32 Notes of Love

Over the last three weeks, I have written thirty-two love notes, thirty-two thank you notes, thirty-two little bits of joy.

I have written them to friends I've had for twenty years. I have written them to co-workers I see every day. I have written them to family members, teachers, and acquaintances. I wrote one to a person I lost touch with and haven't spoken to in nine years. I wrote one to a person I wronged three years ago--a long overdue note of apology. In fact, there were a few notes of apology...the silly things we do in our twenties seem even more absurd as we age.

I wrote one note addressed to both of my boys, an exclamation of their profound impact on my life.

Each one is a simple statement of appreciation, written on a bright yellow card with the silhouette of a dog.

And this morning, on my thirty-second birthday, I dropped all thirty-two love notes in the mail.

What better way to spend a birthday than smiling ear to ear, knowing that thirty-two people are going to  smile, too. 

(And for the record, this blog, these notes, they aren't about bragging. They are here to inspire. It isn't praise that I seek--but if it inspires you to do anything even remotely similar, then woot! hooray! yip yip yippee! That is what it's all about!)

A Gratitude Post

I had planned it perfectly.

Three days ago as we did our weekly shopping, I knew precisely what I was making for Thanksgiving--my side dishes assigned the day prior--and I exited the grocery store overly boastful that I wouldn't have to step in it until next Sunday.

And then I forgot the French's onions.

And we needed more coffee.

And oh, could you pick up some wine for tonight?

And yes, I should make pumpkin bread for breakfast.

Two extra trips in as many days, and all of the ingredients stared at me on the counter.

"Cook me! Stir me! Put me in a bowl! Bake me!" they called.

But the kids would not nap.

Guests arriving in two hours and I hadn't started a thing. In fact, I spent more time looking for a pumpkin bread recipe and checking email while simultaneously being Captain Hook and building things with blocks for the baby to knock down.

And then I read an email from a friend that went something like this:

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family. Greg and I will be driving to Cincy very early on Thanksgiving morning. I've never done that before...travel on Thanksgiving. I'm actually kind of looking forward to it, to the quiet roads, to some one-on-one time with my love. 

I'm nervous too. To come home to that house w/o my mama standing in the kitchen. But I'm grateful for the 27 perfect years I had with her. For 27 well-stuffed and well-fed Thanksgivings. 

I closed my email.

I walked into the kitchen and I set Reid at my feet. I pulled the flour out of the pantry and the measuring cups from the drawer.

Will wandered in upon hearing the clanging and said, "Hey mommy, can I help?"

We baked; we dusted Reid's head with flour; we giggled at egg goo dripping to the counter tops; we tasted our pumpkin bread batter and Mmmmmm'd about its deliciousness.

We created memories--because what else could possibly matter more?

In honor of my sweet friend and her mother whom she misses so dearly.

This is the time of year when we count our blessings and declare our gratitude for things like Starbucks holiday drinks and pretty paint colors on our walls. And it's so important to recognize the beautiful little things that are around us every day that make our individual worlds glisten.

But the big picture stuff makes us whole.

Today, I am grateful for memories--old and new--and being a part of lives that are so completely beautiful.

Be bright.

When I ended the ol' blog and started this here new one, and I contemplated what it should be called, I brainstormed all the "Be"s that I love.

The three most important--present in each moment, seeking happiness, and sharing the warmth and light that I can muster--are the ones that speak to me daily (even if I'm not baring all right here every day).

A few weeks ago as I snuggled into bed, I said to Greg, "There is something missing. I go from A to B to C and somehow blur straight to Z by 8:00 at night. Something in my soul is missing. My light is seriously dim."

"What do you think it is?" he asked.

"I dunno."

I pulled the covers up a little more so only my eyes were peeking out.

"I think it's yoga," I said.

"Then go," he replied.

Ah, if only it were just that easy, to drop it all and stroll into a studio and downdog like I never stopped.

Cue me taking the class (that I seriously cannot stop talking about and I encourage you to look into because it will make you a better human being).

Awakening the spark.

Suddenly--either because of manifestation or because I became acutely aware of the word "spark," everything around me was fire.

I even heard "Come on Baby Light My Fire" twice on the radio. Totally random.

And Will even painted this picture at preschool.

And a million other sparking, fire lighting, warm things started to come my way...

...including an opportunity to teach a beginner's yoga class to a whole bunch of very eager teachers and secretaries in my school district as a part of our wellness initiative.

Was I ready to go back? In my mind, teaching again meant minutes spent and energy spent not on my kids. It seemed unfair.

Mommy guilt.

But I needed to spend the energy on myself.

So this afternoon, as the sun was starting to set, thirty-six people crammed themselves into a music room and I taught them how to breathe.

And sigh big heavy weight releasing sighs.

And move.

And fall in love with the very thing that makes my soul shine.

As I left the class, a friend texted me: "I'm on the other side of town and I can feel your energy."

And then I got home, and that sweet husband of mine had this waiting.

"Reminded me of you," he said.

Warm. Shining.

Bright.

What makes you beam? What makes our soul sing? What makes your heart happy? Are you stuck in a rut and need to get back to something?

Do Good

Sometimes I crave vanilla milkshakes. Other times I just want a big ol' pile of french fries with ranch dressing.

Sometimes I crave coffee.

Probably because I'm freaking addicted.

But today I craved something completely bizarre:

Beauty.

Without regurgitating everything I've absorbed in the last month, I think my reasons are obvious (and probably the same as yours).

So after Will and I got kicked out of the pediatric dentist this afternoon (a story for another time, really), and I was pulling two incredibly cranky children out of the car, our elderly next door neighbor shuffled out of her house with cravings of her own: interaction with my kids. I let Will chat with her (okay, he stared at her blankly) while I stared at the windows of my car, now smeared with ice cream splatters and finger prints--my "holy crap I can't believe we got booted from the dentist" consolation prize--and I thought to myself, "I don't think I could possibly be more irritated in this moment."

We entertained the neighbor for thirty more seconds and I stormed into the house.

For the next half hour we decompressed.

And just so you know, that involved ScoobyDoo (for the kids) and Halloween candy (for me, duh).

Then, epiphany. I was tired of all the ugly--all of it, from Hurricane Sandy to the kids' dentist and all of the events in between.

I'm in the last week of that class I am taking, where making art every day is required (and welcomed by my soul).

I looked at Will and I said, "Let's. Make. Art."

Crayons, watercolors, and glitter were pulled out. We brushed and glued and wrote and sprinkled and dusted.

Then we admired.

And we delivered our beauty

to our neighbor.

If good begets good, let's all spend a little more time focusing on what feels amazing.

Do love. Be beautiful.