Everything Else

Like a Sandpiper Needs Tasty Ocean Treats, I Need My Girls.

April 24, 2012 By angie 2 Comments

I have a soft spot in my heart for sandpipers. I watched this little guy (or little girl? How does one tell? I spent the better part of a semester in college determining the sex of roly-poly bugs – a story for another time – but the sex of the sandpiper eludes me.) do his thing on the beach for quite a while. I love how they run along the shore, avoiding the waves. I like to make sound effects when I watch them. It’s weird, I know. I’m an odd bird myself, I guess.

It wasn’t until I heaved myself off my beach chair to take some photos that I realized this particular sandpiper was missing a foot. Watching him more closely, I could tell that he wasn’t the speediest sandpiper I’ve ever seen. He had a little gimp. I liked him even more. I have a little gimp, too, and I’m not the speediest bird either.

The chance to observe sandpipers in the surf came courtesy of my annual Girls’ Trip. This is the sixth year I’ve met up with my original playgroup friends. We used to all live within walking distance of each other, now we are scattered across different states. Our kids, which brought us together when we were all still changing diapers, don’t really know each other anymore. It’s okay, though. They have their own friends to make now. We, however, are forever friends.

Mike’s commented many times that I have a lot of friends. And it’s true – between high school and college, stints in Nashville and Indy, through the blog and school and moms’ groups – I know a lot of people and make friends pretty easily. I’m easy-going and amicable. I’m always up for getting out and meeting somebody. If I want to do something, there’s almost always someone I can call.

But these girls, along with a few other close friends, they are my rock. Like the sandpiper, they see my gimp and the broken parts and they love me all the more. I need them like the sandpiper needs the water and the tasty little ocean treats. We only see each other once a year. We’re not big e-mailers or letter-writers or phone-callers. But that year goes by and we find each other again and it’s like 3 days, not 365, have passed.

Some years, the 365 days in between have been pretty crappy. Jobs are lost, finances are tight, spouses are bickering, kids are fraying every last nerve, parents are ill. And then it’s three days in April. We’re together once more. The sun and the warmth of our friendship gets into to all those dark places and we’re good again.

Thanks girls, for being the best friends this odd-bird-gimpy-girl could have. Until next year …

Filed Under: Everything Else, Travel

We Had a (Blog) Baby!

March 26, 2012 By angie Leave a Comment

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The Risky Family

We don’t look so dangerous, do we? Nah, to most everyone we look like your average family. But somewhere between Elena’s first tentative steps and now, we realized that our philosophy on kids and play was not quite the same as most parents.

When other parents were hovering we were stepping back. We heard “Get down!” and encouraged our kids to climb higher. Even though we live in suburbia, we wanted our kids to experience some of the wilder, less-restricted days of our youth. Eventually we realized that most of the things we let our kids do – exploring creeks, climbing trees, skateboarding, riding bikes alone, even monkey bars – were considered “too dangerous” for kids’ safety. We didn’t want that to be the prevailing attitude for this next generation of kids, and so Mike and I decided to venture into blogging together. We’d like to introduce you to The Risky Kids!

The Risky Kids is our place to share a different way to play and parent: one that worries less, encourages freedom and fun, and yes, might include a few bumps and bruises. While we won’t be throwing any machetes or bungee-jumping (well, at least not until the kids are a little older – after that I can’t make any promises), we will push the boundaries of what society today considers “safe” play. Through reflecting over issues on play today, sharing our favorite books, toys and activities, and making our way through Gever Tulley’s book 50 Dangerous Things (You Should Let Your Children Do), we hope to make risky play everyone’s business.

It will be our space to share our love for walking on the wild side of the playground, along with our journey as we go through the tasks in 50 Dangerous Things. We hope you’ll join us. You can subscribe to The Risky Kids via RSS or email. You can also follow us on Twitter, @TheRiskyKids.

Two blogs might seem crazy, but I see The Risky Kids as a space to voice our passion about a different way to play and parent, while allowing Just Like The Number to thrive within the more personal roots it began with.

So, kick back, relax and get to know our new blog!

Filed Under: Everything Else, Kids, The Family Six

A Time For Regifting

February 29, 2012 By angie

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I am a writer.

This is what I wrote in my notebook during Jeff Goins‘ workshop, “How to Fall Back in Love with Your Writing” during Blissdom. I even underlined it twice, as if I might not remember the significance once I got home.

I want to believe it, I really do, but with the exception of my soul, all the other parts of me dispute it. Whether out loud or with my actions I tell myself I am most certainly not a writer.

I am not a writer when:

I choose diversions and clutter like Twitter and crap television over writing.
I just-ify myself. People ask me what I do and I answer with “I’m just a stay-at-home-mom” or “I just blog, it’s nothing special” or “I just work a few hours a week in retail.”
I have amazing, creative thoughts and I choose not to pause and write them down.
I feel the truth in me and I squash it back into its darkest crevice, to write what sounds better instead.

I know this stuff is in me – the writer, and I know it needs to come out, but it scares the hell out of me. It doesn’t strike fear in my heart because I think if I wrote it you wouldn’t like me anymore. It’s actually the opposite. Nobody likes inauthenticity. No one is moved to action or tears by fluff. Most bloggers look back at their early writings and photography and want to cringe. They feel like they’ve come so far in their craft. I look back and I cringe at what I’ve become. Too stuck to let the words flow. Too passive to pick up the camera. Too scared to confess that amidst my blessings I struggle to feel good (how dare you!), too sensitive to share that amidst my struggles I have moments of pure joy (how dare you!). I’m frightened because to go back to that other place is to admit that I’ve been doing it wrong. It’s to stand up in front of God and everyone (well, a few of you loyal readers, anyway) and be held accountable to truth-telling again.

And so I write about chore charts or makeup, or even worse, I don’t write at all. I’m not saying that writing about those things isn’t worthy. I read other writers who do it, and do it very well, but that is not my gift, that is not my passion. My gift has been to write about life, as a mother, wife, daughter, friend, with honesty and emotion. My gift has been to take photos that aren’t perfect, but that manage to capture my family and my world as it is. And because somewhere along the way I convinced myself that I wasn’t a writer or a photographer, I wrapped that gift back up and shoved it in a closet.

I think it’s about time to regift that puppy to myself. And hopefully, back to you. I’m awfully scared, though. I might need you to hold my hand.