It Takes a Village

We often take for granted that which is closest to us.

I makes absolutely no sense to hand out all your energy to the strangers and acquaintances in your life, but I suppose it's human nature...you get comfortable with the people closest to your heart, and you assume they'll always be there.

In the case of your Mimi, your Grandma, and your Grandpa, they really HAVE always been here while Daddy and I were away at work. They've been here week after week, helping to feed you breakfast or pick you up from daycare, change your diapers and read you books, run to your soccer games and drive you to church. While all that seems rather hectic, there have been many an afternoon where they were at our house, simply holding you in the recliner or coloring yet another Disney Princess coloring book page.

Both of you are incredible little artists, largely due to your Grandma. Ella, your teachers have noted your exceptional skill in writing, which comes from your Mimi. And Carson, there is no doubt that your Grandpa will have you throwing a lightning-fast pitch before you're 10.

This kind of love and attention has helped form who you are. As parents, we are grateful for any help we can get, but what we don't bank on is that our kids are learning their value system from the people who are co-parenting with us.

That daycare provider, or first grade teacher, or family member who is so intimately involved? They act as maple trees, the little helicopter seedlings of their character landing softly and sprouting in the hearts and minds of our children. What a TRUE BLESSING  to know that your maple trees are those that raised your own parents with the same care and guidance.

So, my sweets: what you're learning from your Grandparents is faith, devotion and creative expression. How do I know you're picking it up? Because I see it on display as you giggle and clap at the library and the theater...

And as you proudly stand on stage and sing about God, faith and love.

I'm proud of you, Ella, and I'll be proud of Carson when he gets old enough to join you. My childhood is filled with memories just like these, and that set the moral guard rails for how I live my life and how I express myself.

That doesn't mean I am perfect, or that you have to be...but that little voice inside all of us that lets us know when something doesn't feel right? Well, that's God. All you have to do is listen.

Creative expression? Just keep writing, keep dancing, keep drawing, keep singing and keep loving. If it's from your heart, it will reach someone and open their heart, too.

And you are closer to all this understanding because of your grandparents' influence. Let's love them fiercely and never, ever take that for granted! 

Hippity Hop.

I don't know why I don't love Easter. Maybe it's the baskets full of candy nestled in shreds of uber-synthetic green plastic, or the competition of hunting for those little plastic eggs with a penny inside. Maybe it's the faces on those creepy, giant easter bunnies at the mall. I don't know—it's just not my thing. 

For a few years, I could get by with not doing much besides putting out our centerpiece, which again celebrates the holiday with tongue firmly planted in cheek. Our vintage, glitter-laden bunny wears false eyelashes and that's about the end of it. 

Now let's be clear—none of my disdain is related to the purpose behind the holiday. I observe and respect the religious side of things...its just that waxy, molded chocolate and white ruffled socks are not my gig.

So alas, I planned nothing this year besides the unveiling of their baskets. I figured this was no big deal and even told Ella that they would get easter baskets, but we didn't have plans for an Easter egg hunt this year. She seemed unaffected.

Then Derek and I got home from a Reds game with friends that Saturday night. We walked into the kitchen to find this note on the counter:

In the spirit of my failure as a Mom, I darted into her room and immediately looked behind her door to find this basket. She had no access to money or a car or a store, so she made a basket full of handmade paper "eggs" with notes and treats inside...one for everyone in the family to open on Easter Morning. I went to bed and cried. What's wrong with me? We didn't even dye eggs! Or hide them! My 6 year old showed me how it's done.

 

Sunday morning, all four of us slept in our bed, then enjoyed a big breakfast. We had a great family discussion about Christ, the meaning of the Resurrection, and all we've been granted.

The kiddos opened their baskets from "The Bunny" and baskets from their grandparents.

 

We let Ella go last, her toothless grin showcasing her excitement as she handed out her beautiful paper eggs. I opened mine carefully, read her sweet note, and savored the laffy taffy slowly, with gratitude...and pride.

Build, Destroy. Build, Destroy.

I'm not sure I can cite the last time that Derek and I looked each other in the eye. We swirl around the house in a frenetic waltz that involves one of us constantly monitoring Carson to make him stop:

• spritzing Nellie's back fur with carpet cleaner
• painting the kitchen chairs with a melting popsicle
• swinging from our chandelier (yes, still)
• sitting on the kitchen counter, faucet on and spray hose in hand, waiting for one of us to cross through the room

...the list goes on. When we get really mad, his lip quivers so innocently, as if he truly doesn't understand why these experiments and laughter are worthy of everyone getting so loud and twisty.

Maybe there's a lesson here.

The toilet paper gig is one of his more benign routines. So today instead of getting frustrated, I took these pics and then joined in for round two to help him build (and destroy) the next magic tower.

Friendship, Lesson 1

My sweet babes, over the next 20 years you will be bullied. You will get hurt. Your hearts will be broken. You'll cry at the dance. A friend will turn on you. A clique of kids will reject you.

And through it all, we will remind you how amazing you are and how much we love you, but none of our words will matter to your sweet teenage soul.

What will matter, however, is the collection of people you choose to become your lifelong friends. These are people that know you through life phases and changes, celebrations and failures, heartbreaks and first jobs. And second jobs. And marriages. Divorces. Babies. Whatever. They risk your friendship to confront you about what's right for you. They're the ones who tell you about the food in your teeth and listen to your shamelessly dramatic rants about whatever was important to you that day. And they love you anyway.

I met some of those friends at Miami, and over 15 years later we are still gathering for reunions. This one was perfect - no husbands or kids, and only scattered talk of them. Maybe we're all at the age and phase of life now where the transitions are over and it's about us again. It's more likely that we have all been driven insane by them, and being in Oxford meant getting back to who we were before we started taking care of everyone else.

It was the perfect girls weekend - honest, easy and natural. That's the essence of friendships that stand the test of distance and time. If you ever need to present yourself as something you're not, keep searching.

My babies, prom dates will come and go, but hold on tight to your family and your lifelong friends. They are your history, and in some way they shaped you—they are a part of you. And you are brilliant. Choose well!

The Naked Cowboy

My high-heeled boots keep coming up missing from my closet, and the culprit is always the same:

 

Derek is not thrilled.

I, on the other hand, can't stop laughing.  

Bones, and trees, and science, oh my!

I had a week off in my job transition, most of which I spent sitting in Panera doing online Adobe tutorials in an attempt to quickly re-learn the design software for my new job. Not fun. 

And then there were 12 loads of laundry and a list of house projects to finish. Not fun. 

Add to that the fact that our house looked like a tornado had struck during the past 2 weeks with fading flowers and catering trays and rogue sleeping bags, diapers and socks from all the family that had recently passed through. Add to that 6 boxes of stuff from Mead, and there was a lot to do to re-set. Also not fun. 

By Thursday, I declared a FAMILY FUN DAY...it was killing me to be off work for a whole week and not be with my family. We pulled Ella out of school (gasp!) to spend a day at the Cincinnati Childrens Museum. My argument was that we could enjoy some priceless family time, teaching Ella more science that day than she's probably learned in all of first grade. 

So off we went. 

 

We started with an early lunch at Subway, complete with Carson's favorite gesture these days...a full-table, chocolate-milk  "cheers."

   

Union Terminal in Cincinnati is nothing short of breathtaking. We marveled at the art deco architecture and the way the light and sound bounce around in that space.  

We took a zillion photos that day, but the next two really sum up who Carson and Ella are turning out to be: Carson is physical, joyous, and tackles his surroundings fearlessly. He sees a structure or an organized pile and he barrels straight into it or uses his limbs to disassemble the order that once was there. Sometimes he puts it back and sometimes he just laughs and runs to find something else to destroy. 

Yes, he does that to our house, our furniture, and my brain just as well. Then he shows you the rainbow or the reason and it all makes sense. There is a method behind most of his madness.

Ella, on the other hand, is all about organization...kindness...and being in charge. We entered the "grocery store" and Carson knocked the plastic product from 3 shelves with one giant sweep of his arm. I heard it before I saw it; the sounds of a bouncing basket of plastic baguettes filled the room, followed by his maniacal laughter.

Ella glanced up from her self-appointed "job" at the cash register, where she had begun patiently ringing up the groceries of every 3-year-old there.  

We took them to the indoor tree house and they climbed every limb, every ladder, every board until they reached the top. A rainy Thursday with my family has never been better. 

Leaving Mead

Ella, I told you one afternoon that I had just resigned from my position at Mead. I explained to you that I had been there for a long time, (even before you were born!) and that it was time for me to do something new.

I carefully detailed how a great new job had come along for me, and that it was a blessing perfectly matched to me and my values; I would be truly giving back, by Art Directing for a charity that would help those in need.

You stared sweetly back at me in silence, your bright blue eyes sizing me up to see if you should challenge or comfort me. After 30 seconds or so, you came out with the big question:

"But what about all those pretty notebooks you bring home for me?"

I explained that we could still go to Target and get you any notebook you liked, even the kind with Hello Kitty. The answer was just what you needed; you clapped, giggled and ran off to play.

I, on the other hand, had a terrible time saying goodbye to these people who had become my second family. Right in the midst of our own family's loss, this additional loss seemed insurmountable; although the decision to leave was mine, these were people that I truly loved.
It was only through their kind gestures, heartfelt cards and gifts, and goodbye parties that I realized how those feelings were reciprocal.



A girls night at the Wine Loft with my closest gals :)


My desk, right before I packed it up on the last day


One of many pics taken at my going away party, which started at 4pm and wrapped up around midnight...filled with dozens of great friends, hugs and hilarious stories; even the ones at my expense were great. You can laugh loudest and last at your own folly when you've got nothing to lose.

Someone asked me what I'll miss the most. At the time, I thought it would be the retail strategy, the trend travel or the product design. Now that I'm writing this a few weeks later, I can tell you it's the little things:


the quote board, or the conversational nuances that required no further explanation. I'll miss our passionate debates over the new emerald green vs. tangerine on a Target endcap. Or the hilarity of Tara's face when she returned from vacation to find her cube wallpapered in planner fill.


I'll miss our quick-witted Creative Director who walked the office in his sock feet. I'll miss the fact that I could simply make eye contact with my lead marketer and we'd both know exactly what to do next. I will miss the idea that 11 of us, in the midst of creating million-dollar product lines, found an afternoon to turn our office into a snow-capped holiday village.



I'm sure in time, these feelings will come again at the new job. Fingers crossed.

I keep chanting to myself: change is good. Change is good.
Cheers to a new adventure!