O Christmas Tree

Allison's Christmas Trees 

I've had this dream for a while now of going out to a Christmas tree farm and cutting down our own tree. My family used to get our trees from the VFD up the street until they stopped selling trees, and then we moved on to Home Depot.

The perfect tree! 

We always had a pleasant experience doing so, but there was something about the idea of truly selecting my own that appealed to me. And yes, I always opt for a real Christmas tree even though they're-- to quote Julia Louis Dreyfus in Christmas Vacation-- messy and corny and cliche. I will never get the dreaded fake tree.




I was driving one day and passed a sign for a place called Allison's Tree Farm. After some research, I decided their prices were comparable and so Shelley and I went to check it out. It was adorable-- as soon as we pulled in, we were greeted by the staff.

Shells cutting the tree 

the shop

They have two options: choose a tree from their pre-cut selection in a lot near the shop or go choose your own and cut it down. They provided us with a saw and a map of which trees are where and sent us to trudge through the rows and rows of pines.

When searching for a tree, my criteria is to get it as close to the tree from the Eat & Park commercial as possible, so that's what we did. All the way down and back, scoping for bald spots or soft needles, standing beside it as a height check.

Finally, I saw one and zoomed in on it like a light was shining, spotlight style. As I'm walking towards it, Shelley pointed out from ahead of me, "What about that one?" and indicated the same tree. It was unanimous. We (read: Shelley) sawed it down and we carried it back to the little shop, where it was shaken, wrapped, and attached to our car.



When we went inside to pay, we perused the ornaments and fresh wreaths for sale. They have tables set up and sell hot cocoa in little paper cups as well. I also learned that for every tree someone cuts down, they plant three more. I am never less of an environmentalist than during Christmas, where I have lights up everywhere and cut a living tree to put in my living room until it dies. Knowing that three were planted in its place assuaged that a bit.

Just grab a tripod and some lights and go!

If you're like me, you put your tree up on Black Friday instead of shopping. If you aren't, maybe you're one of those people who wait until Christmas Eve to do it, or you are just super busy and haven't gotten around to it yet. Either way, I highly recommend stopping over to check it out. Side note: it's also a prime Christmas card photo location.

Zorro's favorite spot

Zorro loves the tree too. We've had a pretty difficult time keeping him away from it (and any attempts to do so have been met with as much sass as a silent ball of fluff could muster). Instead, we just allow him to lay on the tree skirt. I don't really blame him for wanting to be close to the lights and the delightful scent of pine.

Thunderstorms & Front Porches

I'm a pretty nostalgia-ridden person. I love the way certain things bring you back to a previous place in your mind. The smell of snow in the atmosphere evokes Christmas and all it encompasses, the feel of low sunlight and Andrea Bocelli brings me back to the summer I was ten, and anytime it storms in the summer, I'm with my grandfather on the front porch at my grandparents' house.

The house is one of those standard older homes, and I spent so much of my childhood there that it's inextricable from my memories. The first poem I ever had published was one I wrote about a tree in the backyard that was actually four trees woven into one, with a perfect spot in the middle for my tiny being to squeeze in to write and daydream. The bush in the front yard with yellow flowers we would pick and throw into jars of water and call it perfume (oh, dear), and the cigar tree in the back yard with the huge leaves we used to think we could string together and make a "flying machine" with to take us around the world. My cousins, my sister, and I were quite characters.

My favorite memory, though was sitting on the porch in those hot hazy summer days and talking to my grandfather, my Puppa. The porch was brick, the awning was burgundy, and the creaking porch swing was one of those green and yellow vinyl numbers from the 1970s, host to numerous behinds, porch-sleepers, and a six-year-old version of me who ate too much pasta and then rocked there with my head in my grandmother's lap until I acquainted that pasta with my pink hi-top Converse.

He was off-the-boat Italian at 13. He fought in World War II. I never heard him say a bad word about anyone. He would sit there, in his chair on the porch, staring straight ahead, hazel eyes, white hair combed back and softly curling, and those blue pants everyone over age 70 owns. Sometimes we would just sit in silence, which was always comfortable. He was a man of few words, but sometimes he would break me out of my reverie to talk.

"What are you thinking about? You always look like you're thinking about something," he said to me once. Perhaps I got that from him.

He shared stories of WWII and life on his little farm in Potenza. He told me about what it was like coming here. We talked about my parents splitting up, and about school, and my dreams to be a writer or a musician someday. Often, my sister and my mum joined us. Nunna would come out and join us too, after the three of them finished their post-dinner cowboy coffee in the old Sands mugs. Occasionally, my cousins would come sit with us too, but I secretly liked best when it was just the two of us. I loved the stories. I loved the companionable silence, or the laughter we'd share watching the neighborhood and all its movements, with the long, lonely train whistle as the soundtrack-- these moments the pulse of my otherwise awkward childhood years, all hair and gangly limbs.

When it would storm, we would sit there and watch the lightening crash and the rain pour, rolling in heavy drops off the edges of the scalloped awning. It was terrifying and awesome at the same time to be so close to something so dangerous. God's bowling, the adults would say, which made it less frightening somehow.

Perhaps this is why I still have such an affinity for people's front porches-- less common these days. This could be why I am drawn to the way the lightening dances majestically across the sky, even as the thunder makes me leap out of my skin. All during June, the heaviest month of storms in a Pittsburgh year, I think of my Puppa and miss him fiercely. When I see the thunder rolling in and I detect that smell on the breeze, the one that means the skies darken to a grey-green and the rain lets go, I think of him and I feel close to him again.

Matriculation, Relaxation, & Chasing Waterfalls

Hi friends! It has been an absurdly long time since I've written anything for this blog. I feel I have a legitimate reason though-- I was going crazy working two jobs and plowing through getting a masters degree in 9 months, and as that was wrapping up I was on the grind hardcore.

We matriculate a lot.

Since graduation has been over, I don't think I've opened my laptop more than a handful of times. In spite of teaching at a cyber school for the past year (with a different laptop), my love of technology has not increased any and having the luxury of unplugging was glorious to me. I got to do so many things I hadn't done: read books I wanted to read (rather than what I had to read), play guitar, fiddle with my new camera, and of course spend time with people I hadn't seen in a while.

Now that that's happened, though, and the school year is over and I'm just writing articles over here, I can get back to blogging on a regular basis (and hopefully incorporate images captured on the aforementioned camera).

With our favorite professor, Dr. Donne

Yes, we wore Converse.

Graduation was a whirlwind, as were the weeks leading up to it. I am so grateful to my huge support system for helping me through it-- especially Shells and my family. Honestly though, although at times we wanted to murder each other for deciding to go back to school (again), I couldn't have gotten through it without my BFF Liz. We endured four-hour night classes two nights a week, suffered online courses, plowed through homework, and motivated one another all while working multiple jobs each and trying to run our households. Even though I completed finals and made Shells swear to me she would never let me go back to school, there was something about watching all the doctoral candidates process in wearing those odd hats that made me contemplate the possibility of someday-- though, dear God, not any day soon.

US side 

Visiting Three Sisters Island

After all of that, I was lucky enough to have three days in a row off of work and Shells took off too and surprised me with a trip to Niagara Falls, which was exactly what I needed to calm my reeling mind and relax with her. Apart from a day trip when I was in eighth grade, I've never been there and I enjoyed it immensely. There is something fun about roaming a city you're unfamiliar with, even for a control freak like me.

Misty Maids 

It was wonderful to walk around in the sunshine exploring with my favorite person. Sure, there are a lot of tourist traps (which we went in primarily to mock) but there is also a lot of beauty. It's crazy to me that that is all nature/God in its glory. Also, I had never ridden the Maid of the Mist and that was the one thing I wanted the most...so we rode it twice (my mum said I was like five years old).

Wistfully gazing at the Falls...

Another thing I noticed while we were there, in addition to the gorgeous scenery and intense crowds and the jokes of my love, was the incredible amount of people taking aesthetic shots in a way that said "hey, I see you trying to get by but IDGAF because I need this same shot with every member of my family, baiiii" so that naturally led to me awkwardly standing there and impatiently waiting and Shells saying "Okay, that's enough" and assertively ensuring we get our turn before our trip is over.

By the end of the first day, as we walked off an awesome dinner-- culinary students delivering five-star dining at Olive Garden prices-- and went back to catch the falls in that lovely low sunlight I am obsessed with, we were taking our own aesthetic shots (partially (mostly) jokingly).

Since then, I've been reading like crazy (I have a shelf waiting for me to read its contents), trying to introduce Zorro to his harness so I can take him outside (he is less than interested), and I planted flowers-- like, from seeds. I feel like a small child because I am so excited each time a new pot starts sprouting. Here's to hoping I don't kill them!!!

Looking forward to everything this summer has to offer and all the beauty that comes along with it. More super soon!

Love,
Rebecca

Love and Light

Over the last few days, listening to the news has been a rather frightening activity, leading many people (including myself) to anxious feelings, wandering thoughts, and horrific dreams. It's terrifying to think that humanity can be so cruel, and that so many of us are at the mercy of so few power-hungry leaders who are pretty detached from reality. These leaders, who make calls to drop chemical or nuclear attacks on PEOPLE, make decisions which impact us overall.

It makes things seem pretty bleak.

My post for this week, then, is written with the purpose of spreading love and light. I seek to draw your attention to the good and the positive-- hence The Bright Side-- and times like these are no exception.

It's easy when things seem to be going really well to forget anything evil in the world, just as it is difficult to remember the beauty and love in the world during times like this.

Look around-- God has created a wonderful world for us, complete with human beings who seek, in their own way, to spread this message of peace and love and beauty. I know so many people personally who put so much of themselves into everything they do-- from my mum, who texts me every morning to say hello and give me a weather update, to my girlfriend who makes food infused with the thought and purpose and tenderness, to any of my friends-- most of whom are teachers or nurses-- who pour themselves into their work every day with the simple purpose of making a difference.

The music we listen to, the books we read, the food we eat, the houses we live in, even the pictures you like by some random amateur blogger/photographer on Instagram... all of these are done with passion and purpose and happiness. To me, this is en route to spreading love and light to others.

Any thing that you do that makes you happy, that makes someone happy, that is done with goodness and pride and thoughtfulness, is your way of making a difference, of ensuring that NO ONE has power over your life but you. YOU make your path, you have the power over your life and what happens to you. If enough of us join together with this same notion in mind, and try to spread our love and our light, then we will be bigger and more powerful and beautiful and fearsome than any figures of "power" that we see in our tragic world today.

I have a friend, Julie, who is a fellow English teacher. In typical nerd fashion, we were discussing poetry-- because why not?-- and sharing some of our favorites. William Ernest Henley's "Invictus" came up, and the whole poem is so empowering, but the last stanza in particular stands out in support of exactly what I'm trying to convey today: "It matters not how strait the gate/How charged with punishments the scroll/I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."

Bingo: 24 Ways to Win

Recently, Shells and I went to play bingo at a hall near us. This was the first time I'd played bingo since I was in Catholic grade school. I had fond memories of this game and Shelley had mentioned playing it periodically in attempts to win money, so we went. This particular hall offered cash prizes all night, including a $1,000 prize for the coverall card at the end of the night.

When we pulled into the lot (behind a Coach bus laden down with bingo-bag-wielding folk), we were immediately overwhelmed by how crowded it was.

"Surely all these people aren't here just for bingo," I said, but as we walked inside, we learned that was indeed the case. Buffet tables with rigatoni, salads, and bread slices for $6 a meal (pass), the perfume reminiscent of my grandmother lingering in the air, and the knowledge that we were easily the youngest people in there added to the feel.

We purchased our cards and doppers and sat down, taking it all in. I pulled out the Trolls I had stuffed in my pocket (a suggestion by my friend Liz) and set them on the table in front of us after noticing more than a few other people with varying good luck charms. Besides, these trolls had come as a gift alongside the movie after my "Trolled" blogpost, and even found their way into my lunch bag, so I felt it was appropriate.

"Put those away! Seriously babe!" Shelley hissed. "I can't believe you brought those!"

I sat there in my usual staunch refusal to budge, and they remained there as Shelley muttered about Roseanne episodes and bingo ladies.

The experience was fun, overall. It went on for nearly four hours, with a handful of workers on a constant loop over the aisles between the tables like those ducks on a loop at a carnival game or something. The whole time they walked, they yelled, hustling players for tickets for raffles, scratch off cards, additional playing cards...

"I'm going to hear these calls in my nightmares tonight," Shells quipped.

The callers went so quickly we could barely keep up, dabbing away at numbers with hardly any time to talk to each other in between. I was cracking up. Between the two of us, we played 42 cards at any given time. We didn't win a cent, and more than once made half-serious jokes about having to practice high-speed bingo at home. Additionally, we learned that there were now apparently 24 ways to get a standard bingo-- whatever happened to standard, good old across, up and down, or diagonal??? We were probably getting bingos and not realizing it.

In spite of all of that, it was a blast. We were out together, taking a break from the work school sleep cycle that has been my life the last 7 months, and we enjoyed it. We laughed, we did something new, and the people-watching was prime.

The bright side:
The trolls weren't good luck charms, but they did hold our cards in place under the blowing air conditioning.

Creating Ourselves Anew

We, as humans, spend a lot of time trying to better ourselves. Every new year, or new month, or new week, we make resolutions to work out more, eat healthier, be more generous, more loving, more present, more involved... Sometimes, in the midst of all of that, we fall a little short-- not intentionally, of course; but trying to be perfect can be overwhelming, and things fall through the cracks. We fall away from ourselves and get caught up in an endless flurry of activity, of more, more, more.

I recently received a letter from my friend Terry. We've been friends for 14 years at this point, and we've written letters from time to time after she moved three hours away. This letter came unexpectedly, breaking a spell of silence (life happens!), and with it came a book, that she felt inclined to send me, and for which I am anxiously awaiting a chance to read. It gave me pause, knowing that someone I haven't seen or really spoken to since November read something, thought of me, and mailed me a book.

Yesterday marked the beginning of a new month. March rode in on a windstorm, but it was a welcome transition from the tumult that rocked me through February. With the dawn of March also came Ash Wednesday, the beginning of what Christians recognize as Lent.

During the Lenten season, we are called to give up something that consumes us-- social media, soda, chocolate-- to remind us how in the grander scheme of things, Christ sacrificed His life so that we may be forgiven.

Oftentimes, we choose to do good deeds rather than, say, abstaining from a select food item the course of forty days. I actually joined a challenge called 40 Days of Giving, where each morning I receive a reflection and a challenge (in three degrees of intensity) to my inbox, and I can work towards being a better me by doing something each day for others.

Incidentally, Terry loves Tolkien.

I am not trying to detract from any form of sacrifice or self-improvement, but instead saying that one of the best ways to improve is through the personality and the soul-- the more caring, compassionate, and loving we are, the happier we will be.

I've already been reflecting a great deal, and a song from my Catholic school days, about how we rise again from ashes and create ourselves anew, and I think about how awesome it is that in life, at any point in time, we are given the chance to start over. It is truly something wonderful-- that with love and support and desire, anyone can change their journey.

 "Not all who wander are lost" is a favorite quote of mine, but even so, sometimes I think it's okay to get a little lost. It just means we're busy creating our own paths.

Truffles, The Variety Pack, and a Perfectly Poached Egg

It's been a crazy two weeks. So much has happened and I am left emotionally drained at the end of it-- like "sitting at home in a hoodie and shorts on Saturday night" drained. There is a breeze, so that's nice. This past week was also Valentine's Day-- or in my case, Valentine's Week.

Some remnants of The Dessert Disaster

In spite of the tumultuousness that was the month of February thus far, Shelley succeeded in taking the term "sweetheart" to a new level. Monday, our bunny Zorro got neutered, we had our nephew Trent for a couple days, and by the time the surgeries and child drops were over it was 9:30 at night, and I had to make a treat for school the next day (I'm a teacher (one of many hats)). Shells suggested this cream cheese and Oreo mixture dipped in chocolate. The plan was to shape them like hearts, dip them in white chocolate dyed pink, and call it a day. The dessert missed the memo. My white chocolate covered Oreo truffles were a major fail-- although my girlfriend tried not to laugh at them, a chuckle escaped as she pulled me into the living room to finish watching Nick be a skeeze ("The Bachelor" is our guilty pleasure).

Broken Hearts 

When I woke up in the morning, she got up with me, went downstairs, and had the idea to cut the sad hearts into squares, cleverly call them Broken Hearts, and serve them that way. They still tasted delicious, for the record, as was evidenced by the fact that they were gone nearly instantly. My co-workers also loved the name.

As I had night class Tuesday, we passed our celebration to Wednesday. She came home from work with groceries and a bouquet of flowers-- beautiful flowers-- chrysanthemums, daisies, carnations, roses, morning glories...  Not just a bouquet of roses or carnations or something. I felt like a child as I exclaimed, "You got me the variety pack!" Wow, nice reaction Rebecca.

The Variety Pack

Then, she prepared dinner. She is a chef in every sense of the word: creative, random, anal, and arrogant (about her food)-- but she has every reason in the world to be, as anyone who has eaten a meal she's made knows. The meal is one that, when it was initially described to me, had me raising an eyebrow-- smoked salmon with sweet potato hash and orange rind, hollandaise sauce, and, quote "a perfectly poached egg". This has since become my favorite meal, paired with a nice Reisling. I received this meal on plates I had said I liked once when we were out-- surprise #2 for me.

The meal was followed by the most sinfully decadent dessert I've ever had. I requested a chocolate cheesecake, something rich, and of course it exceeded any dream: chocolate crust (keeping with the Oreo trend), vanilla and chocolate swirled cheesecake, topped with chocolate ganache (which, as my co-worker Julie said, could make a napkin taste good).

My decadent dessert  on pretty plates 

The dessert's leftovers got taken to work, where my colleagues proceeded to call this cooking and cleaning love of mine "a unicorn" because someone who prefers to do those things is such a rarity. We got a good laugh out of that later.  

The next day, I had a doctor's appointment and I was nervous about it. When I came home (all is well), she had bought me a bigger bookshelf, white like I wanted, and assembled it in my studio alongside a lamp in my favorite color. Finally, a place to house my books. I mentioned offhand that I needed to get one next time we were out, and then it was here. Cut to her detailing my car, Arlandria, this afternoon in the beautiful sunshine, as I sit on the driveway and do my homework and smile because it's adorable. 

The thing of it is, I don't think any of these actions had anything to do with the fact that there was a holiday indicating these things should happen. Instead, this is just how you behave when you love someone. I felt I should mention this because I am not a chef, nor am I particularly good at gifts that aren't memory-type gestures (most notably a trip to the Panthers stadium), but I use my words well and make every attempt to utilize that gift to show people when I appreciate them too.

I went through an angsty phase when I was younger where I tried (key word there) to hate Valentine's Day as a ripoff, money-making, generic pile of garbage. While the "Galentine" phenomenon this year (insert eye roll here) almost brought the angst back, it didn't, because I just love love, in all of its many forms. I love my mum, who was my first valentine. I love my sister. I love all the friends I have made over the course of my life, my other family members, my bunny, and--duh-- my girlfriend. I think the holiday has become overrun with excessive gift giving like it's Christmas, or the pressure to do it perfectly with an expensive meal and lingerie and all of that. I keep it nostalgic-- homemade valentines, some flowers, and the words to represent all the love in my heart. The holiday is all about LOVE, and that is truly something to be celebrated in a world where it seems to so often be forgotten. 

My Green Eyes Can See Clearly

I can finally see! I have not been this excited about a purchase in a really long time. As anyone who knows me is well aware, I have abysmal vision. As in, "1 or 2...2 or 3...7 or 8..." as the eye doctor flips through various levels of prescription intensity. I also haven't had glasses since I was on my mum's insurance plan, so it's been a little while of squinting down the road on dark, rainy nights through expired-prescription glasses. 

First glimpse.

Recently, I saw an ad for a company called Warby Parker. I checked out their website and I nerded out a bit-- this place was awesome. First of all, it was started by a group of guys who, in their college days, decided eyewear was WAY too expensive and should be more affordable. So they decided to start a company where they made the glasses in house and dealt with customers instead of adding in the always-loathed middle man. As if that wasn't enough to hook me, they are like the TOMS of glasses-- each pair you buy donates a pair to a nonprofit organization/developing nation.

Once I browsed the frames, I learned that you can pick five pairs and have them sent to your house to try on and decide which you like best. So I don't have to leave my house, the frames are cute, they are affordable, and I can buy a pair and then donate another pair to someone who can't afford their own glasses. Solid plan. 

The winner!

As soon as they arrived, I tried on all five and sent pictures to every female friend I have (something my girlfriend made fun of me for mercilessly) and it was a unanimous decision for the same pair. I sent the options back, took a picture of myself so they could judge the distance between my pupils, and uploaded my prescription. Furthermore, the lenses automatically come with scratch-resistant coating, anti-glare, and are thinner than the Coke bottles I would be stuck with otherwise. Did I mention they were affordable? 

I know this all sounds like a shameless plug, but honestly, I am so happy to have glasses that are cute, inexpensive, and support a good cause. I can see out of my glasses for the first time in almost four years and it cost me 1/5 of what it would cost anywhere else. Highly recommend.  

Sunshine Daydreams with Sand Cloud

Love the colors!

Since today is Groundhog Day, and our furry little friend Phil unfortunately decided that we are having six more weeks of winter-- really, why do we trust his judgment? I'm done with winter as of January 2nd-- I started daydreaming of beach days that are even further away.

I recently got asked to be a Brand Ambassador for a company called Sand Cloud. Every purchase you make from them donates 10% to protecting Marine Life. I am a huge supporter of anything that donates money to a good cause-- if I am buying something I want or need for myself anyway, why NOT have it benefit someone else too? With the recent state of the world, I feel like the environment could use a little love, so I was happy to oblige.

The website has all manner of beach apparel-- long sleeve t-shirts in an array of colors, water bottles, bumper stickers, and, of course, the beach blankets. I love this idea because I always struggle with two towels and end up getting everything covered in sand. This rainbow tie-dye number is big enough for two to spread out and has a pretty awesome hidden pocket to store valuables.

According to the Conserve Energy Future website, as of 2016, plastic remains the most common element found in the ocean and all of the contamination from pollution in various forms (including a trash dump literally the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean) are wreaking havoc on the Earth's water systems. These chemicals are consumed by animals all throughout the food chain. Ultimately, larger animals like polar bears can end up consuming contaminated seals and hold a level 3 billion times higher than their environment (WWF).

Why not support a good cause? I even have extra incentive for you: if you check out the website and like what you see, use my code BebeFe25 for 25% off everything on the site!

Trolled

It started with cereal.

I have always been a huge fan-- perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I watched Jerry Seinfeld and his friends shovel it into their mouthes throughout random conversations about nothing for a great deal of my developmental years-- and as such, I like to have a few boxes around for me to consume at my leisure. I convinced my girlfriend that this was essential while we were grocery shopping (in spite of her hatred of milk) and basically brainwashed her into selecting a variety of cereals for herself (because we are adults).

While I prefer Pops and virtually any form of Cheerios, she tends to like the kid cereals, like Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Cookie Crisp (aka dog biscuits in milk). One of these boxes boasted that it came with a prize, and thus, a game began.

I was upstairs brushing my teeth one day, only to hear her crunching in the hallway. I looked out to see her eating a bowl of cereal, and then nearly spit out my toothpaste as I viewed what was on the banister.

This troll. 

From the cereal box. 

Watching me. 

So of course it became a game. Since late September, we have been trolling each other, so to speak, by hiding this little thing all over the house. One day, I was at work. I opened up my lunch, which Shelley had woken up early to pack for me (I am, unfortunately, chronically late).

I had to document the evidence to
our friends. 

Lunchtime rolls around. I open up my bag. A napkin. Useful. A note. Sweet. And there, on top of the food which was so lovingly packaged, was a tuft of orange hair.

It didn't stop there. This thing has hidden in cleaning supplies, under glasses, and in waiting in her shirt in a closet (the troll waited in there for a long, long time-- probably should've picked a different shirt). 

One night, I was sitting in night class after having recently shared the Troll Saga with my friend Liz. This class was the dullest, longest, most ridiculous excuse for a special education class ever (due in large part to the instructor), and as I sat in the midst of this four-hour lecture of boredom, I decided to pull out my planner and focus on more important things, like news articles, homework for my other classes, lesson plans, a to do list (dropping old clothes off at the Salvation Army dropbox was vying more for my attention than this instructor). I unzip my bag. 

I reach for my planner. 

There, sticking out of the aqua blue cover, was a tuft of orange. The troll. Hiding, so inappropriately timed, in my planner, probably shoved there by Shells right as I was about to leave the house. I lost it-- laughing out loud, having to awkwardly explain the troll and how its placement in my planner during class was akin to Jerry Seinfeld placing the PEZ dispenser on Elaine's leg at a concert-- that kind of laugh. 

Months later, we are still at it... 

Planners Gotta Plan

Even the packaging is cute!

It has been so incredibly gloomy outside this week, but my day was totally brightened up by a trip to the mailbox (who doesn't love getting mail? (as long as it's not a bill 😊 )). I am in love with planners, cute office supplies, scrapbooking, etc. I have a thing for organization, essentially. There is something so satisfying to me about having a plan-- everything mapped out in detail, neat and orderly.

Don't get me wrong-- I LOVE spontaneity, but there are certain things that I need to have taken care of before I can just jaunt into the sunset with my hair billowing behind me in the wind.

The possibilities! I like the sticker
that tells you to focus on the good. 

I have been really excited about the plethora of adorable office supplies that I've been seeing as of late-- colors, a little bit of glitter, and awesome pens (you have to appreciate the value of a good pen) that jazz up what could otherwise be a mundane task-- hey, as much as I love the planning, it doesn't mean I want it to look office-space-dull.

I recently stumbled upon a website called The Reset Girl Shop, which is full of stickers, die cuts, planner inserts, and-- you guessed it-- planners. As I already have my own planner, which I am quite passionate about (pun intended), I instead chose to browse around for some stickers and such that would add a little bit of flair to my plans for homework, projects, blog posts, and news articles.

Plan to live free :)

My package arrived quickly and everything inside was so charming, from the Carpe Diem stickers to the itty bitty hearts and Instagram reminders. A woman named Cori and her husband own the shop and coordinating blog and write under the mantra that it is never too late to reset your life. I felt like this coincided pretty well with the positive vibe I'm going for with my life/blog, so I gave it a try in
order to spruce up my pages. I encourage any of my fellow teachers/planner lovers to investigate 😀

Bonus: Every month, you get a list of things to list for each day of the month-- #listersgottalist.

Happy planning!

Love,
Bebe