Tag / creativity

by bean2bird

How Spaghetti Sauce Hand Prints Taught Me to Find Joy in Unexpected Places

I looked over my countertop near the end of a very long day at the wall leading to the back door and noticed a brownish-red, toddler-sized hand print had been left on the wall. It looked almost intentional. Like it had been a two-year-old’s science experiment. All five fingers were distinguishable. As were all five spices that had been used in whatever kind of sauce had been used as his medium. I sighed, added that task to my ever growing mental to-do list and then finished up the dishes, cleared the counters, swept the floor, picked up the four or five various toys that had been left in the kitchen under mysterious circumstances and then glanced around to double check my work. There it was still. The hand print. But having just spent 45 minutes cleaning, I made the conscious decision to leave it for the moment. The boys were getting restless and fighting in the background and we needed to start the bedtime routine.

The older boys had already showered and the two year old (who’s identity could be confirmed via spaghetti sauce finger prints to be found on the kitchen wall) had been scrubbed and dressed. Now it was just me and baby.

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I mean.

I love giving my babies their baths. Every single one of my boys have been head-over-heels for water. They splash and laugh and blow bubbles and do just about every single cute baby-in-water thing you could possibly imagine.

I sat on the bathroom floor and watched his chubby little 12-month-old body explore his watery environment. I’m sorry, but is there anything cuter than a fat, naked baby bottom?? I submit that there is not. He laughed and cooed and ‘talked’ to me. He dumped water on his head and tried to drink it (ew). He blew bubbles in the water and played with his toys. And I watched him with total joy. It was one of those mom moments when you think, “this is what they talk about when they say enjoy it. This is one of those times I need to slow down as I try and soak in every detail” So I did. I made a mental note of the way his long brown hair hung wet on his forehead and the way he was learning to manipulate objects as he put the wet washrag into his cup and how boisterous he was as he ‘swam’ from one end of the tub to the other, laughing the whole time.

He soaked; I soaked.

And I felt happy.

Later that night, after the boys were in bed, I walked back over to the wall and finally wiped the hand print off with a disinfectant wipe. It took a minute because I’m pretty sure the spaghetti sauce was also part plaster and it had hardened by then.

And I felt annoyed.

While I scrubbed, I thought of that story/adage/piece of advice that young moms hear all the time about how one day we will miss the tiny hand print smudges on windows and walls. Later that night, while I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, the image of scrubbing that hand print off the wall came back into my mind.

I love and honor the advice to slow down in my mothering; to savor and enjoy the moments that are mine right now. But I’ve always balked when I’m advised to let the chores go in favor of spending time with the children. “Sure. Easy for you to say living in your pristine house that gets clean and stays clean because the people you share your space with don’t come into a room you’re cleaning with five things in their hands, dump them where they stand and then run into the next room to find the next thing they can unceremoniously abandon in another completely random location”  For a clearer idea of what my house would look like if I let the chores go in favor of spending time with my children, feel free to stop by any time with the understanding that I have not been following that advice and you’ll gain a pretty good insight into the potential horror I’m talking about.

But that night, that advice suddenly came to me in a different frame and so I bought it.

“Savor scrubbing the hand prints off”.

A light bulb went off and suddenly, that seemingly unachievable balance between finding joy in your children and also not drowning in dirty dishes made sense to me.

Smile and laugh at the finger prints; commit the saucy proof of children to memory…maybe even photograph it. As you’re cleaning, enjoy the types of chores you’re doing which serve as a reminder of the little people you enjoy so much. Your arms full of plastic army men, three nerf guns, two swords, five super hero costumes and as many Lego bricks as you can hold will soon be gone. They tell a story of four boys under seven, rambunctious and full of energy and creativity and too many fun ideas to be bothered with neatness. The super hero undies you’re folding, so small that you can’t believe an entire person fits in them, are symbols of your boy-mom status; reminding you how inherent their desire to protect and defend are. The crumbs, the sweeping 17 times a day, the play dough you stepped in, the bath toys you clear before showering; all of these messes are as fleeting as your children are. They aren’t to be ignored, or delayed, or put to the side; they are to be celebrated for what they represent. For who they represent. For the era they represent.

They are to be savored.

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by bean2bird

Why Motherhood Makes Us Fear Risk and Why We Should Go For it Anyway

img_0976I have not always considered myself to be an over thinker. I was never one to analyze a decision for very long and tended to favor spontaneity and adventure to meticulous planning and thorough consideration. Case in point: on the day we were married, my husband and I had known each other for 5 months, 29 days. To quote Andy from Parks and Rec, ““I cannot emphasize how little we thought about this,” And yes, my family are all still breathing a collective sigh of relief with every passing year that sees us still happily married.

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babies ^

I’ve always trusted my intuition. For better or for worse, my gut feeling was usually in charge of my decisions. I didn’t hem and haw or agonize over details, I just dove in head first and hoped for the best.

I lived on the edge, people. Sometimes it led to great things and sometimes it led to disaster, but overall, my gut led and my brain followed. (I say daily prayers of thanks that one of the times my gut feeling got it right was when I was choosing my husband. Terrifying. And also exhilarating. Hashtag no regrets.) However, that delicious spontaneity all came to a crashing halt seven years ago with the arrival of baby boy number one.

Suddenly life was a lot more serious because mine was not the only life on the line when I made choices. My gut could no longer be trusted because it was telling me one thing and the ‘experts’ were telling me another and my friends had an equally compelling take and my mom was saying something different altogether so my once easy-going brain, who was at one time just along for the ride, couldn’t take it anymore and committed mutiny against my intuition, taking over as captain and locking the intuitive impulses in the brig. Never to be heard from again.

It was then that I got in touch with my inner type “A”. img_0977Suddenly, pros and cons lists reigned supreme and I couldn’t make a single choice without consulting numerous hosts of people. And it’s only gotten worse as I’ve had more children; more people’s lives who are affected by every single choice I make. And to further complicate matters, once I’d figured it out for one kid, the other kids had the audacity to come out as completely different human beings and whatever I’d finally learned inevitably wouldn’t work for the next one. It was a mess.

I’m sorry to say, this inability to just go for it has bled into my personal life quite significantly. I’ve always been a dreamer; a planner; a schemer. Always a new idea for a business or a hobby or a novel. Always a new ambition or hope for my life. But now that I’m a mother and am dedicating so much of my life to the welfare of my children, I’ve had to put many of those dreams to bed for a time. The sacrifice has been well worth it, let me tell you, but at times it has been draining and has left me feeling like an empty shell of a person; out of touch with who I am besides Diaper-Changer Extraordinaire. I miss dreaming and planning and scheming. I miss working on the next big thing. And in light of my previous failure, I have been wary to jump right into the next big idea.

But here’s what I’m realizing: in the seven-years that I’ve been a meticulous planner; an over-thinker to the nth degree; an overly cautious namby-pamby, I have seen an equal number of failures and an equal number of successes as I did back when I let my gut feeling do the steering. Honest to goodness, it turns out that letting logic take the reigns didn’t even out my odds of seeing disaster as a result of a choice I’ve made. So here’s my last resolution made in January: less thinking; more doing. Fewer pros and cons lists; more stomach turning leaps into the abyss. Less light; more walks into darkness. Less logic; more dreaming.

I have a ‘next project’ in the works, you guys. And let me just tell you: it is a stomach turning leap into the abyss if ever there were one. I’m much more terrified to take this plunge in light of my last disappointing venture and so am riding this new wave into the unknown in a boat of abject terror and towering self-doubt. But hot dang, I’m riding the wave! I’m not going to look back…a whole lot more times…I’m moving forward. For better or for worse, it’s all you, Gut Feeling.

Join me, mamas! Throw caution to the wind and do all the things!
Or at least do some of the things.

“What if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does.”

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by bean2bird

Fail Spectacularly

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I know this might come as a shock to you people, but growing up, I was a bona fide nerd. I know, I know. Hard to believe that this super classy, sophisticated, mature adult you now know and love at one time owned over 80 pieces of Harry Potter paraphernalia but I sure did.

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I mean.

I mean, I was in the chess club in middle school, you guys. And I placed second at the end of the year tournament. This is not a drill. So it should come as no surprise to you that my extracurricular activities of choice skewed more in the direction of the arts rather than in the world of sports and athletics. And so, I was in choir. I started school choir as early as they’d let me (which was seventh grade, I think) and fell in love with singing and performing.

In high school, choir became a defining part of my identity. I was in deep. Four out of seven of my class periods in junior year were held in the choir room. I loved that room. I ate lunch there (yes, with friends, why do you ask?). I met people there who are still my friends today. I learned a lot life lessons in that room as well. One that I’ll always remember was taught to me by our choir director who had a propensity towards teaching life lessons in connection with music. (Singing in a group is the best way to learn about life. I’ll die on that hill)

One of the choirs I belonged to was called Bel Canto; a small women’s choir that was made up of 30 or so female singers. I had the opportunity to part jump in that choir; I sang whatever was needed the most, so I had the chance to learn every part from first soprano down to second alto. It was a wonderful learning experience and my musicality grew exponentially that year. The choir director, Christopher Borges, spent a lot of time teaching us all to sing boldly. Many of the girls were shy or hesitant to sing, especially if they thought they might hit a wrong note. I was among them frequently. I didn’t want to sing something unless I knew it would come out right and so if I got to an unfamiliar part, I’d turn the volume down substantially until I’d mentally worked out the part. But Mr. Borges would stop us when he noticed that happening.

“If you’re going to make a mistake, do it loudly! It’s only when we hear the mistake that we’ll know how to correct it. If I can’t hear you mess up, I won’t know what to rehearse,”

This made great logical sense, but my pubescent brain just could not be convinced to sing my mistakes loudly! How mortifying. I was a section leader, which meant that I was being counted on to know my part better or at least as well as others in my group so that I could help them when they struggled. I couldn’t ever let myself make a loud mistake.

Until a few days later, when I auditioned for a solo.

That day lives on in my memory as one of the most mortifying auditions I’ve ever experienced. I was so determined and felt confident(ish…I mean, how confident are slightly chubby 15-year-old girls on average?) and had been practicing. It’s the biggest irony of my life that I both adore and am terrified by singing in public. My heart was beating, my palms were sweating and I was sitting on the choir steps, waiting for my turn. My face was hot. I’d listened to several variations of the solo and had kind of made up my own (Mr. Borges suggested we try and make it ‘ours’) and then, it was my turn.

I stood up …and I butchered it. Badly.

The first line was okay, but then came the next line where I improvised an embellishment and I tripped all over myself vocally. I loudly and proudly belted out the worst set of notes you could possibly imagine and then it was over. I wanted to die. The air was thick with that kind of silence that happens when your peers are laughing internally and trying to be kind simultaneously because they’re grown up enough to know they shouldn’t be blatantly rude, but young enough that they really want to be. They clapped politely and some of them snickered. I sat down and put my head in my hands, forcing myself not to make it worse by crying in front of everyone.

Mr. Borges stopped the auditions.

Oh no. I’m kicked out of choir. This is the end of my singing career altogether.

I’d already internally promised myself to never audition for or sing a solo again, but now I was sure this was the end of my singing altogether. My title as section leader would be immediately revoked and I’d be put in the back row where the 6-foot-somethings would tower over me, hiding me away forever more.

But he didn’t do any of that. And what he did say, shocked me as much as it embarrassed me, “People! Did you notice what Alicia just did?”

Um. Yeah. We all noticed…she literally just made the worst sounds we’ve ever heard come out of a human body. Thanks, professor.

“She just took a risk!”

Yeah, fat lotta good that did. Way to drive the point home: never take risks or you’ll sound like a dying cat.

“She just sang that solo loud and proud and she messed up! But the important thing was that she tried something new. She wasn’t afraid to risk failing. She did it anyway! That is what I want from you guys; fearlessness, boldness, confidence, willingness to risk your pride or your reputation and go for it!”

And then. He gave me the solo.

Now, I’m coming at this from an adult perspective and realizing that I got that solo out of an attempt for that director to teach us a lesson. I clearly hadn’t sung well. I clearly didn’t deserve it on the merits of having succeeded vocally. But I had taken a risk. And he was rewarding that risk; that willingness to step outside of my comfort zone and try something new even when it meant I might crash and burn. He rewarded the failure by allowing me the chance to try again and succeed.

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Me solo-ing my heart out in a production in college. Still nerdy, ya’ll.

I credit that singular moment with my ability now to sing in front of audiences. Terrified though I am to do it, I physically can, and voluntarily do fairly regularly. If he had moved past that moment and not given me the solo (as he was well within reason to have done, let me just tell you) it’s very likely that I would have been mentally stuck there and might never have given myself a chance to do anything like that ever again.

That moment of failure gave way to many future failures; vocally, educationally, professionally, personally. I’ve attempted and failed many, many times at all kinds of things. But I keep trying! And I try really hard to remember that not trying doesn’t mean not failing, it just means never succeeding. Sometimes, you have to fail loud and proud for all the world to hear in order to really succeed later.

So here’s what happened: I had this idea a few months ago. This enormous, exciting, wonderful idea. This idea where you go, “Why doesn’t that exist yet??” and you really start thinking about it and researching it and you think, “We should make this into a thing,” and so you take the idea to your business-savvy husband and he is equally enthused, and you tell your close circle of family and friends and they are in full support because they want to buy it someday. And so you meet with professionals who point you in the right directions and give you sound advice about how to make this idea a reality, and you start working on protecting your idea with a patent and writing down a plan of action for bringing this thing to fruition and the excitement is building as you get closer and closer to maybe seeing this thing launch.

And you conduct some preliminary market research and hundreds of people take your survey (thank you SO MUCH for your help, everyone) and you find out that people are really annoyed by the same problem you were and that almost no one knows of any other way to handle the problem and that your idea is super marketable and potentially worth a lot of money and then…hundreds of survey participants later you find out: this idea? This wonderful, big, fantastic idea… It already exists. It’s a thing. Amazon sells it. Wanna see what I was going to create but someone already did?

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Yep. Spray-on diaper rash ointment. You’d never heard of it? Me neither. And I didn’t find it in Walmart or in Target or in Smith’s or on a long list of patented diaper rash ointment products that I read through on the United States Patent site. But you guys. I never googled it. WHY?! Why didn’t I consider the fact that it might be online only and not in stores? Sigh.

So many hours spent in research and collaboration with Shem. So much excitement. So many dreams for the future success of our business.

And it’s. Already. A thing.

So I mean, first of all, how have I gotten through four children in diapers without ever having known this exists?? And second of all, why in the world are they not in stores??

And the worst part of it all is that now I’ve had hundreds of people take the survey who are now curious about what we’re concocting. People I’ll probably never be able to contact or explain it to. It’s like I set a flag out on our front yard, advertising a titillating secret project and then had to randomly remove the flag so that now when cars pass by, they’ll go, “Wait. Where’s the flag? Why was it there in the first place? WHAT IS THE SECRET? I think the people that live there might be cray-cray,”

Or maybe people just won’t care that much. One can hope. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling embarrassed. It’s like I’m in high school, auditioning for that solo all over again and sitting down on the choir steps, defeated and embarrassed at having been witnessed in my defeat. And this time, there’s no benevolent third party who’ll give us the ‘solo’ because the solo has already been taken. Stupid Boogie Bottoms! Why’d your name have to be so darn perfect, too? We’re fighting… but I’m straight up buying some.

And so, on I go to the next project. The next idea. Potentially the next failure. I’m driven from failure to failure in the faith that I’m learning and gaining experience and am determined that one day the next attempt will stick. And the things we’ve learned this time will be relevant and important in our next venture.

So go forth, friends! Go forth and fail! And make room for other people’s failure and congratulate their attempts. Be supportive of your friends successes and failures in equal measure. Let’s do our best to create the type of society my choir director dreamed of; one in which risk is rewarded and failures are not endings.

Be bold. Sing loud. Miss notes. Fail spectacularly.

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by bean2bird

Why ‘Stretch Goals’ Will Revolutionize your Resolutions

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I love New Year’s. The whole thing; I love resolutions, I love setting goals, I love the promise of new beginnings and a ‘fresh start’, and I love evaluating my dreams and fantasizing about where I hope they’ll take me in a year. Also I love staying up late and eating a lot of fattening but delicious snacks. 2018 was a big year for dream chasing and I can officially and happily report that a lot of my goals for the year came to be. The beginning of 2019 finds me:

-Not Pregnant (!!!)
-At my goal weight (ish. Because. Christmas. I’m working on it.)
-Exploring new hobbies (Yoga! Twitter! Lettering!)
-Re-discovering old hobbies (Writing! Painting! Singing!)
-More present
-Less anxious (thanks to my side piece)
-More organized (thank you, Summer Purge)

Not too bad for a year’s work, I must say. Lots of things I wrote on my resolution list last year came to fruition and I’m pretty happy with my progress. This year; however, I’m going to take things one step further with something called “Stretch Goals” and here’s why you should, too.

I learned about Stretch Goals while reading Charles Duhigg’s “Smarter Faster Better: The Secret of Being Productive in Life and Business” just in time for the setting of New Year’s resolutions. img_0535While considering what I’d like to include in my extensive list of goals for 2019, I’ve read some articles that advocate for the setting of smaller, more achievable goals. I completely understand the mentality behind that idea and have even seen success in goal-meeting while implementing that strategy, but this idea of “Stretch Goals” has added an even deeper level to the smaller, more achievable goal setting I’ve been engaging in up to this point.

Stretch Goals are just what they sound like: goals that stretch you past your perceived limits and put you into uncharted, sometimes nerve-wracking territory. They’re dream-goals. They’re the Porsche of the goal world. They’re the pie-in-the-sky hopes for your future. They’re that thing you’ve maybe wanted for years, but are too afraid/limited/inexperienced/insecure to actually say out loud or write down or commit to. They are what will stretch you in 2019.

Of course, Stretch Goals can’t do it alone. For example, if you’ve always dreamed of running a marathon, but you currently live a somewhat sedentary life and get winded going up and down the stairs (raises hand awkwardly), and you write “Run Marathon” down as your stretch goal, chances are your brain will make a fart noise and you’ll never think about it again. Or maybe you’ll go for a run the next day that makes your lungs burn so badly you immediately drop all pretenses and return to bingeing old episodes of House Hunters. Stretch Goals, on their own, should be so daunting that your brain will try and immediately reject them on principal. So how do we harness the power of our Stretch Goals and make our pie-in-the-sky fantasies a reality?

According to Charles Duhigg, we pair them with SMART goals. I know, I know. But hang in there. Trust me.

Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timebound (see what he did there?) SMART goals take your Stretch Goals and break them down into smaller, more realistic, bite size pieces. What a perfect way to start out 2019! So you sit down and think, “By the end of 2019, I will (fill in the blank with the dreamy goal you’ve been too afraid to commit to up unto this point)” and then you pull out your calendar and divide the year into bite-size goals that will get you to that end result you’ve maybe not-so-secretly always wanted.

So let’s take a look at our couch potato marathon runner scenario. Couch Potato says “I want to run a marathon by the end of this year” Couch Potato’s brain says “Fllllrtttpp” (which is how you spell a fart noise) Couch Potato says “No, really I want to” and pulls a calendar over. Month 1: will walk 5 miles every week. Month 2: will jog half of my miles. Month 3: will jog 5 miles a week. And so on. (Disclaimer: Clearly I have never run a marathon and have less than negative eleventy percent idea how to actually train for one. So. Don’t do what I just outlined if your goal is to actually run a marathon by the end of the year)

But you guys! Think of the possibilities! I mean, they’re literally endless. Dream vacation to Disneyworld? Bam! Stretch that goal, girl! Lose 100 pounds? STRETCH it, mama! Learn Spanish? Streeeetch, friend. Read 50 books? Stetch, Queen! You name it, you do it. Write it down. TONIGHT, friends. Tonight, sit down with the fabulous New Years Resolution lists you’ve already created (I see you, Insta friends!) and add one stretch goal and then break it down into the achievable steps it’ll take to get you there.

img_9741The hubby and I have a Stretch Goal we’re working on currently and it. scares. the pants off me. I’m not even lying. When I think about it, I get scared, flippy butterfly tummy which is equal parts terror and excitement, but HOT DANG are we gonna stretch it. We have a date on Thursday night to sit down and carve out all the SMART goals that are going to get us there and get there we will. I can’t wait to share more about it with you all! Stay tuned. 2019 is going to be our year, people!

Happy New Year and happy stretching.

 

by bean2bird

Pieces Of Lorraine

I’m named after my maternal Grandmother. We share a middle name which is something I’ve been proud of my whole life. Priscilla Lorraine, (who goes by Lorraine because she hates the name Priscilla) was a legend in my house growing up. She was frequently used as an example to illustrate my own mother’s self-perceived short-comings. The phrases, “My mother would never…”, or “My mother would have always…” were a near daily occurrence as my mom assessed her own maternal habits by holding them up next to the perfection she saw in my Grandmother’s.  An unfair, inaccurate assessment that I’m sorry to say I’ve continued in my own motherhood journey. Ahhh generational mommy-guilt… #TrynaBreakTheCycle #MostlyFailing

But the truth of the matter is this: my Grandma Heywood is one tough act to follow.

Lorraine Heywood had six children, kept a tidy house (aided and abetted by my meticulously neat Grandfather), rarely raised her voice, was the primary caretaker of her father-in-law for eight years, worked as a school teacher, made homemade meals, kept a garden, grew fruit trees, canned seasonally, baked bread, took her children on annual family trips around the United States, knew the names of every kind of plant and taught them to her children, sang like an angel, volunteered her time and talents at church and in the community, taught her children to sew, painted, and above all, loved her children fiercely.

How do you follow that act?!

No but really, though, how? Inquiring minds want to know.

In preparing for this blog post, I asked her girls to tell me more about what life was like growing up with Lorraine Heywood as a mama and let me tell you, there were nothing but glowing reviews. In fact, my Aunt Chrystal expressed having experienced genuine concern as a child that her mom might at any moment be taken off of this troubled earth, straight to heaven because she was an actual perfect person.

Of course, as logical adult-type people we know now that this can’t be true, but hot dang is it though? Because maybe it is. This woman was the absolute standard of motherhood; womanhood; personhood. It’s no wonder my mom wasn’t alone in engaging in the “my mom would have always…” rhetoric. I’ve even engaged in that line of thinking when I’ve unwisely compared my motherhood journey to hers. I’ve done the same when comparing my motherhood journey to my mother’s as well.

Which brings us to the first point I’d like to make: mamas! People! Mankind! Stop. Comparing. Your journey. To other people’s journeys.

I know, I know. Easier said than done. I mean hi, Black Pot, I’m the kettle. You know?

But seriously, stop it.

My Grandma Heywood is an absolutely outstanding person. And she is still a person. A person with struggles and faults and flaws (like. Maybe she skipped flossing once or forgot one of her kids didn’t like crust on their sandwich That One Time or maybe she said a cuss by accident. I mean, I’ve heard stories, Grandma so here’s lookin at you) She fails sometimes. She loses her patience maybe (I’ve yet to see it in person, but I’ve heard she’s let out an exasperated sigh or two in her day) The point is that she is a person. And so is your neighbor and your cousin and your best friend and that fashionista you follow on Instagram and Joanna Gaines and Princess Kate with her stupid, perfect, tiny little body coming out of the hospital in high heels five minutes after giving birth. But I’m not bitter.

These are people. With totally different lives and circumstances and experiences. And it’s a fatal flaw to hold your life next to theirs and try and get an accurate reading of ‘how you’re doing’. Instead, try to hold up the picture of your life today to the picture of your life yesterday, two weeks ago, last year. Are you more patient? More kind? Less lonely? …Taller? (One can dream…) You are the only accurate measuring stick against which to compare your successes and failures.

The faster we can wrap our brains around that truth and embrace it, the happier we’ll be. It’s true. When in doubt, stick to my favorite life philosophy: you do you, boo. You. Do. You.

Point number two starts with a short story. A couple of weeks ago, I had just managed an argument between kids and was in the middle of tidying something when suddenly, the words for the title of this blog entry entered my mind in a flash of inspiration. –As a quick aside, I’ll mention that one of the magical things that has started to happen to me during this journey of intentional creation, is that I have apparently become a useful conduit for creations who are embarking on their journey to become (for more on this phenomenon, read “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert) and am now privy to frequent bursts of inspiration and direction that lead me to write, paint, and sing all kinds of beautiful things that wouldn’t have existed otherwise. It’s very intoxicating and I highly recommend it. But back to my flash of inspiration–. As I was on my hands and knees, picking up who knows what after just having brought peace back into the house after a fight between the two eldest, the thought came into my mind, “You are more like Lorraine than you may realize”. It stopped me in my tracks. I have never considered the fact that I may have inherited more from my Grandmother than just a middle name; that there might be other pieces of her that are an integral part of the person that I am.

For the first time in my life, I had the realization that I am a piece of Lorraine. That my love of music, my passion for teaching and loving children, my patience with my own boys, my propensity towards creativity, my fondness for painting, my joy in an orderly home…these pieces of me come from my Grandmother; that untouchable, unstoppable force; I am a part of her.

What an honor. What a legacy to live up to. What an encouraging truth.

Instead of engaging it the comparisons that bring discouragement and defeat, I’m trying to more frequently remind myself that I come from exceptional stock; that Lorraine’s goodness is a part of who I am and that I have the potential of becoming closer and closer to the mother she is reported to have been. I hope all of Grandma Heywood’s children and grandchildren can see the pieces of Lorraine that live within them and can use that foundation to build something wonderful. Some of the best people I know are descended from Lorraine Heywood. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

My Grandma Heywood’s remaining time here might be relatively short, but because she has created this legacy, pieces of her will continue to live. Art, music, kindness, generosity, patience, humor, knowledge, skill, faith and love will be passed down from generation to generation and will continue to strengthen this world and the people in it. She might be only one person, but look at the pieces she has left this world. Look at the goodness and brightness and beauty she has left as her legacy. We all have that power to affect the world so profoundly. You are made of many pieces and you will always leave pieces behind. That is our power. That is our legacy. That is our potential.

I’m forever grateful for my pieces of Lorraine.

by bean2bird

Allow Me to Introduce…

image 615 Fun Facts about Me:

1. My name is Alicia, but my friends from high school all call me Bean and/or Beanie. There is an entire group of human beings on this planet who would sound really strange if they called me by my first given name. Which is weird now that the number of people who use my first name have far outgrown the number of people who don’t. But I love it because it means I get to keep a piece of my maiden name which I loved and now miss.

2. I didn’t used to love children, even though I’ve always been really good with children. They kind of overwhelmed me and made me nervous, but I can now genuinely say in a surprising turn of events that I love interacting with kids. LOVE. It’s becoming one of my passions in life, actually and I anticipate that when my own children all start going to school full time, I will begin a career which involves children in some capacity.

3. I’m super into football, guys. Like, I get really, really into it. I love the intricacies of the rules, I love the strategy, I love watching a talented quarterback make breath-taking passes in less time than it takes me to figure out where the football is during the play. It’s one of my favorite things about fall, actually.

4. Reading is my number one hobby. I love reading about the same as I love chocolate which should give you some idea if you have functioning taste buds. I’ve read more books than I could ever remember to count. And several of those more than once.

5. Harry Potter is my jam. I’ve read the entire series once a year since I was 11. I’m 29 now. So. You do that math.

6. I hate math.

7. I love music! I’m looking forward to a time when I can devote some of my time to re-learning music theory and practicing the piano on the regular. Right now, I practice a few times a month if I’m lucky because I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to play the piano in the presence of a 7, 5, 2 and 9-month-old, but I can make you a couple of promises: A) they will all sit next to you on the teeny, tiny bench, B) they will play the piano and C) you will not.

8) I’m a singer. I was studying music in college, but was derailed by a little thing called: babies (a sacrifice I am very happy to have made because I heart my life and my kids and wouldn’t trade them for all of the college degrees in the world). I was planning on going back to school to study music, but have changed my plans for a future career and will focus on music on my own time when time and money permit.

9) I love to write. I’ve been writing short stories and books and poetry since I was really, really young and have never fully stopped. Writing is a really great way for me to work out my thoughts and feelings. I’ve kept a journal since I was in second grade and as a result, I have about 20-25 full journals. Including one I typed from 8th-10th grade. It’s about the length of War and Peace and literally no one will ever read it because I’d be mortified if they did (turns out 13 year olds are tres embarrassing), but hot dang if it doesn’t exist.

10) I love food, but don’t love to cook. I’m a fan of shortcuts in the kitchen and typically see meal prep as a necessary evil in the ‘keeping my children alive’ category.

11) I’m a boy mom and love it! I’ve experienced some gender disappointment in the past, but now I just experience all kinds of joy at being a mom to all boys. I feel like I won the lottery and genuinely enjoy my role as mother to all these tiny men.

12) I hope to sing in the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square someday.

13) I’m a brand-spanking new yogi! I’m really terrible at yoga because I am zero percent flexible, but I absolutely love it because it does wonders for my back which is a miracle because I have the back of an 80-year-old. I’ve been doing it for several months now and am just getting to the point where I can do a proper downward-facing dog. Which. Is an embarrassingly easy yoga pose.

14) I love nature. Camping, hiking, the beach, forests, walks in the park and by rivers, etc. It all brings me joy. I don’t even super mind the bugs out there because that’s where they belong. If they happen to wander into my house, though, our truce has officially been breached and I will slaughter them with no remorse.

15) Diet Dr. Pepper is my D.O.C. I could drink that stuff all day, err day. I try really hard to drink responsibly and not get to the point where I’m having it every single day, but it’s a struggle. That stuff is like crack to me. Mmm. Dr. Pepper.

by bean2bird

Creation Over Consumption

I HEART BOOKS

I have a couple of book recommendations for you people. Numero uno: the one inspiring this blog post; Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. And numero dos: the one responsible for this whole love affair I’m having with my creativity of late; Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis (shout out to the Bakersfield natives who are crushing it!).

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First of all, drop whatever else you are reading and secure a copy of Girl, Wash Your Face. Assuming you are, in fact, a girl. If you are not a girl, go ahead and skip that one and head on over to Big Magic where all your dreams of creating without fear will come true. Just trust me.

Both of these books are quick reads, not because they’re particularly short, but because you will devour them completely in less time than you may have thought possible. And your thoughts and feelings and motivations will be forever changed for the better.

Every once in a while in the course of my daily living, stars will align in this very particular way and suddenly, my life will find itself on the right path no thanks to me, simply because I got out of the way and let things magically and miraculously unfold around me. I happen to believe in a divine Creator who loves me infinitely and takes a devoted interest in my progress and therefore gently nudges me in the right direction, but if that’s not your jam, you can think more along the lines of Elizabeth Gilbert who would likely believe that these moments are an attempt for inspiration or creativity to partner with a human host in order to become.
Here’s what happened to me:
                                                                 August 22, 2018 I post this very screen shot to my instagram story to complain about the insane wait list for the book Everybody was raving about.

6 Weeks later; October 3, 2018

Miraculously, inexplicably and unexpectedly, the book becomes available to me and I check it out. But I don’t start reading it yet because reading? Who has time for reading?

 6.5 weeks later; October 6, 2018

My church holds a semi-annual General Conference every April and October. This session during women’s conference, the prophet, President Russel M. Neilson, issued a challenge to hold a ten-day social media fast. In addition to abstaining from Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest, I also decided to lay off of my daily brain shutdown / television binge sesh during the little’s nap. (You guys, I pretty much thought this ‘down time’ was necessary for me to feel connected with the outside world and remember that I am a human being and not just a 24/7 Bed & Breakfast -and lunch and dinner- host of four tiny men)  With that time now free, I finally cracked open this book that had been waiting three days for me to see what all the fuss was about and oh. my. word you guys. It has literally changed my life.

See now, I have no idea how it worked out that this book which has launched me into maybe the most meaningful period of self-discovery I have experienced in my adult life, just happened to be available to me a full four months before it was projected to be and also just happened to coincide with the timing of this prophetic council to abstain from social media for ten days, but what I do know is that it can’t be a coincidence. Because here I am, blogging, drawing, writing, practicing piano, creating, and making things happen that I’ve been dreaming about making happen for years now.

In this highly motivated state, I next stumbled upon Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic which has been an unparalleled tool in helping me to finally overcome all of the deeply rooted, driving fears about blogging (and creating in general, to be honest with you). So here I sit with a shiny new blog and several dozen new photo editing skills and lots of new interests to explore. See? Magic.

One big takeaway I’ve experienced during this period of enlightenment and personal growth is the idea that living my best life will always have to include creating more than I’m consuming. I think that that part of my life had shifted out of balance a little as I scroll, scroll, scrolled through social media and binge, binge, binged The Good Place and This Is Us and episode after episode of my favorite podcasts and flip, flip, flipped through pages in the four books I was reading at the time. All of this consumption was part of a well-meaning but misguided attempt to feel connected to a community outside the little people I’ve created.

Adding to this problem is the reality that nearly everything I create daily as a mother (an extensive list, let me assure you) is destroyed in 5.6 seconds on average. Clean clothing? Stained immediately. Straightened living room? Cluttered instantly. Nice meal? Strewn about the kitchen willy-nilly and also harshly critiqued by three of the most obtuse culinary critics alive. It is the mother’s eternal struggle against entropy. So it hit me: I need to create something that will last. I need to make something I can go back to over and over and stare at almost as lovingly as I do my newborn children. I need to finish something that stays finished. And, because I, like Joan Didion “don’t know what I think until I write about it”, an updated blog seemed to be in order.

Unlike the last time I resurrected my blog, I have no expectations of this space or of the work that I will do here. It is for me. It is an outlet. It is an attempt at acting a conduit for inspiration; an opportunity for creativity to use me as it’s human partner to bring it’s work to life. At the urging of Elizabeth Gilbert, I will create without fear of judgement, without fear of rejection, without fear of misinterpretation, misunderstanding, or criticism.

I will create without fear.