and tag words like “South Beach weekend,” “Lainey’s birthday party,” or “Mom’s wedding.” I have three external drives right now, and every 3-4 months, I go through folders and clean them up–delete the extras and leave only the best of the best. This is getting easier than it used to be. Three years ago, I could have had 25 shots of Lainey eating an ice cream cone–all of them similar–and I’d be paralyzed, feeling guilty to delete just one. After four years though, I know my kids and their childhood are more than well represented. Between the blog, Photobucket, the books I make for them each year, and my hard drives, I’m confident I won’t lose sleep over deleting unused photos.

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Q: How do you take your camera out?

A: If I don’t want to lug my camera case, I will wrap my camera in a scarf and put it in my purse (I carry a larger purse in these instances, and sometimes I’ll pull the diaper change mat from a diaper bag and line my purse with it). In these cases, I’ll settle on bringing one lens–usually my 16-35 mm. Obviously, I take my camera to the beach as well. I always bring my camera case if we’re going to the beach, and I’m careful to make sure my hands are clean and sand-free if I change lenses. I also use an air blower like this one to clean off the camera when we’re home. I send my camera to Canon at least once a year for a “tune-up”–sensor and body cleaning.

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As far as photography goes, I have some really cool new ways of sharing some photo-taking tips (always a work in progress) with you come January. I can’t share yet, but I’m excited about a collaborative new project!

Q: How often does D.S. weigh on your mind?

A: We’re almost two years in this. D.S. is part of who my child is. I think about my children all day long and consequently, Down syndrome is part of that. There are so many times when I look at Nella and just feel–I don’t know, I can’t explain it–calm…content…thankful. Her eyes? I’m crazy over them–so exotic, so beautiful.

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We still talk about how this has changed our lives in so many good ways and how we will continue to grow and learn in years to come. So, to say we don’t ever think about it isn’t really true. We do, however, forget about the things we used to think about. The fears. The uncertainty. Or, rather, we’ve become accustomed to it. There will be tears. There will be days when I will say yes, this is hard. But so far, I’ve thought so many times–how could I have ever underestimated this love? I have two daughters. Unmeasurable joy times two. Period.

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Q: Do you ever worry about Lainey feeling overshadowed by Nella’s special needs?

A: I used to. It consumed me those first couple months. But I didn’t give myself enough credit as a mom. I love my children equally. How silly of me to think I wouldn’t be able to express that. The more I rely on my natural ability to love, nurture and mother the way I was born to do, the less I worry about things. I’ve realized I never miss a beat when either of my girls need more of me–I just know. And I react instinctively. I’ve never been more confident that my girls will both grow up knowing they are so special–each unique and talented in so many ways. The more I trust myself, the better I love.

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Q: What kinds of therapy is Nella getting? Are you doing anything with her that you think contributes to how well she is doing?

A: Nella has O.T. (occupational therapy) and P.T. (physical therapy), each once a week, and an I.T.D.S. (Infant Toddler Development Specialist) comes to our house every two weeks and does play therapy, evaluations, etc. This is all provided by the state as part of a federally funded Early Intervention program. These programs are incredibly vital for children with special needs, and we need to continually advocate to see that they are appropriately funded and remain in place.

If there’s any one thing we do with Nella that I feel directly affects her progress, I’m happy to share (I love the tips I’ve received from the D.S. community on resources they’ve found useful). While I believe the accepting environment we provide for Nella, where we expect so much of her and treat her equally, helps promote her milestones, I don’t ever want to suggest that a child who isn’t reaching the same milestones doesn’t have parents who work with them. Regardless of special needs, children develop differently and at their own pace. In the meantime, we invest our time, love and praise into every one of our kids, celebrating their accomplishments, supporting their needs.

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Q: It seems there are so many categories of moms these days, especially on blogs. What kind of mom do you consider yourself?

A: Just a mom. I don’t want to sum up what kind of mom I am in one word because that’s limiting. I don’t like being put in a box and I’m way too impulsive to fit into just one category. I’ve written about this before, but I think sometimes we feel like we can’t explore a new area if we don’t completely fit in the box. Like “I’d really like to buy that vintage plate because I love it, but my house is too contemporary and I’m not really Vintage Girl.” Who says you have to be just one thing? Buy the damn plate if you love it. Our society is fabulous at pigeon-holing people and identifying them into categories as if they have to abide by a certain set of rules–and judgement and assumption often follows. We’ve identified the urban mom, the hipster mom, the churchy mom, the homeschool mom, the wild mom, the funny mom, the divorced mom, the laid back mom as if once you have a label, that’s all you can be. That’s so constraining and yet, I admit, I fall victim to the labeling. Like I thought I couldn’t make my own laundry soap because it meant I’d also have to drive a hybrid car. Holding a solid faith and dancing out with the girls don’t have to be opposites. Having a home in a suburban neighborhood doesn’t mean I can’t funk it up with crafts and cherished kitsch. And writing about “the small things” certainly doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to “the big things” in life too. I want to passionately explore a multitude of areas in life and, while some areas might bubble to the surface with noticeable expression, some simmer beautifully and quietly underneath–not to be forgotten. I’ll dip my toes into different hobbies and ways of life if I feel drawn to them, and I won’t let the box of “who I’m supposed to be” stop me for a hot second. And I learn–oh, do I learn from so many other kinds of moms who continually broaden the definition of motherhood with their insight and experience.

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We’re women. We are multi-faceted. We don’t have to fit into a box. We follow our own rhythms and we celebrate our movements that may change over the course of aging, mothering, learning, exploring, loving.

I follow my instincts and listen to my heart. That’s the kind of mother I am.

Q: Do you read the comments?

A: Yes. I really try and read all of them. You took the time to write it, I want to take the time to read it. Sometimes I go a couple days before I sit down and catch up, but you’d be surprised how many of you I know by name. I try to visit blogs and leave comments when I can although, obviously, my first priority is time with my family. If you ask a question in the comments, I will try and answer it in another comment in the same post.

Q: With a public blog, how do you deal with negative criticism?

A: I wish I could say I’ve always been one of those people who shrug off criticism and make no qualms about how people perceive them. I’ve always wanted to please people, and that comes with the realization that when I don’t, it’s disheartening. When this blog gained publicity, I soon discovered that it also opened the door to criticism and sometimes false assumptions about how we live our lives, raise our kids, deal with issues, what I write about, what I don’t write about, etc. Here’s the thing–everyone should go through negative criticism at some point in their life because it is so good for you. It never feels good at the moment, but the process is enlightening. You sharpen your beliefs, gain confidence and, over time, stand firmer and stronger.

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No one is invincible–I do get my feelings hurt, and that icky, self-analyzing, defensive cave I’ve slipped into is just gross. But necessary. You grow. From blogging and putting myself out there, I believe even more Shakespeare’s advice, “To thine own self be true.” And you don’t need a blog to discover that you cannot change yourself to please others nor can you be so arrogant to think that you’re never wrong. But you can own what you say…and learn more every day from the experiences that help shape us–and that includes criticism.

Q: Where do you get your quilts?

A: My mama’s always loved a good quilt, and I inherited her obsession once I had babies and fell into my style a little more. I like cozy. I like homey. And I love me some Ebay. I don’t think I’ve paid more than $30 for any of our quilts. They were all found on Ebay–old, used, a bit tattered…but perfect. I search words like “vintage quilt,” “vintage patchwork quilt,” “granny square afghan,” “homemade patchwork quilt” and about a hundred other combinations that have scored me some pretty cool finds.

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Q: How did you and Brett meet?

A: This is definitely the most repeated question. I suppose my avoidance suggests some sort of scandalous story like we met in Las Vegas when I was a showgirl and he was a stage hand. Oh, but only if it were so storybook. Didn’t happen that way, although he did propose to me at dinner while we watched the Bellagio fountains from the Eiffel Tower–the Vegas one–and I do have a nice showgirl high-kick when I’m reenacting Sally O’Malley, if I don’t say so myself.

There is a story behind our meeting, and I did finally write it all down.

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But it’s in Bloom, and you’ll have to wait until April 3 when the book comes out. There are a lot of issues in the book I specifically discuss that I don’t talk about a lot on the blog–my past, faith, family, etc. On the blog, my intent is that these issues breathe through stories, photos and words in a read-between-the-lines kind of way and, occassionally, I will expound when I’m inspired to do so.

The book opened up the opportunity to explore a lot of untread territory though. Writing it was the most cathartic personal experience of my life–a ten month therapy session, of sorts. I am excited for next year and the release of a story that is so precious to me–one in which I hope you find shared sentiments, determination and celebration. As it gets closer, I will talk about it a bit more, but for now you can pre-order a copy of Bloom: Finding Beauty in the Unexpected by clicking any of the four distributer buttons on the right sidebar.

Finally, I promise…I don’t do it all. No one does it all. There are never enough hours in the day to finish what I want to accomplish, and there are nights where I go to bed with the house in shambles and thinking to myself, I could have done better. I am forgiving. I am realistic. And I love the thrill of waking up the next day and deciding…what is it we want to do today? How are we going to make this day great? Happiness is a choice. Sometimes it isn’t easy. There are moments it doesn’t come naturally…but when you repeatedly practice finding the good, it has a way of finding you.

If I didn’t answer your question, you might find it on this old F.A.Q. post or the F.A.Q. tab at the top of the blog or perhaps the Photography F.A.Q.

Filed Under: Designer Genes, Favorites, Photography 215 Comments

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