DesignForMiniKind

Sundae Best

oh joy for land of nod

I haven’t shared product round-ups or design finds in what feels like years, but I had to take pause and celebrate my dear e-friend Joy‘s newest collection for Land of Nod. Inspired by her daughter Ruby’s own transition to a big girl room, it’s filled – quite literally – with sugar and spice and everything nice. Last night, I opened the most beautiful package with #4, the ice cream pillow, nestled inside, and I couldn’t help but pull together a few more sundae-inspired finds for the young and young at heart alike. (Isn’t that jump rope darling?):

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The Rules

bee

One of the most insightful pieces of early parenting advice I’ve received is the realization that we often rely on lots of built-in rules, the tricks we keep in our back pockets to use day after day after day…until we don’t. Routine and normalcy have a shelf life of what, two weeks? We push the crying baby in a stroller around the kitchen island and take turns shoveling food into our mouths at dinnertime… until we don’t. We hold her head up as we bathe her gently in the sink… until we don’t. We swear by the sound machine and the pack-and-play and the swaddling blankets and the mobile and the stuffed animals and the lullabies and the endless bedtime routine… until we don’t.

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Chasing Cars

bee-at-post-office

Last week, we had one of those magical days together – all three of us. “All three of us” generally doesn’t happen often, because Ken and I are still in the parenting phase where our ships pass each other through the night – both of us worn from the rocky waters of toddler (ir)rationalizations. Our current solution is to switch off, passing the Bee baton back and forth so we can both gain a clear head and recharge with some semi-productivity. Me with yoga, Ken with basement renovating and sometimes brownie baking because he is the truest of Renaissance men.

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Dear Bee // 47

bee

Dear Bee,

We survived Molar Week, but not without a few bumps and tantrums and sky-rocketing blood pressures along the way, but hey, that’s survival. It’s bloody and scarring, but then you have a really good story to tell your grandchildren over a tall glass of lemonade. “My aching knee,” I’ll say. “And good Lord, those molars in the spring of 2014.”

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Dear Molar

bee-in-bath

Dear Molar,

Listen, I try really hard not to be a helicopter mom. I don’t like to hover over my daughter and I like to give her the space she needs to grow and dream and eventually move out of my house and provide me with many grandchildren that I can cuddle and give back to her when they’re loud. It’s important to me to let her make her own decisions and mistakes and adventures.

But sometimes, a mom’s gotta intervene. It’s not hovering. It’s called advocacy.

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Raspberries and Renaissance

raspberry plum
Ken and I had one of those quiet, non-interrupted dinners last week where the conversation kind of swims around from pizza to work to friends to – hey, what are we doing with our lives? It’s a rare occasion these days, because sometimes big ideas come up and my body is just kind of too tired to think them through, so I like to redirect the tide a bit. I’ll say “Man, these tomatoes are insane good,” and “Hey, thanks for taking the trash out last night!” so the weight of the unanswered questions doesn’t swallow the night into a double digit bedtime. Which, is lame, because the byproduct of a good conversation is an energized soul, and sometimes the only way to energize your soul is to deplete your body’s thirst for sleep.

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Henry and Angus

kid photo shoot

Often times when I mention what I do for a living (or try to, at least, because gracious, I feel like my job is nearly twice as convoluted as an Ikea assembly), the conversation circles back to online safety. Is it safe for my family, telling personal stories online and sharing our hearts with complete strangers? Is it smart, raising a daughter who is somewhat in the limelight?

And initially, I second guess my decision to share here. I re-draw my line in the sand and start censoring my words and photos and ideas until I feel safe and bubble-wrapped. But then I hear a story like this one, an unlikely tale of two boys bonding over the Internet, providing strength and hope to one another as they navigate the rocky waters of childhood Type-1 diabetes.

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Dear Bee // 46

kid-in-sauna

Dear Bee,

When I lived in Los Angeles, I would ride my bike to a local coffee shop to work on writing projects. This was in the early days of blogging and I was convinced I’d pen an ever-so-slightly-embellished memoir about spending my college years in the thick of a formidable religious organization that was perhaps really a glorified cult? I didn’t write the book (thank the Lord), but I did pedal to that tiny coffee shop daily, convinced this would be the day a caffeinated bean would settle into my soul and sprout a brilliant, best-selling work of literature.

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Diaper Bags

diaper-bags

I received a request to share my favorite diaper bags, so poof: here they are. I’ll first note that – being a total baby novice – I had no idea that diaper bags were essentially just glorified totes. Sure, they come with bottle insulators or changing pads or special zipped pouches, but necessities they are not. So listen: if you’re a new mama and are stressing over finding the perfect diaper bag, don’t fret. You’ve got bigger fish to fry, like breathing in and breathing out during those crazy newborn baby scream fests.

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On Dads and Daughters

Processed with VSCOcam with g3 preset

Ken and Bee. My gracious, these two are total podmates. There’s so much I could say – so much I want to preserve about their relationship in these early, simple (but not easy) days. Our family is hovering in that space where toddler will and novice parenting collide, where we’re newly navigating the delicate balance of discipline and grace, structure and agility. And Ken is our fearless captain.

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