Friends Archives - Page 4 of 9 - Enjoying the Small Things

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.

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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 kellehamptonblog@comcast.net, 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)

Enjoying the Small Things

February 4, 2011 By Kelle

When all else fails, there exists the ever present need to enjoy the small and simple things.
With that said, a mindless but needful Friday post:

E N J O Y I N G . . .

Nella Messes.
Her mad roller derby crawling skills and advanced mobility and curiosity bring with it new messes which are, in their own way, delightful to find. Messes like an entire bag of wheat puffs she dumped in the play room.

The Angry Face.
She has to force it, but it’s so funny, I find myself prompting her. “Show me angry,” I’ll say. And she works so hard to hide her smile as she furrows her brow and purses her lips. Makes me laugh, every time.

Sleepy Meals.
Eating is hard work. And this face clearly says, “I’m done.”

You Gotsa Blizzard, We Gots Sunshine.
Not that I’m rubbing it in because, Lord knows, I miss the cozy feeling of Batten Down the Hatches and watching mad flakes dance and skip and join forces for a victorious whiteout. However, after a string of boot-wearing, quilt-hugging days, the emergence of warm pavement that calls for bare feet and higher temps that beg for suits and clover-hunting afternoons is happily welcomed.

And our kickball doubles as therapy. It’s so funny to watch her strain her little side muscles to stay upright, and she’s gettin’ really good at it.

Chutes and Ladders
She’s still figuring out the rules of the game and kinda cheats by going up all the ladders and avoiding all the chutes…

…but she does think it’s really funny how the game pieces look like us.

Daddy Lovins.

Impromptu Getaways.
They are redeeming in that they erase the busy and craziness of multi-tasking days and have a way of reversing event-filled schedules to a seemingly blank slate. And the shorter the notice, the better. Like, “Hey Brett, can you meet us at Steak ‘n Shake in twenty minutes?”

The excitement being that a family trip to Steak ‘n Shake is a first. And we handled it so–like tourists–requesting extra hats, a second shot of malt powder, a slab of bacon on an already greasy burger. When in Rome, Baby.

Making Valentines.
My holiday-lovin’ heart is gettin its hit with lace and scissors and teaching my girl how to properly address an envelope…with stamps and stickers, of course.

Hesitating For Just a Happy Moment Before I tell Lainey She Can’t Strong-arm Her Sister.

The Return to Sacred Ground.

Room 7, the walls of which hold our story. I debated giving it its own post, but it seems fitting the cathartic journey of returning to the room where Nella was born belongs, as it does in real life, amidst the rest of the current that has propelled us forward. It’s been interesting attempting to head back up there, first scheduled for the night before Nella’s birthday and planned to include several girls. However, a full moon delivered a wild labor ward that night, pushing (no pun intended) off our plans until a few days later, and then later, and again, another try. But Room 7 was busy blessing other mamas with their stories until last night, on a whim, I called up and found out indeed, it was waiting for me. Empty but alive. And, suddenly, I had butterflies in my stomach, and I’m not even sure why. It’s just that I feel so progressed from the devastation I felt in that place, and yet I wanted to reconnect with it in a way that would bridge the gap between there and here, then and now, before and after. I knew walking onto the sacred ground between those walls would reignite dormant emotion, and just thinking about it began its stirrings.

Fortunately, two kindred spirits came with me–one that was so very present that night and who remembers things even I don’t and one who wasn’t and wanted to hear the story from the place it started. So it was, Heidi and Nana Kate joined me for my journey to The Birth Place and I, in a moment of ceremonialism, scoured the house thirty seconds before we left, searching for divine tokens from that night. The plastic Sharpie-scrawled champagne cups we used to toast her birth, the same candles that flickered when we welcomed her. I tossed them in my bag and settled for a bottle of Coors Light to bring to fill the cups because we had no champagne, and off we went.

There was pain–the searing beauty of it when we stepped into that place. It was brief but concentrated. Like I could close my eyes and remember it like it was yesterday. Like I was standing in the room as a visitor at the edge of the bed watching my sad old self grimace and cry. I could feel the emotion that was so present that night.

We huddled, the three of us, for a small moment and cried. Hugged it out and patted backs. And then, it left. The pain left the building, and it became the room where we celebrated. Where flowers gathered and friends smiled and girls sat on my bed and told me she was the sweetest baby ever. I remembered the magic of that room very much like Room 10, three doors down, where three and a half years ago I heaved happy sobs when Lainey slipped into our lives. And so we popped the cork–or, in our case, twisted the cap–poured some golden bubbly and toasted to the love that began in that room…in the same cups that toasted that same love just a year ago.

We told Nana Kate all about that night, remembering things we almost forgot and marveling at how small the room seems now. “I swear the room was twice this size,” Heidi said. Because what happened in that room seems too big to fit in that space.

We sat on the bed and told stories last night in Room 7 for forty minutes. And we laughed…a lot. Heidi reenacted my guttural labor sounds and ran back and forth to the door, interpreting the funnier events of that night that deserve their part too. And it was all so very good and healing.

And I left, feeling lighter, renewed and restored by the full-circle revelation that pain not only brings healing, but redemption. I couldn’t help but remember the lyrics my sister wrote on her post announcing Nella’s birth.

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are

And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That’s burning up inside

This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful ~Sara Groves

And because meaningful ceremonies like returning to birth rooms occur amid the less meaningful ebb and flow of life everyday–and that’s where they belong–I will sandwich the celebration of our defining moment between the rest of this post.

Enjoying the Small Things, Continued:

Her Love-Me Eyes, One Year Later

New Home Stuff.
…makes me happy and provides nice incentive to clean my house.

New Sponsor, Timeless Settings Boutique, features a lovely range of unique home goods.
Loving my new chicken wire planter from them that holds my rosemary plant.

And our beautiful antique-looking tea caddy–tea being my favorite thing to serve to anyone who stops by because strangely, it makes me feel hospitable when the state of our house might suggest differently. Just waiting for someone to step into our wheat-puffed scattered living room so I can serve them a spot of tea, letting them select from this nice little box. Brushing up my British accent to go with it.

A $50 gift certificate to Timeless Settings will be given to a random commenter on this post.

And the Elizabeth St. gift certificate winner is Commenter #207, Kelly Cach (Hi, Kelly!): Oh, so sorry! This hurts my heart to the core…my Gabe is 9 and my Eli is 7. Will be holding them even tighter today. Prayers for your friend and blessings to you today, Kelly

Kelly, you know where to send your info! xoxo

And a big sigh to follow a big post.
Many happy moments to you this weekend.

A Nella goodbye wave to you and you and you.

The Net

January 27, 2011 By Kelle

Some years ago, before my friend Kelly birthed two beautiful children, she went through a hell of a lot of pregnancy tests. Surgeries, miscarriages, tearful phone calls and texts that broke sad news. She needed her friends, and we were there for her. Answering calls, showing up. We’d cry over beer in big bar booths and drop off cards and casseroles when hopes were shattered once again. We promised her it was going to happen someday, and it did.

I remember huddling in the back seat of her car one day after the second miscarriage. She was devastated, and we didn’t know how to fix it. But we were there, silent and strong. “We’re here for you,” we said. Because it’s all we knew to say.

She created an expression during that time, one that’s stuck with this group since. “The Net,” she called us. Because we caught her when she fell.

As years have passed, we’ve all taken our turns jumping in. We promise to catch each other, and we do our best. Sometimes we screw up. Sometimes we fall apart. New friends join forces, old friends strengthen theirs. But, in the end…we are there.

This year, when I was down and called for help, The Net showed up. Every one of them. Braiding their fibers together to make something stronger. I jumped, and they caught me. And I will never forget what it felt like to fall–softly, safely–in that place.

On the anniversary of the night where, a year earlier, I needed them more than ever, I wanted to celebrate them.

I dreamed of what it would look like. And, like Christmas morning, I dreamed big. I wanted a circle. I wanted love. I wanted music and candles and something no one would forget. I wanted summer camp kumbaya but the grown-up kind, with drinks and sex jokes and laughter that organically shifted into tears and sharing and “I love yous.” I wanted everyone to really, truly feel connected and loved in that circle but, at the same time, I didn’t want some cheesy “Wind Beneath my Wings” stunt either. Because I’m the first one to roll my eyes at a baby shower when we have to play one of those games where some girl loses an eye when she says the word “Baby.” I just wanted it to be real and good and meaningful.

So, a couple weeks ago, Heidi made plans and called our friend who owns a restaurant while I sent out an e-mail and asked The Net to come. I asked each woman to bring a charm–something that would be given to another woman that night. Any charm that represented the celebration and power of women–a favorite memory, a word of advice, a symbol of strength. It was a stretch, sure, and could damn near head down the cheesy “Wind Beneath my Wings” road, but maybe…just maybe…it would be magic.

Saturday night, twenty-eight women stepped into the candle-lit den of Lucarelli’s to celebrate each other.

There was music. And candles. And a special menu created just for us that night…with Nella Bella-linis.

I brought new friends and cousins and smiled as I watched my old friends lovingly welcome them, embrace them, treat them like sisters. I felt so proud of my friends, happy to show them off.

There was laughter and bruschetta and peach fizzy drinks named after my girl. There was wild, good energy that wafted through the room like the first spring breeze that sweeps through open windows. And slowly, chairs gathered. First a few, then a few more. Bodies crowded, quilts spread out, and soon, there it was…one beautiful circle. No Wind Beneath my Wings cue or all-call to prick fingers and share blood. It happened, just like that.

“Look, it’s happening,” Heidi says.

“I know…it’s just like I imagined,” I replied.

And the rest of the night was magic. The Net at its finest.

We shared, until 2 in the morning, our pains, our joys, our challenges. We cheered each other on. We cried and hugged and thanked each other for being there. We said “this is incredible” and “how come we don’t do this more often?” and inside we knew it was really special, meant to be saved for moments like this.

There is no way to really explain what happened in that room. The way each woman told her story. The way everyone listened. The way it seemed every charm was hand-picked for its recipient. The way I didn’t want the night to end.

Twenty-eight women. All different, all passionate, all capable. We have our issues–our drama, our fall-outs, our misunderstandings. Because we are women, and with that comes spunk and vigor and the need to be heard and validated. With that comes the beautiful storm of strong opinions and the force of which we express them. There are pains. But, underneath all that, there is so much love. There is the need to answer a call when it comes forth. And when it does, it’s truly a beautiful thing.

I’ve been there.

I couldn’t help but scan the room and think of every one of these women’s journey. We’ve showed up. At funerals, in birth rooms, at parties, in the middle of the night. We’ve taken phone calls, e-mails, held, hugged and prayed. And we’ll do it again.

I feel so privileged to know these women. They are strong, beautiful souls, and I am daily inspired by what they bring to my life.

These women are bona fide rockstars. …and I have the charm to prove it.

I made them all promise to remember that evening. To not wake up the next morning and regret opening up, crying, saying “I love you.” And I promised not to post the other pictures.

We danced. We loved. We celebrated. We balanced the heavy emotion and puffy eyes of meaningful stories with really funny moments that can’t be repeated. It was perfect.

And I couldn’t help but think a hundred times that night where I was exactly one year before. Huddled in a dark room, out of breath, out of tears, and certain life would never be the same.

Thanks to these women, life is so much more. We are all so very capable.

We will move on. We will tuck our charms in drawers and soon forget they’re there. We’ll stop talking about that night and what was said.

But, when one of us falls, we’ll remember. We will be there…the ever faithful, loving Net.

After three hours of sleep that night, we huddled the next morning in the party-crashed living room, clutching coffee cups, rubbing dark eye circles, and reliving the magic. It was that good.

Bless poor Brett’s heart.

And bless the $100 Little Lesiw gift certificate winner, Commenter #631, Melissa Marie: Been following for a little less than a year. Your words are true and honest. Thank you for not sugar coating it all! Heading over to buy some beautiful head bows. 🙂 We are anticipating our third foster baby…a little girl! (we have had her brothers who are 2 and 1 for the past 12 months. Thank you for your honesty!

Congratulations, Melissa. Please e-mail your contact info to kellehamptonblog@comcast.net, and you’ll be picking some blooms for that sweet baby’s hair in no time.

And because giveaways are better when you double your trouble, how about another one?

Returning sponsor, Loving Shop Tutus is giving away a handmade tutu to one lucky commenter on this post. And use Coupon Code ENJOY to get 10% off your order at Loving Shop (great for Valentine’s Day!)

And to my Net…to every woman present the other night…you are amazing and I love you.

ADDENDUM: Several have e-mailed about the bracelets and how the charms worked. Simple, inexpensive bracelets were purchased at Joann’s (or I found the same ones HERE) and each woman brought with them a charm they had already purchased (search ‘silver charm’ on Etsy or Google…it’s amazing what they have charms for. EVERYTHING) Each woman present had their name written on a slip of paper, and all the papers were put in a bowl. Everyone drew a name (putting it back, of course, if they drew their own name) and your own charm went to the woman whose name you chose. Circle starts and you tell your story and what your charm means, give your charm away, etc. Make sense?