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quiet.

12 May

I know it has been around here. Two weeks have gone by since the big celebration, with nary a photograph in sight. I did promise them, and they’re coming in time. Truth is, I want to do the day justice, and I simply haven’t had (made?) the space to make that happen yet. It will bring me great joy to do so very soon–I hope not to disappoint.

If I’m being honest, these past few weeks have just lent themselves more to journaling between the pages of my favorite moleskine than plodding out the components of my days for the blogosphere at large. Maybe someday, but not right now.

So this is just to say that I’m still here, and still wanting to pour myself into things like blogging and sharing and loving life publicly, in the hopes of spurring on others to love life a little more, too.

The beautiful thing about this time of quiet is that I am stacking up 1,001 ideas to share with you at a later juncture. All kinds of things, really, from recipes to outings to party ideas to mama revelations. At the moment, they’re all swirling like a collection of Pinterest boards, cut up into confetti and shaken in a snow globe. I can only hope the result will be as pretty at some point. :)

Rest assured (although it’s been longer than I’d normally like to turn around a report back) that homemade buntings are still hanging about in doorways throughout the house, paper straws still fancy up the china cabinet, and a gigantic, hand-painted Eric Carle scene still graces the living room wall in remembrance of Henry’s 1st birthday bash. We cleaned up all of the cake, but some of the party just had to keep going on a bit longer. Besides, who doesn’t love festive fabric flags coloring up the house in the Springtime?!

A few mini tutorials, lots of photos, and my recap of select favorite moments from the day coming soon…perhaps even before the weekend is out! I can’t stay quiet forever…just for a tad bit more of some much needed time.

love from my corner of the universe,

mm

one!!!

25 Apr

Well, Hanker Tanker, it is finally here. Your big day arrived this morning with the sunshine and a sleepy little you peeking up at us from your crib. You are officially one, and with that, no longer creeping towards the monumental day we’ve all made it out to be. Do you feel any differently today than yesterday? I kind of hope that you feel exactly the same–simply well-loved and cozy and safe and adored.

I do hope that you felt celebrated today, even though the big event in honor of this milestone won’t be here for a few more days. Then, I’ll be so tickled to watch as you take delight in all of the kiddos running around the house, the decorations here and there, the sugary sweet cake set before you for all kinds of smashing and eating up. I know you’re not going to remember it later, but we will all be celebrating YOU. Beyond that, we’ll be honoring a most remarkable year–the way that you’ve changed all of our hearts and how it’s truly taken a village to raise you since day one. Sure, dad and I have done a lot of the heavy lifting ;), but the people who are coming (traveling, even) to see you on Saturday have all been a hugely important part of your life and who you’re becoming. We are SO grateful, we couldn’t even describe it if we tried.

Today on Facebook (is it still around as you read this, however many years later?), nearly 100 people took the time to tell your daddy and I that you are loved, and to wish you a happy birthday or to add their cheer to the day. You have only been on this earth for 12 months, HD, but you are so, so, so, so loved. I think about that and I look at today and I am just blown away. If people love you that much, and we as your parents love you even more, then how incredibly much must God love you!?! I know that today brings Him great delight, as it does me–to see you thriving and joyful and healthy and growing so beautifully before our eyes.

I want you to know that when I sat down to write to you tonight, I knew it would never be possible to articulate all that I want to say to you about this past year–especially in one blog entry. Suffice it to say that I am overwhelmed by all that you add to my world. Hopefully, if you look back on the past year of my entries to you, you’ll know a little something about just what an impact you’ve had on me. I think sometimes we underestimate the power of a young person, but I would have to be crazy to deny the ways that God has used you to change the world in one year’s time. I would grasp every moment all over again if I could.

Henry, to date you are a resilient, determined, peaceful, friendly, intuitive, sensitive, social, careful-but-adventurous, worshipful, cuddly, radiant, gentle, and inquisitive little being. You are learning at lightening speed (which is normal for your age, but still captivates me all the time:). You have a soft and good heart. You electrify a room. You are magnetic wherever we go.

And as far as other things go? Your third tooth made its appearance yesterday–the top middle left of the bunch, and just a tiny, glimmering white sliver, but it’s there. no matter that you only have two whole teeth at your disposal at mealtimes; you eat everything we give you as if you haven’t seen food in a week. (Don’t worry, you’ve never missed a meal;) You are still crawling speedily wherever you want to go, or cruising at a scary pace along all furniture, walls, doors, and the like. You aren’t quite ready to walk yet, but so close! Another few weeks, and you’ll be terribly hard to catch, I’m certain. You love to drop things and see what happens. You chase after the dog with reckless abandon (he runs away for now, but I’m sure that will change.) You almost always have a matchbox car or something with wheels in your hand. You still LOVE to read more than most other activities, which brings me joy. Your introspection is curious at this age, and I watch you closely to try and determine what’s going on as you process (no luck yet, but it’s still fun). You like your sleep, but you also embrace the day. You get excited about the words “car,” “milk,” “Kruger,” “Daddy,” “Mommy,” “hungry,” and “go,” among others. But if I’m being totally honest, “car” probably outweighs the rest 10:1. You are a boy after your daddy’s heart.

As your mama, I am so humbled to watch you as you grow, realizing on a regular basis that I am responsible for you, what you learn, how you begin to understand the world. It’s no small task, and one I do not take the least bit lightly. You are just as much a gift as you are a responsibility, and I rarely ever mind to meet your needs. You have taught me a lifetime about self-sacrifice and joyful servanthood. How can I ever thank you enough?

So, Little Man-er, this is really it. The start of your second year and a landmark anniversary of the very best day of our lives. I love you an indescribable amount. The Lord bless you and keep you, Henry David. The Lord lift his countenance upon you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and give you peace, precious one. Happy, Happy Birthday!

all the love in the world,

your mama

 

the art of good enough.

16 Apr

Most days when I wake up, my list is far longer than what I’ll have time for in the next 24 hours. I know you can relate. There’s always something else we need to do, want to do, have to do, meant to do…and it never seems possible to check everything off before adding a whole host of new to-dos to the pile.

For the most part, I’m motivated by tasks and the prospect of crossing them off. As someone with a perfectionist-type personality, nothing feels better than seeing the check marks down the line or crumpling up a completed list to toss in the trash. When I’ve crossed something off, it’s only because it’s completely finished–no half-done chores for this girl. That is, up until a year or so ago. It only took me the better part of 28 years on this earth and several years in the workforce to figure out how to best manage my time, to “multitask” (if that’s truly possible), and to plot out a course of action that would leave me satisfied with my movement forward at the end of the day.

Enter mommyhood.

Not even just mommyhood, if I’m being realistic, but pregnancy and being a vessel for a tiny human being…then growing into a blimpish sort of shape that only felt more and more surreal until…experiencing the most physically challenging feat of my life (though I loved it!) and then suddenly becoming a parent (to a tiny and loud and needy little person who demanded all of my attention at every hour of every day for a good number of months). And then there was the whole part about being overjoyed and overwhelmed by nearly every nuance life had to offer for a while, until things started to adjust back to a new normal–you know, the one where work was suddenly home and home was suddenly work and I never had to put on makeup or nice clothes if I didn’t want to (but I wanted to!), because there was really nowhere I needed to go. Then, living room walls and time cuddled on the couch with our precious bundle started to close in on me a little bit, because they were mostly all I saw and did for those first few weeks (months) as a new mom and THAT was overwhelming in a different way.

Did I even keep lists at this point? I’m trying to remember. And yet I recall so very little. Thank goodness I blogged so much in the wee hours then :)

So where does that leave me now, this much further on down the road? With an amazing almost-one year old, a life that has settled into itself (in some ways) over the past number of months, and a bajillion lists that I’m trying to cross off and accomplish and achieve because I feel so much like myself again after all this time and this is what I do. Or is it?

Turns out, life right now isn’t nearly as much about lists and all as it is about being present in the moment, about being “mama” when Henry needs me, about being a wife who can listen and a homemaker who manages to keep things mostly tidy (but sometimes, not as much as I’d like). There are one hundred and one to-do’s in my head as I write this, and none of them are on paper. I’m trying to admit to myself that writing them down would be a little easier (because my memory is not 100% of what it was pre-munchkin), but in my mind, writing them down commits me to them–and that’s a whole different stress altogether.

My grand conclusion? I continue to need to work on my ability to be ok with GOOD ENOUGH. For me–and perhaps some of you, it’s an art that I’m nowhere near perfecting. Good enough feels like settling…because it is. But settling, when it brings peace or calm or less heartburn, is actually a good thing, right? I’m just still working on embracing that fact.

Someone is having a birthday next week, and with it, I’m feeling the need/responsibility/burning desire to celebrate him in the grandest way possible, as any mama does when her baby turns one. No doubt it will be a day surrounded by people who love him and who can hardly believe a year has gone by because they’ve watched him change and grow right alongside me. And certainly, the party we’re throwing will be full of fun things and cake and good food and such, but the details in between might just have to be…whatever they are by then. This admittance doesn’t mean I’ll be trying less over the next week to prepare, but it does mean that I’ll be making the effort to ease the stress that undoubtedly could accompany such an undertaking for someone like me.

I’ll be taking a few more deep breaths, that’s for sure. And working hard to keep the right amount of perspective in the mix as I go: Henry will only remember how we loved him in this season–not how perfect or imperfect the celebration of a certain birthday turned out to be.

Oh, the art of good enough. I’m chasing after you…just as soon as I jot you down on my list ;)

in practice,

mm

p.s. Stay tuned! Birthday details are underway, and this space is gonna fill up with them if I can help it!

a letter for springtime.

4 Apr

Dear Gramma,

I picked up the phone to call you today. Hank and I were on one of our sunny afternoon drives back from visiting with friends, and for just a moment, I thought about how you’d answer and we’d talk the rest of the way home. “And how’s Henry?” you would have asked me–remarking just how big he’s getting in all of his pictures and how much he looks like Jason more and more all the time. I’d tell you about Henry’s birthday party (“invite’s in the mail!”) and all the pomp and circumstance we’re planning for our little bug who’s nearly walking and talks all the day long.

Undoubtedly, we would have moved on to the weather next–how beautiful a Spring it’s been, and what a perfect day and temperature for this early on in April.  You’d fill me on family things, who’s traveling where and moving when, who’s expecting, had a baby, been sick, getting better. And I would laugh at the little things, all the while drinking in the time with you down to the very last drop–the “I love you, Gramma” and the “Love you, too, Sweetie,” and the click goodbye.

Everywhere I turn this week, it seems, you are there. Present in the tulips standing boldly in the sunshine, the robin perched on the fence through the kitchen window, the wafting scent of perfect Korean Spice blossoms, uncurling on every bush in the front yard. You’ve felt so close in moments, I could almost burst. And more than I wanted to imagine it–over the quiet moments when I’m left to think all alone, over the sweet spaces when I look at Henry or sit with Jason and recall the promises I made to you that I’d, “Be a good mom…Be a good wife,” I am overcome by your absence. In all of the beautiful things around me that you carefully taught me to love, the sting of missing you is suddenly so great…and I hope–in a good way, that somehow you know. I hope now you can see the indelible mark that you made on my heart over all those years.

Easter is only four days away, and as it arrives, I’m left to remember Easter afternoon last year–how we were talking on the phone when my labor with Henry began. How many beautiful days like that one have we taken to celebrate together as a family, always drawing near in the ways we could to be together? I’m so thankful we have so many to recount…I’m afraid I don’t know yet how to have them without you.

I keep trying to hold back the emotion that comes with great loss, as if there are rules about how we grieve and remember–how we carry on when a piece of ourselves feels broken off, washed away. I catch myself warding off tears and wondering why I’m trying so hard to swallow it down instead of letting it just come over me like a wave. I’m not perfect in any other way, so why would I attempt at being flawless in this? I know that you would understand and tell me it’s ok. You’d probably know before I ever got to you that something was the matter, have cookies and coffee waiting for me when I arrived so we could just talk. Just talk. We really knew how to do that, you and I. Didn’t we? Goodness, I miss you. I really, really do.

I’m so thankful for all of the reminders God is sending me along the way as time goes on–even if my breath catches when a butterfly lands and lingers nearby, or when the tears come unexpectedly as Henry and I dance around the living room. It’s a good thing, how many sweet instances bring me right back to who you were and what you loved and exactly what you meant to me. Thank you for all of the ways you always (and still do. See?!) brought me joy.

a bushel and a peck,

molly

status update.

16 Mar

My world has been devoid of Facebook for 24 days, and I can honestly say that I only miss it slightly. What humors me (and frightens at the same time), is that I consistently find myself thinking in status updates. Lacking a place to deposit them, I’ve come to terms with the fact that if I think in status updates on a regular basis, I probably needed the “break” more than I realized.

When it comes down to it, Facebook connects me to a world of adults I would otherwise have little contact with on a daily basis. Status updates, I’m fairly certain, are a stay-at-home mom’s way of knowing someone else is out there, relating to the latest nap frustration or diaper snafu. It’s not the only way we connect, of course, but it’s the most accessible between playtimes and feedings, household chores and mommy demands. I never imagined it would become such a community, nor did I imagine it would turn into the “fluff” of life–so easily accessible from my phone, whenever there was a break in the action.

What on earth did we ever used to do with our down time? ;)

I know it would be rash to delete my FB account entirely at the end of this Lenten season, but it’s somewhat temping when I consider how much else I’ve done, read, rested, researched and reflected since the fast began. I have been missing birthdays left and right, which makes me feel like a bad friend, and on multiple occasions now, I’ve missed the latest viral fill-in-the-blank due to my absence. Gasp! I am so out of touch. Henry may one day be mortified to know how very “in the dark” I’ve become.

To live without the book of faces feels oddly primitive. Kind of a turning back of time in my life to a place where I once had whole minutes or hours to devour a good book or to go to bed before the wee hours crept along. And yet, here I am, and I’m thankful for it. I needed the discipline for a bit, and I still need it for the next few weeks. I’m hoping that by then, FB and I will have gone to our corners–and that we’ll be able to renegotiate on more reasonable terms. How did we ever get here in the first place? Sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) the world we live in (and the things we/I spend our time doing in it) really scares me.

Thank goodness God honors even the little steps we take. It’s a beautiful thing.

The valuable gem I would have likely shared in that ghostly status window tonight? I just found out, after 8 years of ordering pizza with the man, that my husband orders green peppers over red for the color. Hm. And to think I’ve been ordering green peppers unnecessarily all this time…

There. Now that feels better.

living in a status free state for a while longer,

mm

this is the day…

11 Mar

…that the Lord has made! We will rejoice and be glad in it!

It was a surreal, out of doors kind of day for this time of year, and we were so thankful to be able to enjoy it. Henry was a bit small last year to take advantage of swings and slides and things, but if mom and dad have anything to say about it this time around, he’s not going to miss a one:) We ventured out for an afternoon walk with the stroller and Kruger in tow, and Hank made his park playground debut. From the pictures, it’s clear that the grown-ups in the fam appreciated the experience more than HD, but we trust he’ll warm up to the idea before long. With all of the spring, summer and fall stretched ahead of us, there’s no doubt we’ll have a jungle gym junkie on our hands before the year is out!

After our (brief) trip to the park, we stopped by to visit with a few friends in the neighborhood, met an oh-so-sweet brand new baby, checked out a few “for sale” signs here and there (inquiring minds. nope, we wouldn’t think of abandoning the little blue house), and rounded out the walk with a pink lemonade purchase from a few budding entrepreneurs (they even gave Kruger a complimentary dog treat:). Arriving home, we hopped in the car for a trip to our favorite local ice cream establishment (how we’ve missed it over the winter!) and headed out to the beach for a little gazing. Who knew March would bring so much in the way of warm, wonderful days spent doing the things we love most?!

It was such a treat to catch a glimpse of the months ahead, and such a perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. A little Spring in my life does this chica one whole heck of a lot of good!

A few of my favorite (and our silly) moments from the day:

What a blessing!

headed to bed all the better for fresh air and sunshine,

mm

ten (plus ten).

6 Mar

Hanker Tanker,

Well, little mister, you are officially ten months old. Ten months and ten days actually, but things were a little offbeat last week when you turned double digits. Will you forgive your well-intentioned mama? As the calendar rolled over to your ten month mark, you were busy spending precious time with family and  loving your mommy well when the days were hard. You never cease to amaze me, mini-gentleman of mine. With less than a year under your belt, you teach me plenty about grace most days–always serving as a reminder for me to be my best self, always cuddling or smiling or needing me in a way that says, “I forgive you,” when I don’t quite get it right.

At ten months old, HD, you have proven yourself a most patient and accommodating child on more occasions than we could expect. You have your moments of course (when the days get long and you’ve been away from your own bed too many nights in a row), but in all fairness, I do the same and I’m almost 29 years your senior. I’m not sure that changes much with age, darlin’, and I’m thankful that you’re at least honest with us about your needs. Truly, there are times when I wonder whether I could inherit a smattering of your miniature wisdom; you seem to have a keen sense of what everyone else around you is feeling, and you act accordingly. I don’t know how it’s possible for someone your age to have such sensitivity or awareness, but remarkably, you do. You continue to be a most incredible and undeserved gift to us.

I have never been more grateful for–nor more proud of you, than I have been these past few weeks. I keep thinking that my love for you couldn’t possibly grow any more, and just when I’m convinced of it, my heart stretches even a bit further. You are a light to the people around you–just ask anyone who spent time with us in Gramma’s hospital room. God shines through you into our lives in a tangible and holy way, and as your mama, I’m just humbled over and over to have the privilege of caring for you in this season of your life. I hope I can somehow do you justice.

In as many ways as you bless us, Henry David, you keep us on our toes just as much:) You are crawling, cruising, scaling, standing, reaching, tip-top-toeing your way to everything you can get your hands on. We agreed just tonight, in fact, that caring for you throughout the day has grown exponentially more challenging in the past week and a half. You’re doing absolutely nothing wrong, mind you. You’re doing everything exactly as you should be. It’s every corner, edge, stair, wall, object, and turn that are the problem, really. Effectively, we could blame the house–or perhaps it’s lack of true baby-proofness (That is not a word, by the way, but I’m your mother, so I’m using it. In time, you’ll learn all about my penchant for making up words;). Needless to say, we are doing our best to save you from the major falls and scrapes and bruises that would cause unnecessary pain and/or tears on our watch. And we’re making note of every angle requiring immediate or near-immediate attention, planning a thorough and vigilant elimination of said culprits in the days to come. You did try to scale your dresser yesterday, Oh Adventurous One, and while it’s tempting to remove all furniture from your sphere of influence until you truly get your sea legs, we will not be stacking soft piles of clothing on the floor in its stead. The thing is heavy and not going anywhere–it’s you I’m worried about. What do you say we don’t fall off the front of the dresser anytime soon?

On a last, but certainly no less significant note, you are pronouncing WORDS, my dear. Real, certifiable, recognizable words. When did you learn to say things like, “Clock!” ??? Clock. Really. Of all things. I’m not knocking the probability of your being our punctual child, I’m just saying. Duck and dog and car and dada and mama were all so much more predictable when they happened. You’re still missing a few K’s and R’s here and there, but I truly appreciate the way you say “Kruger” in your own, special vernacular. It is certainly helpful to know what you want, who you’re looking for, and what’s on your mind. Someday we’ll have entire conversations, and I look forward to those. Still, I’ll take all of the “clocks” and “Krugers” and “cars” I can get while they’re blooming. (I’ve learned so much more about human development raising you thus far than I ever did in biology, psychology and all of the other classrooms combined.)

Thank you for being a bright spot even on the dimmest days, precious bug. Ten months and ten days with you, and we’ve needed sunglasses on every one of them! Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently, sweet boy. YOU are a marvelous creation!

all the love in the world,

your mama

don’t forget.

5 Mar

Today I came across a list I’d written a few weeks back–things I wanted to make sure to do and not forget in the busyness of the daily. On it, a line that read, “Call Gramma.” If I needed a reminder to live a life without regret, this moment was it. I stopped in my tracks for just a second, realizing how fresh things still feel and thinking how much I wish I could just pick up the phone. But the ache was fleeting, replaced immediately with gratitude for so many words and glances exchanged between Gramma and me in those last few weeks. No phone call would have done them justice.

I could have thrown the list away right then and there, I know. But I didn’t. I tucked it back into the pile. And maybe that’s a strange thing to do when I know I’ll find it again and be reminded once more, or maybe not. Right now, I’m savoring how recently we sat hand in hand, how relevant that note was only weeks ago, how beautiful a thing that I always wanted to “call Gramma.”

Two simple words stood out on an everyday page today and made me think. No regrets. I pray to always be so lucky with the people I love.

embracing intention,

mm

her children rise up…

4 Mar

…and call her blessed. proverbs 31.28

Seven days ago, as I left Gramma Donna’s hospital room, I said goodbye to one of the most beautiful, influential people I’ve ever had the privilege to love. I knew as I walked away that night that I’d never see her sweet spirit again this side of Heaven. I had to go, but I hated to leave–to close the door on hours and days spent in that room with her, on so many “conversations” written on the white board over laughter and tears. A week earlier, Gramma had been placed in hospice care in the hospital, and our family had been given every indication that her days were few. I’m so thankful that nothing stopped me from packing up the car and making the drive with Henry back to Gramma’s “room with a view,” where we’d visited only days earlier. Then, Gramma and I had exchanged a beautiful conversation–one I will not soon forget and will always strive to remember…

From Monday until Sunday, Henry and I made our way to the hospital daily to be with “Gramma Gramma.” Not Great Grandma Donna (although she certainly was great), but “Gramma,” just the way she always spelled it, times two because it made Henry smile and I liked the ring to it. Whenever we gathered there, we did so in the company of all of Gramma’s children–my mom, aunts and uncle, their spouses, my cousins, and my dear sister, who flew in to be with Gramma, too. By Friday, Jason had joined us, and as the room swelled with people in and out, day by day, the memories and sorrow and grace and peace swelled there as well.

There are so many remarkable moments in the mix of our time together with Gramma that I know I’ll unpack for days to come. I am still processing so much and missing her so deeply…despite having 29+ years to celebrate with Gramma, the fact that our time together on earth is now over has me grappling in a way I’ve never felt before.

Gramma was a remarkable lady. An ideal role model for me and the definitive matriarch of our family. We are all far better off for being raised in her care, and now at a loss for losing her magnificent presence in our daily lives. Over time, I look forward to sharing the beauty that God crafted in our last days with Gramma. We are marked by her goodness–our family, a testament to who she was and all that she poured her life into.

Thank you for understanding the quiet that has characterized this space as of late. This experience has left me beyond having words to share. I hope to do it justice in some way as we move forward, but in the meantime, I’ll simply acknowledge how very blessed this has all been. God’s hand has been in every aspect, and we are all so thankful.

remembering,

mm

wordless.

24 Feb

For the first time in a long time, I’m struggling to put words to how I’m feeling–a strange and daunting turn for a girl like me, who clears and de-clutters my mind by putting pen to paper, fingers to keys. When the year began, I had committed to myself to blog once a day in 2012. I didn’t make the goal public, but the internal accountability was enough to keep me going. Until now.

There’s plenty swirling in my head, and I want to say all of it somehow–want to preserve memories from this week that I know will linger long after the days have gone. I’ve been hoping to preserve on a page all that I’m thinking and all that is happening, but it’s as if every single thought is bottle-necking because there are so many all at once…each leaving little room for any of the others to eek their way out, wild and free.

Nothing about this week feels wild and free. It feels personal, delicate, private. It handles like blown glass, beautiful and colorful at first glance, yet fragile, painstaking, malleable under fire and left to solidify at the hand of its maker. I feel as though I am passing it back and forth between my fingers, praying it won’t drop and knowing that at some point, I will have to let it go anyway. How do you let something so beautiful just go?

You don’t. And that’s why I’m out of sorts. Wordless in a sense, for someone who otherwise has so much to say. There isn’t an utterance to do it justice. Maybe someday there will be, but not for now.

My heart is heavy. In the midst of overwhelming graces, perfect moments, gratitude beyond measure, there is a very real and present awareness of what it happening, and you can’t put words to it while it takes shape. In a way, I think you just have to rest in it as best you can and swallow whole the minutes and hours and days as they present themselves–in tiny, beautiful packages prepared for us by a Creator who foreknew the number of hairs on our heads, the days on our calendars, our every breath. Sometimes, embracing each moment as such makes them possible to handle. It does for me.

doing my best to love with reckless abandon while i can, and searching out words in the process,

mm

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