Notes to Baby K

I created an email account for Baby Kieran about two months ago. 

I know what you must be thinking, 

'Why in the world would an 8 month old baby need an email account?!' 

Well...

 I'm glad you asked!  

I am using it to write letters to him. 

And you know how I LOVE to write letters. 

If you don't, read this post to get you up to speed.

OK. OK. 

So it is not "snail mail,"

BUT, it is mail. AND it still comes from the heart.

I got the idea when I was watching TV one day,

and I decided to go for it. 
Because. . . 

1. Surprisingly, I have not been very good about keeping a baby book.

Mostly because I've been too busy enjoying these moments with baby,

and time is going by so fast, it seems like before I know it, 

I have missed documenting things.

2. It's in the moment.

Anytime I want to tell him I am thinking of him, 

or there is an opportunity to share with him something cool he did that day,

I don't have to wait until I am with his baby book to do it.

I can send it to him right then and there, when the mood strikes,

while it's still fresh in my mind.

Some notes have been sweet and sentimental,

and some have been just simple and fun.

It can be any little thing, like, 
"Today you sat up for the first time." 
Or 
"Today we had a fun day at the park and 
you swung on the swing and laughed at Daddy." 
And I can attach pictures or a video, like you see here:

Baby K's 1st Swing with Daddy
(His little squealing giggle is the best! )

This whole emailing the baby thing has been great! 
I'm not only documenting his ever-changing growth and development, 
but I'm also sending him sweet notes of things I hope and dream for him,
 so one day he can read it himself and know just how I felt, 
at that very moment in his life. 

I admit, it is for me just as much as it is for him.
I see the pictures, videos and words I wrote for him
and it takes me back and makes me all sentimental. 
[Note: I can be a sap.]

I have shared Kieran's email with family and friends 

so they too can send him emails anytime they are thinking of him, 
want to share a fun experience they had with him, 
or to send him a cute picture they took as a way 
for him to remember these wonderful moments together. 

What an awesome way for Kieran to know he is loved!! 

If you are thinking about doing this for your little one, I highly recommend it. 
It has been a great way to reminisce and look back, 
even just a few days later! 

If you'd like to write to Baby Kieran, his email is:
kieran.james.mandala@gmail.com

Cheer friends! 

XOXO
Aimee

Random Gifts of Kindness

I received a surprise package in the mail yesterday...

And I decided, right then and there,

that the best kind of package,

is an unexpected one.

I didn't recognize the return address:

Emily Black Apple

from Portland, Oregon.

Hmmm, what could it be? Who could it be from?

I excitedly opened it up. . .

. . . and was more than delighted to find

an exquisitely adorable set of handcrafted postcards inside.

There was no note. No packing slip.

No one to thank.

Just this very cute business card.

But one thing was for sure... I LOVED IT!

The postcard designs blend whimsy with a sense of humor

that gives you a glimpse into the artist’s curious world:

quirky with a side of sweet.

Here are just a few of my favorites:

The gently rounded corners and antiqued coloring

make it feel like they are from another time,

when quill pens and ink bottles dressed a writers desk.  

There is no question that these little gems are made with care...

and a lot of love.

And although there was no indication as to

who could have possibly made this kind purchase,

I had a pretty good guess as to who it could be. . . 

. . . my dear friend, Jessica.

(We've been friends, like, FOREVER!)

Jess & I on my visit to SF. Aug. 2011

After 25 years of being friends,

she knows me like I know me. 

She knows I have a love for unique cards.

Paper.

Any and every thing I can write on.

The look of something worn,

weathered,

touched and tattered with fingertips of friends miles away.

She got me this cute notebook as part of my birthday gift last year,

although I know she was tempted to keep it for herself.

And miles away she is indeed.

Jessica moved to Jerusalem with her husband, Ross, a couple months ago.

Ross had a great job opportunity requiring an 18 month commitment,

and they decided to take the plunge.

This is Jessica floating in the Dead Sea.

Really... you just float.

And although it is a drastic change from San Francisco to Israel culturally,

she is baring the burden well.

Jessica is one of the smartest, funniest people I know,

and if anyone can make the most of their situation,

it is her.

She is currently keeping a blog to document her experiences.

She is a lover of books, history, music and travel,

and it has been a delight to see the world

through her introspective and inquisitive eyes.

Check out her blog here.

The giver of this random gift of kindness was confirmed on my first guess.

Of course it was Jessica.

It could be no one else.

As she is one who knows just how sweet it is

 to have someone over 7,500 miles away,

who knows your thoughts and dreams

as if she is sitting right there next to you.

And while she roams around exploring all that the Holy Land has to offer,

I thank you my dear friend.

XOXO,

Aims

To see my previous post about Jessica and Ross, Click Here

To check out Emily Black Apple’s Etsy Shop, Click Here

Snail Mail: My Favorite Pastime

I started writing letters when I was in 2nd grade. 

I had a crooked smile back then. But believe me,

this was a great improvement from my 1 year old smile.

Side note: This necklace was from my Grandma, and I still wear it today.

My best friend at the time, Aimee Diehl, wrote letters.  

We had the same name, spelled it the same way (a rarity),

played on the same soccer team, and were both blondes.
She was about 6 months older than me. . .

. . .and I wanted to be just like her.

So we wrote letters to each other.  TONS of letters to each other.

  Our friendship was short-lived.  

I was abruptly replaced the next soccer season
with the likes of a Jenny something-or-other.

But the letter-writing stuck. 

This is me in 3rd grade.

Gotta love the school uniform/pigtail action happening here.

I quickly found other friends to write to: 
soccer friends, friends from school, and family.

JoAnna, Alison, Jessica & I. 1994.

Oh, and I have a huge family.

McMahon family reunion. 1985.

Cronin/Egan/McMahon cousins. 1986.

And with most of them on the east coast, it was the perfect way to stay connected.

My aunts, uncles, cousins, ANY and EVERYONE who would write to me. . .

. . . I wrote to them.

My Grandma thought it was a hoot. 

And I’m pretty sure that is the term she would use too. 

This is my Grandma. Snazzy glasses Gram.

Letter writing was the beginning of a beautiful gift. 

A gift to me. . .

. . .and a gift to the people I cared about.

So, thank you Aimee Diehl. . .
. . . I owe you big time.


I wrote up to 10 letters a day, sometimes more.

 And if you read my Father’s Day Post, you’d know,

I was happily encouraged and financially supported in this endeavor.
My mom bought me beautiful stationary,
and my dad did the legwork with postage and delivery.

I can only imagine how much postage my parents purchased over the years. 

I knew the mailman by name. George.

My mom gave me this book, and I loved it.

And he knew me by name too.

I was an eager little girl who lingered on the front porch mid-afternoon,
 awaiting the delivery of the days precious gifts. 

And more often than not, there were gifts to be had. 

He was a nice postman. 

He would listen to stories of my pen pals and my pets. . .

Brian and I with our cat, Muffin, aka Muffy. 1986.

Brian and I with Sadie, our golden retriever pup. 1988.

. . .and I would get him a cold glass of water on hot Summer days. 

It was a quick stop, but always a pleasant one. 

My enthusiasm was no secret.

I would immediately go into my bedroom, carefully open the envelope(s)
and read the words with the corners of my mouth turned up into a grin.

The words, written days earlier, still fresh, brand-new to me.  

The enjoyment I got out of it was endless.

And I was always quick to reciprocate the favor. . .
. . . more often that not, immediately taking out my pen and paper,
newly received letter in hand, and write back.

I answered all their questions, and even ones they didn't ask.
And then I asked questions of my own.


 My Dad once told me that letter-writing was a selfish act.
And at the time, I took offense to his comment.
 I genuinely cared about the people I wrote to. Later, I realized what he meant.
That I wanted to give, only to receive in return.
And that was true.

Letter-writing was not satisfying unless there was
an active participant on the other end.
Something to look forward to.  Something for the two of you to share.
 An intimate exchange of words. Feelings. 
A part of you is sent off and a message received.
However simple or complex it may be.

I've saved every letter I ever got.

Every. One.

Which I realize is somewhat impractical,

but how can I possibly get rid of that which I held so dear.

OK, but I promise I am not eligible to be on an episode of hoarders. 

I keep them neatly in two large totes in my garage.

Every once and a while I’ll sift through them, and it brings me back every time.
The crooked penmanship of my grade school friends on Hello Kitty stationary.
My Uncle John’s fancy cursive on lined paper,
and the sweet poems he wrote to me. 
The colorful doodling on envelopes from my friend, Carrie. 
I remember taking great care in such things.

Writing gave me a place to store my thoughts and offered clarity.

Now, looking back, I wish I could read what I wrote.

Letters to my Grandma. 

My Grandma and I at my Uncle Jimmy & Aunt Ellen's wedding. 1990.

Letters to cousins.

Me with my cousins, Shaun and Erin Cronin. Block Island, 1996.

Letters to dear friends. 

High school friends on our grad trip to Hawaii. 2000. 

Letters to a boy I met at Summer camp.

Scotty & I. 1998. This picture makes me smile.

We had pretty big crushes on each other.

 I wish that when you sent a letter off, you got to keep a carbon copy. . . 

  . . . capturing where you were in that moment of your life, with that person.  

I guess that is what email offers us now. 

And I am guilty of resorting to this modern convenience,

the action less sentimental than its former counterpart.

What was once ink to a pretty page,

is now fingers to a keyboard, plucking away as words populate on a white screen,

and are delivered by simply clicking the send button.

The delivery immediate.

The response within minutes. Hours.

Versus days. Months.

Now-a-days, it's rare that I send out a hand written note. 

And it is even more rarely received. . .

. . . dwindling to just birthday cards, season’s greetings, and thank you’s. 

But there is something to be said for the patience of snail mail.

Simple, handwritten notes.

Sealed envelopes and licked stamps. The smell of paper in transit.

Slipping an envelope into that blue metal box. . .

 . . . and the surprise and delight of someone receiving it on the other end. 

The corners of the envelope now crinkled, turned up, 

and the ink on the page transmitting something felt miles away.