Friends Archives - Page 3 of 9 - Enjoying the Small Things

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.

New Friends, Same Friends

July 27, 2011 By Kelle

I walked out in the garage in my nightgown early this morning to fetch the back-up supply of half & half and there, on top of my car, dimly lit by the overhead garage light was Cat, sprawled out and sound asleep. This is becoming pretty funny.

We kind of unintentionally stole a cat.

*****

Last night was special–like coming home from summer camp and exclaiming to your parents that your cabin mate was the coolest girl in the world is special.

I “met” Brooke through a writing opportunity with Babble (Girlfriend can do wonders in the kitchen…check her out). And the great universe, in its way of drawing kindred spirits through the Internet, finally paved the way for us to meet in real life. I felt like I knew Brooke’s family already and yet it’s always cool, that movie-like moment where we both arrive at the arranged meeting place, search each other out and hug like long lost friends. I wanted to do the whole “I’ll be the girl holding a book with a red rose” to reveal my identity, but two kids and a beat-up stroller heaped with junk pretty much gave it away.

This adorable family slayed me with their kindness and their quest to live fully.

The scene was sublime–quilts spread over a carpet of dried leaves, a canopy of leafy shade overhead, a rare July evening breeze, the proverbial picnic basket, my mom’s old-fashioned potato salad (I forgot the serving spoon. I packed a picnic for a professional foodie, and we had nothing with which to scoop potato salad but two cheap plastic forks)…

But the conversation? Oh, it was rich. While John & Brooke’s kids whisked the girls away to entertain them on swings and slides and things with wheels, we adults talked about life and love and faith. We asked good questions and concluded it was okay not to have all the answers.

The sun sank slowly as our comfort level grew, and for each hour we lingered, we could have stayed another.

Nella wants a piece of the action every time Lainey plays games on my phones.

The encore to our park picnic came in the form of Kilwin’s Fudge and Ice Cream Shop, conveniently located only a block from the park. I smiled watching Lainey make new friends and successfully contain her shy smile.

Nella seriously threw down on some rasberry sorbet.

…and when it was finally time to pry the cone from her deadly grip, it was a hot mess of an ordeal. A sticky fit ensued.

Sister likes her cones.

After hugs and last exchanges, I buckled two tired girls in the car and, as I drove, I thought about just how awesome it is that in a world of so many differences, when you really get to know people and open yourself up in an honest way to learn something…you’ll discover how very much the same we really are. I find such comfort in that sameness.

*****

Brett’s away this week, training for a new job, and I find that more responsibility for me comes with more ambition. I like the challenge of holding down the fort, giving extra attention to the girls and maybe–just maybe–I’ll blow his mind when he returns to a clean house and trash cans that I actually remembered to drag to the curb.

Today we cooked and baked with friends.

Shrimp chowder, cupcake cones with sprinkles, and a kitchen sink bath for Nella after she so generously offered her help with frosting duties.

And when our day was almost spent and shadows stretched long in the driveway, we retreated from homey comforts to outdoor adventures just for a bit.

And then called it a really good night.

*****

The winner of the Heal My Sole gift certificate is Comment #292, Small Town Girl: Cracker Barrel, I really do love that place! Being in Vermont, we experience Cracker Barrel very seldomly. It reminds me of trips to Port Charlotte/Fort Myers to see my grandmother.

Congratulations, Small Town Girl! Please send your contact info to [email protected], and you’ll soon be shopping for some sweet smelling scrubs.

*****

Scentsy Independent Consultant, Jessica Clough, is back to sponsor (thanks for shopping with her last month!) again this month. Thanks to her, a new ritual in our home is the breaking-of-the-bar. When I need some cleaning mojo, I always begin by breaking a new scent bar and revving up my warmer. The rest is history. Today, a block of Groovy Grapefruit and Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” inspired a full kitchen shake down.

I’m already dreaming of fall and think Autumn Sunset, Clove & Cinnamon, and some sultry Embers scents might jump start my enthusiasm.

One lucky commenter on this post will win a Cupcake warmer and a Happy Birthday scent bar, courtesy of Jessica Clough’s Scentsy Shop.

*****

We’re exhausted.

Happy evening to you.

The Other Shoe

May 26, 2011 By Kelle

We are on our way home from an impromptu two-day retreat, and I have turned the very back seat of our car into a temporary office. While my knees are jammed between two car seats and I occasionally have to angle my screen to compensate for sun glare, I can’t complain. My office windows currently happen to offer the breathtaking view of Charlotte Harbor, its canvas peppered with boats whose white sails contrast nicely against the sky, and there are two sweet bodies—one at 10 o’clock, one at 2—to keep me company.

A quick trip to drive Rebecca to her parents’ house on Gasparilla Island turned into an extended stay for us—one that involved mornings sipping coffee on the dock and evenings deciding what Big Olaf ice cream flavor was the best (it’s a tie between Butterfinger Blast and Kahlua Krunch).

Yesterday morning, as I made a comfortable seat out of sand and positioned myself so I could sip my coffee, watch the pelicans and still keep an eye on Nella who was busy investigating sea oats behind me, I did what you may have done at the intake of this very sentence. I laughed. Seriously. Seaside coffee? Pelicans? Babies and sea oats? Ride a unicorn, why don’t you.

And my first instinct is to tip the scale, shifting the balance back where it belongs. Birthday party, Isle of Capri, morning coffee on the dock—Fun’s ahead by three points in our lives, and if events aren’t fairly proportioned between work and play, home and away, I’ll feel like we’re doomed for the other shoe to drop. Like that imaginary pinched chick with the tight bun and the clipboard who hands out good and bad will notice our unfair share and come lay hell on our lives.

I’m learning to ride the wave though. Balance occurs naturally, and feeling guilty for a few moments retreat or immediately packing up and heading home, purposefully running out of gas along the way, isn’t going to help anything. If anything, a short, calm intermission has revitalized me to return home, restore order, clean clutter, and get back to work, all the while remembering to welcome more tranquil moments and to be grateful for all of it—the highs, the lows, the crazy, the lazy, and the mortar in between.

I look at balance a bit differently now. It isn’t a game of keeping score so much where good and bad, chaotic and quiet, stressful and restful have to be even players in our home but more so a measure of our response to harmonize the presence of whatever circumstances happen to be hovering. When challenges come, we accept them, learn from them, chop and puree those damn lemons into something sweet and likewise, when the good and easy comes, we drink it in gulps knowing that, like hardships, it won’t last forever.

Sea urchin

It just so happens we had the privilege of leaving the good faucet on a little longer this week.

Rebecca’s parents are also from Michigan and, while we collectively recalled what we missed about our home state–namely, the October russet landscape and fall apple orchard adventures–we unanimously concluded that there is something quite marvelous about babies growing up on the gulf.

We also realized, after spending a couple days in a fully carpeted home, Nella really does know how to do a real crawl with the whole alternating hand/knee coordination thing–and she does it well. But the minute Smartie’s knees hit hard surface, she’s skidding her belly seal-style–not to be underestimated, however, because Sister can slither quick and gracefully like the speedy little lizards who dart across our garage floor every morning. She high-tailed it from one end of the walk-around porch to the other in all of one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand seconds.

Finish Line Reward.

And, just like a kid at show-and-tell, we whip out our family’s best moves for people we haven’t seen in a while. Like we have Lainey perform that pointed toe tappy thing she does from ballet (applause, applause) and when Nella slips her foot out of her high chair during dinner, we yell for everyone to come look.

It was a good couple days.

Can I get an “amen” for how good it feels to watch your friends love your babies? These kids are my heart and when you love them, you consequently just found yourself a deeper place in my own heart. Likewise, to let my friends know I love them…sometimes loving their kids is the best place to start.

As balance would have it, I’ve just smashed my arm into an old Nutrigrain bar, and its sticky remains are glued to my forearm. Nella is unhappily awakening from her travel nap, and we are pulling into our driveway where the scene from my office windows has shifted: a lawn that needs to be mowed, trash cans that need to be put away, a house with closed blinds that, if open, would reveal a post-party hot mess that calls for clean-up.

Oh, it’s good to be home.

The other shoe has dropped.

*********************

Congratulations to the winner of a new Sweet Seat, Comment #462: Picture Parables: Love, love, love your way with words-so much so, that I’m having contractions with my first on the way, and I just HAD to read your blog this morning!

Picture Parables, please send your contact info (and a picture of that new baby!) to [email protected], and your new little one will soon have something pretty to sit in!

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Finally, it just so happens to be an appropriate time to launch the renewed sponsorship of Mamalode magazine because look who’s on the cover of the current issue:

Opening the mailbox to find a new Mamalode issue is always a welcomed surprise. It’s a good read–full of thoughtful writing and beautiful complementing photos. I love the variety of Mamalode’s content, the freedom of which the writers are able to express themselves, and the overall message that motherhood is hard but rich. Essays are raw, honest and encouraging, and I am proud to be a part of this “Enough” themed issue with “The Secret Reserves,” an essay on overcoming feelings of inadequacy and doubt in mamahood.

Mamalode is quickly growing. Be a part of it and get your subscription HERE.

One comment on this post will randomly be selected to win a free subscription, courtesy of Mamalode.

Stay classy, San Diego.
(sorry, I’ve been wanting to use that)