Yesterday I managed to sneak an hour and spend time doing something I really love – sipping Starbucks and wandering a bookstore, alone.  When I need a bit of quiet or a break from all the rushing and hurrying and doing, that’s where you’ll find me.  An hour’s wander there is like three hours anywhere else; somehow time seems to slow down within those four walls.

And it reminded me of another time I wrote about this, and realized that I was remembering the first time I sat down and committed words to this small space.  Just over a year ago, I decided that it was time to add my own words to the massive collection of thoughts that exist online.  A year ago, I decided I wanted an answer to the question “shouldn’t you have a blog?”  A year ago, I decided I was brave enough to begin writing, and to trust what I wrote to express how I felt, what I thought in front of friends and strangers alike. 

And you joined me.  Many who read this blog already knew me from Twitter, and you were the ones who were kind enough to ask for more.  You were the ones to always ask when I was starting my own blog, to tell me I should be writing more.  I remember each of you and every word of encouragement.  The funny thing about writing is that it isn’t just my words that matter. 

And so I wrote.  I wrote about my life, about my son and daughter, my husband.  I wrote about funny things that made me laugh, and serious things that made me think.  I wrote about places I’d like to go and places I have been.  I wrote about wanting to find the truth online and why it’s important that we keep looking.  I’m pretty sure I wrote about chocolate.  I found my voice, and then I wrote words I submitted to be published elsewhere.  And it all started with the question “shouldn’t you have a blog?”

Why, yes.  Yes, I suppose I should.  For it has become a piece of me, a way to connect with others, to reach out and exchange thoughts and words with the world.  It feels like a safe place to keep those words.  And it has been a lovely place to receive visitors, like a cozy home away from home with the coffee always on.  I shared one thought after another, always knowing they had a safe place here.  If you are reading this, it is likely you were a part of creating that safe place.  The truth is, this blog is written by me, and has my name on it, but what it has come to mean to me is all about you.  And that is a funny, wonderful thing.

So come visit me often.  Know that you being here is a big part of why this space means so much to me.  Enjoy the words that are here, add some of your own.  Many things have changed since I started this blog.  Changes in work, family, where I live, you name it, it’s been changing.  It’s been a busy year, but in the middle of chaos, there is quiet.  And chocolate.  As always.

And it has meant everything to me.

So, join me in a warm fuzzy moment to celebrate a year gone by.  A year of a few things I treasure most – people, words and connection.     I can only imagine what the next year will bring, and I’m looking forward to it all!

I can’t begin to thank each and every one of you who have read my words here and connected with me!

With love and chocolate,

Mocha

Last month, I visited New York City for the first time.  It was almost in disbelief that I got off the plane, knowing this place that had attracted me so was finally mine to explore, experience, enjoy.  Fifth Avenue, Central Park, Tiffany’s, the Museum of Modern Art, the restaurants, even the crowds…bliss.  Even the corner market felt different.

I was in the city for a conference, held right in the hotel where I was staying, and it was amazing.  But I did get opportunities to get out and explore, and it was in taking those steps that I truly felt I was meeting the city, on its terms.  I expected to be impressed, and I was.  I expected to be overwhelmed, and I was.  For there is so much more to the city than one sees at first glance.  There was flash, but also grit.  There was boldness and noise, but also quiet.

Everywhere I walked, I saw coffee shops, markets and small stores.  Everyone was selling something, from the souvenir and food vendors to the businesses operating at street level in each building.  Many shop windows were flashy, filled to catch the eye of people hustling by.  It would be easy to take them at first look and keep walking.  But I kept looking up.  Up above the ground floor stores, interesting or necessary as they might have been, because for me it was what could be seen above that inspired.  Old buildings were steadfast, looking as they had for decade upon decade.  Brick facades, fire escapes, old windows, architectural details all stood in plain sight, yet were missed by most of those walking by.

Everything in New York seems to have more of a story behind it than anywhere else I’ve been.  I look around and wonder how many stories each street and building could tell.  And the same holds true for the people.  It was as though every person I passed on the street had a story far beyond first impressions.  The tanned, well-dressed shopper in heels – are those labels all real?  How does she walk in those shoes?  Why does she look nervous?  The well dressed businessman – is that shirt custom, the shoes Italian?  Why is he smiling to himself?  The bride and groom we saw beaming as they wandered through Central Park for photos – where were they married? What lies ahead?

New York City has held a fascination for me for a few years.  There is always a new reason to regard the city with curiosity.   I haven’t figured New York out yet, and that’s a great feeling.  It makes me even more eager to return.

And return I will.  I can’t wait.

This piece was later featured by I Blog New York, a community of New York bloggers highlighting the best of New York City.  Created by Carol Cain and Issa M. Mas, the site has sadly gone dormant, but was a great collection showcasing this fascinating city.

My daughter likes to make bracelets out of anything shaped like a ring.  If it can be slid onto her wrist to dangle and spin, it becomes a “pretty”. 

At twenty months old, this seems to be her first recognition of beauty.  The first thing she has ever used to adorn herself, to show off to us as if to say, “Don’t I look pretty?”  Of course she does.  She has bright eyes, a smile full of dimples and skin that glows.  She doesn’t need any bracelet, fashioned or not, to make her look beautiful.  She just is.

Looking at her, I wonder how we ever decided makeup was something we needed to wear to accentuate our looks.  When we look at our young daughters, we know they are beautiful.  We don’t look at them and think “Wow, she would be beautiful if we could just bring out those eyes a little.”  So what age is it then that we suddenly look at ourselves in the mirror and think “if I could just…”?

It is too early to tell if she will be a tomboy, or if I will be begged for highlights, tanning and makeup.  Too early to tell if we will battle over trends, styles, the latest “must-haves” for hair and makeup.  I was never a very “girly” girl growing up, but I’ve made my peace whatever life and my daughter throw my way.  I will teach her what she wants to know, but lessons in beauty aren’t limited to lip gloss and blush.

I will teach her to follow clothing trends as long as she walks confidently enough that she wears the clothes and not the other way around.

I will teach her how to style her hair, as long as she realizes how beautiful it is the way nature made it.

I will teach her to curl her lashes, but also to only bat them at boys who will look past them to see the girl behind the pretty face.

I will teach her about eye shadow, while doing my best to help her avoid a life that creates the shadows around her eyes that do not wash away.

Because what I hope most to teach her about beauty is that it is the warmth of her smile, the laughter in her eyes and the kindness in her words that is where true beauty lies.

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  Fun for yummy mummies (and delicious daddies)!   

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/lessons_in_beauty_jen_taylor

Evening arrives.  My husband and five year old son are walking hand in hand up the stairs.

“Tell me a story about Gormagon.” my boy asks.  There is the barest of pauses.

“Well, when we last talked about Gormagon, he had just won the battle against the Chinese emperor, right?”

“Right.”

And off to bed they go, already lost in the story; my husband, the storyteller, and my five year old.  That’s what you get when you marry a chemist with a minor in classics and Greek mythology.  His day to day job might keep him grounded in science and fact, rules and regulations – but his parenting is far from down-to-earth, especially at story time.

During most of our waking hours, I am the one making the rules, reining in the craziness and generally trying to make sure they aren’t all acting like a bunch of cute, yet wild monkeys.  Today my husband and I were joking that I do a lot for him and I teased him, saying, “Yep, I love being a mother of three!”

We have two children.

In truth, my husband is a great father.  He is loving and affectionate with both kids, and you’ve never seen a prouder dad.  Big picture?  He’s awesome with them.  However, when it comes to the details, I beg, plead and nag for consistency.  An old expression says the devil is in the details; my devil likes to break the rules and supply the sugar.

But there is one area where my type A personality is happy to let go and my husband hits it out of the park.  It’s bedtime.  More specifically, story time.  Since the birth of our daughter, my husband has been in charge of our son’s bedtime and it can be very entertaining to listen in.

Knights in shining armour, kings, dragons and blue whales are all potential guests once nightfall approaches.  Any given night we could have valiant swordplay, ravenous dinosaurs, Spiderman spinning webs or Elmer chasing Bugs out of the vegetable garden.

All day long we (mostly good-naturedly) battle for control and I will push for things to stay grounded when it comes to our kids.   But at bedtime, if this is where he takes them, I hope he keeps his head firmly in the clouds.