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A Great Many Things

April 20, 2011 By Kelle

These sandals sang to me from their perch atop a sale rack yesterday. I haven’t bought a pair of new shoes since my $5 Key West kicks last year but still, I walked away…at first. I knew, though, from the way I craned my neck to gaze back at them, they were the kind of sandals I’d dream about later. The ones I wished I would have bought. I loved them and their rich weathered leather, their sweet little buckle, their kicky justright heel. And they were on sale.

So after a little justification, Mama got new sandals.

I brought them home and ran into my closet where I unwrapped them from crinkled paper and carefully placed them right between a scuffy pair of Nikes and sky high black heels. And behind the line-up, tucked neatly in the background, were my red ladybug galoshes, one slouched over the other. An interesting collection, perhaps screaming Identity Crisis to anyone else, but to me–a symbol that I love a great many things.

Sporty Spice, Funky Spice, This-Chick-Means-Business Spice with a little bit of When-Are-You-Going-to-Grow-Up-Spice to keep it interesting.

This brings me to one of my favorite movie quotes.
Little Women.
Here we go:

Jo March: I find it poor logic to say that because women are good, women should vote. Men do not vote because they are good; they vote because they are male, and women should vote, not because we are angels and men are animals, but because we are human beings and citizens of this country.
Mr. Mayer: You should have been a lawyer, Miss March.
Jo March: I should have been a great many things, Mr. Mayer.

I should have been a great many things.

I know I’ve used it before. In fact, I drop that line into conversation about once a week. Like when my sister tells me she wears a scarf with a Grateful Dead t-shirt to a film fest on Thursday night and shows up to work the next morning in a pencil skirt and crisp white button-down. “Because you’re a great many things,” I say. Savvy Go-getter by day, Groovy Art Girl by night.

I think about this a lot. For some reason, I feel at times that I need to fit in to a definitive box of what kind of person I am–what kind of mom, friend, wife, writer, home decorator, clothes-wearer, photographer I am. As if I have to choose only one.

Sometimes I wear glasses. Sometimes I am studious. Sometimes, I take it too far with a pencil behind my ear. It’s not even sharpened. And the glasses are $5 fakes. I’m just sayin’.

Last I checked, there was such a thing as overlapping circles on a Venn Diagram, and I find that many times in life, I belong in the gray in-between of A Great Many Things. And, instead of pushing myself toward one clear area, I’m accepting that it’s okay to be a hodgepodge mess of everything. A life-loving amalgam.

Hence the triple minor. I confess, I didn’t major in anything in college. People have asked me “what was your major?” and I’ve always mumbled some crap under my breath about things I studied, embarrassed that I had no major. Truth is, I had a triple minor, my school’s acceptable alternative to a major at the time. Because I liked English and Biology and Elementary Education and dabbling a little bit in each area was more my style (and a quicker ticket to graduating) than streamlining my studies to just one thing.

I’m not really the just-one-thing kind of girl (except when it comes to husbands; for the record, I’m cool with having just one man).

And I’m not the only one around here who seems to be broadening her “Like” status…

Brett’s always been an 80’s music fan and strays from it only after Isle of Capri days when he’s stuck on Jimmy Buffet or the Joint station on XM for maybe a day or two. But midlife has him stretching his boundaries. Surprisingly, he’s suddenly listening to Cat Country, 107.1. Alan Jackson just done went and transformed my husband, the man who tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the drum solo in Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” when we were first dating. He knows every word to the As-Seen-on-TV Monster Ballad CD and dragged me to a Styx concert under a carnival tent when I was six months pregnant with our first child. He’s never liked country, but suddenly he’s expanded–testing out the waters of other loves, and now his music collection looks a bit like my shoes. Heels, clogs, galoshes. Boston, Van Halen, Zac Brown Band.

My point–and there is one–is that there’s much in life to dabble in, and I want to swim in every puddle. I am, every day, entranced by the beauty that is motherhood and yet I still love the flippant energy of a night out alone with the girls. I am deeply spiritual, often brought to tears by images of God and Love that I find in everyday occurances and yet I enjoy a hearty laugh from a good sex joke or Tina Fey’s new book. I like to sip a cup of tea to Bach but still tip a martini to Euro Techno. And somedays, I’m boho-chic-funky-clog-girl and others, pin-tight-bun-and-high-heel-girl. I don’t have a signature scent ‘cuz I like too many damn perfumes, and while I pride myself on my Calm & Cool Mom title, today I laid down the law and it was anything but cool…or calm.

You can be a great many things.

Gray and cloudy with a bit of clear blue sky–at the same time–because weather likes to dabble too.

Today, I am Homegirl. Dabbling in the puddle of contentment that comes from a curious cub, a cup of coffee and an extra helping of morning sunshine that pours into the playroom.

With a side of Firstborn Adoration…

Lainey insisted on getting Nella her own bag of Sun Chips. Nella was crying and wasn’t satisfied with being fed little bits of someone else’s chips, and Lainey knew the solution. She ran inside, got Sister her own bag and, Voila. Happiness for all.

Today is my favorite day.

But tomorrow is too.

She waves at every single person who walks by. And dogs. And cars.

Or maybe the next day.

Aw hell, maybe I’ll just triple minor.

…cuz there’s a great many things.

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” ~Walt Whitman

F.A.Q.

April 8, 2011 By Kelle

Last night, we swam at dusk. The sky was blue-gray and the clouds still visible behind the crescent moon that glowed a yellow Cheshire cat smile. Lainey is becoming more confident with her swimming abilities, and her deeper almost-four-year-old breaths now allow her to swim long distances underwater. Sometimes she misjudges what she’s capable of swimming, and the last yards of her course have her kicking faster, reaching farther and finally grabbing the edge of the pool wall and emerging with a deep and desperate inhalation. I know that feeling; I’ve been there both literally and figuratively. But then she smiles–and disappears again underwater, like a fish. A happy blonde-headed fish who wants to try again.

I am inspired by my girl. And I’m loving our family night swims. They complete my day.

Thank you for kind words and great suggestions last post (I ordered an amber teething necklace! We’ll see if it works). I am forever grateful for amazing readers, for how you helped raise $103,000 for my girl and her friends in this country, and for making something I already love to do even more rewarding. I am interested in and inspired by the way people connect.

Well, it’s Friday and, for something different, I’ll answer a few of your questions.

Photography:

I started out in photography taking a lot of bad pictures that I thought were really good. I look back at my old stuff and am half embarrassed and half excited for what I will learn in the next two years. I like when people jump into something they want to know more about, when they aren’t intimidated by technical stuff or by people who are doing fill-in-the-blank better. Many of you have commented that you just bought your first DSLR camera, but that you are not a photographer. Guess what? You are. If you are taking pictures, you are a photographer; if you are writing, you are a writer; if you are hitting “publish post,” you are a blogger. I am not afraid to take bad pictures, to publish fuzzy ones or to write something I might later regret. And I think this is the best advice I could give. Don’t be scared. If you love doing something, do it. Learn it, stand by it, put yourself out there. You will fail. But you will swim again…like a fish.

There are two sides to photography–the art and the technical stuff. I have always been intimidated by the technical stuff, but I have learned/am still learning by doing. The art part of it? It’s like oxygen to me.

I love the challenge of capturing feeling in photos, of finding interesting ways to compose a shot, of taking a picture of a moment that I’ll forever be grateful for capturing. I am not an expert. There are a lot of technically better photographers out there. But I am passionate about people who want to learn. Being intimidated by perfection or someone else’s art should never lessen the value of your own art. And photography is art. I take pictures like how I look at life, and I look at life like how I take pictures. It makes me happy, and if it will make you happy, then I’d love to help.

*My camera is a Canon 50D, and my two favorite lenses are my 50mm, 1.4 and my 16-35mm, 2.8. I only use natural light, and I usually shoot manually, most often between 1.4 and 2.8. Someday I will buy new lenses, maybe upgrade my camera to my 5D dream. But for now, I am content. Good pictures come from the passion and soul in the one who is taking them…not from the equipment.

Proof: I think this picture’s kinda pretty. It was taken with a $2 app phone camera, and it is of the front of a Walmart, Friends. A Walmart parking lot while I stood next to a cart that had a wadded napkin covered in stale ketchup wedged in its plastic lattice. See, you certainly can find beauty in unlikely places.

*Some days I take 10 pictures, some days I take zero pictures, and some days I take 100 pictures. My camera is not a permanent fixture, and I can bang off 50 shots in about two minutes if I want. I don’t put pressure on myself re: how and when I take pictures, and it is in that freedom that I’ve found a comfortable place where art, creativity, documenting, and real life in our family live harmoniously. If the balance is off, we do what everyone else does. We adjust accordingly.

*If I’m in a photo, it’s usually either Brett or Heidi who takes it. Plus, I love the look, the art, and the angle of one of those reach-out-and-take-it-yourself pictures.

I like hiding my smile when Brett picks up the camera and gets all into it–crouching, leaning, contorting his body to get a cool angle and then proudly grinning when he “gets it.” There is an artist within us all.

More humble photography tips to come.

Sponsors:

This post is a great opportunity to explain the presence of sponsors and my attempt at unobtrusively weaving them into our precious family blog. I enjoy writing on this blog but it does require time. It doesn’t always work out in life to get compensated for time, but in this situation it’s a nice bonus. Periodically introducing sponsors is a way I can help support my family, and it’s been very beneficial in helping some stay-at-home moms who make really pretty things amp up their businesses. You will never see ads for car parts or rifles–promise. I choose sponsors who offer things I think you’ll like–things my family likes. I try to keep sponsors and giveaways at the bottom of posts so that when you’re finished reading, you can choose to read on or smile and walk away. I hope you read on for the sake of some excellent businesses trying to stretch their roots. And I wish I could share the story behind a lot of these business owners. I’ve come to know many of them, and the stories of how their businesses got rolling are inspiring.

Heart banner, Lisa Leonard Designs new decor line.

A quote from a past sponsor, Lilian Eve Designs:

To stay true to myself I sponsored Enjoying the Small Things because it has real readers. Readers with heart, soul, understanding, and passion to appreciate the goodness in others’ lives. For me, I had an outpouring of support for my unrelenting creative mind–a mind that never stops whispering new ideas–and the readers embraced me. I distinctly remember, lugging my laptop in with me the day Kelle ran my ad–sitting in the waiting room while my poor nephew, the “bubble boy”, got his numerous allergy tests and my sleepy-eyed niece wanting to know what ‘Nene’ was doing on the ‘puter’. I had no idea if the sale ticker would move but I was ready:)… and it was off…I sat crying… to be accepted, to be wanted- to make things with my hands and create with my mind- and be this eccentric- teacher by day- longgggggggggggging to be mother by night. My sister still reminds me of that day. Perhaps my dreams will soon come true.

Lilian Eve Designs had over a hundred new sales that weekend, and many of you are still sporting Regina’s beautiful crocheted designs. So, thank you for supporting her.

If there’s one thing I like, it’s finding cool stuff for my home, my kids, myself that isn’t the same thing everyone else has, and through the sponsors, I’ve discovered new unique places for gifts and fun splurges. I hope you have too.

My Faith:

Someday, when it falls in place naturally, I will expand on my faith. Faith is very present in my life and yet it has evolved over the years to a more encompassing place of respecting everyone’s beliefs and learning from many different walks of life. I have a very faith-heavy past, and there are both treasured traditions and beliefs from the past I keep as well as pains and misconceptions of God I’ve worked to heal. Faith and religion are two very different things. I am religion-less, but faith–the grounding, comforting belief that I am smaller than someone else, that there is more to my life than my breath and body–is a very purposeful part of my life.

Brett:

There are a lot of beautiful stories from our past together and from how he has embraced both Lainey and Nella’s presence and personalities. The stories will come in due time…promise. (and the boys too! but they are busy teenagers and not always around like the girls are for picnics in the woods and building block towers. It is a moment of personal victory for me when I capture a moment with the boys, and I’m happy to share them when they happen)

Writing:

I love words. I love the art of finding good words, stringing them together and digging deep within to recall memories with vivid descriptions. I like a variety of writing styles, many that are different from mine, and reading a broad spectrum of writing genres helps me strengthen my own style. Like photography, there are two components of writing–the art and the technical. Again, the technical (grammar, structure, spelling) can be intimidating. The art though–the voice, humor, and emotion of one’s words–is what is most important. Sometimes, my writing isn’t that good. And sometimes, I love how it comes together. But I still keep writing–as freely and true to myself as I can be, because I do not write to be good, but to be happy. And, as with anyone in any endeavor, I get better at writing the more I practice.

If you want to write, I’d suggest reading Brenda Ueland’s If You Want to Write. It is incredibly inspiring and empowering.

One of my favorite excerpts:

“…it is the way you are to feel when you are writing–happy, truthful and free, with that wonderful contented absorption of a child stringing beads in kindergarten. With complete self-trust. Because you are a human being all you have to do is to get out truthfully what is in you and it will be interesting, it will be good.”

If you write, if you journal, if you blog…please keep doing it. It is your art, your style, and no one can tell you that it’s not good…no one but yourself, and you don’t have to listen.

I leave you with another excerpt from Brenda Ueland’s If You Want to Write:

“…when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free–free and not anxious. …I hate orthodox criticism. I don’t mean great criticism, like that of Matthew Arnold and others, but the usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straightjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery. I hate it not so much on my own account, for I have learned at last not to let it balk me. But I hate it because of the potentially shining, gentle, gifted people of all ages, that it snuffs out every year. It is a murderer of talent.”

Don’t be snuffed out. Whatever it is you desire to do, find a way to do it. Write, create, take pictures, craft, mother, bake, dance, run…and do it happily, truthfully, and freely.

Monday’s back to regular posting.

Looking forward to sunshine this weekend.

Dirty Bit.

March 28, 2011 By Kelle

We had a hot date Saturday night. I wore a dress; Brett spritzed cologne. There was the rare ritual of lipstick, hair curling, hobbling out into the living room with two different shoes to ask Brett which ones (he chose the closed-toe flats; I, of course, wore the open-toe sandals). I explained the baby food and bedtime routine to Brett’s mom while he kissed the kids, and we were out the door–late, as usual–two seconds later to pick up our friends and head to our swanky destination.

Swanky Destination: The fellowship hall of a Catholic church where a yellow balloon arch was erected in celebration of the North Naples Kiwanis Club fundraiser. Plastic cups, buffet line, all-you-can-eat coleslaw. Oh yeah, we go all out.

We had purchased tickets a couple months ago to support the cause and represent our dear neighbor who works with the club, and, despite the fact our hot date was a stone’s throw from an altar and a crucifix, it was still just that…a hot date. My dress was a little overdone among the throng of shorts and flowered shirts, and we may have been the youngest couple there, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a complete blast. The deejay ripped Chubby Checker and Sam the Sham & the Pharoahs, and we twisted and cha-cha’ed and joined Conga lines where the tipsy grandpa behind me tickled my sides and asked where my husband was…swear. But the entire night was full of deep inhalations of sweet, sweet life. Ones that included toasting red plastic cups and cheering on the limbo line and whispering amongst friends, pointing out which fun crazy grandmas on the dance floor we hoped represented our future selves (for the record, the future-self I’ve had my eye on–oh, for the last seven years since I’ve known her–is Kathleen, the most beautiful, vivacious, high-on-life sixty-something-year-old I’ve ever met).

Matt & Dede, fellow neighbors and friends.

Bonus of the night: Kathleen taught me the polka. And let me tell you something…those people were serious about their polka dance. Definitely not amused by the girl in the long dress who was stepping on their toes and crashing into their moment of polka glory. My jerky side-skipping looked nothing like the polka, and I must have apologized twenty times. But I totally made up for it when I taught Nana Kate some new moves to Black Eyed Peas’ Dirty Bit.

So, the clubs may wanna take all the credit for where the party was Saturday night, but I’m tellin’ you, it was happening on the dance floor at St. John the Evangelist Church.

Oh, I’ve had the time of my life, and I’ve never felt this way before, and I swear this is true, and I owe it all to you. …Dirty Bit.

The rest of the weekend in snapshots:

Nella’s new found love is toilet paper. She is thrilled with the fact that one good tug of the roll spins a huge mess, and she drags it around the house with a mischeivous grin while the dogs paw at the paper trail behind her.

Our neighbors across the street have the best tree swing in the history of mankind. It looks very Swiss Family Robinson.

We went for a 6 mile bike ride yesterday–three miles to the park and three back. We left at prime time for the sun show, right when it was angled appropriately for the most dramatic rays-stretching-through-trees effect and large contrasting shadows of our silhouettes that rode parallel to our right. However, unbeknownst to me for the first stretch of our trip, my bike brake was malfunctioning and I pedaled three miles resisting the little brake that was half-gripping my back tire (me and bikes don’t mix). I thought I was out of shape and didn’t mention anything to Brett, embarrassed that the lowest gear setting had me laboring just to answer his questions and praying the park would suddenly appear when he seemed to be zipping through his leg rotations and effortlessly pulling two kids behind him. I started counting my pedal cycles in my head half-way through, hoping Brett would shut up so I wouldn’t have to waste breath answering him and attempting to get my mind off the fact that my heart seemed to have moved to my head as it was beating prominently between my ears. Thankfully, we arrived right as I was spinning/gasping/heaving into the six-hundred-and-seventh rotation. I’ve never loved the sight of a park so much in all my life.

Don’t be fooled. I’m smiling but very aware that my heart is still racing and my calves are still twitching.

Nella’s famous pout protest, ticked I swept mulch out of her mouth:

Thanks to an adjusted brake, the ride home was much more enjoyable.

Lest ye be concerned, photo taken pre-bike helmet, thank you.

The sun had settled for the absence of a brilliant light show for our trip back, but unicorns have a way of showing up when you’re looking for them. Hence the random peacock that strutted through a clearing where we pedaled past. WTH?

Jelly Shoes: check. (thanks to whomever it was that suggested Old Navy) Carry on, Spring.

And, just as the ritual of trickling hot coffee into my mug this morning commenced the beginning of a promising week, our long ceremonious hot bath last night closed out all the adventures we enjoyed over the weekend.

Nella won’t sit for anything anymore, and bath time has become an entertaining adventure where my attention volleys between baby sit n’ stand repetitions and Lainey’s pleas of “Hey, Mom, watch this doll go pee-pee.”

The week awaits.

I will perfect my polka.

…I’ve had the time of my life
and I’ve never felt this way before,
and I swear
this is true,
and I owe it all to you.

Dirty Bit.