New Year, Round 2. My game piece (the yellow one) is on the board now, and it’s moving! It’s having a dance party with the green piece and the blue piece and the red piece, and they are all celebrating getting off the start square together.

Brett and I made some family goals together last night–goals that are important but perhaps not as important as making them together were, a reminder of “this is where we always want to go.” Togetherness, productivity, health, creative satisfaction. I do love the energy that comes with clean slates–spring cleaning, first day of school, January, mornings. Refocus, redirect, strike up the band, let’s go. I may have eaten arugula twice yesterday, invited a highly organized friend to come help me tackle a couple of things this weekend and started a new chapter book with my kids. I’m feeling it now. Onward.

With that said…beach, beach.
We took a short trip to Treasure Island in St. Petersburg for the new year—the same place we visited last year at the same time. I like that it has Island in the name, even though it’s accessible by every road imaginable and separated from the “mainland” by maybe a fifty foot bridge. We walk everywhere we go when we’re there—which is really nowhere, but this year I ventured out in the dark one night and pushed a double stroller packed with groceries right down the touristy strip from the store back to our hotel. Got a few chuckles and “nice baby!” calls. My gallon of milk was very offended.

Thankful to spend the last bits of 2014 with family and friends and ring in the new year together, surrounded by the beauty of nature and a beach horizon that reminds us there’s a vast world of opportunities, landscapes and ideas to explore in the future.

Some trip vignettes that make me smile…

Dash spit a cracker out on the beach one morning, and the seagulls came flying in like the locust plague. The kids thought it was hilarious, and from then on we had to watch them carefully as they were eager to throw food and lure them in at any opportunity. Hotel guests much appreciated, of course.

Factory-made sparkler.

Earth’s sparkler.

People-made sparkler.

Dash has perfected the art of sand throwing. He’s really good at it. A+, for sure.

Not a shark. ;o)

My friend Dede who wears black dresses and pearls and looks like a pink sunset silhouette pretty much every moment of every day. Whenever I walk into her house–even to steal an egg–I come home inspired to clean, light candles and invest in good perfume. And she inspires in a way that feels good and motivating, not in the “I feel like I suck” kind of way. An art, I tell you.

So here we are. See that horizon ahead? It’s so full of color.

You’re out, Rainbow Loom. Done. I’m sorry, but she’s moved on to the new cheap crap that’s “gone viral” among elementary cheap crap enthusiasts. Actually, I’d like to take a moment to thank Heidi for her kind introduction of Shopkins to our home. Since words don’t exactly convey tone, let me note my sarcasm.

Two weeks ago, we walked into Heidi’s house, empty handed and content with life. When we left, Lainey was clutching two tiny plastic toys in one palm and a receipt-looking list of “all the other ones I need to collect” in the other. “Oh by the way,” Heidi said as she walked us to the door, “She can keep those two Shopkins.”

“What’s a Shopkin?” I asked.

And then she cackled this devilish little laugh that I didn’t like one bit. “Oh don’t worry. You’ll know really soon. You’ll be buying them–“

“I don’t think so,” I laughed.

“Yes, you will. You can thank me later.” More cackling. Evil smile.

It took me two days. Two days before finding myself where the cheap crap hides in a tiny section of a Target toy aisle. “So can I get one?” Lainey asked, all puppy dog eyes and you’re-the-best-mom. I tried to think of something I owed her for, some great job she just did, some promise I had made her to justify buying it, but I had nothing. Just puppy dog eyes and a tiny shrink wrapped plastic grocery basket with two “mystery Shopkins” inside.

That’s where I started to cave. They had to make them a mystery, didn’t they? I don’t even know a bakery Shopkin from a toiletry Shopkin (these are real things), and suddenly I have to know which ones are inside this basket.

“Let’s get two,” I heard coming out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

It’s been two weeks now, and there is a pile of Shopkins on the girls’ dresser. They have invaded our home and permeated our way of living, making their way to friends’ houses, sneaking into backpacks, initiating tears: “DASH TOOK MY SHOPKIN! CREAMY BUN BUN IS MISSING!”

We stopped at Heidi’s the other day, and I didn’t notice Lainey snuck a few in her pocket. I was going to play it cool, keep it on the downlow, deny that I caved if it came to it because we have a long and funny history of Heidi teasing me for all the ways I cave when I swear “my kid is never doing _________.”

“Sooooo,” Heidi said, pouring me a cup of coffee. “Thought you weren’t going to be buying Shopkins now, did you?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, holding my game face.

“Don’t lie to me,” she laughed, “Lainey just dumped her pockets and told me you took her to Target. You caved!” Cackle, cackle. “You CAVED!!”

“I hate you.”

The Shopkins collector guide goes wherever we go now, and each new Shopkin is carefully accounted for with pencil marks and little numbers Lainey scrawls next to each that correspond to the order in which they’re acquired (perhaps her kids will have beautiful tooth charts someday). As all brilliant cheap crap making goes, there is a ranking system for value–a small colored dot next to each available Shopkin on the collector’s guide, denoting whether it’s “common”, “rare” or “ultra rare.” I’m assuming these titles are randomly given, if not just to amuse parents with escalated fits–fits I’ve seen in just the two weeks we’ve known what a Shopkin is. “Nella can’t have that one! Gran Jam is ultra rare.” I’ve also decided this is a great way to get my kids to do things. “You might want to try that broccolli. It’s ultra rare.” or “Here, put this dress on. It’s ultra rare.”

 

Because I strongly believe in paying it forward, I found great joy in passing along a couple of Shopkins to Lainey’s friends who came home with us yesterday. As they gathered their backpacks and tied their shoes when their dad came to pick them up, I ran to get the tiny shopping baskets. “Don’t forget your Shopkins!” I said with a coy smile.

“Shopkins?” The dad raised his eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I’ll let the girls tell you all about it,” I added, suppressing a wink. Forward. Paid.

Someday my kids will smile over memories of Christmases past and all the junk that they loved. Shopkins might be their Cabbage Patch.  And I love it. What can I say, she’s a TSL like her mama. That’s Tiny Shit Lover for those who don’t speak miniature awesome.

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This week, enjoying:

A Quick Trip to Michigan
…this past weekend to celebrate my dad who was being honored by the medical staff at his hospital for the work he does. Out of all the things I could be proud of for how my parents are introduced, I will remember this one: “Rik is an innovative contributor to the culture of warmth and kindness.” They should make that a degree you can get in college. “I have a bachelor’s in Innovative Warmth and Kindness Contribution.” “I’m the Vice President of Warmth and Kindness Development.” “I head up the Strategic Partnerships for Warmth and Kindness Innovation.” Because that, my friends, is important work.

It was indeed a special night, shared by family and made notable by his colleagues who wanted us to hear their stories of how my dad was there for them or helped them through something. I couldn’t help but think about how important it is for those who serve and help people to be helped and served themselves. Organizations and hospitals, doctors and nurses, teachers and caregivers all working every day to help and heal others–they do their best work when they are helping and healing each other at the same time. “He’s helped us heal our patients and ourselves.”

It was a night of powerful stories, ones that certainly inspired those who were present to innovatively contribute to their own culture of warmth and kindness. Amen, amen, amen.

The bonus of the weekend came from a heaping helping of family and holiday cheer. Siblings. Nieces. Thrifting. Tiny snow flurries. Cozy bars, safe from the outside cold, where we told story after story after story. Christmas shops with Christmas music.

My $10 thrifted coat, thank you.

We are not First Take kinda people. We are 6th or 7th shot for Maybe A Decent Picture kinda people.

And a shout-out to my nephews.

More Enjoying…

Coming Home to Find I’m Not the Only One Who Caves for Toys 

Brett claims they were at the entrance of Wynn Dixie and that Nella fell so hard in love, he “couldn’t help himself.”

“We’re a bunch of softies,” I said.

“Weak,” he added.

“Let’s read some parenting books and call it a night. Tomorrow we’ll teach some lessons.”

Insert thrifted score photo. Michigan Salvation Armys know how to bring it.

HAPPY HUMP DAY! Holiday Cheerometer’s reading highish.

Fall is, of course, at the top of my list of things that make me swoon. But even swoonier than fall is people–good people whose presence and stories and spirits make our world happier. Take those people and throw them into fall? That’s Happy Squared which was exactly how I’d describe the little mountain wedding that took place last week.

I’ve known Kaity since she was in middle school. I worked with her mom who quickly became one of my closest friends, and I’ve watched Kaity grow from a quiet student to one of the most creatively talented individuals I’ve ever met. Besides the fact that she’s an amazing photographer, artist and now wedding planner extraordinaire, she has a kind and gentle heart–one my kids have latched on to, making their way to her lap whenever she’s near.

The love story of Kaity and Alex doesn’t need much narration. Rather, a few seconds watching the two of them together tells its own story–a story we were so honored to be a part of as they sealed the deal under a fall canopy of trees and surrounded by twinkly lights, flowers, the most exquisite yet simple artistic details and a huddle of loved ones that made the evening, dare I say, perfect.

The girls were excited to be flower girls.  I thought Nella would trip because she couldn’t take her eyes off her skirt swishing, but sister did just fine.

(tutus were handmade by my friend Kaili whose Etsy shop can be found here, cardigans are Gap, button-on crochet Peter Pan collars are from Hand Spun Creations, nude long sleeve leotards underneath for warmth)

Right before the girls walked down the aisle, Nella had a quick nervous moment and walked over to Lainey and nestled in–only needed a second. I know exactly how that feels.

I don’t have many wedding photos as I was wrangling kids and there was an insanely talented photographer capturing everything, but I love these few. .

There was a lot of reflection last week about how quickly time goes–an overstated motherhood philosophy that gets buried with cliches–but it was palpable as I sat with my friend the morning she prepared to marry off her daughter and later that evening as we all danced together–friends, babies, aunts, uncles, grandparents–hugged,cried, laughed and heard from so many, “Where did the time go?”

It is so easy to get lost both in then–reminiscing the days past, and someday--planning and preparing for all the events of the future. But the now between those two places is pretty sweet. I’m sure we all felt that sweetness up on the mountain that night, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness and trees and winding roads we’d eventually have to take home that night. In that magical place, we danced–the babies in their pajamas, the bride in her pretty wool coat, and all the mamas feeling grateful for the intersection between then and someday–this sweet little place called now.

We remained in that state for the rest of our trip, Okay, okay, we talked about Christmas a little bit, but we were only trying to throw up some cushioning to help our friend’s defense against possible post-wedding letdown, and Christmas will do it. Powerful thing that cozy December is. It really should trickle into every month, if you ask me.

But mostly, we enjoyed the now.

Dance party with David, the bride’s brother whom Nella fell in love with, mainly because he can match her moves. 

And now I’ll leave you with a series of photos that had us rolling last week. It started with one accidental shot and ended with–well, we couldn’t stop.

I now present to you, Poop the Diving Barbie. Kind of like Sonora Webster, except there’s no horse and she’s plastic. Okay, and naked.

Coming in sideways with an attempted open pike, she lost momentum. That’ll cost her three points.

A doubles round. They took bronze due to the inappropriate nature of blond Barbie’s kick-out.

This one took gold. Obviously. The crowd cheered.

And with that…Happy Thursday.