Guess who I get to see tomorrow...

I have not seen my sister Cara and her family, who are missionaries in Argentina, since my wedding day, which was over a year ago. As you can imagine I am aching to hug Cara (and my brother-in-law Chuck, too) and kiss and tickle my sweet niece Lila and my two crazy nephews Billy and Isaac.

And guess what? I can do all these things...tomorrow!

Isaac probably won't be hanging upside down, Lila probably doesn't wear onesies any more (the little lady will be two this August, after all), and I highly doubt Billy will be sporting his Toy Story pajamas and Crocs, yet even so, I plan to revel in as much childhood glee and mischief as possible. (I have to take full advantage of the small window of time in which I am still cool--grandparents may get I-am-forever-awesome cards, but Aunts and Uncles? Not so much).

I obviously won't be arriving at the airport empty handed, not because I believe in buying people's love or anything--cough, cough--but because I once had a very grown up Skype conversation with Billy in which he said to me, "Aunt Hannah, I am really beginning to like Power Rangers, so I hope you have saved some of your Power Ranger toys from when you were younger. Please don't give them away. I would like them very much."

I'm not certain how many Power Ranger toys survived my childhood enthusiasm, so I ordered two new action figures for both Billy and Isaac. (Isaac gravitates toward whatever Billy likes, and as a fellow younger sibling I remember those days quite well).

Yet the Era of Power Rangers has not yet come for Lila, who demonstrates a great deal of interest in purses and baby dolls. My mother has already met the purse and baby doll quota, however--what did I say about grandparents being forever awesome?--so I finally decided a magical fairy wand might be a nice addition to Lila's creative play habits.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'll just turn Billy, Isaac, and Lila upside down by their ankles and twirl them around--that's the true way to a child's heart. :)

After we all meet at the airport, everyone is coming over to our apartment, and since I know they are coming, I am going to bake a cake. Tomorrow! I'm so happy!

La la ukulele: Do you play an instrument?

A few months ago, I ordered a blue ukulele, an impulse purchase, if there ever was one. In my mind, as soon as the instrument arrived, I would be singing and playing Israel Kamakawiwo's Somewhere Over the Rainbow, but after I eagerly ripped open the package, I could barely tune the thing. Damian, however, strumming and humming, carried the ukulele everywhere. (I was jealous of his mad skills). One of our neighbors even stopped him to say, "Hey! Nice ukulele!" as if he was complimenting Damian on something as ordinary as a new haircut. Then we carried the little blue uke on a weekend trip to Arkansas, and if nothing else, it served as a conversation starter.

These days, I'm slowly learning a few chords and how to tune, but normally when I try to play a song, I soon become irritated and lay the ukulele down in exchange for the guitar, more familiar territory. (I've never been known for my patience, and I have a long history of dabbling, particularly when it comes to music).

Last night, Damian and I hosted a movie night and after the movie (probably due to the conspicuous presence of the blue ukulele on the bookshelf) the conversation steered toward musical instruments. We began to realize a lot of people we know are closet musicians, so finally, Damian asked each person, one by one, what instrument he or she played.

"Well, actually, I teach piano..."
"You teach piano?!"
"Oh, and I play the clarinet."
"The clarinet! You don't say!"

It was hilarious, because we all felt like we were confessing. So, here's my confession: I played the violin throughout junior high and high school. I also played the saxophone in the sixth grade--I had braces and giant glasses and was a classic band nerd. I wish I had a picture to share. :)

So, I ask you, Gentle Reader, to confess: do you play any musical instruments?

These days...

I have been baking...

...chocolate chip cookies...

...and birthday cakes...

...I have been reveling in the joys of spring, such as climbing rocks and...

...eating meals outdoors--cashew chicken, anyone? I have been loving...

...that (for the moment) fresh strawberries no longer break the bank...
...and I have been singing and dancing and laughing.

What have you been up to these days?

Happy Birthday, Momma!

My mom, a fantastic cook, a lover of books, always on the hunt for a good deal. I'm not sure how to write about my mom. I mean she is my mom, for goodness sake. That says it all. She was my whole world until I turned six, ran off to first grade, and finally realized there was life outside of my family and my imagined adventures. Yet even after I began elementary school, I continued to adore my mother. I thought she was beautiful and kind and every evening I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in her arms (though of course I was always made to go to bed).

I grew older and with age became more distant from my mother, as people do, but when thinking of what to write for her today, for her birthday, I realize I only know her as a mother. Though I now count her as a friend, when I (the youngest daughter) arrived, she was a mother three times over and I obviously have no idea what she was like before I greeted the earth.

I do know she talked to me when I was baby, even though I couldn't talk back. In fact, she always talks to babies, as if they can understand her, which is probably why my sisters and I--forgive me if I sound conceited--are such articulate people. We never knew a day of life when a person did not look us in the eyes and tell us stories or talk to us about what was happening all around us.

We have always been a part of the conversation.

My mother sees infants and toddlers and all young people differently than most. She teaches Pre-K at church and though many dismiss what she does as "babysitting," she would say they are wrong. She would say that such small children are capable of learning, of understanding, and that when she tells Bible stories, they listen. They are children, yes, but they are more than that. They are tiny humans, learning and developing with every moment.

My mother never let my sisters and me think that we weren't capable, that we couldn't learn and grow and achieve.

"College? Of course you will go to college. You are smart and and disciplined, why wouldn't you go to college?"

She has the ability to see potential in other people and somehow set it free. She helps three year old children learn to love God, to love others, and to be kind and generous. She shows them we are all part of a big, wide spectacular world.

She is a wonderful mother, a wonderful oma (grandmother), and I love her and simply want to tell her happy birthday. Happy birthday, Momma!

P.S. My mom's birthday last year.

Go on an adventure!

I think it's safe to say that I crave adventure because my parents gave me a pretty healthy dose of it when I was a kid.

Double! Fouetté! Double!

I am terrified of double pirouettes.

I can double pique turn but...double pirouette?

I am seriously terrified. That's why I halfheartedly wobble around as my teacher yells: "Hannah! It's a double! Hannah! Snap your head! Hannah! Spot! HANNAH!"

I worry that if I try, really try, to drill my leg into floor and whip my head around--snap! snap!--that I will fall flat on my face.

And I don't want to fall. I already fall way more than the average person. I currently have a bruise on my left knee, because I tripped over a rain gutter while carrying a big box of ribbons. Who does that?

Me. I do that.

And if double pirouettes terrify me, you can probably guess how I feel about fouettés, the whipping force during which ballet teachers yell, "Attack! Attack!"

Yet I find myself facing a moment of choreography in one of my recital dances that goes something like this: double! fouetté! double!

It's basically my worst nightmare.

And you know, I have always been under the impression that double pirouettes and fouettés take a lifetime to learn (or many years, at least).

My recital is in June.

Gulp.

In my mind I know I need to trust my teacher, get on my leg, and snap my head like a firecracker, but in a little corner tucked away deep inside of me, the corner where rationality completely fades, I feel small and sad and scared.

That being said, I'll probably spend the better part of today trying to coax my body into a double! fouetté! double!

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Thankfulness

Today, I am thankful for my ballet posture, not because it is perfect but because I have learned so much. I used to arch my back severely--I thought that was correct--but one of my ballet teachers has helped me to understand the art of elongating the spine. She tells me to imagine an arrow shooting through my torso (which sounds painful but the concept really helps!) and for the first time in all of my ballet lessons, I feel as if I am finally "pulling up," which is a basic, fundamental aspect of ballet technique. I am beginning to feel more like a dancer, and I cherish every moment, every step, and every correction.

Bloggers are people, too. I know. I met one.

I know plenty of people in real life who blog, but until this weekend, I had never met someone I knew from a blog in real life. Did you follow that? Anyway, on Saturday, I met the lovely Naomi who writes the gorgeous photography blog Of Anselm. We connected through 20sb and by some crazy chance, we both live in the Springfield area.
Naomi redesigned her blog not too long ago, and the new look was so pretty that I could only think one thing: I want this lady to redesign my blog. I was hesitant to ask, but when I emailed her for help with my social media icons, she offered to help with other design elements, as well. Next thing I knew, I was on my way to her house to eat sandwiches and watch her work a bit of magic in Photoshop, with a water color brush and the Bellatrix font. (She even used a cup stain, which she colored pink, to frame my profile picture. How clever is she!)
I was also privileged to hang out with this pretty girl, who spent a good portion of the day on my hip or in my lap--we are basically best friends forever now--and this handsome boy, who like any good two year old loves Thomas the Train and chocolate chip cookies, including my chocolate chip cookies, which of course made me really happy. (Naomi has another little one on the way, too!)

I really can't thank Naomi enough, for a sweet day with her family and for the new look of my blog, which leaves me feeling refreshed and inspired, every time I open the page.

P.S. If you don't read Naomi's blog Of Anselm, please, go and take a look! Her ethereal photography and eye for design will leave you aching for more every time.

I gave you a flower. Keep it forever!

One Wednesday night at church, a four year old boy found this fabric flower on the floor and gave it to me. It was such a sweet moment when he looked up at me and put the flower in my hands (even though the flower had probably just fallen out of the trash or something). I smiled and thanked him.

I was busy rewarding children with stickers for saying memory verses, so I laid the flower down for a moment, but when I turned around, there the boy was again, holding the flower and looking up at me with an exasperated expression that seemed to say, "Mrs. Hannah, I gave you a present, and the least you can do is hold on to it!"

I accepted the flower (with gratitude) for the second time but did not repeat my previous mistake of letting it go.

Moments such as these are why I have always loved being around little ones. Children can be so sweet--and it's completely genuine! I have often wondered why we can't all remain like that forever, and I think the world would be a better place if we presented each other with flowers and crayon drawings, multiple times daily. Don't you? But then I suppose childhood might not be so precious, if it lasted forever.

Momma said there'd be days like these

So, I didn't write a thankful post yesterday (even though it was Tuesday). Do you want to know why I didn't write a thankful post?

Of course you do.

Well, I was grumpy, and every time I tried to think of something to be thankful for within my own ballet dancing, I was at a loss. A complete loss! Other days, I come up with a list so long that I start to feel conceited, but yesterday, I just sat around feeling grouchy and ungrateful.

Nothing seemed okay yesterday. Even the innocent stack of mail on the counter annoyed me. How dare the mail be on the counter! How dare the dishes be in the sink! And how dare the sky be blue and the world turn round!

I sat on the couch and wallowed, as I thought about the nerve of the mail, the dishes, the sky, and the whole, wide universe.

And then I had to go to ballet class, which kind of felt like a chore, and even though afterward I did not regret going, during class, I was flat out angry at the concept of a tombe coupe jete. What a stupid step.

I don't feel the same today--the tombe coupe jete no longer offends me personally. Maybe there is something in the water. Do you ever have days like that?

(Photo of my nephew Billy, Ballet photo from the George Eastman House)

The most comfortable ballet tights ever

Putting on tights is probably my least favorite part of getting ready for ballet class--honestly, if it weren't for ballet, I would have kissed tights goodbye at the age of six--but I just pulled this pair of Body Wrappers tights out of my stockpile of ballet goods, and I am amazed by how comfortable they are. They feel more like cozy pajamas than like tights. Seriously! If you take a dance class, I highly recommend.

Lizzie's wedding venue

Lizzie's wedding venue is my parent's front yard, which is in the middle of the woods (in a cedar grove, to be exact). So, Lizzie's fiancé James works hard every week to clear the brush and help the grass grow. (I think she found a good one.) 
Now, Lizzie had her heart set on a barn wedding, but we couldn't find any suitable barns. The ones that weren't full of animals were dirty and dangerous, due to rotting rafters, and the ones renovated for events and available to rent were way out of budget. So, my dad built this...

He basically added on to his shed until it became a barn. Lizzie has some pretty incredible men her life, I'd say.

And last (but not least!) God's green earth built her the sanctuary and altar where she will say "I do!" and James will say, "I do, too!" (Or something like that.)
I think Lizzie's early autumn wedding is going to be so gorgeous. I can't wait to see it all come together!

Passover lamb

I didn't want to let Easter pass without somehow acknowledging the holiday on my blog.

I have been moaning about writer's block for weeks now, but there's comes a moment in every writer's life when he or she must stop complaining and realize that you either have something to say or you do not and your so called "writer's block" is probably due to insecurities or uncertainty about your own thoughts, not the absence of a voice.

Four (silly) confessions

First confession: my dishwasher isn't the best at actually washing things, so sometimes, I spray my dishes with Windex before turning the knob to "start." I am determined to believe this helps (even though it probably doesn't). I like to think of myself as a quirkier, messier Martha Stewart...

Okay. Fine. I am not like Martha Stewart. Not at all. In fact, I usually feel kind of like this dude  when I am cleaning (or doing anything remotely domestic): 
Second confession: I have entered 20 Shabby Apple giveaways within the last three days (which means I have WAY too much time on my hands). Hey, I may not be able to afford pretty dresses, but maybe I can win one or two. Don't judge me.

Thirdly, I crave chocolate...everyday. I don't always indulge (but I often do).

And lastly, I have impossible dreams, like performing the lead in Evita on Broadway.  I've memorized the entire musical, so I'm fair game for the part, right? (I can seriously sing the whole thing. And I do. All the time. Just ask Damian. Sometimes, he tells me to be quiet. How rude).

So, I'm devastated that today is the first performance of the Evita revival in New York City.

Oh! How I wish I could be there.

I just read this fascinating interview with Elena Rogers, cast as Evita. She is Argentine and says she landed the role partly because when she sings a song like "What's New Buenos Aires?", she knows what she is singing--she can see the city in her mind--and the audience can see that in her eyes.

Can someone PLEASE fly me to New York? Now? I want to see Buenos Aires in Elena Roger's eyes.

And now you know more about me than you ever wanted to know. Good night and thank you (whoever).

(First photo by Martin, Second photo from the National Archief, Third photo via Shabby Apple, Fourth by Lizzie, Fifth photo of Elena rogers in Evita)

Thankfulness

Today's thankful post is a simple one: I am thankful to be in a pointe class. It's easy to put on the shoes every Tuesday, go through the motions, and forget about when I was a wistful teenager standing at the homemade barre in my bedroom and desperately hoping I'd have the chance to be en pointe one day. I don't want to take it for granted anymore. Pointe is a special part of ballet that not everyone can experience, and I am thankful for the half hour per week when I receive instruction in this difficult (sometimes even painful) art form.