I am a Michigan girl at heart. I like a good crisp autumn where the bleachers at a football game are filled with mittens cradling steamy styrofoam cups. I like raking heaps of crunchy leaves–Maple and Oak and Aspen–that once were green, then golden, then brown. I like picking out the biggest hot sugared donut behind the counter at the cider mill and shamelessly telling the donut-getter, “No, not that one…that one.”

And while I used to spend this time of year rifling through catalogues, dreaming of the perfect camel-colored pea coat for fall, I instead wipe the sweat off my brow, brace myself for a hot September and accept that Bismarck and Pygmy Date Palms might not lose their leaves, but they shade the Florida autumn sun just right.

Seasons change differently for some…in their own way, in their own place. And we bloom where we are planted. We are planted in the deep south of Florida where the late August sun is sometimes hot and unforgiving but still casts deep shadows over little bodies on walks to the lake.

And though we run barefoot in November and dance along shore with the tide in December, we still sip apple cider and hang cinnamon brooms from our pantry doors once the season has officially changed (okay, and sometimes before). This last weekend, as I watched Brett sink into a comfortable recline on the couch and heard the sounds of pre-season football, I smiled knowing it’s coming…that season shift. And as I contemplate just what ridiculously cute costumes in which my girls will parade our neighborhood streets this October and just how many pies I will attempt to make in the coming months, I am noticing that my thirties and all the beautiful surprises they have brought with them are shaping me more…to be content. And to bloom where I am planted.

It’s hot. And while the rest of the country prepares for all the things I love in the coming months…so will I. Because I will make it what I want it to be. Our sun may be hotter…but it’s still the same sun that hangs above every blessed creature in this great big world.

And today, it’s heat still whispers summer. The last of it. The long and languid bridge to September. To football and orchards and parent teacher conferences. To huddling hot chocolate in styrofoam cups in some parts of the world and running barefoot on shell paths through foamy ocean waves in others.

Behold…the beauty of August.

Where just my big girl and I enjoyed an evening at the lake. Where she held my hand and skipped on the way there and unleashed her curiosity and wonder of the world once she arrived.

She asked to wear my necklace tonight. And who am I to say no?

And sometimes when I am watching her–all three ripe years of her–I squint my eyes and imagine looking at her years ago…before I was a mama…and I wonder just how astounded I would have been if you told me she was gonna be mine someday. If I could have quite possible believed that I would be so lucky. Or that I would have understood the magnitude of love and happiness and soul-stretching that would occur from a blond little sprite with mossy eyes and marshmallow hair and a willowy frame that curls into my arms just so.

She is divine. And fiesty and funny and predictable and surprising all at the same time.

And the way she loves discovery and imagining things and creating beauty just makes everything in my life so much richer.

And in the midst of the hot August sun and going and doing and folding and putting away, amidst the hub bub of the every day is this.

I love this.

And I love that too.

I love my This & That.

And when the two are present, it doesn’t matter what season it is or what’s around the bend.

The sun still shines.

There’s still more August to be enjoyed. And I’ll be enjoying it in a fabulous Shabby Apple sumptuous-bowed dress.

…along with Commenter #231, Winner of that same dress:

#231 Musing Truth: I’d love a dress with a bow – thanks for being a breath of fresh air, all the time!

Congratulations, Musing Truth. To rock out that bow, please e-mail me your size info and address to kellehamptonblog@comcast.net

Lots of new scrapbook spreads coming up in next post!

Happy Wednesday.

Good night.

Last night, at the closing of a busy-but-good weekend full of celebrations and sun-soaking and a long Sunday chasing crabs and watching high tide gradually pull back on our pretty little Isle, I soaked the littlest in a tub of warm suds.

A relaxing appropriate end to the weekend. We rinsed off tiny grains of sand that snuck home with us, lathered buttermilk wash onto the feathery tuft on top of her head and watched as she continued to flip onto her tummy despite the many times I repositioned her on her back. Girl wants to go, go, go…swimming, splashing and slipping her way around the tub.

And after all that slipping and flipping, we slid her into soft jammies and she was soon fast asleep next to her sister whose tired tanned body was already breathing slow and peaceful in the big bed. My tired little girls. With perfect reason to be tired. It was a long, beautiful weekend.

With many celebrations. Beginning with our friend Ellie’s birthday…whose bright and sunshiney personality was met with sunny skies for her fabulous pool bash. Lainey loved tie-dying her own shirt and hanging with the big girls.

We party hopped (with a short stop home to change) from Ellie’s to the beach where we celebrated Cash & Rocco’s baptism. These boys grew in their mama in synch with my girl…and for that they will always be special. Many a times, their mama and I stood belly to belly so that our littles could hear each other’s hearts beating and baby love seeped from belly to belly. So much love. So it was…a bunch of grateful hearts stood barefoot next to the gulf this weekend hugging babies and thanking all things holy for the gift of life.

And for celebrating life? We go all out, baby. We dress all up. Because we don’t take celebrating life lightly.

Apparently, neither does God. He saved the good sky for us that night.

And we drank it in, running along the shore, dippin’ in the pool, making up for all those times we told ourselves we’re gonna hit the beach more often. It was good…very good.

And finally, the grand finale came yesterday when we ran, like a long lost friend, to the Isles of Capri. Oh, Friend, how we’ve missed you.

For all the times we’ve been here…for all the times we’ve pulled up and unpacked pails and shovels, beach blankets and bathing suits…set up camp in front of the tiki bar and watched as the tides change…it’s different every time. The skies are different, the creatures and life that emerge from their shelters on the beach for some photos…there’s always something new.

But it’s always, always beautiful.

Yesterday, Brett’s mama joined us along with his sister and her kids visiting from Chicago which, of course, made it far more fun for the boys. They were out of sight most of the day, kayaking, exploring, crab-hunting…

And although in a perfect world, our family would all live on the same street where cousins and brothers and sisters would run from one house to the next, we welcome them when they come and watch with grateful hearts as love abounds.

Yesterday, the bright skies melted from their usual squint-eyed brilliance to a calmer pastel and, while not gray or gloomy, their mild stillness provided the perfect balance for beach bliss.

And the mild conditions called the crabs out of their sandy burrows by the hundreds.

I love to watch the daddy’s face when he’s here. Because it’s always happy. He talks about this place like a fifth child.

I kinda like it too.

And finally…near sunset, the gray clouds came with cool rains that chased us inside the tiki hut where we huddled and danced to Rod’s guitar across the wood plank floors that house all our memories.

And now, as I sit here looking back at all these pictures and remembering the way the skies looked, the way my girl smiled as she clapped and danced at our favorite place, the way the sand and sun tamed the little one into a sleepy trance…

…the way we laughed and drenched ourselves in friends and littles and life’s celebrations…I am indeed certain that there is something to be said about the power of reflection. About taking a moment to think back whether through words or pictures or closing your eyes and smiling on the plane on the way home from a fabulous getaway. But there is something about the beauty of the past, whether it was yesterday or many yesterdays ago, that fuels us to drink more out of the future. And that’s why I do this. Make note of it…what you love right now…because what you love tomorrow will be even better because of it.

Loving right now.

…and looking forward to a million more right nows.

Some Enjoying-the-Small-Things to come this week…and a giveaway!

AND, thank you to everyone who voted us for Blog You’ve Learned From for the BlogHer ’10 BlogLuxe awards. What a wonderful honor to be a part of such an amazing group of women.

Oh, today was a big day for the cubby, and it happened all at once…she just became big. As if we’ve been traveling down the same road from the day her slippery six-pound body was placed in my arms, and today that road abruptly ended and a new one began. It’s a different road. She’s a girl. Not a baby. Not a toddler. And while diaper changes and midnight feedings, two-year-old tantrums and searching for the magic eraser to wipe off the crayon-drawn smiley faces on the wall can hardly be described as easy, it’s at least less complicated than bigger girl challenges.

I didn’t have to stew so much on decisions regarding how to take care of this:

You feed. You change. You snuggle. You pour your soul into them, hoping every internal thought and feeling of goodness and love seeps into every bone in their body, every cell in their frame so that they feel it…so that they know it…so that someday, when they are three and they are big and they are beginning the journey down the new road, they will be equipped with everything they could possibly need to thrive.

I knew it was coming. I could feel it these last weeks…the way her vocabulary is multiplying and her new found understanding of higher-level concepts is manifesting itself in new challenges.

She locks the door on us to keep us out of her bedroom. She says really, really, really when she wants to maximize her point. Like “I really, really, really want my goo-goo back.” She asks questions we’re not so sure how to answer. She gets embarrassed and her cheeks flush. She’s not so sure having a puppy blanket is cool anymore. And the other day, she and Baylee had their first official fight. And by fight, I mean there were tears. And running. And I’m pretty sure I heard a couple You’re-not-my-best-friend-anymore’s.

And I find myself thinking deeply more. It’s not just diaper changes and time-outs now. It’s wanting to explain the world to her. To teach her kindness. To tell her why things happen in a way that makes her want to be good and loving. To show her by example that confidence is power…that the world is her oyster and she is its pearl. I don’t always know how to do this which leads to late-night discussions with Brett where we review our day’s parenting like a judge’s panel. Probably shouldn’t have given that to her. Maybe we should have let her have it. Did you see how sad she was? Did you hear what she said? Maybe I should have been harder on her. Maybe I was too hard.

And you just have to trust that you are doing your best and that for every mistake you make, there are a thousand more victories. And you grow in the fact that, in setting an example, in laying the foundation for your littles, you become better. You have to live what you want to teach them because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and I want my apples to be good and kind, giving and understanding. I want my apples to be strong and independent and yet sensitive and tender-hearted. Yes, I will be a strong tree–so strong indeed that my apples can roll further and further away from me, exploring their world, and they will know my presence, quietly and assuredly.

I say this all like I know what I’m talking about…like I have it figured out and it comes easy for me.

But then there was today.

Today, she tried her first ballet class. She practiced for it two years ago when she was *this* big.

But now she’s *this* big.

And while I used to laugh at moms who made insanely big deals out of the first ballet class, I made an insanely big deal out of the first ballet class. She needs this class. My little mama-loving, cupcake-baking, art-creating, memory-making homebody needs something just for her. To build her confidence, to express herself, to move, to laugh, to meet new friends. She needs this. But it’s new, and she’s never done daycare or preschool or been in many unfamiliar situations.

So, we built it up. She sat on my lap at my desk on many occasions this week where we watched Youtube after Youtube of toddler ballet classes. We read books. We told her it was going to be great and she’d have so much fun and that Oh my Gosh, Lainey, you’re gonna be a ballerina!

And then we showed up early to the ballet studio this morning before they even unlocked the door, all eager-beaver with our spankin’ new ballet shoes and our tightly secured bun and our ridiculous mama snappin’ pictures of it all. When the other little girls arrived, I realized my girl was painfully shy. Maybe this wasn’t going to go like I thought. Lainey was nervous. She held my hand tightly and shrunk into my leg. “Mama, stay with me,” she said. And I did.

Oh wait, it gets worse. All those years of teaching and hoping those helicopter parents–the ones who hover–would let go and let their kids soar on their own…that was me today. I’m actually embarrassed now that I look back. All the other parents? They sat in chairs outside the room like they were supposed to. They gently pushed but watched from afar. Me? I went in the room. I stayed with my girl. I held her hand and whispered in her ear. And when all the leotard-wearing littles were prancing and twirling and tip-toeing and my girl said “Mama, do it with me,” I did. I pranced and twirled and tip-toed with those little girls while all the parents watched, and I can only imagine all the eye rollings and “Oh, Gawd, getta load of that mom”s my tightly-glued presence must have garnered.

Letting go is hard.

…but I’m learning.

And the best part? After the class, the sweet teacher (who was amazing with these three-year-olds, by the way, and who thankfully didn’t make me feel like the ass I was by kicking me out in front of everyone) came over to me smiling and said, “She did great! Maybe next class you can sit out even if she cries” which I’m pretty sure is code for “Dude, you broke every rule in this place and set a really bad example for everyone. Cut the cord, bitch. Cut the cord.”

Oh, loving littles and raising them to be beautiful, confident souls and letting go to watch them do it can be so complicated sometimes. And, after dishing my feelings on it today to my friend Nici, she e-mailed back the most poignant response:

“You know, she’ll thrive on her own. If not there, somewhere. But, I have a feeling once you aren’t in sight, she’ll pull from that big stash of love and confidence that’s been shelved for this very reason. She hasn’t really needed to open a jar yet…it’s like peach butter. Once the growing season is over, once the fruit has gone to seed and left until next season, THAT’S when I need peach butter.”

True ‘dat.

We return next week when this mama will follow the rules and sit with the other parents who I’m sure had to let go at one point too. I will watch my girl do it on her own. I will take off the training wheels, steadily hold the back of the bike, run along beside her for just a moment and then I will let go. I will stand back and watch her pedal on her own. She may fall, yes. But she will look back and see that I was there all along. I will always be there. But sometimes, we have to let them be big.

This is so good for her.

This is so good for me.

Lainey, I love you. I am so proud of the girl you are becoming. You are a beautiful dancer and I can’t wait to see your wings stretch and soar. You will fly, Baby. You will fly high.