Light

As so many parents often are, I was on my own yesterday while Greg helped my dad with some things around his house.

In general, it wasn't a difficult day...except that we abandoned a cart full of things at Target because Will was yelling to the store what an awful mom I was for not letting him ride at the bottom.

And then when we got home, he whacked his little brother in the head with a plastic frying pan.

And after nap time, I had to call poison control because he decided to pour himself a rather large dose of Children's Tylenol.

(Not to worry--he was fine. And pain free for at least the rest of the day.)

My children are not any more trying than yours--that's just kids. And even though I often feel like the only mom screwing up on a daily basis, I have to believe I'm not alone.

But when both boys woke up from naps, I found myself completely exhausted.

I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until Tuesday.

I wanted to rest my body, my mind, my heart.

Because even though you and I are so alike, "I" feel like I am screwing up.

All the time.

I feel darkness hanging over us as my hands raise in the air and I scream, "I don't know what I'm doing! Please send an instruction manual, or get me a guy named Tom in India who can tell me how to reset and reboot!" 

It can be overwhelming.

Is anyone out there with me?

So in the midst of putting ice on foreheads, and talking to Robert at Poison Control (he was no Indian Tom, but he did help), I passed by my bedroom.

And I saw this.

My crumpled bed, in my messy room, bathed in this sea of brightness, as if it were calling to me, "I'm here. You can rest. Be warm. Fill up with love. Recharge."

I didn't take up Her offer (because my bed is a she, duh).

But I did take the opportunity to reflect--in however brief a moment--that I am enough.

One deep breath in and one really, heavy, weight-releasing sigh out.

That even in my darkest moments of being a mom, I am my kids' light, and they are mine.

That they seek me to rest and soothe and recharge. And sometimes, although it isn't my bed, curling up with them and tousling their hair and reading a book is all it takes to do the same for me.

If only these moments came more frequently.

There will be days when I'll long to have them this small...and in those days, I'll feel rested.

Light.

Maybe.

Canada, eh?

For so many reasons, this trip to Quebec was the best trip I've ever taken with students.

There were no long flights, no money exchanges, no melted hair straighteners in voltage converters.

There was no homesickness, no whining about food, no lack of comforts, like ice in soda.

There were no boring tours of museums, no running around in the hallways at night, no lost passports.

But.

There was teamwork, as we tubed in teams of eight down snow covered mountains, and drove each other in dog sleds.

There was sharing, of hand warmers, chewing gum, wool socks, base layers, french fries, and candy.

So much candy.

Like, dentists are going to be so happy we came back. 

There was singing, at the tops of lungs, and in silly voices, to pop tunes that students didn't think their teachers knew the words to (but oh, I knew those words. I'm practically Nikki Minaj).

There was confidence and independence, starting with a very shy "Bonjour" and evolving to "Mrs. Kauffman, how do you say _____ in French? I want to ask myself." 

There was bonding among social hierarchies of students that would not generally interact within the walls of our school. 

Dare I say, there were new friendships formed. 

There was ice cream for breakfast and maple syrup for dinner. And dessert. And lunch. And maybe breakfast, too. 

There was laughing, at each other, with each other, and in the face of frigid temperatures.

And there was a moment...many moments...in which a random middle school French teacher from Cincinnati beamed and smiled and had that melty gushy feeling in her heart and soul that she had never been more sure in her life that this very thing is exactly what she was supposed to be doing.

Thirty-three

It's not every birthday girl who says, "Today isn't about me this year. I don't need a crown, or balloons, or a singing group of waiters with a piece of cake. Skip the flowers and the cards and the parties and the candles. Let's make this year about the greater good."

But the truth is, this birthday girl deserves all of the above and then some.

And it may not have been her intention--she didn't want the fanfare with the birthday, nor with the accomplishment of doing what she did.

But this accomplice wonders, how can one not celebrate someone's desire to make the world a better place?

On her birthday eve, after a night of yoga and dinner and ice cream, we sat on her couch at 11 p.m. and finished prepping for the project. Surrounded by fun markers, and post-its, and stickers and cookies, we taped and scribbled and doodled and wrote.

It was just the beginning of the many random acts of kindness--thirty-three of them to be exact--that my friend Holly (inspired by this blog) chose to do in honor of her thirty-third birthday.

Here's the run-down of the kindness she shared:

1. Donated money to her favorite charity organization.
2. Made yours truly breakfast.



3. Posted a paper at Panera, "Take what you need, then pass it on: Love, Courage, Hope, Faith."



4. Held the door open for a sweet lady at Panera.
5. Left stamps stuck to a mailbox at the Post Office.



6. Bought coffee for a car in the drive-thru at Starbucks.
7. Gave a gift card to another car in the drive-thru at Starbucks.



8-9. Left post-its on cars: "Drive safely!" "Wear your seatbelt!"
10. Placed wishing pennies by the fountain at the mall.



11. Taped enough change for a drink to the vending machine.



12-17. Stuck notes of encouragement and positivity in the ladies' restroom at the mall. "You are beautiful!" "That lipstick looks amazing on you!" "Nice outfit!" "Your hair looks great today!" "You can do this!"



18. Left a coupon for Bath & Body Works next to a fragrance display in the store.



19. Placed pennies heads up in the parking lot.
20. Purchased (and delivered) flowers for her mom.



21. Gave a tired looking mom at the grocery a gift card to Tim Horton's (the first tired looking mom said she didn't drink coffee...we are thinking she should re-think that!).
22. Returned a grocery cart back to the store.
23. Took two bags of groceries to a food pantry.



24-26. Took gloves, coloring books, and craft supplies to a women's shelter.



27. Left Oh, the Places You'll Go! at a bus stop...with the message, "Enjoy the journey."
28. Fed parking meters.



29. Dropped off some dog treats at a local animal shelter.



30. Sent a friend a note, just because.
31. Sent a photo memory to another friend.
32. Took cookies to work.
33. Bought coffee for a work meeting.

Inspired yet? Get in on the kindness act. Tell us about what you've done. Or what you long to do. Or what someone did for you!

A Dose of Humility

Here's the thing:

I drink too much coffee. I eat too many sweets.

I raise my voice at my kids, and on a daily basis, I think I've failed at parenting.

I worry about money, the future, and whether or not I'm really actually great at anything.

I second guess decisions.

I fight with my husband.

I let clean laundry sit in baskets for more than a week because putting it away is just another effing thing to do.

I watch far too much TV.

I enjoy Family Guy--and laugh too hard when I shouldn't--way too often.

I rehash events from the past in my head over and over again.

I complain too often, about things like laundry, and the price of day care, and how tired I am.

I feed Will hot dogs and macaroni and cheese minimum, once a week. Reid gets far less homemade baby fare than Will did.

And I feel guilty about all of it.

I switched to wine because beer made me feel bloated.

And maybe I drink too much of it.

I don't devour books anymore.

I curse like a truck driver--a kind one who still says "please" and "thank you"--but a mother effing truck driver.

And I don't care if it's unbecoming.

And sometimes I do it in front of my kids.

I let Will watch Madagascar, or Cars, or Curious George, just so I can do a load of laundry I'll never fold.

Or hide in the bathroom for five GD minutes to try and catch my breath.

I write blogs that I never post.

I text in my car, and not just at stop lights and parking spaces.

I flip through facebook on my iPhone while I feed my baby.

And as I sit here, with the travel channel on my TV (travel? Ha!) and my 3rd cup of coffee in hand, and the book "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff" sitting off to the side, I can't help but take a big, heavy, load bearing sigh.

And be effing okay with every single one of those things.

And I share it all because I think you should be okay with it, too.

We're in a time when being happy and positive and present and pinterest perfect is trendy, and there are articles, and people, and blogs (ahem) that preach it. And tell you how to do it. And make you feel even worse if you just.can't.get.there.

And I just wanted to say, it's okay to be everything but those things.

Wallow in them, love them, embrace them.

Hallelujah for a little bit of humility.

A follow-up to 32 Notes

A month ago today, I sent out 32 notes of love to friends and family in an effort to spread love, kindness, and joy to others.

I received so many notes in return--grateful for the love that was exactly my intention.

If you recall in my post, I sent a note to a friend with whom I had lost touch, and had not spoken to or seen in nine years.

I sent the notes on a Friday.

That Sunday, while going through the madness that is getting a family of four dressed after swimming lessons in the family locker room at the gym, I walked out of the dressing area and right into that friend.

It was insane, it was crazy, it was madness. What were the freaking odds?

We exchanged greetings, met each other's families, she thanked me for the note, we tried to sell her on joining the gym (they were on a tour), and then we--very awkwardly--said goodbye.

She emailed me the next day.

"I know a sign from the Universe when it slaps me in the face like that. We need to get together before I rear end you on Beechmont Avenue!"

And so tonight, over margaritas and mexican, we got together.

We re-connected.

We laughed so hard there were side stitches, and cheek aches, and tears.

I've had multiple conversations lately about how "midwest" it is to stay connected to the people you knew in high school.

Tonight, we talked about it again.

"There's just something so easy and so comforting in a friendship when that person knows everything about you from so young--that ground is covered and you just move on with the now," she said.

And *now* is a great place to be.

Even if you aren't much for resolutions, maybe resolve to reconnect with someone this coming year. Reach out, extend a note, an email, a phone call.

Nothing to lose, and nothing but love and friendship to gain.

Imagine your year filled with that.

Happy New Year, indeed.

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.