Such a peaceful little bug at ten days old. And peaceful, still.

oh, henry. you sure are something else. (in a good way:),

mm

BTA: for more than i could ever write in a blog post. for being constant. for always picking up where we leave off. for phone calls on the drive home. for so. much. love.

(R)BW: for photo sessions with our littles (I still owe you pictures), kindred blogging, kindred lives. for four-legged friends and a worthwhile commute.

AdR: for chats about being mamas to boys over coffee, for pups, for fashion inspiration, for friendship crafted over radio spots and marketing meetings.

BWB: for lunch dates and pregnancy conversations, hearts after God and the written word, crafts and craftiness and your amazing ability to find me when i need to be found. and for dinosaurs.

JLR: for history. for wisdom and friendship and prayer and openness that withstands all tests of time and distance. for doing life, and for witnessing life at its very beginning.

KTB(D): for ruby slippers and choreography and a love of everything literary. for travels to coastlines and shorelines, and for poems we understand without saying a word.

LZ: for sparkle, both the kind you feel and the kind you wear. for generosity of spirit, for encouragement, and for adventure. (and birthdays, of course.)

LH & NJ: for loving our little family like your own. for prayers, guidance, reassurance, countless blessings, time, nourishment in so many ways.

AT: for fridays. for target dates. for raising boys in a crazy world with reckless love and abandon. and for being real.

BZ: for thoughtfulness and encouragement and spirit. for talent that goes on for miles. for always finding the good. for fake mustaches.

EV: for phone calls that break up the day. for too many similarities to count. for trading in tiaras and earning new titles as mamas instead. for strength.

EJH: for laughter. for being honest. for finding silver linings and reminding me of good. for celebrating what matters and never giving up.

GDZ: for believing. for cultivating love and family and generosity and care. for graciousness and gracefulness and grace.

TMD: for late night conversations. for cheering on and lifting up and leaning in. for lessons. and for bunches, not grapes.

JMK: for covenant. for building a legacy. for falling in and rolling to the middle. for dreaming and watching dreams come true. for what is to come.

And there are more, of course, who I don’t mean to miss in the least bit. More who challenge me in the best ways and who build me up–who teach me about blessing and God and what it means to be selfless, generous, willing, authentic, kind, bold. This entry could be a novel, and I sit back in wonder and think, “How did I ever end up here, with so much beauty at every turn?” You are. Believe it. I know it to be true. Beautiful.

there are not enough words.

mm

The days are passing like minutes on the calendar; where have nine months come and gone so quickly? Today you are the same in age as the amount of time you spent tucked inside my belly, growing into that sweet, small, dependent babe we met face to face just three quarters of a year ago. Still the same Henry David we named you in those very first moments, now you are coming into your own in new ways all of the time.

What do I want you to know about where we are in this very moment? I wish I could capture so much more of you who are than I’ll ever be able–wish I had a replay button to catch every little expression you make. But then, who could keep up?! One of the things I marvel at most about you these days is your ability to light up any room. It only takes a moment, but with one funny face or laugh or nod you have us all softened and attentive to your next entertaining act. You pull me out of a bad mood or a sour day like nothing else can: a blessing to my spirit in a way only God could fashion…

On a lighter noter, you are outgrowing all of your pajamas!…and your socks and onesies and nearly anything else you’ve been wearing as of late. Your army crawl is getting to be more of an army run–nothing gets in your way if you’ve set your eye on something across the room. There are still no teeth in your sweet little mouth, but we think they’re very close. I doubt you’ll make it to your first birthday without a few pearly whites to show off when you dig into cake. You’ve added breakfast in the highchair to your repertoire, making that three square meals a day and milk inbetween. You will eat nearly anything we put in front of you, and finger foods have quickly become regular entertainment. Kruger is also a source of interest all day long. The poor dog loves you and doesn’t know what to do with you all at the same time. I hope you’ll both soon learn to play well together, and I trust a best friendship isn’t far down the road.

When dad gets home from work each day, we eat together at the table, play on the floor, splash around at bath time and always make sure to read a story (or stories) before the end of the day. We continue to pray health and safety and faith and joy over you, trusting that God will look after you and care for you in ways we can only supplement as your parents. When we say goodnight, you always look behind you and over your shoulder to see us leaving–not so ready for our time to be over but tuckered out after a busy, play-filled, action-filled day. Life is never boring with you as we mark your new discoveries and celebrate what a delightful little boy you are becoming.

I’m not ready to give up on you being a baby just yet, and as our first, I probably never will be. You are still cuddly and cozy and dependent and hesitant in all of the right ways, while fiercely independent and curious and adventurous in others. The contrast is striking to me as your mama, honored to have a front row seat as you change and grow so remarkably in this all-too-short amount of time. I’m so thankful to have three months between us and your first birthday, because I still want to take in “Baby Henry” for as long as possible. I don’t want to rush it along or wish it away or think too far ahead. You are marvelous just as you are, right at this very moment.

Nine months feels significant, because you’re surpassing the amount of time you lived in-utero by the amount of time you’ve been in the world. Suddenly, you feel bigger to me than I can contain, although I’m not sure why I’d want to try. You get better and better with every day (and I never thought it was possible!)

I love you beyond my ability to express it. So proud to be your mama. So blessed to watch you grow.

on the other side of a different kind of 40 weeks ;)

mommy

God, I invite you into my life in this way tonight. I don’t want to be lost in the rhythm of days and routine so much that I lose you in the small things. And I invite you into the big things too, God. I pray that you will work in my heart in a way that prepares me for your will in my life–in a way that makes room for you in everything that I am. Please help me to hear you, to be open to you, to glorify you in my roles as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer and employee. Continue to grow my servant heart. Shape me to be more of who you are. I love the idea of you as God in my breathing…God in my working…God in my waiting…God in my everything.

I’m so thankful for the reminder tonight that you are exactly what I need and who I am waiting for. I pray for your help–that I would have the ability to be quiet and listen, and that I would press into what you have for me in each day, trusting and walking faithfully through every high and low.

keeping my eyes and hands open,

mm

God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping

God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking

Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything

God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting

God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
Be my everything
© 2007 Sparrow

Christian lyrics - EVERYTHING LYRICS – TIM HUGHES

So, no more bumpers for the kiddo after today, and unfortunately, a few more bumps on the head in exchange. I don’t think it will take long for him to realize that the bars can hurt a little, and it’s better than the alternative of ribbons ripped off the crib and in his hands while he’s alone. Cheeky little monkey, this one. The ribbons were tied on the outsides, and he still got ‘em off. Ah, well. I’ve ever so quietly removed my mama cap for the evening and am heading to bed to start fresh in the morning. In the meantime, the munchkin. Playin’ and drumin’ and being “SO big!” (with one arm, of course. Two would be asking a lot:)

sleep, here i come!

mm

When I got to H’s room, no back rubbing or shushing or talking softly would do–just the simple grasp of my hand in his was the trick tonight. He curled up, found his thumb and held tightly to me while coming down from the ordeal. I assured him I’d stay. Laying down on the carpet beside his crib, I was thankful to feel needed and not annoyed–to feel blessed and not burdened. I can’t say that every end-of-the-day crying session has brought me as much peace, but tonight, I needed Henry, too. He’s just got a way about him that makes my mom heart soften at every turn. Lucky, I am.

In rare form this evening, Hank proceeded to perk up, turning his self-soothing into playful jabbering and silly shenanigans. What was frustrating for a moment (as I realized sleep was nowhere near for the babe) became more or less hilarious as Henry clapped and wiggled, bobbled his head and made faces between the bars of his crib to entertain. His bedtime long gone, Jason and I decided to sit in the dark of the nursery and let H wind down on his own time. There was no shortage of laughter from the peanut gallery tonight–Henry was up to his funniest antics, and to be honest, I’m glad we didn’t miss them. Another lesson in putting the rest of life on hold when parenting calls. Always important, always worth it.

As I reflect on being the mom tonight, I can’t help but think about how many times I’ve needed my own mom in a given moment–even as a fully grown adult. And now, having inherited another mom in my life as Jason’s wife, there have been plenty of times when I’ve needed Mom K, too. It’s a blessing to be a mom, but it would be awfully hard to know where to begin without having great ones, first. And I do!

Today is Mom K’s birthday, so we’ve spent the day thinking about her importance to us as her kids (and now as Henry’s grandma). She is such an advocate for our little family, offering a helping hand whenever she’s able and loving us well through the best moments and the craziest ones. She is generous with all she can offer, creative with much, a savvy shopper, a gracious hostess and a very doting grandma to HD. We are lucky to have her in our lives.

Sometimes you just need your mom. Sometimes to hold your hand, sometimes to play with your hair or wipe away tears or tell you it’s all going to be OK. And sometimes as a reminder to celebrate the beautiful things in your life–the people who love you unconditionally, who changed your diapers long, long ago and who will put down whatever they have going at the end of the day, just to be with you. Because you matter more than anything in the world to them, and no one else could love you like they do.

grateful to have beautiful moms in our lives, and grateful to be Henry’s “mm-m-m,”

mm

Last night we watched The Ides of March. I liked it well enough, but wished the ending didn’t feel so abrupt. No matter. We sweetened the deal with a little dessert mid-movie. I thought it fitting that our dishes ended up looking so patriotic. Unintentional, of course, but still fun. And with a little chocolate sauce drizzled on top, oh did it hit the spot!

Then over breakfast this morning we plotted out our grocery list, including items to cook up a few new (to our menu) dishes this week. First on the docket? A recipe for Faux Pho from Epicurious. In essence, it’s a close-to-authentic twist on the traditional Vietnamese noodle soup. Jason treated me tonight and cooked up a small storm in the kitchen. We love Pho, so this was fun to try. Will we make it again? Definitely. The only note I’d make is that the recipe says to simmer broth for 78 minutes. Given that the entire dish calls for 30 minutes of prep and cook time, total, we decided that 7 to 8 minutes would do. Sure enough. One little dash makes a big difference:) Oh, and we added fresh lime since that’s how we’re used to enjoying it, plus a little Rooster (Sriracha) sauce because we love a good kick. The serrano peppers will do it, but Sriracha adds an extra punch. All in all, a delightful meal!

If you decide to try it out, you’ll have to let us know how you like it. The whole house smelled wonderfully of fresh ginger, basil, garlic, chiles and lime. Yum!

The little one is fast asleep and we’re watching Storage Wars reruns before bed. I do love the weekend!

relaxed (and full:),

mm

It’s a grand plan. We have a (n almost) 9 month old. We’ll see how this goes:

1) Continue going to bed before midnight. If my fingers fly fast enough, I can make it!

2) Wake up, take care of Henry, enjoy breakfast, drink coffee, work out. (No expectations on the exact order in which all of this takes place.)

3) Vacuum and wash the floors. Snowy boots+driveway salt+Kruger+day-to-day routine=necessary. Plus, it’s too big a job during the week with the peanut in tow.

4) Start (um…) and finish thank you notes from Christmas. We’re not perfect around here. Nope. But we are thankful. Now just to let people know about that…

5) Read a few chapters in my book club book. I keep telling myself I’ll do this while nursing. Then, of course, the book would have to be on the right floor of the house when I decide such things. If I’m up, it’s downstairs, and vice versa. Two copies? The ability to remember everything when going up and down the stairs?

6) Relaxed time with the boys on Saturday night. We can make this happen. Already on the calendar :) Ok, well…on the agenda. The calendar, as I mentioned, is still in need of an update. It’ll happen.

7) On the subject of calendars, write down Henry’s milestone-ish moments in his calendar. Because there’s a whole lot that changes quickly at his age, and because I’m starting to forget what was when. I really don’t want to make it up. In fact, I refuse ;)

8) Something delicious (and perhaps new?) for dinner one of two nights. One of us has to make a grocery store run anyway–may as well pick up something interesting.

9) Church on Sunday morning. Love it. Need it. Gotta have it. Done.

10) Sunday afternoon family nap. We did this last weekend, and besides the whole gang waking up close to dinnertime, it was wonderfully uplifting. Problem solver: set an alarm.

11) Laundry. Perhaps. You know, as other things are taking place. Like playtime with H in his room or a half hour spent galavanting in the snow. Something delightful to get my mind off the laundry.

12) I dunno. Throw in a random something else that I’ve forgotten here, and that will inevitably come up. Mostly because I’m an even numbered person, and an 11 point list would leave me wide-eyed awake in bed tonight. 12 it is.

And that is all. Seem like a lot? Not enough? Just right? Only the weekend can tell. But if I don’t plan (or at least hope), the odds of any number of listed items making their way into the next two days become drastically reduced. Who knows. Maybe tomorrow we’ll scratch the whole thing and make snow forts all weekend. Maybe we’ll take a random adventure somewhere and ask the dog to handle the laundry. Regardless, I like having a list.

a little less cluttered for the exercise,

mm

It’s mostly the cold, really–and the ice, if I’m getting right down to it. I hate being cold. And I hate the threat of slipping on ice, especially with a little one in my arms (or a growing belly containing precious cargo, as was the case last year). The snow, itself, I’m beginning to embrace. It falls so perfectly and quietly out the window, and before the world gets to it, it’s crisp and pure and without blemish. The perfect metaphor for anything with new life in it.

I know that without the winter, we would likely appreciate other seasons less: the warmth of the summer sun, the vibrance of colors in autumn, life being breathed back into the landscape in the spring. For a long time I’ve considered winter to be sort of grayish and sad–always coming on strongest after the holidays and bringing with it a cloudiness that covers everything, makes the days feel dim. But there’s a perfect stillness about things in wintertime that doesn’t happen in any other part of the year. It’s quiet. Introspective. Reserved, in a way. We all huddle in, bringing comforts closer and nestling into home and family in a different way than we’re prone to in warmer weather.

And then there’s the snow. Some years it comes on like a bear, and others, so subtly you almost miss it for a while. When it gets here, it seems as if to say, “It’s time. Settle down your life for a moment…there will be plenty of days ahead for you to fill to their brim with busyness.” Maybe I notice it more this year because I’m spending less time rushing around and more time tucked inside–staying busy, but in an entirely different way. Or maybe I’m taking note because I’m getting older, and I’m tired of loathing the winter months…desiring to make the most of what’s in front of me as it comes.

I have a harder and harder time taking things for granted these days, and for the most part, I’m grateful. The result is twofold as I see it:

1) I have to try harder to ban worry from my days, for risk of pondering too many what ifs and irrational fears that detract from the life that God is giving me each moment.

and

2) I appreciate things and people and slivers of time so much more than I once did, and my joy is drawn from the small things just as much as it is the big ones, which I love.

There is an inner peace that comes with accepting the seasons we’re in, while we’re in them. Even when the snow is falling, when the wind is whipping, when the chill in the air seems biting and without relent. And even when the world is swirling in a way that we can’t see clearly what’s in front of us, but we trust that there is something, and that it is good. It is in that moment of trusting–in our willingness to make peace with where we are, that we say yes to moving along.

admiring snowflakes in the streetlight glow tonight,

mm

-She’s real. Honest, open, vulnerable in that way, and likely inside the minds of millions of moms who struggled at some point this week while running errands with their kids.

-She’s not trying to negate the support of a fellow mom, but rather to express how it made her feel in the moment. Can’t fault her for it–we all have these thoughts from time to time. I can relate well from the standpoint that she left the store chewing on it and deemed it worthy of a blog post later. There’s also some beautiful mommy revelations to be had throughout. Nuggets of wisdom I hope to remember, for sure.

-It’s obvious she loves her children a great deal. And she’s practical about loving them in a way that meets their needs, and her own. A mom who is comfortable in her own skin is a marvelous thing. We should all be so teachable.

Glennon’s thoughts that I’m convinced are absolute pearls of wisdom:

-”I think parenting young children (and old ones, I’ve heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they’ve heard there’s magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it’s hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again.”

-”There was a famous writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, “No. but I love having written.”

As a side note, I (Molly) do love writing, but it’s true that having written can be ohsomuch more gratifying most days. When it’s late at night and I’m tired, I write so that I can go to bed knowing I’ve written. Kind of like working out, for me at least.

-”Parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it’s hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she’s not doing it right? Or that she certainly shouldn’t add more to her load. Maybe the fact that it’s so hard means she IS doing it right…in her own way…and she happens to be honest.”

And then of course, the ENTIRE bit about kairos vs chronos time at the end. After reading it, I was challenged to think, “kairos” to myself every time I looked at Henry today and everything else stood still. And you know what? It happened over and over again. If you’re a mom, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING THIS POST. You may not agree with all of it, and that’s ok. It hit the spot for me. I was honestly laughing and tearing up at the same time, and thinking all the while, “Yes, yes and YES!” I don’t know Glennon Melton from Adam, but if I met her, I have a feeling I’d really like her. Perhaps someday I’ll write a post that reaches out and grabs another mom the same way this one did me.

It’s lovely not to feel alone, isn’t it mamas? And there are a lot of us out there, doing our thing the best we can–whether we’re aware of the army of other mama’s out there doing the same thing in their own beautiful way, or not. Glennon is out there. As am I.

embracing the kairos moments,

mm