Hallmark Life is a Special Occasion Archives - Page 7 of 8

Unplugged, Plugged: Hallmark

August 31, 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.

After yesterday’s Unplugged Day, I’d like to tell you I’m writing this post with a pen–a good old-fashioned quill pen and some parchment that I just pressed from our own trees. And after I write it, I’m going to slip it in an envelope and take it to the town courier who will set off on horseback for his postal journey. Hallmark might get it somewhere near Christmas, and that’s only if the courier didn’t get eaten alive by wolves. He can’t call for help, you know. No cell phone. Once my mail has been deployed, I will get back to churning butter and knitting booties and making bonnets for the little ones.

Well, that’s not happening. I am, in fact, sitting amidst a mess of cords and hard drives and USB hubs with lights that, I swear, are blinking to the rhythm of Jingle Bells. My phone sits close on my desk, and I have to admit that when I went to write this, I was first sidetracked by three e-mails, a Facebook status update and a wicked clever attempt by Zappos who I know has placed a chip in my brain to memorize my shoe preferences because their ads only feature things I like.

I’ll admit something else. When Hallmark suggested a few topics for September posts, I skimmed through them, saw “Unplugged” and knew I’d be selecting anything but that one. It’s not that I’m addicted to technology–I have no problem stepping away from my phone or the computer. It’s just that I didn’t really want to dedicate a full day to purposely shutting everything off because I knew I’d just feel guilty for how much more I should be doing it.

But I was surprised at the outcome. I don’t feel guilty. I feel reminded of the importance of balance.

Act One: The Part Where I Twitched

I woke up early yesterday. It is unusual for me to make my morning trudge toward the kitchen without a baby clung to my hip or a toddler tip-toeing behind me, but yesterday it was just me and the first rays of the sun and the quiet of a sleeping household. I spooned a few teaspoons of fake coffee into a cup, poured hot water over it and leaned against the island in my pajamas, contemplating what to do next. No kids. I could get so much done—tackle my e-mails, write, edit photos. But no, it was Unplugged Day and I wasn’t going to cheat. For all the times I couldn’t find my phone buried in the heap of junk on our catch-all counter, suddenly it stood out like chipped red polish on an otherwise perfect manicure, luring me near. It would only take a few minutes to scroll through my e-mail box, weed out some clutter and delete some spam, and I almost gave in, convincing myself Unplugged Day didn’t start until the kids woke up. But I stood firm, even though I twitched. Yes, I nervously twitched, the first sign that this day dedicated to stepping away was important in reestablishing the most important priorities, none of which are e-mail. Here’s the crazy thing about e-mail: it doesn’t disappear.

Watching the Today Show wasn’t an option, so I threw a load of laundry in, wiped down the counters, sat on the couch and thumbed through the girls’ scrapbooks, enjoying the silence and lack of pressure to get something done. After an hour of quiet, I realized how much I missed the girls and tried to will them to wake up. And when they didn’t, I took the opportunity to make French toast for them so that when they did, a good breakfast would greet them.

I won’t rattle on with a play-by-play of the day, but I will say, I didn’t twitch for long. In fact, my shoulders settled and, knowing I’d be sticking to my plan of not giving in, I enjoyed myself more. No pressure to get back with anyone, no stress of having to do work. Remember snow days when everything seemed better just because school got called off? Yeah. It’s kind of like that.

We didn’t churn butter or knit booties or make bonnets. We did the things we always do, but it felt a little bit like vacation spilled into real life because I made a point to enjoy them more—no pressure to get home, to finish up, to hurry up because there was something else I had to get done.

I watched my ballerina a little more closely.

I noticed more triumphs during Nella’s physical therapy and I clapped a little more enthusiastically.

And I followed my girls down the sidewalk in the afternoon and never once said “time to turn around.”

Act Two: The Part where I Missed being Plugged

I could easily end this with some predictable closing line about “time to turn around” and how a day of Unplugged changed me for good. But that’s not true. What’s true is that I did indeed realize it is so easy to adopt bad habits—to let e-mail and Facebook, texting and TV seep into our lives and stretch roots where they’re not invited. But, I also learned that there’re a lot of good things about being plugged, and there’s a reason I missed some habits yesterday that people so quickly deem as “bad.”

What is it that phones and computers and televisions plug us into? Is it evil? Hardly.

It’s people.

And me loves me some people.

I realized yesterday just how much an instrument technology is in connecting me with people I love. I reached for my phone in a store to take a picture of Hello Kitty pencils to send to Lainey’s ballet teacher because she loves Hello Kitty. But then I put it back. I pulled it out again to tell my friend Dot her niece was our server at Applebees because I knew that’d make her smile. But then I put it back again. No texting. My sister called me, encouraging me to get on Facebook stat to watch an amazing video that would rock my world, and I knew from her enthusiasm, it would be good…but it was Unplugged Day. Nope. Can’t do it. I wanted to know how my friend Elizabeth was feeling during her chemo, and I wondered if there was an e-mail from her just sitting in my box. And when I heard my phone ding during breakfast, I “accidentally” looked to see a text from my friend Amy who had just dropped her little Kayla—who shares Nella’s almond eyes—off for her first day of kindergarten, and Mama was a hot mess of tears. I admit, I cheated on that one. I couldn’t grab my phone fast enough to call her up and cheer her on. And that’s when I realized there are so many incredible things about texting and Facebook and blogs and e-mail, and curling up on the couch with Brett on a Friday night to watch a movie. I missed these things yesterday. And I didn’t feel guilty about missing them.

The amount of people that are online or that have televisions in their homes or that have data and texting plans on their cell phones—it shouldn’t be alarming in the What-is-this-world-coming-to? way. It should be inspiring in that there are so many opportunities to promote change and positively affect such a mass of people who are plugged in. It’s a different world today. And while yes, I wish we still had petticoats and carriages, dance cards and phrases like “come a callin’”, we have American Idol, Skype, On Star–and fabulous opportunities to connect with people. To make their day with an e-mail or a text. To use the “evils” of technology to make a difference.

Shoe shopping can make a difference too.

It’s all about balance. Recognizing when we need to pull back and focus on our own families and yet embracing the modern world and using its advances for good.

I don’t want to twitch anymore. That’s for sure. But I also don’t want to give up routines I love—like watching Little Bear curled up on the couch with my girl, saving reruns of Deadliest Catch to enjoy over Chinese take-out with Brett, Skyping with friends far away or texting pictures of Hello Kitty pens to ballet teachers who own the matching notebooks.

We’ll be repeating the Unplugged day for sure. I like the awareness, the focus, the calm it brings. Like a snow day.

But I also love relishing in the joys of being plugged in…to the many people that help make our life grand.

The courier has a long night of travel ahead of him and a treacherous journey to get this post to Hallmark before due date. Or I could just hit “publish” and save him the trip.

Plugged or Unplugged? Why not both?

Hallmark and I would love to hear about the Unplugged and Plugged rituals, traditions and routines you have that draw your family and friends closer together. Please share one of each in the comments. I’ll start.

1)Plugged: Our extended family–aunts, uncles, cousins, grandkids–have an e-mail chain that continues to keep us together long after my grandparents passed away. We’re all on the link, and e-mails trickle in every week–with happenings, stories, challenges, etc. Without it, I wouldn’t know my family as well as I do. I wouldn’t feel as loved and supported and connected to the thing that matters most…family.

2) Unplugged: Bedtime book reading. All bodies smooshed in the bed, Brett and I acting as book-ends on the end to keep the little bodies from falling off. We read by nightlight and magically, the sisters grow quiet and stop fidgeting. We trade off who reads each page, and I laugh when Brett tries to attempt a funny voice. We don’t do it every night–maybe we should, but we forget. But when we do? It’s special. Really special. Kind of like a snow day.

To see all Life is a Special Occasion posts on this blog, click HERE.

The Friend I Want to Be: Hallmark

August 17, 2011 By Kelle

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.

Input, Output: Hallmark

August 2, 2011 By Kelle

This post is another Hallmark sponsored post which, while I’m on it, is really working out to be a great relationship because they throw out a suggestion and it consequently breaks a dam of stuff I’ve already been thinking. I love that this company is supporting writing that doesn’t push a product but rather an idea—a way of life that recognizes the importance of little moments, little people, and moms (and dads!) who make it all happen. Again, they pay me to write these posts but all writing, ideas and opinions are mine. See Hallmark Life is a Special Occasion for more details or sign up for their e-mail messages HERE:

So every time I go to write this post, I just kind of sit there, looking at white screen, imagining my thoughts will string together on their own like toys that put themselves away in Mary Poppins.

I believe that the world is full of good people, good things, and good intentions. I see it every day in the stories I read and people I encounter, and yet I’m privy to the fact that the world has its share of ugly too. Understanding the principle of See Good, Do Good, Be Good is one thing, but teaching it to my children is a harder task to accomplish.

I think about this a lot having girls, especially now that Lainey’s getting closer to kindergarden. It hit me hard last year—this idea of “What am I sending my girls into?”—when my sister shared a story about my niece who was dealing with some mean girl drama at school. Apparently, a girl had left nasty comments on my niece’s Facebook page and arranged a group of classmates to “Like” her mean status. And, let me tell you, when I found out, my first instinct was to get on the next plane to Michigan, march into that school and say some things that can‘t appear in a post associated with Hallmark. You know that Hallmark commercial with the boy and the grandpa and the card and the smiles and the tears? Yeah, this would be nothing like it. Except the tears. There would still be tears.

Okay, I’m kidding but seriously. These constant reminders of the not-so-good that exist light a fire within me. I want to run through village streets, gathering people to march with me. We will raise our fists in the air as we stomp, as we shout: “Empower the children! Empower the children!”

Hey Beautiful Girl, I think you’re fabulous.

Encouraging your kids, shaping them, equipping them with confidence and self-esteem—it’s an intimidating topic. I know how to tape diaper tabs snugly and comfortably, how to feel tiny foreheads for fevers, how to sway an overtired baby into a sleepy trance; but it all pales in comparison to the grander task of raising kids who feel valued and loved, secure in their unique traits and abilities. Ones who will cope with nasty Facebook comments followed by a slew of “Likes” by laughing it off.

What’s up, Big Sister? Have I told you today how much your smile makes me happy?

And more important than taking the defense—protecting my girls from the meanness—is teaching my girls never to be the meanness. I think I’ve always associated the character trait of confidence as input. In other words, the more I praise my girls, tell them they’re great, prove to them they are smart, beautiful, capable, the more confident they will be. More money deposited—bigger bank account.

Kid, I love your determination. Look at you! You’ve figured out how to float…on your own. You go, Girl.

I am realizing though, that so much of confidence is output. Giving to others, complimenting friends, recognizing the strengths and successes of those around us and making efforts to build someone else up. When we do that, we in turn are building our own self-confidence, recognizing our own worth and rising to a new level of possibility.

Baby, you give the best hugs. Seriously.

I’ve found this to be true so much in my own life, a silly experience last year providing the perfect example of how it works. It was the first nasty comment on my blog, its carefully crafted words no doubt left by the world’s most brilliant critic. I don’t remember what it said but I do remember Homeschooled Girl took a punch to the gut. It wasn’t the last of mean comments, but I did learn that a powerful response to someone trying to pull you underwater is to flick them off (like a fly, not a finger. Okay, both) and throw a life raft to someone else. I started leaving anonymous comments to random people—“Your family is beautiful,” “You are an insightful writer,” “Your story made me laugh”—and it was, ironically, so very empowering.

Well, look at my big standing girl. I’m so proud of how hard you are working to learn new things.

There is a yin and yang for everything. Sometimes we get our feelings hurt, sometimes we lose our confidence, sometimes we mess up. The same is true for our children. A big part of parenting is layering love and encouragement, praise and nurture onto our kids. I love that part. It comes easy for me, and I enjoy the challenge of finding creative ways to compliment my kids beyond “You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re funny.” I love to recognize their imaginations, their problem-solving skills, and their creativity.

“Blue cape with orange shirt, Lainey? I love it. I would have never thought to put those two things together, but it looks so awesome on you. You’ve got an eye for fabulousness, Girl.”

Girlfriend, your style is so hip.

In praising the things I love about my girls, I know I am helping build their confidence—constructing bumper pads that will soften the blows of insults and insecurity. They no doubt will know they are loved, they are uniquely wonderful, they are talented and capable.

That look–right there–that’s the one I love. You still look so little.

But rather than focusing so much on protecting my kids from insults, I want to teach them to proactively BE the good. To search out ways to make their friends happy, to let them know they’re special too. Compliment their humor, send them cards, tell them their purple jelly shoes are really awesome. This is such a powerful component of confidence. Output.

I think you’re pretty awesome. And I love your little feet. That is all for now.

I’d love to hear ways in which you’re instilling confidence in your kids, and Hallmark would love to hear them too! If you’d like to share an idea, a story, or a tradition you have in your home that helps encourage your kids, please share in the comments. And if you want some Hallmark love in your e-mail box, sign up HERE or like Hallmark’s Life is a Special Occasion on Facebook HERE.

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” ~Ghandi