I like it, always have. Every once in a while I see people complaining that they don’t get it. There is a lot to get confused by online, but Pinterest shouldn’t be one of them. You just get an account (if you need an invite let me know). You’ll set up “Boards”:

Install and drag the Pin It” button to your bookmark bar:

And then when you are on a site; anything from a blog to a store to a business, click Pin It. This will bring up all the pinnable images from that page. Some sites don’t work, but many do:

After you select your image, you assign it to a board:

And write a caption:

I adore it, not for anything related to what I do at work, but for the quick, easy chance it offers to curate things. Some people use it to dog ear the corners of virtual shopping pages:

Some people use it to catalog crafts/DIY projects they might tackle one day:

You can find inspiration:

Stuff for hair:

And for skin:

Art:

Love:

There is no right or wrong way to do it. I curate thoughts, making each pin an aspiration, a reminder or a dare. It pleases me in a way that saying the right thing at the right moment, overcoming obstacles or rising above something does.

For whatever reason, when I started I opted not to use punctuation, and so it is that my pins look like thoughts I dashed off, or at least that’s how I think of them. At the end of the day, Pinterest is for you, not for business, not for popularity not for anything other than a place to stow things that make you smile.

Isn’t that refreshing?

Happy pinning!

]]> http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/pining-to-pin/feed/ 8 http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/drop-off/ http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/drop-off/#comments Tue, 17 Jan 2012 19:59:04 +0000 amandamagee http://amandamagee.com/?p=3077 It started seven years ago with an infant and a sitter, then there was a carpeted corridor in a church preschool, and onto a sunny walk ending at the front steps of the elementary school. The second time doing the each of those for the first time hurt all over again. Now, with Finley, we’re at the tail end of preschool and I am recognizing drop off for what it is: a complete leap of faith.

This morning I dropped Finley off at the door. Her bag was packed to stay for lunch and her hair was pulled back to her exacting specifications.

“First the pink one mom, and then goes the green, the purple, the ‘nother green one and then an orange, not pink, orange.”

I moved my fingers gingerly through her hair, careful not to snag any hairs along her neck and draw tears. The elastic bands were looped around her fingers, little lassoes of expectation. As I gathered the sections of hair she sighed contentedly and craned to see her reflection. Tiny pricks of tears threatened at the corners of my eyes as she beamed and nodded in satisfaction.

“Don’t forget these,” she said proffering three garish, fuzzy bands with cascading strands of diamond shape beads.

“Ok,” I said, “which one?” She looked at me with comedic dismissiveness, “All of them of course,” she said swinging her pony tails behind her. I added them all and she declared herself ready to go.

I lifted her out of the jeep and one of the teachers came over from the door. “Hello Finley!” She chirped. Fin preened and whispered a shy, but extremely pleased, “Hi.” I asked if it would be ok for her to stay for the after-session. “Of course,” the teacher said. Finley looked up at her as she held out a hand. The look on her little face was so wide open and trusting it caught me by surprise. It’s not a look she directs at me. A part of me needed to pierce the moment, reinsert myself in what matter.  I mentioned her hair and that she had dreamt up the style herself. “So pretty,” the teacher said. Finley’s smile stretched from ear to ear and her eyes opened even wider. She was joy personified and it cut right through me.

My emotions roiled—so much hope in that one little face. I wanted to put my hand on the woman’s shoulder, to implore her not to let us down.

Acknowledge how significant this is, deserve her trust, respond to her delight. Be the person she thinks you are, if just for these few hours.

I kept my hands to myself and knelt down to kiss Finley. “Have fun, honey.” I drew the words out as if to accompany her to the door. She softly called out, “I will mama.” And then they were gone.

Climbing into my car I willed myself not to cry. Did I really need the extra two hours to work? Should I scratch it and pick her up at the regular time? As I approached the exit to the parking lot I realized how selfish I was being. The look on her face was not fear, it was pure anticipation. There was no thinking that I was failing as a mom or choosing work over parenting. She’d been skipping through the house all morning singing about getting to go to lunch bunch and asking if we’d seen the lunch she was taking. This was not failure on my part, it was achievement on hers.

The leap of faith in dropping her off was equal parts trusting it would be as exciting as she’d hoped and crossing my fingers that in coming home to me there might be some chance of her looking up at me with that same wide open, brimming-with-joy face.

Here we were a year ago –>  January, 17th, 2011.

The questions are going to get tougher and the stakes are going to get higher as we confront race, politics, sexual orientation, mean girls and shady boys. I think we can all do our part and honor people like Martin Luther King Jr and so many others who fought for equality.

Let’s.

Ugh. My iPhone camera was set to take my face. Does that ever not horrify? Yay for goggles.

Then I snapped a picture of the night, but it didn’t translate.

Then I held a spectacular yard sale after sliding 65 yards backwards and on my belly. Then there were the snowboarders who were stopped-in-the-middle-of-no-where-in-the-dark-and-oh-by-the-way-I-can’-stop. But in the end, I still had a total blast and will do it again. Although I may hope for slightly warmer weather and natural snow so I don’t have to ski into gusts of machine-manufactured-snow.

How’s 2012 going for you? I recommend that when you make an ass out of yourself do it in the dark and in 18 degree weather, fewer people catch it.

]]> http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/wednesday-at-west/feed/ 2 http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/revealing-hope/ http://amandamagee.com/2012/01/revealing-hope/#comments Sun, 01 Jan 2012 18:18:41 +0000 amandamagee http://amandamagee.com/?p=3044 A woman I have a deep fondness and admiration for, Susan Neibur, posted something this morning that has stayed with me like a strong beam of sunlight after a swim in the cold lake.

Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering ‘it will be happier’…

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

I certainly had my share of disappointment in the past year, but as the Tennyson quote rings in my ears, I realize that the voice of hope is my own. Any chance of seeing the world in a brighter way is not going to come from the laughter of my children, though that is sweet, or the supportive hand of my husband or unwavering support of my parents. Hope is mine to enjoy or ignore.

When I woke up this morning, the house filled with friends and errant wisps of the previous night’s merrymaking, I saw the mark of good decisions. Every corner shimmered with the energy of laughter and contentment. The sunlight streaming through the windows didn’t illuminate dust, it cast golden pools over vignettes: a board game and grape stems; baby dolls and blankets; dog toys and slippers—joy shared.

Later, after our guests left, we took turns at the gym. It was simple, energy out, more energy in. Naps. Laundry. Lasagna.

Wishing you hope and all the wonder that comes with it.

Twitter

Google+

Pinterest

Facebook

LinkedIn

Then there are the sites I frequent for inspiration, research and, let’s be honest, oblivion. I thought as we hurdle through the holidays it might be fun to just have a little fun. Here are a few things that have made me smile.

Cycle of customized apology Have your speakers on, but not too loud if you’re at work, unless of course you like blushing.

Gorgeous, sweaty revelation Searching for a way to push through an emotional plateau? You aren’t alone.

A different Disney Do you realize how precious your perspective is?

Beauty for eyes, ears and soul Mesmerizing.

Sorry, this one is a departure, but her words have stayed with me and the beauty of the message is perfect for the season.

A way home.

Have you found anything amazing lately? Silly, inspiring, absurd? Won’t you share it?

Gift for this Friday: Leave everything bad that happened outside your door and give yourself the weekend to heal. You deserve it.

The times when I feel like I am getting the hang of it (this applies to working or parenting) are when I am completely there. It can be deeply moving or just a relief.  Yesterday I had one such moment. Sean was running an errand that bled into a work thing; dinner and homework were falling solely on me. I set aside my computer, turned off the tv and gave myself to the girls.

Finley babbled on about her day, sometimes taking 4 tries before getting each sentence out the way she wanted. Her desire to descriptively articulate her thoughts is huge. Once she was done she skipped from the frame to gather princesses, purses and magnets. I smiled as Avery slipped into my spotlight and regaled me with stories of the madcaps on the playground. Mid-sentence she’d cock her head, flop her bangs to the side and roll her eyes with a “Can you believe it?” look. And then there was Briar.

She sat next to me, ours arm touching and her eyes boring into mine. I see how hard she is craning her whole being to fit into the grown up realm. She wants the 3:2 ratio to be three grown ups to two kids. I get it and I admire her determination, recognize it as something I have passed on to her, but understanding as I do how it builds in intensity as we age, I wish for her the longest stretch of relatively carefree youth that I can give her. I look at her, really listen to her and allow a slightly different camaraderie with her to feed that older sister need to be different.

I was getting ready to organize some project or another, it was going to involve a glue stick, sparkles and a lot of ad-libbing. Instead the girls began squawking what they would name their babies. Finley affected a faux British accent and said, “I will name my daughter Sara. Seh-ruh, Sara.” Ave skipped over and whispered in my ear, “Mine is gonna be Jessica, but don’t tell Finley, she’ll steal it.” I nodded and smiled. Then Briar slapped her hands on the table and yelled, “Ba-dawna!”

We all looked at her. “What did you say?” I asked. Again, she squealed, “Ba-dawna!” I leaned in, “What is Ba-dawn?” She danced around the table swinging her head from side to side and said, “Ba-dawna, Ba-dawn, Ba-dawn, it’s the name of the baby I’ll have.”

We all sat there laughing. I was so grateful not to be muttering, “D’what?” with preoccupied eyes, but mostly I was just grateful to have such goofy kids.

Go, be goofy, the world won’t break.

You captivated and inspired us. You connected us to places we couldn’t go and sparked ideas of new ways of doing things.

My girls associate the apple with possibility, it has taught them and kept them company. They don’t know it, but they get that from you.

Apple is all they've ever known.

Thank you forever for the possibility you gave us, but even more now, with your passing, the push to create even more.

Steve Jobs, February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011

Even without the sombrero and Dorothy slippers, she is all twinkle and spice. I love her office visits.

Every single day there is something to be grateful for in your life.

Remember that always.