The STUFF Sisters

Almost Stupid

I almost walked right into a grand tour down memory lane. Almost.

While our 14 year old son is off traipsing around Paris, I decided to travel right into the grand abyss that is his closet. It was packed to the gills with old costumes, rolled posters, too-small shoes, last year’s jeans, and his “keepsafe” boxes. That’s where I was almost stupid. Almost.

When he was young and still learning the finer points of the English language, he heard me mentioning his keepsake boxes. To be precise, what he heard – but not what I said – was KEEPSAFE boxes. He will still ask me to put things away in his keepsafe boxes. I have never corrected him, and I doubt I ever will. It’s just too precious to me, and there needs to be some thread to him that ties me to his babyhood.

Back to the closet. Right on top, in the uppermost keepsafe box, was the Little Lord Fauntleroy outfit I bought him in 1997 for my stepsister’s wedding. I went a little crazy in the weeks before the wedding and purchased this amazing ensemble at Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s a pima cotton placketed blouse and a navy blue velvet jumper with button closures. No tacky snaps here!! I finished it all off with white socks and leather Buster Brown ankle shoes. He was 8 months old, and that night his feet never touched the ground. He was held by many and pandered to all night. He was as happy all evening as he is in this picture.

In the box, right under this fashion statement, is the outfit we took him home from the hospital in. I can’t say what else is in that box – or the boxes it was resting on – because I stopped right there. I felt the big cry coming on, and I waltzed right around it. I went back to sorting and dusting and cleaning and ignored the memories waiting in those boxes.

I guess that, because I only have one child, I will not need to remind myself to not go cleaning out the closets of an almost high schooler while they are away. It is a treacherous and slippery slope if you are not properly prepared.

I should, however, remind myself that drying my eyes with the cotton rag in my hands that is coated in lemon Pledge and dust bunnies is almost stupid. Almost.

Button Pusher

We all know how to push the buttons of the ones we love. We push them to elicit a response, to incite a riot, to ignite a discussion. You pick it. We’ve all done it.

I spent this past weekend in Denver visiting my husband’s family and catching STUFF’s new buttons in action in the Mile High City. I never pushed these little cuties on anyone, but they were a point of conversation with several strangers.

Here’s what Denver looks like when you’re 1-inch tall.

Just last week, Casey and I started placing jars of these little hotties all around Kansas City in our favorite locally owned eateries. They have been wildly popular, and as I was leaving one restaurant tonight – after refilling the jar – I was stopped and asked for 6 buttons. The woman wanted me to know exactly who would be wearing them – her sister, her mother, etc. We talked about them briefly, and she went on with her evening.

I guess that makes me a button pusher. We really are wanting to start a riot, elicit responses, and ignite discussions. To pursue good stuff is to look for what’s good in life – emotions, foods, places, things, people, charities, events, you name it – and flourish there.

Sloane

p.s. I need to thank my trusty assistants – my husband and my son – for their help with the camera when I wasn’t wearing my readers. For clarification purposes only, I’m a Tanqueray girl and the Smirnoff bottle was found by my nieces in the courtyard of our B&B. All contents of the mini bottle had been previously consumed.

Happy

I am on vacation. It is day two on the beach. And my incredible little girl presented me with the gift of a lifetime. I was hanging out in the waves and she was running, playing and creating in the sand. I often find her lost in her imagination, talking with herself, and building elaborate stories. So, today I assumed she was scripting a play all her own. An hour later, she came to the water’s edge and said, “Mom, come see what I made.”

This is what she presented to me.

There is no greater gift than knowing your child is happy.

The Bean with her sand art — The Bean with her art.

Sloane is Mourning

Please be kind to my sister this week. She is in mourning. I opened an email earlier this week that read…

I have spent 25 minutes on the intenet and, I’m very sad to announce, that the bic accountant fine pen is no longer made and is currently being bid off the charts on ebay. $35 a box!! (I used to pay office depot $11)

I’m very sad because they were awesome for pricing labels, credit card receipts and check signing because they never left ink blobs.

I’m very sad and I guess need to find us the next best alternative.

But not now. Now I’m just in mourning.

– sloane

Please give Sloane her space and time to grieve for her loss. It is hard for me to see my sister’s sadness. I think we will need lots of long lunches to deal with this pain.

Another Milestone

I don’t remember graduating from the 8th grade. I attended what used to be called junior high school. It was a 2 year program steeped in hormone control. The curriculum included the usual: math, English, science, home economics, gym, foreign language, etc. It also had its fair share of angst, peer pressure and love triangles. All of this was finished off with mood swings and tears – joy and sadness were indiscernable.

Now, all these years later, the center of my universe is graduating from the 8th grade. His 11 years at the same school ended with 3 years in middle school. He has had a fabulous time figuring his young self out in an atmosphere of care and concern. He’s been challenged educationally and emotionally. He has witnessed the best in his friends and the worst in himself. The reverse is true as well.

And I’m the one that can’t stop crying. Every day this week has had at least one event in it that is a “last” for either my son, me or our family. He’s not just leaving his friends, I’m leaving my friends. These are men and women – all parents! – that were standing there with me 11 years ago when we sent our 3-year-olds into what seemed like a huge adventure.

I’m crying for what seems like no apparrent reason. I’m clinging to girlfriends in parking lots. I’m re-visiting the past and watching time fly. I’m holding on to moments, hoping they never end.

Sounds like junior high all over again. This time, however, I have a steady boyfriend to hold hands with who says he’ll love me forever.

Sloane

Waiting

From the beginning of my Dad’s cancer diagnosis, I was waiting on that little ray of sunshine to bless us all. I didn’t care what form it took – better than average test results, a glimmer in a doctor’s eye, or just general good news. I wasn’t going to be picky. I was going to be patient.

Then the call came from Casey, who traveled with him for his first treatment at MD Anderson in Houston. All had gone as planned. The good news: his doctor was putting him in the 90th percentile for complete remission.

ceylon et cie sculpture — I found this in Architectural Digest last month. It's stunning. It is brass and turquoise and stands on a clear lucite cube.

There will be very few rays of sunshine as he moves through six months of chemotherapy. Rest assured, I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for every single one.

Sloane

Mothering

Could someone please explain to me why Mother’s Day is in May? You know, that delightful month when every mother wants to rip her ever-loving hair out of her head and who mumbles as she falls into bed each night, “How many days until summer break?”

Yes, Mother’s Day is this weekend. It makes me think about what it is to be a mom. I love being a mom. I believe it is the best of who I am and my most noble job. I have always been a late bloomer, and I know now that I missed my calling to be a mother of six kids with a big house, too many pets, and a fantastic husband.

Instead, I am a mother of one little girl, one dog, and one store that I co-parent with my sister. And my life works…most days.

I am in the middle of a tough cycle. I have been doing the mama-shuffle hard and fast for a handful of weeks. And it is starting to grind on me.

After surviving weeks of work, parenting, some family needs, and personal strain, I marched into Art Fair weekend in Brookside this past Friday with a smile on my face – and bags under my eyes.

For weeks, I have turned myself and my daughter in every possible direction to try and keep moving forward. We have been bunking together most nights because, truthfully, I wanted to streamline the “exit plan” each morning. At 7:15 am when the alarm buzzes each morning, we hit the snooze button more and more until finally on Saturday we dragged our butts out of bed at 8:40 am – just in time for a 9:00 am “knock on the door” from MY mom to take my daughter to AIDS Walk to meet up with my sister and her family.

I was off to work. Sloane and I are deeply committed to both AIDS Walk and our store, and it was Art Fair weekend in Brookside, darn it. We had to divide and conquer and be both places at once.

So, while Sloane and Mom had my offspring and I was at work, it managed to get super-duper fab-u-lous-ly busy. By the time my daughter came to me after the Walk, I was turning in circles while we shuffled her suitcases and clothes to get her ready for her next big adventure – an overnight! On Sunday, she was joyful at the Paul Mesner Puppets with my mother’s girlfriend – season tickets must be used! – and played with them until I could get off work finally at 6:30 pm.

We two immediately hit Bo Ling’s to celebrate surviving the weekend and to spend some quality time together without me having to cook or clean. (I love their quiet booths at times like this.) We did it! We survived the past few weeks and the endless weekend…and it wasn’t too bad. Actually, it was pretty normal for most working families with kids.

But wait…now it is the beginning of the week again, and we are off like a shot from a cannon. Because this week we must manage school, work, soccer, voice lessons, birthday cocktails, gymnastics, Pilates, a luncheon, two meetings, a consulting gig and – stop, wait, what did I forget? Oh yeah, FEED THE DOG. And don’t forget teacher appreciation day and the butterfly garden planting at school and the two large brown bags for artwork to come home (because our counter tops aren’t stacked high enough with kindergarten art), and we must find time to read, brush our teeth, wash our bodies and…giggle.

We also have to rally as a family for me to go to Texas with my dad and stepmom to meet with a doctor at MD Anderson because last month my dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

So, my little girl is off to my sister’s house mid-week to bunk with her cousin (one of her favorite people on the planet) while her mother is gone.

Sloane and I both know we are not not much different from every other mother we know. We are all crazy-busy, we are all juggling too many balls in the air, we are all confused, tired, stressed, and a bit slap happy. And we sometimes find some balance in sharing our collective craziness. The week I laid out for you is so similar to countless mothers’ weeks that, frankly, I know I am not special or unique.

When you become a mother, you know you will have to learn how to be a good parent; you will have to study this new role in life and evolve to meet the challenges. What you don’t realize is that being a mother will teach you to be a better daughter, sister, friend, aunt, business owner, community leader, volunteer…and woman. And that you will not trade it in for anything in the world.

I will be coming home late Friday night just in time for off-the-wall Saturday – 2 birthday parties, gymnastics, Pilates class, soccer game – and Mother’s Day on Sunday.

I am grateful to my daughter for so many things. We will make plans for this Sunday. First we will sleep late in my bed with that grand dog of ours, and we won’t have to hit the snooze button even once. We will probably grab a bite at Bo Ling’s again and drop in to a couple of small stores to shop. Interestingly, STUFF will be one of them, because my daughter is the only person I know that loves our store more than me and her LaLa (Sloane). And we will take the dog on a walk and take a nap, if I have my way.

Casey

Circus Act

My sister Casey and I have never studied with Ringling Brothers. I’m sure it would be time well spent at their school in Sarasota, Florida.

We have, however, spent countless hours perfecting our own style of retail circus performance. Standing on a ladder that’s a bit too short for the task with one leg resting on the ladder and the other on a 7 foot tall cabinet for support while you heft a 4′ x 6′ canvas off the wall with both hands. Or, climbing under a table that’s a bit too heavy to carry fully loaded the 4 inches you need it to move and arching your back to make contact with the underside so as to lift the entire table into its designated spot.

Both of these moves, and many others too risky to mention here in case our insurance agents are reading, always have a spotter. You know. A trained professional to help problem solve and call 911. STUFF has two of those on staff. Me and Casey.

This, however, is my favorite of Casey’s recent fantastic feats. She’s so far off the ground and she is relying on the ball to keep her safe. She makes it look effortless and simple.

I won’t try this one myself. I’m too scared. Besides, if she keeps doing this all day every day and I’m her spotter, when will I have time to learn?

Sloane

Split Personality

I was told that living with a teenager is like living with multiple people in one body. Mothers of girls say it’s worse than with boys.

I can only speak of the young man I’m living with right now. Well, I can only speak of all three of him.

Sloane

Today I went for a long walk. My “baby girl” stayed behind with her Grammie and I enjoyed a very long walk. As I walked my mind roamed. And it landed in Japan. A great sadness came over me. I started to feel guilty. I felt like I should go home. How could I be so brash to enjoy a beach vacation with the devastation in Japan?

My body grew heavier with each step. My legs started to fail me.

I then thought of the book Eat, Pray, Love. There is a part of the book that chronicles her experience with meditation. I often think of meditation in a romantic way. I keep thinking I could one day learn to meditate. I am not there yet.

But today I tried. I tried to not think. I walked. I walked. I walked.

And this is what my walking meditation brought to me. Mother Earth is not a God. She does not reward or punish her children. She does not pick one country over another. She is just living and trying to thrive. She is random, beautiful, powerful, devastating and glorious.

I realize that trying to suffer for the people of Japan will not ease their suffering. That my daughter’s screams of delight in the waves is okay. It does not mean I am entitled, that somehow being in America makes me special and that I have somehow earned this pleasure.

It just means my joy was here – now – and I need to soak it in completely. I ran back to my family. I laughed, I played, I read, I napped, and I thanked Mother Earth for this peaceful day on the shore.

And I keep silently chanting – “you are here, you are here, you are here”.

Casey