I Don't Know

I've gone back and forth in my head for weeks about writing this post, and then Bob Goff told us on Sunday that we all need to "stop acting cool!" and if anyone can light a fire under you and make you actually do something you've only been thinking about doing, it's Bob Goff, must open Blogger and must type and must get this off my brain and must tell everyone, Bob Goff.

And in typical Bob Goff style, let's preface this with a story.*

Several months ago, I met a new mom friend at the park, as one regularly does when you're a woman mainly conversing with a toddler all day long and then you see !another adult! Our kids instantly zeroed in on each other from across the swing set and within no time we had exchanged numbers in the hopes of future meet-up double date play dates.

A couple public outings later and we were ready for the next level in our relationship: THE play date. At home. Her home. (I just re-read this and it sounds more and more like an OkCupid exchange...welcome to: Making New Friends in Your mid-20s, 101).

We had initially bonded over our general appreciation for health, natural childbirth, and other surface hippiedom. Maybe I mentioned my batch of Fire Cider in the fridge or Bean's delayed vaccine schedule or impassioned love of Pamela's chocolate cake (even though I'm not even GF in the slightest) or numerous dry Tina Fey-isms, but for whatever reason, we hit it off and now the Bean and I were pulling up into the driveway of their house.

Thirty minutes later, eating a batch of tapioca quinoa cranberry muffins with the smells of sage and homeschooling in the air while the kids played with yarn balls, cardboard, and wooden sticks I had to wonder how I actually ended up here.

Five minutes upon arrival, the Bean had rolled the one and only wooden truck across the floor and then politely inquired where the other toys were. I simultaneously wanted to curl up in the fetal position, grab the three Hot Wheels cars in my purse, and laugh at how funny a toddler playing with a yarn ball is. Like a cat. We had an afternoon of playing with cat toys ahead of us.

Overall, we lasted about an hour and a half. And we covered the alternative lifestyle gamut. No mention of those oils. Thank goodness. Obviously, because we make our own.**

As I said goodbye, I felt energized and drained at the same time.
It's interesting spending time with someone so definitively passionate on one side of things. This way is the only way, side of things.
Had she driven off other friends before with such a polarized view?

We haven't corresponded since.
Perhaps due to pesky winter colds, traveling, holiday seasons, and maybe deep down she could see how much I was craving some gluten.***

...


Growing up, my role in various friendship circles was "peacemaker." I like to gather everyone up, include anyone, and you can call me Bonnie "Can't We all be Friends" Iliyn.
I've never understood cliques. I tried to be apart of one once during a Valentine's dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory, and failed miserably. Or succeeded greatly, because the girl we tried to gang up on is one of my closest friends to this day. How can you exclude someone, just because they're different than you? If I wanted to surround myself with people just like myself, I'd probably turn into Miley Cyrus with all that nodding and yes-ing and you go girl-ing and you should definitely wear that outfit-ing all the time.

My circle of friends is a widespread tapestry of personalities, viewpoints, ideas, talents, and beliefs. I can eat at a vegan restaurant with one and Burgerville with another. Dont lie, deep down you love that special sauce too.
McDonald's. Muchas Gracias. IHOP. I will eat green eggs and ham, (during my time in Rwanda, I think I did). I actually could care less sometimes the what or where. I'm way more interested in the who. The important questions instead of the distracting details.

In no way am I implying that we have to be friends with everyone, (says the girl who used to save mice from our cat Brutus, and has cried way too many times during Oreo commercials, cause I'm the Grinch who's heart grows three sizes...every day), or that we shouldn't have loud and proud voices.

When someone is really up on their social media soapbox though, (about things that really don't really matter), then, "Yeah, well, you know, that's just like, your opinion, man," says my inner Lebowski. You can call me Bonnie "Agree to Disagree" Iliyn****

I can't tell you how many many maaaaaaany people of "influence" these days are sitting on this seemingly "authority" pedestal. How many many maaaaaaany people are they driving away with their need to be right? Sure, we all might know some things, but are we wise about it? Big difference.

It's just another clique I don't want to be a part of. I'm bad at being a part of it.

I guess I'm not cool enough to be a part of it.


xoxo

{Bon Bon}



*You should most definitely read "Love Does."

**Sarcasm aside, I do, and have for awhile, but I'm not into the whole selling trendy bragging thing that's a part of, oh geez, just keep reading.


***Just a recent, vague example that I could use. No harm, no foul. Like I said, my friends vary across the board. We have many things in common and those other pesky little things, who cares.


****Unless we're talking about certain justice issues, especially involving adolescents. Then I might join the pitchforks. Kids, man. It can't all be rainbows, butterflies, and kumbaya. Sigh.

What Makes a Home

{Design Philosophy: Approachable meets inspirational with equal parts form and function and a dash of personality, plus a few dust bunnies} 

   Recently I was having a conversation with my friend Em about how to decorate a house. How do you make your space comfortable, livable, and real all the while, maintaining a certain "je ne sais quoi?" Since we both have highly active toddler tornados inhabiting our home-atmospheres, that "je ne sais quoi" usually means piles of toys that can be quickly swept away morning, afternoon, evening, and especially, right before company arrives. 

   About once a month, I'll even have an almost Pinterest-worthy place with carefully curated stacks of books, wiped down baseboards, and empty laundry baskets/washer/dryer. 

Not counting the hidden pile of clothes stuffed in a suitcase under the bed, 'cause that's just always gonna be there. 

For about 20 minutes (or 2 hours if the tiny tornado is sleeping), the hardwood floors are gleaming and the pillows artfully plumped. Only the pretty stuff is out on my kitchen counters. The ugly toaster oven can stay; he makes a mean pizza bagel and I definitely have a soft spot for pizza bagels. 

   This! THIS is a home! Clean, tucked-away, and perfect. 

   About once a month, I almost believe it. 

Then a certain someone scribbles on the wall with a dry erase marker while we are on Skype with his Auntie Lana. 

...

   My house would be sooooooo much better with that new EVERYTHING from [insert favorite store].(I happen to be "Target budget with ABC Carpet & Home taste.") Well, yeah, technically it would. The clouds might even part for a few seconds, baby angels playing harps, time stands still, and peace on earth. Have you seen those rugs?! As much as I appreciate, (oh so appreciate), a beautiful Apartment Therapy photo shoot, no amount of stuff, (or mid-century modern lack thereof), will ever ever ever make my house the complete home. 

   I don't remember what my parents' living room arrangement was like back in 1993, (we did have a gingham sofa, so, you can imagine), but I do remember leaping off the staircase onto the sofa while the railing was being installed. 

I have no clue what kind of stovetop Em's mom had in her kitchen, but I DO remember that one time (and last time) she experimented with an orange chicken recipe. 

   Years later, and I'm still laughing. 

   That is what I want my home to represent. 

Building on those memories of community, hospitality, and warmth. 

There might always be an unfurnished area that we are "working on," a comfy old rocking chair meant for cuddles instead of (Instagram) "likes," and definitely my fair share of failed recipes. 

[Insert all those sappy heart cliche things here]...  

that's what makes it a home. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Smells Good in Here

Ugghrhahalkdfaljgakhhgaeeeeeeergh, Bloggggggggging. 

Anyone else feel like this lately? {or every other month, or week, or day of the week}

Imagine the average kitchen stove, except this one has about 29 burners. All with various pots simmering, bubbling, overflowing, and scorching. 

Hi. I am that stove.

No, not one of those sleek, shiny, and fancy stainless steel ones. 

Think olive green, 1970s, spattered with marinara sauce. 

I'm a mess. Albeit, a cute mess.  

Stove Bon Bon Deluxe and her 29 burners of husband-son-family-friends-superfluous cookware set off the fire alarm quite often these days. 

Beeping through the smoky haze with a "Hey you, burners #1 (God Stuff) and #2 (Bon Bon Stuff) are turned down real low. Crank those babies up! 

Just don't forget the macaroni on high and light your oven mitt on fire again."

And that's what it boils down to. 

Contentment. Balance. Priorities. Sacredness. Fulfillment. Eternal. Joy. Life. 

Those are the dishes I want to serve best. 

However, the recipes are always a work in progress.

{Daniel and Josiah, the most faithful of taste testers} 

Thankful every day that Grace is the spice in my life. 

Yum.

...

The past few days, I have eaten waaaaaaay to much banana pudding, solved the cold case of the missing Thomas the train, listened to the rain fall while reading a gloomy novel, purchased a meal for a homeless/hopeful man, and, just "was." In those moments, it was taste and see, everything is good. 

What are you guys cooking? 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Full Circle

{he begs to be outside all day every day. barely have enough time in the morning to drink some coffee before he steals my keys and tries to "unlock" the door}

Once the days get hotter and longer, I'm always reminded of one of my earliest memories...

the soft glow of late summer sun sneaking through my frilly polka dot curtains, while grumbling to anyone that would listen, mainly an audience of Barbies and Polly Pockets, that it was too early for bedtime. Eventually, (usually rather quickly), I'd drift off to dream, lulled by the hum of a lawnmower echoing up and down the country road. With a happy ache coursing from the soles of my feet to the hairs on my head.*

The days are hot and long. 

But the years are short. 

I think the Bean will have some good memories from these kinds of days too. 

Definitely the 11PM trip to Salt & Straw.

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

*Growing up, we had a forest and a huge tree fort in our backyard. And the river and pastures and horses and blackberry bushes and chickens and best friends right down the road. Outside all day long, until either lunch or dinner or bandaid time. Or tattletale time because my brother super soaker-ed me in the eye.

Quarter Century Girl

{my best gifts}

So begins my 25th year of life. 

Or, my 26th year, if I were to truly embrace the Korean side of things. 

And if these past twenty five years have taught me anything, it's this..."Every time you embrace the Korean side of things, you will end up next to a karaoke machine." Every.Time. I kid you not.

Oh, and never buy mangos from a group of door-to-door sales-children, no matter how cute they look. The kids. Not the mangos. The mangos will be awful and have an outrageously high price point. 

Obviously, there is still much to be learned. 

{Thankfully, grace envelopes the lessons}

xoxo

{Bon Bon}