The Summer of Nothing and Everything

Nothing.  This summer, we've gone nowhere exciting, exotic, or even warm (except Utah).  We've done nothing extraordinary.  We've met no one famous, seen anything mind blowing, read anything earth-shattering.  We've not done any sort of particularly glamourous trips (unless Utah counts, but I was thinking more along the lines of Maui), or eaten especially fancy cuisine. 

Nothing.

But.

We have been together and happy.  And together and happily we've been dining alfresco every night, exploring new parks, painting rocks, making fun pancakes, playing "sponge ball",  eating fresh blueberries by the 1/2 flat, enjoying family movie nights, blackberry picking, family reunions (in Utah, which included paintball, 4 wheelers, fishing and crafting), canning 63 quarts of fresh peaches, hiking, gardening, exploring a real battleship, visiting friends and family that we adore, and doing yard work together in the cool evenings.  Just being healthy, and happy, and together.

And to me, that is everything.  What was your favorite thing about summer?

Good Intentions

Well, I had great intentions to try and do a massive picture update.  Then, it would appear, the blog gods frowned upon me and I can't seem to upload any pictures.  Weird.  Annoying.  So, I'll ramble on for a bit...

I've got a bit of a conundrum, and I'm not sure how to fix it.  Or rather, fix me.  It seems that I'm a study in contradiction, and I'm making me crazy.  One part of me, the interior designer part, is very particular.  I like things a certain way--arranged a certain way, treated a certain way, stored a certain way.  And I try very hard to make the offspring conform to my lofty ideals.  Then there is another (equally loud), artist part of me that firmly believes in coloring outside the lines, thinking outside the box, basically laughing in the face of traditional "normal" confines.

Gracious living.  We don't clomp, we delicately stride.  We don't plop, we seat ourselves nicely.  We don't wear shoes in the house, we deposit them neatly on the shelves that Daddy built.  It's how we behave so that we can develop good manners and preserve my home.

Except...

The other part of me thinks--well, if you're going to be an astronaut, of course you need to wear your snow boots.  That only makes sense.  And, while you shouldn't really use the ottoman to vault, my goodness that was good form.  And even though now I've got diapers all over kingdom come, I can see that you needed to cut up the box to make surf boards.  Because, after all, you did make one for everyone.  I get it when they come in asking for pipe cleaners, or use entire rolls of tape.  I would like to do that too. 

The crazy-haired artist in me doesn't seem to bat an eye when they need to use chopsticks for an art project or when they ask me for wood scraps or paint or glue.  And while I don't enjoy having my fabric stash raided, that's sometimes the only way you can make a cape with an "E" on the back.  I wish a little that I noticed before they pillaged my cache of extra glue sticks, but I can understand that it takes a "pretty much" of glue to get that big of a box stuck together.  I'm sympathetic to their need to use the recyclables for projects (...the way I hang old windows on my walls like art...).

It's just hard, because then the interior designer comes out and says "Why are all these cardboard scraps in my house?  Who decided to make a boat out of the sofa?  Where are my measuring cups??? Why can't this house stay clean for more than two minutes??"  And it doesn't help that I have a love-hate-but-mostly-hate relationship with house cleaning. 

But.  I figure that when they're all grown, I will miss the slide-wagon-crate concoctions I find in the back yard.  That I'll wish I had a few more strawberry box snail habitats around.  That I'll have to make the bath crayon pictures on the shower walls all by myself.  And I'll probably be very bored with a house of quiet, gracious living.

*sniff*
I'm going to go pass out glue sticks now before my kids grow up.

(Some of) The Best Advice I Ever Got

Like most anyone who's ever gone, I loved EFY (Especially for Youth).  All four years.  And while the weeks of teams, classes, dances, activities, and awkward teenage flirting are just a fun blur, one thing stands clear that I'll never forget.  It was some advice that the speaker said would change our lives.  Three words:

Be. Here. Now.

I was a little confused.  It seemed like a cliche that fit nicely in between "Learn from the past" and "Keep your eye on the future".  Or maybe in a category with "Wherever you go, there you are." 

It wasn't until later, as I grew up, and now as I sit on my wise eagle's perch of early 30's ;)  that I see what it meant, and the wisdom in it.  It means precisely that-- to be here, in this moment, right now.  Instead of wishing your life away to a far and distant time that will be easier or more comfortable or less busy, to dance in it right now.  To love the moments of your life for what they are.  To joy in what you are learning and how you are growing right now, even when it's painful (okay, and if not joy, at least recognition).  To occasionally unplug, and ignore the phone and texts, and really be in your life and home.  Get something out of each moment of your life!  For me, it's taking time to really be interested in the latest recyclables invention that my son has come up with, or to enjoy reading the digger book for the 7th time in a row to my little guy, to ask more questions about how one plays horses during recess, or just to sit and stare in to the face of a baby that is like Christmas morning, dessert, and sunshine rolled into one.  For me, it means to take time to see through the messes, and be glad I have the kids to make them.  To smile at the dryer full of black socks and white shirts, and just be glad that my sweet husband tried to help.  To soak up the few hours of sun, and the rest of the time be glad that the plants are getting watered with no help from me. 

J has always said that I have a blessing-curse of getting lost in the moment.  Because, while, yes, I deal with some scatterbrainedness and punctuality issues--it's usually worth it.  I love being able to enjoy a moment with no thought of before or after.

Be here now.  I guess it's about pausing in the hubbub of life to really connect with the things and people around you, and enjoying the things that really matter.

Young and Sweet, Only 17...

That was kind of how I felt last night,  at a church youth dance.  J and I chaperoned at what was the first youth dance I've been to in, say, over 15 years.  The music was blaring, groups of girls flocked together shrieking, a few free spirits danced, completely uninhibited--just the way I remember.  Oh. so. fun.  The groups gathered, no one really dancing at first.  Everyone a little too anxious over what everyone else was doing. 

Lucky for me, a couple fun girlfriends of mine were also chaperones, and we had no problem getting our groove on.  I guess someone has to teach these kids how to have fun at dances (and we figured that if we were going to be spending 3 hours there, we might as well burn some calories). I wanted to tell these kids that now is the time to figure out how to dance, how to talk to someone of the opposite sex, how to interact with people.  Do it now, before you go to college!  Figure out who you are!  Be confident in who you are! 

Probably the highlight of the night was when I got asked to dance.  Seriously.  Cute young man came up and asked me if I'd like to dance.  My face registered flattered surprise while I searched for the right words (thinking that "Dude, I'm married" wasn't going to be it). My friend Vanessa explained kindly, "She's a leader."  Oh, he was mortified.  I felt sooooo bad for him, he was so embarrassed!  I wanted to say, "But good for you for being so brave to ask someone to dance!  And if I were 15 years younger, not married with four kids, I would totally dance with you!"  I even offered to help him look for someone else (probably should have just left it alone); he declined.

So interesting, though, to see a dance from this perspective.  Because, while 33 is still totally young and hip, some wisdom of years cast a new light on ...people's characters, I guess.  There was the pretty girl in black lace and 4" heels that said no (in the rudest way) to the dance invitation of a really brave, nice guy.  There were the guys that were actually way too cool to be there, but showed up anyway--just to show a little disdain, I think.  There was the guy who sat on the side with headphones on and refused every invitation.  But then, there were the girls that were confident enough in themselves to dance their funky dances without caring that no one else was.  The guy who wore knee pads to the dance because he knew he'd be breaking it down on the dance floor, even if no one else watched.  The big, slightly awkward guy who had a genuine smile on his face the whole night and took every opportunity to dance.  And the young man who, after being dismissed by black lace girl, just went and asked another girl to dance.  She said yes.  These are the kids who are setting themselves up for success.

And despite the slight despair I've been feeling over the state of the world and mankind, I watched these kids...and felt hope.

When I Grow Up

A ballerina.  That was my first choice.  I sat there and watched Swan Lake and decided that I, too, wanted to wear a fluffy costume and flit around.  It's the earliest thing I can remember wanting to be.  I was maybe 4 or 5, taking ballet.  I dug in my heels every time class time rolled around, but once I was dancing I loved it.  Not sure when the dream faded, but I've settled for dancing with my kids around the kitchen.

Then I watched 'Father of the Bride' and decided that I wanted to be a wedding planner.  Hel-lo, planning beautiful weddings for a living?  Flowers?  Cake?  Fancy dresses???  What could be better.  That dream lasted for a while, interrupted only by a short stint when I wanted to be a doctor--even when I started at BYU I went into Public Relations.  It was the closest thing to a party planning major I could find.  And then I planned my own wedding and changed my mind (I'll just play wedding planner to my little girls).  By then I had switched to Interior Design, following in the footsteps of my mother.  It also seemed to lead along in the party planning direction, but it was much more inspiring to examine textiles than it was to examine statistics.  A life in all things to "gladden the eye"?  My cup of tea.  {Of course, I wanted to be a mom, and not like a friend put it "Yes, I've thought that I wanted to take five years off and be a mom, too."  But for today's purposes, I'm not talking about the higher calling of a mother, but about a paying gig.} 

I landed in the perfect place for me.  After doing my time in the trenches, working for other designers, retail showrooms, what have you, I lived my dream of having my own interior design business.  I was my favorite boss ever.  I LOVED my clients, felt completely inspired in what I did, found enormous satisfaction from creating beautiful spaces that people loved to be in.  That I got paid was just an amazing bonus. It was a dream job. 

Now that I have four little ones that keep me hopping, it's not practical for me to work much.  Well, actually when people ask me if I work, I tell them I work very hard, I just don't collect a paycheck.  Of course I wouldn't change it for the world, and feel grateful every day for my home time.  But the crazy haired artist inside me still wonders what I'll be when I grow up.  I toss around ideas all the time (including being a missionary in a 3rd world country!  I know, me, who just now likes camping!).  The yearning to create and spread beauty cannot be squelched.

When J was in undergrad, he sat in an auditorium filled with business students.  The professor asked for a show of hands of those who were in business for the love of it.  Only a scant handful raised their hands (lucky for me, J was one).  The others, given no need for money, said they'd be a photographer, a gym teacher, a florist, etc.  How sad, I thought.  While there is only honor in honest labor, working at a job I hate sucks the life out of me until I wither and want to die.  And that's no way to live.  Why not chase after your passion?

Instead I dream of the little shop I'll have some day with handcrafted goodness and beautiful things to make your house a home.  Come visit me.  We'll share a cup of hot chocolate (when, finally, I'll be done nursing and can eat from my favorite food group again) and chat about life. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm busy currently raising a veterinarian, an astronaut, possibly a comedian, and (as far as I can tell) someone who just sits there looking extremely cute.

Tell me, what do you want to be when you grow up?

It's Okay

I love life.  I feel blessed to have wonderful friends and family, and I truly enjoy my day to day.  I'm a happy person, love to laugh, and think quite a few things are really funny.

But not every day.

There are days that are hard, some really hard, and I think that it's important to accept that.  To know that it's okay to not be happy all the time.  Sadness, disappointment, and frustration are part of life too.  I sometimes think that, especially as women, we feel like we're supposed to be happy and perfect all the time.  Like life should be, or appear, full of white picket fences and flower arranging.  Well, it's not.  

I think it's important to know that everyone, whether they admit it or not, has events or periods of life where they want to throw themselves to the floor and yell "Too hard!  Too hard!"  We all have times (hours, days, years) that we just don't know how we're going to do it, and how we could possibly go on.  But we do go on, putting one foot in front of the other, because that's the only choice.  And eventually it passes, things improve, and hopefully we even learn a lesson or two.  Maybe we even look back and laugh.

My muddled point here is that it's okay.  It's okay to have the 'dark chocolate' parts of life, not just the sunshiny vanilla.  We learn to appreciate the highs and lows, to have empathy for others, and to grow--sometimes painfully--into the amazing, capable person we can be (whether we know it or not).

So, give yourself permission to feel whatever you feel.  And know that it's okay.  And then, when you're ready, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and take life by the horns.  You're awesome and strong, and you can do it. 

Christmas was wonderful.  All 19 members of my family (incl. new spouses and babies) gathered in Kansas for two weeks of joy.  At first it was a little weird for me, realizing that my 'family' as I knew it has permanently changed.  J has been around for so long that he's kind of assimilated into being one of the kids, but with all the new brothers-in-law around (as fantastic as they are), it was kind of ...sad?...that my sisters were now part of a package instead of it just being the girls.  I don't know it this makes any sense, but I mourned just a little for the way it used to be.  It was really wonderful to play games, watch movies, talk until much too late, and craft to our heart's content.  We also happen to have the best sister in law in the world, who planned fabulous activities like homemade gingerbread houses, flower making, and surprised us each with a super cute, reversible apron.  How cute is she???

It was AWESOME to be with everyone, cook together (we even had "Cultural Night" where everyone prepared a special dish from around the world), do dance battles on the Kinect, and enjoy each other's company.  It was so very relaxing.  They boys had a great time playing football in the backyard.

My parents have a house with a big yard that backs to a golf course.  It makes it seem like we're way out in the country (out in the country with an occasional golfer) and it's like a breath of fresh air.  Girlie and Sammy (without my permission) would go adventuring onto the golf course, exploring the ponds and woods and trails.  I loved it.  That is what childhood should be.  Lots of gathering, and cooking together, and wandering, and playing with wooden blocks, and inventing games, and sleeping hard at night.  Lots of people to love and to love you.

As I thought about coming back to real life, it made me cringe just a little.  So busy and scheduled and complicated.

It made me want to move to the country and live off the land.  Teach my kids how to navigate by the stars and which plants are edible.  Make my own soap and pottery.  You get the idea.  And it made me determined to spend this next year really getting back to a life without so many additives.  An existence that is wholesome and organized and simple and rich in all the right ways.  I vow this year to savor the good things more. Like my wee ones.  They're growing so fast, too fast.  I'm mourning their quickly passing childhood (look at me with all my mourning...) while bursting with joy at their new ventures.  And I'm grateful.  For the sweetness in my life.  And especially for J.  If I may get sappy for a moment, I love that man.  In an unpredictable, changing world where everything seems to disintegrate and all is disposable--I have J.  He is so final.  A destination, a home really.  I can't imagine anything beyond him. 

And, for my friends.  I came home to stacks of delicious Christmas cards, photos and letters from dear ones around the country.  Beautiful, talented, amazing people whom I truly adore.  As I read the updates, looked at kids who are impossibly bigger, and thought about each of you, just know I. LOVE. YOU.

2011, bring it on.

Dec. 2, 2010

Today was a bad mommy morning, which was unfortunate for all involved.  No sleep, baby fussing, Buddy screaming during his diaper change because he's had some wicked diaper rash and I would totally scream too if I were him, Girlie was dressed head to toe in solid RED (boots included), and about the 80th time Sammy whined, "But I reaaaaalllly want to wear this {summer} shirt to preschool {in 39 degree weather}!" I snapped and hollered--hollered--"NO, okay???"

He burst into tears.

I felt awful.

It was all me, and I knew it.  I should be able to keep it all together, but I can't sometimes.  Wracked with Mommy Guilt I apologized and hugged him.  He was still sad.  I think it cheered him up on the way to school when he and Girlie came up with the brilliant plan to buy a litter of puppies to wake them up in the morning instead of me.  And also when they read in a book flap that the author now "worked in New York City as a tutor." (Wait for it...)  Talk about hysterical laughter.  Even I snickered a little.

The holidays are so busy, and hard as I try to simplify, I think basic life maintenance requires so much that anything extra (like having friends over Sat) creates a bit of a crunch.  Bless his heart, J (the man who has programmed himself into my phone as "Lova Lova") tried to help me out by buying the "2 hours, 2 house cleaners" groupon.  When they didn't show up yesterday, as planned, I realized that it probably wasn't going to work out (long story) and the whole "clean the house" bit was tossed carelessly back onto my To Do list.

I had a few things to get for Saturday so I ran to Costco, which we all know is the best place to drop $200 without meaning to on oversized stuff that you probably didn't need.  I passed by the pink Barbie convertible (the driveable kind) on display and wondered if I could fit in it and what J would say if I showed up with it.  I'm sure I'd be the talk of the neighborhood, buzzing around in my shiny pink wheels.  I think I'd feel pretty carefree with the wind blowing through my ponytail, which I could use right now. 

When I got home from Costco, both of my babies were asleep.  So I put away the cold food, grabbed my laptop and climbed back into the van to wait the 1/2 hour before preschool pickup.  So here I am blogging.  In about two minutes I'm going to take off.  Wish me a better mommy day.  I think I'm going to need it.

(1:32 p.m.  After I picked up Sam Sam from preschool, he came home and threw up.  A lot.  So, I spent half an hour cleaning up vomit--and trying not to myself.  Awesome.)

Just Call Me Bag Lady

I knew it was time to clean out my purse when it started hurting my shoulder because it was so heavy.  In it I found

3-size 3 diapers
2-size 4 diapers
travel size container of wipes
info sheets on Dtap, MMR, and Polio vaccines
a 10 pack of oatmeal raisin granola bars
4 Nutrigrain bars
an ad for Hancock Fabric
a sample of 'all free clear' laundry detergent
a tube of Target brand diaper rash ointment
3 pens
a notebook
5 million receipts
a Williams Sonoma gift card
a King Arthur Flour pastry scraper
1 piece of gum
a silver bracelet from Greece
the extra shoulder strap for my purse
4 cents
enough coupons to choke a horse

So stick with me.  I'm like a Boy Scout, and if we get stranded, rest assured you'll still have snack time with some gum to freshen your breath afterward, and some clean clothes.  Your wrist will look stylish while you write love notes, make a wish (or 4) in a fountain, consider returning some things, change a diaper (or 5).  You'll be able to peruse Hancock's offerings, or buy something kitchen-y at Williams Sonoma to go with your pastry scraper, or brush up on the possible side effect of vaccinations.  You can switch up the look of the purse (not to mention freeing up your hands to sort through coupons).  And you'll never have diaper rash.

What's the weirdest thing in your purse?

Complete randomness, fall pics, and a big event.

I love acorns.  Totally love them.  And I forgot how much I love them until recently, when we went hunting for them as part of a co-op preschool project.  I mean, seriously, look at how cute they are!!  The delicious brown color, the textures, the HATS!!  For goodness sakes, the HATS!!  Kind of makes you want to paint little faces on them and keep them for pets.  Which is sort of what we did.

I also did this with the acorns.  Still cute, and no painting of faces required.

I hauled the kids over to a spacious field by the Seattle Times for a good romp in the fall leaves, something I consider a requirement for childhood autumns.

Yes, I know my kid is losing his drawers.  Look how happy he is about it, though.

Even Sweetie was fully on board with the leaf thing.

Yes, my 2-yr old is covered in mud.  Because that's what he likes to do.  And while, in this picture he appears to not like it, he really does.  He's sad that I made him take a break from it so I could photographically capture what fun he was having.

I want to eat this baby.  I can't love her enough sometimes, and I just want to eat her.  She is so delicious and delightful, so chubby and soft, and smells so heavenly.  Can't get enough of her.

Speaking of 33, that's my age now.  I'm okay with it.  Probably because it's not a milestone year (like 30) and because I can still claim "early 30's".  Because "early" implies young, which 33 is, clearly.  It also sounds like "early", which I am rarely, so I feel a little more punctual than I really am.  It was a splendid birthday filled with sweet friends who spoiled me, a family who makes me feel like a big deal, and a bunch of obligatory facebook shoutouts.

In lieu of hot chocolate this year, I'm replacing my traditional drink with caramel apple cider from Starbucks and vanilla steamers.  If you haven't tried these...you should.  Then you should figure out how to make them at home for a fraction of the cost.  Then you should share your secret recipe with me.

My kids make me laugh--really belly laugh--every day.  I don't know if every mom thinks their kids are so stinkin' hilarious, but I hope so.  I need to write down more of what they say because, man, their material is golden.  My mom still laughs at me.  That's the great thing about families.  They make you feel really funny, even if maybe you're not.  Oh, and they love you despite you.  That too.

The Big Event.

Monday November 8, 2010:  I wasn't tired.  DID YOU HEAR ME?  For the first time in years, or at least--very literally--14 pre-pregnancy months ago I wasn't tired.  We rolled Sweetie's bassinet{very lovingly} into the playroom for the night.  And she SLEPT.  And so did I.  All. night. long.  In the morning when I woke up (due to a rested body and not an alarm/crying child) I blinked a couple times. I'm...not...tired.  OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, I'M NOT TIRED!!!!!  Cue crazy-energetic version of me.  I redid the mantel, rehung the dining room window panels, finished decorating for fall (I only recently made my peace that summer is over), switched out family room window treatments for their winter counterparts, covered up the patio chairs for the season, did laundry, cleaned the kitchen.  I bounded around the house, sprinted up the stairs, danced around the kitchen. 

I felt like me again. I remembered me!  Me was fun!  I miss me.

This was a b-i-g deal for me.

Today was different.  My sleep was interrupted 6 times last night.  I'm back to yawning and winding my way through the bouncy seat, walker, baby gym, car seat, and swing that 'decorate' my floor.  But now I have a shining beacon of hope that someday, just maybe, Me will be back.

Daddy Bloggers

It occured to me that, hilariously enough, blogging provides yet another platform for women to express themselves. As women, we feel an instinctive need to communicate--the good, the bad, the ugly. We need to be heard--as if expressing our thoughts somehow validates us as women, mothers, people.

Men, on the other hand, don't seem to share this need. Don't take me wrong, there are men bloggers--funny ones!--and plenty of men anxious to get stuff off their chest. But there doesn't seem to be a deep need for close friends to share everything with. Generally, they seem to be better at internalizing things and dissovling concerns within. They can somehow 'process' without a whole bunch of other men on the phone or in busy groups chatting and each man giving his opinion or sharing what similar thing happened to someone he knows.

The "mommy blogger" phenomenon is quite interesting if you look closely. But, now imagine "daddy bloggers."

"Went to work again today. It was so embarassing--Jared had the same shirt on. That white button up shirt that I got at Costco on Saturday. I was just mortified. I knew I should have worn the blue one."

"Nate and I went golfing on Saturday at {insert fancy golf place}. The dude forgot that it was a 'collared shirt only' course, so he had to shell out mega bucks for an overpriced polo in the pro shop. I shot a {insert good golf score}, which was okay I guess. I need to golf more often."

"I'm losing more hair. I'm afraid it's making me look old. I stared at myself in the mirror for a while this morning. Maybe I should try some of that special shampoo. I wonder if it works. Probably not."

"Dave came over for the big game. Couldn't believe that {insert player's name} missed that pass! Then when the {insert team name} won because of that {insert amazing play}, despite that ref's bad call {insert bad call}--that rocked! Dave brought some tasty dip. I should ask for that recipe."

All of the daddy blogger posts would be very short. There would be nothing that would make anyone cry. There would be no comments because any other man who actually took time to read what his guy friend had going on, still wouldn't bother to tell him that he saw him at work and totally didn't notice the matchy-matchy shirts, to give him a tip on a great sale on polo shirts, to make him feel better about his hair, or to share his grandma's secret dip recipe.

Men have feelings too. They just, apparently, don't feel the need to post those feelings online for the world to see.

Man, I'm glad I'm a woman.

Ruffles

I woke up the other morning thoroughly uninspired by the contents of my closet, like maybe I haven't been wearing enough fuschia or something. The answer? Retail therapy. I headed out (solo!) determined to infuse my wardrobe with new life.

I became a little disconcerted though, after finding that I found a lot of the clothes kind of hideous, and also that there was no one to cry or ask to buy things or tell me it's time to go. I started trying things on. I will tell you that I have 15 lbs of baby fat left. And that 15 lbs made me really sad as I tried to find any shreds of personal style I had left.

I decided that maybe I needed to be shopping for a new body instead of new clothes. Then I decided that a new body would probably be a lot more expensive. And painful. So I stuck to the new clothes.

Shirts that are gathered at the bottom do not do me any favors.

I'm just saying.

Anyway, I found some appropriately cute, semi-flattering clothes, even though some have ruffles, which are very cute this season, and to which J remarked "Ruffles?? You're killling me!"

Good thing he's not the one wearing them.

Speaking of 15 lbs, though... Sweetie is a fussy one. Cute, to be sure. Sweet, definitely. But fu-ssy. I blame her tummy. It growls all the time and gives her gas. So, I've tried Mylicon, Gripe Water, and altering my diet. And by 'altering my diet' I mean cutting out any foods that taste good. So far it's no spicy food, no gassy food, no chocolate, and no dairy--which is bad, because I love all those food groups. Except maybe 'gassy.' Holiday baking/cooking is looking dismal, my friends. It's making me grumpy to know that about the only treat I can have is Jolly Ranchers. Not so jolly. The silver lining in all of this is that those last, sticky 15 lbs should slide off easily with my water, fruit, and rice diet.

And then those new, ruffle-y clothes will fit really great.

Little Ways to Make Your Day Better

1. Ignore the phone. I don't mean just screen your caller ID, I mean don't even bother to look if you are doing anything that you'd rather not interrupt--like reading with your kids, enjoying the rain, or breathing. It's liberating. (But you should probably perk up if you hear the school nurse leaving a message)

2. Listen to nothing. This rarely happens to me, but if I find myself alone, I try to take a few minutes of no radio, phone calls, etc. It gives my mind time to think without interruption. Who knows what revelations await you?

3. Go out of your way to do something nice for someone. It feels good. And, if they happen to thank you, smile and say 'You're welcome.' It's much nicer than hearing 'No worries' or 'No problem'. Who wants to hear a sentence with 'worry' or 'problem' in it?

4. Thank someone for something. Little or big, long ago or immediate. (One time I wrote a thank you to the hospital where I delivered my baby....10 months earlier...). Chances are, it will make you think of other things you're thankful for, and that will make you happy. And the person you thanked. It's a win-win.

5. Eat something fresh. Snap peas, strawberries, blueberries, bananas--pick a color, any color. It will make you feel just a little more alive.

6. Take a bath. It's like a warm hug for your body.

7. Cut out unnecessary day-fillers. This includes things like Mary Kay parties and watching TV shows you're really not that into.

8. Smile when you would normally frown. It will help you remember that, most of the time, it's really not a big deal. Whatever 'it' is.

9. Write someone a little love note.

10. Dance around with wild abandon. It gets the blood flowing and lets you be a kid for 2.5 minutes. Or however long your song lasts.

Those are my thoughts on having a better day. I hope you do. Love, Me

The Simple Life

I live simply, or at least I try to. I love for life to be full of simple abundance. I enjoy peace and contentment, which, as I look around in the world, is a lot harder to come by than it sounds. My days are spent loving my family and home; daily activities revolve around it. It doesn't mean that my life isn't crazy sometimes, and busy most of the time, but it's things that I choose. I enjoy the sweet flavor of mangoes, and the color of pomegranate seeds and cranberries. I love the sound of my kids laughing together, picking blueberries in the summer, and the smell of the lavender that grows in my backyard. I love textures, and taking pictures of them. The pure joy in my children's eyes makes my heart overflow. I love wholesome food, and most things containing chocolate. I love decor that looks like it's been ripped off of old buildings, or at least had a spicy past. I love homemade quilts, and falling asleep to the sound of rain, which I do almost every night here. I love making cookies and neighbors who smile at each other. I can't get enough of the softness that is my baby's palm, and the novelty of cherubic sleeping children never wears off. I can drink in the beauty of the Northwest all day and never tire of things like tulip festivals and the wild calm of the ocean. New skills like canning fresh peaches bought from farmers, making jam, and digging for clams on the beach thrill me. I love to bask in the glow of genuine friendship and the love of family. The very essence of being together with the ones I love is so deeply delicious. And, I'm forever grateful that I can even notice these things. None of them costs much, but they are all priceless and they contribute to a life that is richer than one money could ever buy. It's a simple life, but, joyfully, it's mine.