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.

Connected Souls

Will has not yet mastered the art of speaking in the future tense, so everything always happens now, in the moment, or in the past, or in some strange combination of the two.

For example, "When I was a grown up, I will be big and strong."

Yesterday morning, in the middle of playing blocks, with Jake and the Neverland Pirates squawking in the background, we were discussing as a family that Will should make good choices.

Like...taking that block away from your brother while he's chewing on it is not a good choice.

And he made some strange declarations.

"Daddy, when you was a baby, you couldn't make choices, but when I was a big kid I will make good choices."

We sort of nodded, not really comprehending that specific train of thought, but nothing unusual. Personally, I squirmed, but didn't correct, the improper use of "was" in that sentence.

He continued. "Daddy, you was a bad guy before, and I was the good guy."

"Do you mean when we were playing Captain Hook and Peter Pan?"

"No, when you was a big kid and I was a big kid, you was a bad guy and I was a good guy."

Greg dismissed it as more ramblings. But I couldn't help but think my little old soul Will was sharing secrets again.

It's not a belief that everyone shares, but it happens to be mine: we are connected. Our souls choose their company from life to life. Never mind that we return again and again to keep learning; we choose to surround ourselves with the same people.

Like your very best friend who so often feels like a sister.

Or that one person who always gives you the heebie-jeebies.

These feelings could stem from past life interactions.

And immediately, I thought to my friend Denise.

After revealing last year that we were expecting again, Denise called to tell me that she has sensed this soul hanging around for awhile, chomping at the bit for us to make up our minds about a second child so he or she could join our family.

So excited was sweet little Reid, that he jumped head first. A little bump on the way down, a little helmet to fix him up. :o)

At lunch this afternoon, I stared at Will, peanut butter and honey all over those fingers, milk dribbling down his chin, big goofy grin as he sang some variation of the word "Mommy," and then Reid, piercing blue eyes that seem to give away his mood before he can verbalize it, soggy goldfish cracker on his shirt.

And all I could think was, "You picked us."

This week, as you tend to your Reese's Peanut Butter Cup hangover, and you spot treat vampire blood out of costumes, it will probably be November 1st, All Saint's Day, or All Soul's Day. In traditional Catholic faith, it is a time to pray for and honor loved ones who have passed.

I will be honoring my connections, undoubtedly grateful for those around me, present and past, comforted in knowing we keep choosing each other.

Go with what you know

I signed up for my one-month online class at thedefineschool.com because I felt I needed fresh perspective--I thought this blog needed a more clearly defined label, that what I wanted to write about wasn't flowing. I seem to spend most of my time writing about mom things, and kid things, and the little moments in between my "mom" label and the label that is "balancing work and being a mom."

Mom mom mom mom mom.

Ugh. I'm a mommy blog.

It wasn't the direction I wanted to go.

Turns out, it's the direction to go. In this moment, it's what I know. It's where my heart and soul are. If you are submerged in a submarine underwater for an extended period of time, it's where you are. Go with where you are. Be here. Now.

The class has taught me--mostly reminded me--of the following, and I think it's important enough (in that I find myself nodding my head and saying "YES!" all the time) that I share. First, the stops:

• Stop defining yourself. In every capacity. You can cook a gourmet meal one night and heat up Spaghetti-Os the next. You can go to 189 Dave Mathews Band concerts and still break out your dance moves every time you hear an Usher song. You can take the most beautiful photograph with your awesome amazing professional camera on Monday and take something equally as meaningful with your iPhone on Tuesday. You can work and be a mom. Or a dad. You can get every sort of degree and certification and title money can buy, but it means nothing if it's not what your soul truly longs to do. 
• Stop seeking approval. Your kids are beautiful--you made them. The meal you cooked was delicious--your tastebuds told you so. You can do absolutely anything--you made up your mind to try. Your garden looks lovely, your significant other is awesome, and you are, in fact, brilliant. No one needs to tell you this for it to be true if you know it's true. And it is.  
• Stop second-guessing yourself. The original thought, word, idea, answer, picture, moment, phrase, song, response was all perfect. It came from that place deep down inside that whispered, "Yes. This is right." All you need to do is pause long enough to listen to it. 

And now, the doing:

• Make. time. for. yourself. And don't feel guilty about it. This has by far been the hardest for me to tackle, as most days there are moments I feel like I'm a robot programmed to go from 5:30 in the morning until 8:30 at night when I fall into bed. Even if it's five stinking minutes, close the door to the bathroom and sit on the floor and breathe (or cry, whatever). Or journal (this class has forced me to do an art journal, complete with my own fabulous stick people, glitter, finger printed ink dots, and lots of words, usually done while I eat lunch--but it's time I spend on me). Or sit in your car for 30 seconds before you go pick up your kids. Have plenty of time? Go do the things that you long to do: run, paint, meditate, sculpt, photograph, yoga, read, sing, play, get dirty, work in your garden, dance, curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and watch your DVR. Go ahead. Do it. If you can't focus on you, you can't possibly be there for the 974 other things that demand your attention.
• Say no. Say no to your boss, your co-worker, your spouse, to the people you've been wanting to say "no" to for a long time; say no to remaining in something that no longer serves you a positive purpose; say no to feeling anything but happy, and that comes in so many different forms that no one can define it for you; say no to the things that bring you down on a daily basis--it is time to let them go once and for all. 
• Be selective in social media. It's so easy to get caught up in comparing our lives, thoughts, ideas, etc., with everyone. Ev. Ree. One. Unplug. It's okay to not know what that one person you knew in 3rd grade had for dinner. Or what that one blogger you totally admire and compare yourself to wrote. :o) 
• Surround yourself with people you love who love you back. There simply isn't room for anyone else. 

And that's where I am. Here.

Good place to be.

Perspective

I'm tired of writing about the helmet.

I'm bored with coming up with catchy names for the new Ohio teacher rating system (although, teachers, how about "Meh" instead of "Proficient"? I think it has a nice ring to it).

I'm inspired by my students, my kids, my family, my new family room rug (it is pretty awesome).

But my writing is, well, "meh."

I'm beyond excited to take this class at The Define School.

This spark needs awakened.

The Define School is technically for photographers, and I am definitely not that (um, I don't even own a camera anymore--hello? Instagram?), but I read this comment on the description of the class:

"I took this class with Michelle Gardella and I'll say it changed not only me as a photographer, but as a mom and a wife. Definitely a class for writers too! You won't be disappointed if you take it!" 

And I was sold.

You can check out The Define School's two minute mission video here (and see its super cool founder whom I randomly met via our HGTV experience).

My hope is my next blog--even if a month from now--is refreshed.

Time to go within and find some new perspective.