Before you watch the video -- my small part of 2nd Cup of Coffee's "I See What You're Saying" carnival -- let me get a few things out of the way.
1. This project seriously revived the TV news gene that has lain dormant since I started having babies. I had forgotten how much I enjoy working with video. Unfortunately for you, it might mean there are more video blogs ahead on Love Well.
2. I'm telling you right now -- my video is a little more than 3 minutes long. Which is an ETERNITY in the world of video. If one of my reporters had handed me a story that was 3:00 back when I was a producer, I would have laughed in their face. I routinely gave my reporters between 2 minutes and 2:30 to tell a story. Only the best or most dramatic stories were granted more time than that. And I don't think this clip falls under either of those designations. So I feel quite self-indulgent in making it this long. Forgive me.
3. Natalie was my willing accomplice for this shoot. She even shot the video of me on the chair lift. (The idea to pan the landscape at the end of that clip was her idea, by the way. She's a prodigy.)
4. I promise I have a son. Connor just didn't make it into any shots for this project.
5. You might notice that I talk out of the side of my mouth. (It's a trait I share with Drew Barrymore.) Corey teases me about it, but since I've been watching myself on video for years now, I'm not really phased. Still, I feel the need to warn you, in case you're wondering if I had a canker sore or something when I shot the video. I don't. It's just me.
6. I need a haircut. Again. I tend to wear my hair back in a bun on days when it's windy. Or days when I'm going to be dealing a lot with the baby. Or days that end with "y." So I don't think I realized how long it is until I watched the clip at the end of this video. Plus, my bangs are constantly in my eyes. How annoying. So I apologize in advance for the mane that is my hair.
Without further ado....
Up North from Kelly @ Love Well on Vimeo.
The Hike
(I apologize in advance for the length of this post. But this story begged for pictures! Begged, I tell you. With sobs and everything. I couldn't ignore it.)
Friday morning, after a hearty breakfast which may have included scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, French press coffee and blueberry, cranberry, wild rice pancakes, we packed up and left the hotel with The View and headed for one of our favorite Minnesota state parks.
Gooseberry Falls State Park is known for its spectacular waterfalls. And for good reason.
I just realized you can see the rainbow created from all the spray in the picture below.
Adding to the allure -- rock croppings in the middle of the falls are very accessible. Especially if you're a seven-year-old daredevil.
Or a four-year-old rock climber.
You can even get near the edge of one of the falls and peer down into the depths.
It's also our favorite place to hike with small children, thanks to a fairly easy stretch of trail that winds out to Lake Superior.
Our first stop was at this bridge, where the kids played Pooh Sticks.
The first round was a wash, since they dropped their twigs off the downstream side of the bridge. They were hunting for another set of sticks when Corey started shouting, "Kelly! Kelly! Come here! Quick!"
Being an obedient, submissive wife, Iambled over rushed to his side.
And this is what I saw.
Can't see it? How about if i zoom in?
See it now? No? Want a close-up shot?
Wait! Come back! It's just a picture of eight garter snakes tangled together next to their den. Which was right under the bridge on which we were standing.
I know. It gave me the willies too. Corey, on the other hand, was so excited he could barely stand still. (He's pretty much an Asian Jeff Corwin.) Which is why I now have 20 pictures of garter snakes on my computer.
Later, we found out that naturalists who've worked at Gooseberry Falls for more than a decade have never seen that many snakes together at the park. It's uncommon.
And, I might add, freaky.
Once Corey was able to regain his composure, we scooted on by the snakes and continued our hike.
The fall leaves soothed my heebie-jeebied spirit.
Ahhhh. That feels better now, doesn't it?
I love the birch trees Up North.
Eventually, we made it to our destination -- the place where Gooseberry River flows into Lake Superior.
For the record, the kids alternated between having fun and being complete whiners.
Except for Teyla. She loved being in the backpack. She shrieked and raised her arms and banged on Corey's back and grabbed at leaves. "New input!"
On the return trip, Connor and I spent part of the time jogging ahead of Corey and the girls. Connor's favorite thing to do lately, besides play Legos, is find sticks that look like guns and fight the "bad guys." So he and I were both equipped with driftwood weaponry and jogging down the path, shooting imaginary villains, when suddenly I yelled, "Connor! Stop!"
To his credit, he did, immediately. Which is a good thing, because he was about two feet from plowing into a beaver.
Poor fat thing, he was just as startled as we were. He was sitting right next to his slide, which a park ranger had pointed out to us on the first leg of our trip. It was empty at the time, but the ranger somewhat guiltily admitted that he had almost stepped on the beaver earlier that day, since Mr. Beaver was busy tearing up aspen at the top of the hill, dragging it down his slide and then transporting it to his house across the river.
And that's just what he was doing when we (almost) ran into him. We backed up a few feet, to give him some space, and then watched as he slowly continued on down the slide, stopping a few feet from the path to grab a small aspen tree and drag it with him.
We watched as he made it all the way to the river and then upstream to his house. (If you squint, you can see his house across the river. It's just to the right of the birth trees on the left, a gray mass spilling out into the river.)
It was pretty exciting.
(Now I'm starting to sound like Jeff Corwin.)
The rest of our hike was uneventful, if you consider amazing fall color uneventful.
The amazing thing is: That wasn't the most exciting hike of our weekend.
Well, OK. Maybe it was.
But it wasn't the most scenic.
More to come (INCLUDING A VIDEO) tomorrow.
Friday morning, after a hearty breakfast which may have included scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, French press coffee and blueberry, cranberry, wild rice pancakes, we packed up and left the hotel with The View and headed for one of our favorite Minnesota state parks.
Gooseberry Falls State Park is known for its spectacular waterfalls. And for good reason.
I just realized you can see the rainbow created from all the spray in the picture below.
Adding to the allure -- rock croppings in the middle of the falls are very accessible. Especially if you're a seven-year-old daredevil.
Or a four-year-old rock climber.
You can even get near the edge of one of the falls and peer down into the depths.
It's also our favorite place to hike with small children, thanks to a fairly easy stretch of trail that winds out to Lake Superior.
Our first stop was at this bridge, where the kids played Pooh Sticks.
The first round was a wash, since they dropped their twigs off the downstream side of the bridge. They were hunting for another set of sticks when Corey started shouting, "Kelly! Kelly! Come here! Quick!"
Being an obedient, submissive wife, I
And this is what I saw.
Can't see it? How about if i zoom in?
See it now? No? Want a close-up shot?
Wait! Come back! It's just a picture of eight garter snakes tangled together next to their den. Which was right under the bridge on which we were standing.
I know. It gave me the willies too. Corey, on the other hand, was so excited he could barely stand still. (He's pretty much an Asian Jeff Corwin.) Which is why I now have 20 pictures of garter snakes on my computer.
Later, we found out that naturalists who've worked at Gooseberry Falls for more than a decade have never seen that many snakes together at the park. It's uncommon.
And, I might add, freaky.
Once Corey was able to regain his composure, we scooted on by the snakes and continued our hike.
The fall leaves soothed my heebie-jeebied spirit.
Ahhhh. That feels better now, doesn't it?
I love the birch trees Up North.
Eventually, we made it to our destination -- the place where Gooseberry River flows into Lake Superior.
For the record, the kids alternated between having fun and being complete whiners.
Except for Teyla. She loved being in the backpack. She shrieked and raised her arms and banged on Corey's back and grabbed at leaves. "New input!"
On the return trip, Connor and I spent part of the time jogging ahead of Corey and the girls. Connor's favorite thing to do lately, besides play Legos, is find sticks that look like guns and fight the "bad guys." So he and I were both equipped with driftwood weaponry and jogging down the path, shooting imaginary villains, when suddenly I yelled, "Connor! Stop!"
To his credit, he did, immediately. Which is a good thing, because he was about two feet from plowing into a beaver.
Poor fat thing, he was just as startled as we were. He was sitting right next to his slide, which a park ranger had pointed out to us on the first leg of our trip. It was empty at the time, but the ranger somewhat guiltily admitted that he had almost stepped on the beaver earlier that day, since Mr. Beaver was busy tearing up aspen at the top of the hill, dragging it down his slide and then transporting it to his house across the river.
And that's just what he was doing when we (almost) ran into him. We backed up a few feet, to give him some space, and then watched as he slowly continued on down the slide, stopping a few feet from the path to grab a small aspen tree and drag it with him.
We watched as he made it all the way to the river and then upstream to his house. (If you squint, you can see his house across the river. It's just to the right of the birth trees on the left, a gray mass spilling out into the river.)
It was pretty exciting.
(Now I'm starting to sound like Jeff Corwin.)
The rest of our hike was uneventful, if you consider amazing fall color uneventful.
The amazing thing is: That wasn't the most exciting hike of our weekend.
Well, OK. Maybe it was.
But it wasn't the most scenic.
More to come (INCLUDING A VIDEO) tomorrow.
Up North
Probably all I need to say right now is captured in this picture.
That's the view I woke up to yesterday morning. I believe I gasped out loud when I opened the blinds. We had arrived at our hotel after dark Thursday night, so I didn't realize what was outside the window until the sun breached the horizon again.
Here’s another view, looking more to the south (and a little later in the morning).
That’s the quintessential Up North picture right there. Lake Superior. Granite cliffs. Rock beach. Pine trees. Corey and I met up here, leading a group of teenagers on a canoe trip 20 miles into the wilderness. Natalie’s middle name evokes this area. It’s one of my favorite places in the world.
And right now, it's leaf-changing season.
I took that picture on a hike yesterday, which deserves its own post. (Lots of unexpected animal sightings.) But I don't have time to tell stories at the moment. We're on our way to get one of The World's Best Donuts. What kind would you like me to pick up for you?
That's the view I woke up to yesterday morning. I believe I gasped out loud when I opened the blinds. We had arrived at our hotel after dark Thursday night, so I didn't realize what was outside the window until the sun breached the horizon again.
Here’s another view, looking more to the south (and a little later in the morning).
That’s the quintessential Up North picture right there. Lake Superior. Granite cliffs. Rock beach. Pine trees. Corey and I met up here, leading a group of teenagers on a canoe trip 20 miles into the wilderness. Natalie’s middle name evokes this area. It’s one of my favorite places in the world.
And right now, it's leaf-changing season.
I took that picture on a hike yesterday, which deserves its own post. (Lots of unexpected animal sightings.) But I don't have time to tell stories at the moment. We're on our way to get one of The World's Best Donuts. What kind would you like me to pick up for you?
Whirlwind
Whew. What a trip.
It was wonderful to see Nannie. She'll be 95 this October, and while the years have taken their toll on her memory, she's still my Nannie.
She was thrilled to meet Teyla (although I don't think she'll remember it), and she was "overcome" that we had come to see her. "This is the biggest surprise of my life!" she exclaimed time and time again. "I just don't know if I can take it!"
Teyla and I flew home last night -- only to unpack, do some laundry and repack for the Love Well Annual Up North Vacation. I'm typing this from the shore of Lake Superior, where we plan to spend the next few days taking in some serious fall color.
More to come. (I'm like a correspondent for my own blog now, aren't I?)
Including -- especially -- pictures.
It was wonderful to see Nannie. She'll be 95 this October, and while the years have taken their toll on her memory, she's still my Nannie.
She was thrilled to meet Teyla (although I don't think she'll remember it), and she was "overcome" that we had come to see her. "This is the biggest surprise of my life!" she exclaimed time and time again. "I just don't know if I can take it!"Teyla and I flew home last night -- only to unpack, do some laundry and repack for the Love Well Annual Up North Vacation. I'm typing this from the shore of Lake Superior, where we plan to spend the next few days taking in some serious fall color.
More to come. (I'm like a correspondent for my own blog now, aren't I?)
Including -- especially -- pictures.
In Kentucky
I'm in Kentucky today, on a quick trip to see my grandmother. Because my family is far-flung, I don't get the chance to see the extended sections often. It's enough just to try and see my parents and siblings each year.
But Nannie is almost 95, I've only seen her once in the last 10 years or so, and her memory is quite depleted at this point. So I planned this short jaunt to coincide with my parents annual visit. I hope the appearance of all of us together will help her put names with faces.
In the meantime, I have a post over at 5 Minutes for Parenting today. It's all about the dollar bins at Target and the quest to instill gratitude and compassion in my kids.
See you tomorrow, hopefully with a story or two about Nannie.
But Nannie is almost 95, I've only seen her once in the last 10 years or so, and her memory is quite depleted at this point. So I planned this short jaunt to coincide with my parents annual visit. I hope the appearance of all of us together will help her put names with faces.
In the meantime, I have a post over at 5 Minutes for Parenting today. It's all about the dollar bins at Target and the quest to instill gratitude and compassion in my kids.
See you tomorrow, hopefully with a story or two about Nannie.
Cotton Candy
Ever since I was a little girl, I've been fascinated by cotton candy.
Maybe it was because it was such an rare treat. In the days of yore (read: the 1970s), cotton candy was reserved for the circus or the fair or some other infrequent-but-storied event. I loved to stand next to the cotton candy booth and watch the proprietor swirl a thin, paper cone in a seemingly empty bin and emerge with a cumulonimbus cloud of gossamer pink, precariously balanced on a tiny point.
"Here you go, sweetie," he would say to the lucky buyer, who would carefully take hold of the beautiful concoction and delicately try to find a place to bite.
So it goes without saying that, when our church was looking for volunteers to work at various booths during the annual community picnic, I jumped at the chance to work in the cotton candy booth.
It was a gorgeous Sunday night in late August. The sun shone brightly; the light already held flecks of autumnal gold.
After the outdoor service, Corey and I gathered the kids and scooted through the dinner line (hot dogs, carrots, watermelon and chips) since I was first shift at the booth.
And that's how I found myself standing next to a machine that was spinning a cloud of pink sugar, clumsily wielding paper cones around the circle, passing off lopsided mounds of cotton candy to a throng of eager children.
The night was breezy, and I was near the edge of a picnic shelter. The wind caught errant wisps of candy and blew them into the crowd. Kids waiting in line opened their mouths to pluck a sparkling sample right out of the air. Delicate strands stuck to my arms, my face, my hair. (So intent and gleeful was I as Cotton Candy Maker Extraordinaire that I discovered this fact only when small children grinned my direction and shouted, "Mom, look at her hair!")
Halfway through my shift, I looked up and saw my daughter before me. Natalie was wearing plaid sherbet-colored shorts and a pink polo shirt. Her skin was tan, her hair pulled back in a pink headband. She looked utterly delighted.
“Why Natalie!” I exclaimed, as if she were my favorite customer, which, in fact, she was. “So happy to see you here tonight! Here you go!” And I handed her a cone heavy with sweetness.
“Thanks Mom,” she giggled, before turning to find Uncle Jon among the crowd.
Later, on the way home, when she was crashing like a little addict from an overdose of sugar, she sat in the back of the minivan and sobbed because the snow cone booth had run out of syrup before she'd gotten one. Suddenly, she sat up straight, found her composure and said, “Mom, do you know why I stood in your line to get cotton candy, besides the fact that yours was pink and that’s my favorite color?”
“No, Natalie," I answered, scanning her face in my rear view mirror. "Why?"
“Because you are my favorite person, Mom,” she said. "And I love you."
Maybe it was because it was such an rare treat. In the days of yore (read: the 1970s), cotton candy was reserved for the circus or the fair or some other infrequent-but-storied event. I loved to stand next to the cotton candy booth and watch the proprietor swirl a thin, paper cone in a seemingly empty bin and emerge with a cumulonimbus cloud of gossamer pink, precariously balanced on a tiny point.
"Here you go, sweetie," he would say to the lucky buyer, who would carefully take hold of the beautiful concoction and delicately try to find a place to bite.
So it goes without saying that, when our church was looking for volunteers to work at various booths during the annual community picnic, I jumped at the chance to work in the cotton candy booth.
It was a gorgeous Sunday night in late August. The sun shone brightly; the light already held flecks of autumnal gold.
After the outdoor service, Corey and I gathered the kids and scooted through the dinner line (hot dogs, carrots, watermelon and chips) since I was first shift at the booth.
And that's how I found myself standing next to a machine that was spinning a cloud of pink sugar, clumsily wielding paper cones around the circle, passing off lopsided mounds of cotton candy to a throng of eager children.
The night was breezy, and I was near the edge of a picnic shelter. The wind caught errant wisps of candy and blew them into the crowd. Kids waiting in line opened their mouths to pluck a sparkling sample right out of the air. Delicate strands stuck to my arms, my face, my hair. (So intent and gleeful was I as Cotton Candy Maker Extraordinaire that I discovered this fact only when small children grinned my direction and shouted, "Mom, look at her hair!")
Halfway through my shift, I looked up and saw my daughter before me. Natalie was wearing plaid sherbet-colored shorts and a pink polo shirt. Her skin was tan, her hair pulled back in a pink headband. She looked utterly delighted.
“Why Natalie!” I exclaimed, as if she were my favorite customer, which, in fact, she was. “So happy to see you here tonight! Here you go!” And I handed her a cone heavy with sweetness.
“Thanks Mom,” she giggled, before turning to find Uncle Jon among the crowd.
Later, on the way home, when she was crashing like a little addict from an overdose of sugar, she sat in the back of the minivan and sobbed because the snow cone booth had run out of syrup before she'd gotten one. Suddenly, she sat up straight, found her composure and said, “Mom, do you know why I stood in your line to get cotton candy, besides the fact that yours was pink and that’s my favorite color?”
“No, Natalie," I answered, scanning her face in my rear view mirror. "Why?"
“Because you are my favorite person, Mom,” she said. "And I love you."
The Streak Continues
So now that Amanda over at Baby Bangs knows she's having a girl, I'm free to tell the world that my husband knew she was on the pink team a month ago.
It's a continuation of hiscreepy unexplainable streak. He has correctly predicted (he prefers "foretold") the gender of the last 12 out of 12 babies. (Including Teyla.)
He doesn't put forth an opinion about every pregnant woman he knows. He has to get "a feeling" for him to lay it out there. But once he knows, he knows. And for the time being, anyway, statistics back him up.
This is of particular importance to a dear friend of mine who is pregnant with her second. She has a boy right now, and according to Corey, she's going to have another boy next April. She wouldn't mind having another boy. Her first will be two years old when the baby is born, and having two brothers close in age would be a blast. (If you know otherwise, do not tell me. I would like to shield her innocence.)
Problem is, she and Corey have a lovingly antagonistic relationship. And she doesn't WANT him to be right. She's tired of him always being right. She wants him to be WRONG. Not so much because she wants a girl, although that would be delightful. Just because she wants Corey to fail.
When she heard that Corey was right about Amanda, she e-mailed me and said, "Now I'm praying for TWIN GIRLS!"
And Corey, when he heard her say that, laughed and said in reply, "Poor thing. Will she even be able to love her second son, or will he always be a reminder to her of her defeat?"
Anyone want to put money down? Corey's going for lucky 13 here. (Not that we believe in luck. But you know what I mean.) My friend's ultrasound is scheduled for November.
It's a continuation of his
He doesn't put forth an opinion about every pregnant woman he knows. He has to get "a feeling" for him to lay it out there. But once he knows, he knows. And for the time being, anyway, statistics back him up.
This is of particular importance to a dear friend of mine who is pregnant with her second. She has a boy right now, and according to Corey, she's going to have another boy next April. She wouldn't mind having another boy. Her first will be two years old when the baby is born, and having two brothers close in age would be a blast. (If you know otherwise, do not tell me. I would like to shield her innocence.)
Problem is, she and Corey have a lovingly antagonistic relationship. And she doesn't WANT him to be right. She's tired of him always being right. She wants him to be WRONG. Not so much because she wants a girl, although that would be delightful. Just because she wants Corey to fail.
When she heard that Corey was right about Amanda, she e-mailed me and said, "Now I'm praying for TWIN GIRLS!"
And Corey, when he heard her say that, laughed and said in reply, "Poor thing. Will she even be able to love her second son, or will he always be a reminder to her of her defeat?"
Anyone want to put money down? Corey's going for lucky 13 here. (Not that we believe in luck. But you know what I mean.) My friend's ultrasound is scheduled for November.
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