Happiness... Scandinavian Style

Yesterday, someone asked what I did over the weekend. I said, “We went to IKEA in Charlotte.” With a quizzical look, he asked, “What’s an IKEA?” Hmmm, I thought about it. How do I explain this?

IKEA is “Happiness…. Scandinavian Style.”

IKEA was founded in southern Sweden in the 1940s and now offers unique and innovative home furnishings to the global masses. The wares happily combine form with function, and high quality with low price, so IKEA treasures appeal to everyone from the Glamour Gal who wants to decorate in sleek European lines to the Bargain Betty who wants a table service for 12 to come with price tag for two. There’s something for everyone and I can pretty much guarantee that you’ll find something you didn’t even know you needed.

A trip to IKEA begins with a ride up the escalator to the Upper Floor where rooms are showcased for your enjoyment. Living rooms, bedrooms, kitchens, even bathrooms, are all staged with IKEA furniture and furnishings that are discretely tagged with item numbers. You jot down, on the blank side of the store map you got at the front door (they’ll also give you a pencil AND a tape measure), the item number of anything you fall head over heels in love with, anything you think you might fall in love with later, or anything you might just want to look at again. Don’t forget to open the kitchen cabinets and drawers; those are stocked with nifty gadgets and tools too! Apparently European kitchens are small or narrow so IKEA has an extensive array of items that use wall space instead of counter space. While it’s different than what we’re used to by American standards, the innovative and creative storage options are definitely worth considering in my own counter space-saving missions. IKEA rooms allow you to go from Modern and Industrial to Country and Classic, or to mix it up to go somewhere in between.

   

By the time you’ve perused the rooms, you’ll need a moment to regroup from all the things you’ve seen and all the creative ideas that are bouncing around in your head. Luckily for you, you find yourself at the IKEA Cafeteria and it’s time for lunch.

For the sake of the complete experience, I had Swedish meatballs with ligonberry sauce and Swedish apple cake. If you’re not familiar with ligonberry, it seems to be a magenta-shaded cross between a cranberry and a blueberry. I think ligonberry sauce might show up on my Thanksgiving table this year…

After lunch, refueled and recharged, and hopefully with a plan, you head back down the escalator to the Lower Floor where all of the furniture, house wares, dishes and utensils, bedding and towels, prints and frames, candles and vases, and on and on and on, are stacked in tidy bins and on shelves for you to shop. Our convoy included a cart, a hand truck, and three big yellow shopping bags.

I found these two prints at IKEA and words can’t express how much I love, love, love them. Since I really have nowhere to put them, I caught myself thinking, “I wonder if I could build a house around this print in the same way that I build an outfit around a pair of shoes.”

I bought a few fun and fantastic things and stayed well within the budget. I didn’t buy everything I wanted but I may have worked on my birthday list should anyone who loves me (hint, hint) need some ideas…

And, oh, I almost forgot one of the best parts of the trip! After you check out (but keep in mind, this is a minimalist, environmentally friendly store so don’t expect the cashiers to bubble wrap or tissue paper your items; if you want that, you have to DIY at the ‘wrapping station’), swing by the snack bar for cinnamon buns. And, a word to the wise- pack some plates & forks for your trip home because as much as you say you’re saving those cinnamon buns for Sunday breakfast, someone will want one before you get out of the parking lot.

IKEA is a full day’s trip but it’s absolutely worth every minute and we’re already planning our next adventure.

I hope your weekend held something as yummy as cinnamon buns or ligonberry sauce (but not together, ‘cause that’s just gross!), something as memorable as a road trip with friends, or something as exciting as a short trip to Europe (or a European-inspired store a little closer to home). I hope your weekend was… Something More.

The Last Chapter

For quite some time now, I’ve been “single and searching”, a spare looking for a pair, a Jenny waiting on her Forrest, a Cinderella seeking her Prince Charming. I tried everything I could think of… twice. Internet- check. Speed dating- check, check. Meeting friends of friends- check, check, and check. And nothing worked.

That ‘nothing’ was working so well that I contemplated writing a book about it. It would have to be filed under Fiction because no one would really believe that all the craziness I’ve seen could actually happen to one person. If not yet on paper, the book was written in my head… with just one teeny, tiny little problem. I had absolutely no idea how it was supposed to end. I didn’t have a knight on a white horse to sweep me off my feet. I didn’t have a Prince Charming asking me to try on glass slippers. (I did have a guy asking to borrow some articles of clothing but we won’t get into that today.) I didn’t have a Happily Ever After; I didn’t know if a Happily Ever After was even possible so I couldn’t very well write a love story without knowing who and what the last chapter would be.

And so the book remained just a figment of my imagination… until recently.

And then, out of nowhere, when I least expected, in the last place on Earth I thought I’d meet someone, on a day when I’d given way less than my best effort to look cute, I crossed paths with someone I hope will walk with me a while… a very, very long while.

And in the midst of this whirlwind romance, I’ve learned that sometimes even if “when you least expect it” isn’t a specific date marked on YOUR calendar, it has always been in bright red letters in permanent ink on God’s calendar, you just have to have some patience and a little faith.

Sometimes, the reason behind “everything happens for a reason” becomes clear when you start to piece together how many twists and turns life had to take for the two of you to end up in the same parking lot on the same day at the same time.

Sometimes, “when you stop looking” really comes down to a day when you have a million other things on your mind and you stop trying and you stop thinking about trying and you just show up in your least favorite pair of jeans to the thing you didn’t really have time to show up for in the first place.

Sometimes, “Mr. Right” does have a first name and he’ll introduce himself but you have to get off your cell phone to give him a chance to walk over.

And, in time, maybe on a day when you’re sharing ice cream on a park bench, you realize that all the times you were stood up, all the times a first date didn’t lead to a second date, all the times you cried because another effort failed, all the times you ignored a red warning flag, all the times you thought the world had ended, and all the times you thought you didn’t have another ounce of try left in you… all of those times are worth it to get you to the one moment when you know you’re in the right place, with the right person, and the only thing that matters is that all the time in the world will never be enough. Sometimes you write an entire book knowing that going through every chapter is the only way to get to the last chapter, the one chapter you could never grow tired of reading.

Before She was Mom

Not too long ago, I was flipping through some photos on facebook and noticed some pictures of my mom from back in the day. She was laughing with friends, kicking back with burgers and fries and red Solo cups (that I'm told was filled with Coca-Cola when it was still "The Real Thing") at the racetrack. In that moment, it occurred to me that my mom, like all other moms, used to be something other than a mom.

Before we came along, she could hop in the car and go anytime without worrying about whether she had diaper bags, toys, and snacks. She could eat ice cream and potato chips for dinner without worrying it would set a bad example. She could buy a new dress without worrying about paying for dance lessons. She could take a vacation and not have to hear bickering from the backseat about who was taking up too much room. She could sleep in, stay up late, and watch whatever she wanted on tv. 

But she chose to become a mom. And every day after that, she has chosen to put us first. She gave up steak dinners to have fish sticks and mac & cheese. She stayed up late sewing dance costumes and got up in the middle of the night when we were sick. She changed jobs to make sure our college educations were secure. She cheered at games, clapped at dance recitals, and tried her best to make me practice the piano. She bandaged scraped knees and mended our broken hearts. She laughed at our corny jokes and put our artwork on the refrigerator.

She taught us to think twice and speak once, to check our pockets before putting our dirty laundry in the basket, and to "try it, you might like it". She always made us wonder if the threat to "back the truck up to the playroom and throw everything out the window" was just an idle threat or an inevitable promise. She kept us on our toes but made sure we stayed grounded (in the "good sense" version of the term, not the "no tv for a month" version). She let us choose our own outfits but gently kept us from turning into episodes of What Not to Wear. She gave us a curfew we secretly appreciated and pried into our business just enough to be caring without being meddling. She had a solution for everything but when she didn't, she simply said, "I don't know but we'll figure it out together."

I may not need Mom anymore for putting a band-aid on my skinned knees but I do still need her to mend a broken heart from time to time. I no longer eat fish sticks but I know that if I need to talk, she'll have a home cooked meal and some words of wisdom. I can sew my own pant hems now but Mom is there to analyze any problem and help me piece together a plan of action.

There are lots of things that I guess technically I don't need Mom to do for me anymore but there are so many many more things that I'll never be able to do on my own. For those things, she's still there and I don't have any doubt that she always will be. For that, I'm grateful and so very very blessed. Mom gave up a lot to become a mom; she gave up a lot to raise us right and to send us out into the scary world she tried to protect us from. In all of her giving up over the years, she's never once, not even for a moment, given up on us. And for her unconditional, unfaltering, and unfailing love and sacrifice, we have no words to do it justice except Happy Mother's Day... today and every day. We love you, Mom.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Growing up, I was never really involved in team sports (unless you call dance a sport which is not a debate I’m trying to start here today) but I do love to watch them. Show me a field, court, rink, or cage and I’ll show you one happy girl. While football will probably always be my favorite, there’s just something special about a good, old fashioned baseball game. Maybe it’s the picturesque contrast of blue skies and green grass or the smell of red dirt and hot dogs; maybe it’s the sound a bat makes when it solidly connects with a line drive or the feel of camaraderie when a bunch of strangers temporarily unite as friends cheering on their team. I’m not sure what it is but I know that no other feeling matches the one I get when I hear the first bars of Put Me In Coach over the loudspeakers.

Last night, I went to watch a little league coach-pitch softball game. The seven and eight year old girls we cheered for were decked out in light blue uniforms with hot pink accents (including hot pink knee socks) and ribbons in their ponytails. They were the adorable little Fancy Nancies of the softball world.

What caught my attention was not really the ballgame itself but the tiny little outfielder from the other team. She stood about knee high to a grasshopper and was proudly hauling around a glove about three sizes too big. She would make the trek from the dugout to her spot in the outfield, the spot the coach told her to stand in. Her spot. The spot she would not deviate from. For anything. Her focus on the pitcher and the batter was like that of a laser beam until… a bug flew by.

She followed the bug; she picked a few outfield flowers. She threw some dirt into the air to see which way the winds were blowing. She waved to her mom who was trying to get her to pay attention to the game. She was perhaps the most precious thing I’ve ever seen in cleats. When a ball finally came out her way, she stopped it and launched it back toward the infield, a lofty throw that went maybe half the distance she intended. But, the effort prompted a little outfield happy dance. In her mind, she was better than Cal Ripken Jr., Brady Anderson, and Tom Glavine all rolled into one.

I have no idea what the final score was, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter. The girls are learning teamwork and sportsmanship and the fundamentals of the game. More importantly, they’re having fun. They’re enjoying the summer moments of childhood when their worries consist of “Where are my pink knee socks?” and “What flavor juice box did the snack mom bring?” They’ll have plenty of time to worry about the rest of life later.

I hope you’ll spend a few moments of your summer acting like a kid again. I hope you’ll go outside, breathe in some fresh air, dig in some red dirt, and roll around in the green grass under a blue sky. I hope you’ll take in a ball game and remember the carefree days of your childhood. I hope you’ll worry a little less, chase bugs a little more, and end all of your efforts with a little happy dance. Until we meet again, friends, I’m off to buy some peanuts and Cracker Jacks…

Weekend Recap

I hate to break it to you, blogbuddies, but I’m having one of THOSE days.  You know the kind. The days when your pants feel too tight, your bangs are in your eyes, your brain and your typing fingers are working at two different speeds, the printer is out of ink, and you desperately want to rename the copier Bob Marley (because it’s always jammin’). Yep, by all accounts, I’m having a Monday on a Tuesday.

But, lucky for me, I had a great weekend and I can happily dwell in the memories of it. And, lucky for you, I’m willing to share the tales with you!

Friday night, we piled into a very fun and very loud pick-up truck (and can you believe someone let me drive??) with some friends for a trip to the Mexican restaurant. I managed to prove, yet again, why you should think twice before handing me the keys to your wheels. Getting the beast into the skinny little parking space by the curb was not so challenging; getting it out was either a minor miracle or something that would have won me some big bucks on America’s Funniest Videos. But the truck’s owner (who is perhaps the nicest guy on the entire planet) was beyond encouraging and we all ended up back home safe and sound. Too early to call it a night, we picked teams and played a few thousand games of cornhole. If you’re not familiar with cornhole, it’s the grown-up version of beanbag toss. It’s not nearly as easy as it sounds but it is more fun than you can imagine. We played late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you choose to look at it. I haven’t laughed that hard (or felt that uncoordinated) since elementary school.

Saturday, I went with some girlfriends to a baby shower for one of the sweetest people I know. Congrats again, Leigh Ellen, Jon & big brother Jacob; I can’t wait for the arrival of Jackson in a few weeks! To balance out all that precious baby love, we headed out Saturday night for wings and MMA fights on the big screen. It was a historic night; Hall of Famer Randy “The Natural” Couture retired from the sport after a devastating loss to Lyoto Machida (and a chipped tooth) and Georges "Rush" St. Pierre maintained his title after five rounds of stand-up sparing with Jake Shields. At our table, we took turns choosing fighters to cheer for; sadly, I picked zero winners. None. Nada. Zilch. Not one. Not even by accident. Oh well, I suppose it's a good thing I’m not a betting kind of gal.

Sunday, the aforementioned “nicest guy on the entire planet” and I went to church and kept the nursery. I’d told him that dealing with 2 and 3 year olds was something like herding cats. He laughed like he didn’t believe me; I think he’s since changed his mind. But he was a good sport and for his efforts, I gave him some animal crackers. J

After church, since it was nice out, we went for a walk around the block and then ruined our exercise by hopping over to Sunny Skies for an ice cream. Don’t you just love a simply fantastic afternoon of nothing fancy? I know I do!

I hope that this weekend was a sign of things to come and that there will be a lot more Mondays (or Tuesdays that act like Monday) where I can happily say, “Let me tell you about my fantastic weekend!” I hope you spent your weekend soaking up some sun, sharing some laughs with friends, and sewing some memories into the fabric of your life. I hope your weekend was something simple, something special, and… Something More.

Choosing to Shine

I was going to post about my fantastic weekend but in light of the news on Osama bin Laden, I feel compelled to shift gears a bit. We’ll get back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

I’ve often been told that I live in a bubble, naïve and innocent and somewhat oblivious to how the world actually works. Today has been a prime example of that. I see news coverage of people partying, rioting almost, in zealous celebrations of the death of Osama bin Laden. Am I the only one who doesn’t know what to make of this news, or how to feel about it exactly?

I won’t lie to you, I was happy to hear that the world’s leading terror mastermind is no longer a threat to our freedoms and liberties but to celebrate a death, any death, in the streets around the world just makes me profoundly sad. I was comforted to hear someone say, “We’re not celebrating the death of a person, per say, we’re celebrating the hope of a kinder world.” That makes sense to me. Kinder world, I’m all for that.

The news is now reporting that there may be retaliations and repercussions for the US military actions. I’m not surprised to hear that; I’ve always been told that when one terrorist influence is abolished, there are ten more, or 100 more, ready to step in to replace it. That, in a nutshell, scares me; evil thinkers are the most creative people on the planet and the good people who aren’t wired to think in terms of evil have a hard time figuring out how to insulate or protect themselves from it. I, for one, enjoy living in the bubble where I believe people are inherently nice and good.

Instead of celebrating the death of Osama bin Laden, I’m choosing today to remember those lost on 9-11. Instead of being scared that evil will sneak back into our lives, I’m choosing today to admire the family members who bravely picked up the pieces and moved forward. Instead of worrying about our national security, I’m choosing to be grateful that there are first responders who are always willing to run in when everyone else is running out. Instead of wondering about the future of our freedoms, I’m choosing today to honor our military service personnel who stand on the thin line between good and evil, fighting abroad for people at home, sacrificing their comforts so that I don’t have to. I’m choosing to see all the good that remains in the world rather than to give one more moment of thought to the evil.

I hope today that you’ll remember the good that lights up your world. I hope that you’ll hug someone who has held a candle of hope in your personal life. I hope you’ll thank a soldier who has aimed a flashlight of freedom in the dark corners of the world where evil lurks. I hope that as much as you acknowledge the light carried by others, that you will also serve as a tiny twinkling light for someone else. I hope you’ll do something today to brighten the corner where you live and to make your tiny piece of the world a kinder place. I hope you'll make today something special, something positive, something memorable... Something More.

Once Upon a Time...

Somewhere inside every little girl lives the same dream. It begins with a white fluffy dress, sparkly tiara, and a bouquet tied with ribbon. It usually ends with a princess-for-a-day marrying her prince-for-a-lifetime and riding away on a horse drawn carriage to her Happily Ever After. It’s magical and mystical; it’s the stuff of daydreams for a little girl and checkbook nightmares for her parents.

Today, we came as close as we’ll probably ever get to witnessing a real life fairy tale, the royal wedding of Kate Middleton to Prince William. The bride, dressed in an elegant ivory and white gown with a two foot train and flowing veil, was simply beautiful. All smiles, she and her father arrived at Westminster Abbey in a Rolls Royce. Carrying a small bouquet of flowers, she gracefully took the three minute walk down a red carpeted aisle in front of a congregation of 1900 that included the Queen of England, the Sultan of Brunei, and Sir Elton John, not to mention a million people filling the streets of London, and countless onlookers watching around the world. The happy couple left the ceremony in a horse-drawn carriage and their first kiss, on the balcony of majestic Buckingham Palace, was followed by a fly-over of vintage planes from the Royal Air Force. If a wedding comes closer to achieving fairy tale status, please let me know how. No detail neglected and I’m sure no expense spared, this wedding was breath-taking, awe-inspiring, and simply amazing.

There were, however, some things I noticed about the wedding festivities that perplexed me a little.

1.       William. It occurred to me this morning that while I don’t know his last name, I do now know that he has three middle names. William Arthur Phillip Louie Something. That’s a lot of names for one man, and that doesn’t even get into his title. Which brings me to…

2.       The royal titles. William is a Prince and I see in the news that Kate is now Princess William of Wales BUT they’ll be known as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge instead. I don’t understand how those titles work. Which is better- a Princess or a Duchess? A Prince or a Duke? And, why hasn’t anyone just said that she’ll be Mrs. William Whoever? I mean, really, how many titles does one girl need? Did she get to pick or are they assigned? The only thing more abundant than the titles around here are my questions about the titles around here.

3.       The hats. Were hats pre-requisites to admittance into the ceremony? I’ve been to Westminster Abbey and I know I didn’t wear a hat but I think I only saw one uncovered noggin in the whole congregation today. Some of them were cute but the vast majority of them were too wide, too tall, or too gaudy. It was like an episode of a bad TV show- Bonnets Gone Wild.

With the exception of the hats, the wedding was a flawless piece of romantic perfection, a storybook fairy tale for a girl who was forever transformed into a Princess. I wish the happy couple all the best and I hope their marriage is as awe-inspiring and magical as the wedding.

I hope your day held the hope of a Happily Ever After, that a wish came true or a dream was realized. I hope you had a little romance, a little magic, and a little… Something More.