This post is sponsored by Abbott and its LIFE. TO THE FULLEST. initiative.

We’re two days and counting from the New Year, wrapping up our memories from 2015 and lining up our resolutions for 2016. I don’t make resolutions every year, but it does feel good when I do—setting intentions, throwing goals into the universe, all in pursuit of living my best life. In between those new resolutions every year and through what we learn from challenges and growth, though, we find what works for us—some constant practice that makes us feel fulfilled.

For me, diets and workout fads will wax and wane—although I’ll still get excited about new physical challenges. I’ll find inspiration in new self-help books, creative practices and exciting personal projects that will temporarily consume me, but they’ll come to a close and I’ll move on. Adventures to new places and relationships with new friends will bring joy, add interest, make memories, but waiting for the next adventure is not how I find my happiness—it’s in the stillness between the adventures too. Family will make me drunk on love and I’ll constantly feel life’s generous reward in being my children’s mother, my husband’s wife, my parents’ daughter, but I do not rely on my family to make me happy or to fill me up. So what is constant key to living my best life?

I live my best life in celebration. Finding the hidden celebratory opportunities that are buried throughout every phase of life, scattered as much in the monotony of our everyday routines as they are spread throughout the obvious events—vacations, weddings, graduations, personal successes. And celebration is not reserved for when life feels perfect. In fact, it is what carries me through the hard moments.

What does celebration look like? It’s as simple as using the good dishes on a Tuesday night. Hanging twinkle lights in a window when there isn’t a holiday in sight. Hosting a kitchen dance party—for one—while I’m cooking. Wearing red lipstick to the grocery store. Making a pot of coffee at noon and sitting down to savor it in the perfect mug.

Going for a moon walk and stopping to take a picture of the shadows cast by the street light—because it makes me happy. Putting stickers on an envelope before I send it—even if it’s just a utility bill. Baking a pie to give to a friend for no particular reason. Lighting candles, hosting friends, gathering my kids together and performing silly rituals in honor of a made-up holiday—Backwards Day and Wear Pink Day and Everybody Talk in an Accent Day.

Popping popcorn for a movie on the couch and pretending we’re at the theater. Turning up the music in the car and singing with the windows rolled down on the way to drop the kids off at school. Deciding last minute to head to the beach for a sunset picnic dinner.

Living my best life means waking up on any given day, in any given place, through any given circumstance, and finding something—even if it’s little—to celebrate.

You want to skip the small talk and go right for the meat on the bone at your next dinner party? Ask your guests how they’re living their best life.

I like people who go right for the meat, ask the good questions. Which is why I’m partnering with Abbott to create conversation about what living our best life means. It’s super simple–take a quick quiz and tell them what you think living your best life means. In your opinion, what is a full life?

(bringing back an oldie but a celebratory pic)

Today, I turn 37. Keep in mind, I thought I turned 37 last year, so this extra year is just frosting on my birthday cake. I used to write really feely blog posts on my birthday, so–in the spirit of being young–I’m going to write a really feely blog post. I have an hour before my in-laws pick us up for dinner though, so I’ll make this quick. In keeping it quick, I’m not going to fuss about flow or transitions, so c’mon…I’ll take you on a tour of my random, spiraling brain. It’ll be fun. Also, there’s no time for pictures in this post but I did take a selfie in my bedroom yesterday and cropped the part of the wall that’s half-painted (for like, a year). So here–a birthday picture for my rambling 37th birthday post.

On my birthday in 2009, I wrote the following:

It’s taken me awhile to grasp it all, but I have finally arrived at the grown-up place of life is what you make it and there are lots of things in life we go through that aren’t comfortable or ideal, but they could be so incredibly worse, and a simple life of comfort does nothing to change us, mold us, make us into better, stronger more beautiful versions of ourselves…I have been reminded so much these past couple weeks of just how wonderfully blessed we are and the older I get, the more I embrace change as opportunity to learn just what I am capable of. –

Perhaps I (have) been planted for too long and (a) little bit of discomfort will challenge me, in my thirty-first year, to push myself more toward new chapters in the story of our life. 

Three weeks after I wrote that, Nella was born–little did we know she had Down syndrome. I seem to have a knack at self-fulfilling prophecy posts, so let’s try this one:

Perhaps it’s time, in my 38th year, for a family vacation to Italy. 

Earlier this month, this blog celebrated its 8 year birthday. One of the great things about blogging that long is that it gives you such sweet documentation of change. I read those old posts now and miss those old days, that old me, that old writing.

Occasionally I will hear this: “This blog isn’t what it used to be.” “You’ve changed.” “I miss the way you used to write. Unfollowing.”

And I have this to say: Over the course of my life and all the years one knows me, please, Dear God, don’t let anyone ever say “she never changed.” If I’m remembered for anything, do not let it be for stagnancy. Let me change, let me fall and get up, let me figure things out messily, beautifully, with mistakes, but let me move and flow with the currents of change. Life is changing. In fact, I found Brett in the living room today with his toolbox, disassembling the crib.

“Seriously? Today?” I asked. “You’re going to disassemble 9 years of baby-rearing memories in front of my face on my birthday with no warning?”

The corner that crib took up just opened up a brand new space though. More room to move and grow and play and change. I have both sweet memories of what that space has been for the past several years and dreams for what it will be.

Things are shifting into another phase of life. Or as my brother bluntly put it this morning on the phone: “Happy birthday, Kas. We’re all going to the dogs, aren’t we?”

For any birthday, for all seasons of change, for all the good and bad and crazy, here’s what I visualize: I’m in a convertible–red, vintage 1971 Mercedes if you must know. There’s a stretch of country road in front of me as far as the eye can see and blue sky above. I don’t exactly know where I’m going or how I’m going to get there, but the car is moving and I’m in the back seat, standing up–a little dangerous–arms outstretched, chest to the wind, eyes closed and hair blowing. I’m smiling and I’m in the moment, and I’m trusting that we’ll end up somewhere we’re supposed to be. (Also, I’m wearing a linen dress, no bra, and Devotchka is blaring, but let’s not Hollywoodize this too much)

I saw the movie Joy yesterday and absolutely loved it. (Go, go, go, get in your car, get extra butter on your popcorn, wear your pajamas to the theater, go see it tonight!) There was a quote that stayed with me: “…when you realize the only thing you’re ever going to have is what you make.”

That’s my birthday anthem. That’s my change anthem. You don’t own your family or their feelings or your circumstances. You can’t guarantee your health, you can’t lock in your youth. But you do always have the power to make. Choices, changes, happiness, comebacks, words, songs, love, amends, space, someone else’s day, beautiful things. I love to think about what I’m going to make this next year.

And with all this change, if it’s of any consolation, the way I write a birthday post doesn’t change. With a beer. And a candle. And music (this song). Music that makes me stop typing and put my hands in the air and feel it every few minutes. And when I’m done typing this, I’ll open the door and yell for my kids and we will dance a little bit crazy. Because we like to make….noise.

Want some dancing in your kitchen birthday songs? Here.

Passion Pit–Manners
The Temper Trap–Fools
Arcade Fire–Wake Up
Phoenix–Lasso
Young Folks–Peter Bjorn and John
Coconut Records–Nighttiming

What are you going to make this year?

We are officially burrowed in and relaxing, and to make this borrowed & relaxed state shine properly, we added some juxtaposition last night with an evening of far-from-burrowed-and-relaxed festivities. Think 6-mile-long line to see Santa. Think crowded restaurant. Think three kids running around Marshall’s the night before Christmas Eve, one of whom made up a game that involves 10-pound weights and yoga mats flinging off a shelf.

In fact, I’d like to submit this photo for “antonym of burrowed & relaxed.”

Word on the not-so-snow-covered street is that it’s unseasonably warm in the Midwest as well which strangely makes me feel a little more connected to the family I’m missing. We’re diving into the holidays, together coatless and kissed by warmth.

Brett takes the end of the year off every year which makes our burrowing and relaxing so much sweeter. This week, we returned to one of our family’s favorite memory-making spots, Isles of Capri, for a family day.

Baby crab…

Spotting more baby crabs…

…and another baby crab.

We’re savoring our simple little traditions this season…

…and grateful for each other.

Want to create some good conversation around your holiday table tonight and tomorrow? Write some good questions down. Tuck them in a jar, under a plate, keep them in a notebook and pull them out when Uncle Bob’s politics conversation is going south or Aunt Judy is getting a little passive aggressive with her suggestion that you give your kids too much sugar. I love these questions. I’ve learned a lot of things I would have never known about friends and family, and without fail, one of these questions opens up meaningful conversation and beautiful stories. The stories are what family is all about.

10 Questions to Ask Around the Holiday Table

1. Who from your past has most influenced who you are today and how?

2. What’s the most beautiful drive you’ve ever taken–where was it, what were you doing there…describe the scene.

3. If you could have any other job besides the one you have, what would it be?

4. What’s one thing you never learned how to do that you wish you could have learned?

5. What would those who know you best say your best quality is?

6. If you had $1000 right now that you had to spend on yourself, what would you buy?

7. What charitable cause is closest to your heart and why?

8. What’s the most sad you’ve ever been in life?

9. Describe one of your happiest memories.

10. If you were to give one piece of advice to someone, based on the past 5 years of your life, what would it be?

And if you’re alone this Christmas, pull out a journal, light a candle, and write out some of your own answers to these. Date it. Do it again next Christmas and the next and the next, and watch how your answers change over the years.

Merry Christmas Eve, friends.

To the full and happy, to the hurting, lonely, searching and all the somewhere-in-between…love, love, love. You’re not alone.