MollyMadonna.com

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to blog or…

…not to blog. That sure seems the question lately. In truth, I miss being here, and yet a part of me has felt the need to close off–if only a little. There is just so much sharing that can (or perhaps, should) be done with the world, you know? And sometimes there are seasons when life feels almost wholeheartedly introspective. My life, as it goes, has wandered down this kind of path as of late.

I am not trying to be distant, of course. Nor do I want to avoid one of the things I most emphatically love–putting pen to the page. But I am processing in a different kind of way, mostly as I wander through the farmer’s market and as I drag my toes through the sand at the beach with our little boy. Some days, I find a pinch of time for a cup of coffee, at an outside table, on my own, and then I process a little bit more there. From our front step to the store and back. From our back patio to a play date and then home again. Life has been busy with the things that Summer should be–many of them filling up the cracks and spaces of a previously dormant-ish and sort of gloomy Spring for my soul.

You could say I’ve been attempting to take a little bit of an emotional vacation.

And for the most part, it is working. This is not to say that I don’t want and or need to be honest and open and real with myself or those who love and understand me best. Just simply to reflect that in times, the quiet of saying nothing feels healthier than the loud of saying much. There is a learning curve involved here for a chatterboxy type like yours truly. I am ever-increasingly OK with that.

Now it is nearly July, and I have been making the most of tracking my soon-to-be fourteen month old’s little pitter-pattery foot steps all throughout the little blue house. Oh, have we discovered our freedom–and in it, I have discovered even more and more of a beautiful friend in this petite person who is half me and half my first (and other) love. It is no surprise, really, that we get along so well. I just never imagined exactly how delightful I would find a smallish boy named Henry at this age. He is the sunshiniest joy on most every occasion, and when he isn’t, he teaches me the most important things about loving and patience and perseverance and all of qualities I long and strive to possess as a mom (and person). On a daily basis, we read stacks of books and take lazy strolls to the park and downtown and anywhere we want to go. We explore food, notice every (and I mean, every) flower, absorb the sunshine and splash at the pool. And when we aren’t doing those things we (read: Henry) nap and we (read: mommy) work and pick up and take a short rest and make phone calls and pay bills and cook meals and schedule visits, until we’re ready to engage in more Summer activity and merriment.

Children are the best medicine. Yep, I think this is positively true.

Today we played I Spy in the grocery store, planned party details for a summery, baby soiree, crunched on snow peas and fed food to the dog from our high chair. For the rest of the day, we will likely make easy dinner (because it’s just the two of us tonight) and mosey downtown to watch jugglers and guitarists and possibly bring home a balloon animal. How does life become this, and where do I get more of it?

I haven’t been blogging much because life was feeling inconveniently uncomfortable for a while, and in the midst of that, I gathered up one hundred and one other things to do. Not to be so busy that I would ignore the rest, but just to find joy in the middle of the ache–to make sweet lemonade from sour grapes.

And that is what we are doing. Moving forward. Attempting to fill our days with goodnesses and grace and all the rest that a loving God can offer our lives–even when we hurt and need time for healing. I am finding joy in smaller things that add up to lovely measurements of healthy, daily living. I am hugging my Henry with a good, tight squeeze. I am soaking up the Summertime, for certain, and filling up the empty spaces with words where I can.

today, i can.

mm

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twenty nine year salute.

Tonight feels monumental. Not just because I’m closing in on the eleventh hour before another birthday, but because I’m saying goodbye to an entire decade. When I wake up in the morning, I will be thirty. Thirty. I’ve been rolling that number around in my head for the past week or so, unsure of what to do with it or think of it. Every year, I tell myself that a birthday is really just 24 hours different from the day before it, but there’s something to the marking of another calendar gone by, and I can’t deny it. A lot can happen from June 2nd of one year to the same date in the next.

The past 366 days have run the gamut. Some have gone on without much instance, but certainly not all. My thirtieth year (age 29) has been a roller coaster of grand proportions–incredible highs and heartbreaking lows and everything in between. I can’t say this about every age (and for this, I’m thankful), but 29 has had its impact. I have watched my baby grow from 11 lbs. to 23 since my last birthday. This time one year ago, he was cooing and starting to smile, but still just a peanut of a babe who needed his mama at every turn. I was dizzy with exhaustion, sometimes overwhelmed, and making a career out of nursing. Today, I am chasing a daring toddler all over town. Occasionally I’m still exhausted, and different things overwhelm, but I am sure as Henry’s mama. I know him inside and out. We have learned each other to a beautiful degree, and I am comfortable in my own skin in this arena of my life. I celebrate, with joy, that I’ll enter my thirties as a blossoming mom–the very best thing that happened to me at 29!

With as much delight as I embrace the good that this past year has had to offer (the above, my sister getting married, anticipating becoming an aunt, our 5th anniversary, celebrating ONE!), I mourn deep losses and still seek to process the hard things that have come–unexpected and utterly challenging to my spirit as I’ve crept ever nearer to the turn of this page. In a way, I am thankful to be drawing closed the chapter that contains them, but in some regard, it’s still hard to see it go. When you lose someone who loves you immeasurably–and who you loved the same, days and months and years passing can be hard; you know you’ll never get them back, and time feels like a reminder that they are gone. I’ve never had a birthday without a card or call from Gramma, and I never wanted this day to come, but it’s here. I know that she is near in many ways, and still, it will never be the same…

Then, there are other things that have both wrecked me and made me more resilient, and 29 seems to be a fairly robust vessel for these. I know that God is working in my life to strengthen me for times to come, yet in the moments, this is never perfectly clear to see. As I rapidly approach a significant and new day tomorrow, I am cognizant that I am the sum of my experiences and whatever God will do with them. If this is a blessing (and I know somehow it is), then 29 has been full and productive. A milestone among milestones. A jumping off point for the decade ahead.

I have been straining a little over the past several days to remember myself an entire ten years ago. I know I could pull out old photos or re-read old journals to get a better picture, but the truth is, I’m ok with the fact that 20, 21, 22…are a slight bit hazier than I expected them to be. I have done a lot of growing in my twenties–or rather, God has done an awful lot of growing me, and the person I was ten years ago is not the same. For this I am most thankful. Closing this segment of my life to enter another feels appropriate, and suddenly (if only in the past 24 hours), even welcome. I have been blessed beyond measure and spared beyond reason.

A friend reminded me today that tomorrow, I will become the age that Jesus was when He started His ministry. Surely, that is something to consider–and to consider well. What will God want to do with me at this age that He has not called me to before now? Somehow, the thought that Christ was most impacting in his life on earth at my age? This could be intimidating, but instead it feels encouraging. God knows what we need, when we need it, and I know He will provide!

Tonight, I’m going to wrap up one heck of a year on the couch with a good (I hope) movie, Jason, and a sleeping babe upstairs. Low key, reflective, and kind of the way my last day of 29 feels like it should be. Tomorrow, as every day, is a new beginning. A glimmering sense of hope and anticipation for what is to come. Goodbye twenty-something, and hello Thirty!

for all that You have given, and all that You have taken away. blessed.

mm

turning thirty. and learning more about love every, single day.

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i go walking.

Lately, Henry’s developing confidence with walking has me drawing comparisons to my own life and how I’m moving along. Just over a month ago, he took his first, tentative steps in front of our family at his 1st birthday party. The timing was perfect–all of his grandparents and mom and dad in the room to see it happen, on a day honoring his growth and the biggest milestone of his life to date. Then, for a few weeks, there were no steps at all–not really, at least, unless you count one or two as he passed from mom to dad or vice versa, always straining his arm to reach the closest parent in the process. He was unsteady and unsure, as any one of us has been in that moment when we realize that we’re suddenly on our own for the first time, needing to hold our balance or otherwise take a tumble. Watching him made me want to fast forward time to a space where he was confident and resilient on his own, and yet I didn’t want to rob him of the discovery–the development of his budding freedom. Our cheering section evolved. Suddenly, and with every step, there was pomp and circumstance–a little boost of encouragement for every inch forward he would take. In spite of my own occasional desire to keep him a baby forever, I wanted this victory for him. You could see the strain on his face to figure it out. You could sense the timidity with which he approached each step.

This didn’t feel like Henry to me–our confident, adventurous little soul. In the same way that we want to see our children master a two wheeler, a soccer ball dribble, a math concept, or a relationship challenge, I wanted Henry to know he could do it and to take off. The physics were all there, but the spirit had a little bit of catching up to do. Why is that when we see our children struggle, we often see the struggle in our own lives, too?

Maybe it’s just me and the season I’m in, feeling like I keep having to face things in the natural progression of life that my heart is not quite ready to handle. For Henry, lifting his head and rolling over and crawling (well, army crawling at first) kind of happened without resistance. But crawling to walking is a bigger jump, I think. And it’s taken more of him to figure it out. It’s almost as if he’s had to make peace with the idea of walking, and until he did, he wasn’t going to get very far on his feet.

I watch Henry in the midst of this development and I feel like I’m looking in a mirror. Things in life are going to happen as time goes on, and some of them are a whole lot easier to handle than others. I’m sure that God is watching me, and I know that He is supporting me, just as I am doing so carefully with Henry. Still, there’s a pile of life circumstances stacking up over the past few months that I just can’t get around at the moment…kind of like my first or second tentative steps in each of these experiences. I trust that each is necessary in my walk with God–in the development of my faith, but my tendency is to resist them. Especially at the risk of falling, getting hurt, or having to try over and over to pick myself up again.

Like our budding globe trotter, there is movement in the right direction for me. Walking is not a harmful thing to Henry, but an important change that will ultimately bring him new opportunities everywhere he looks. I don’t know if I can feel the same way about all that I’m mulling over right now, but I do know that I need to trust the process, even if it’s not in my own, comfortable timing.

Over the past few days, HD has suddenly blossomed from two-stepper to daring little walker. He doesn’t seem phased all that much to push off of a piece of furniture and attempt to stay upright. He still tumbles a bit of the time (his tuck and roll technique is impressive:), but more and more, he’s taking three, five, fifteen steps towards any given target. And the look on his face as he just…keeps…going? Priceless. There is more pride in that smile than I could possible capture in words. He is finding his legs. Moving forward. Gaining the freedom to discover all that’s in front of him. I’m sure that with a little practice and some cheering from the sidelines, I will, too.

It’s always humbling to learn from a thirteen month old. Then again, I have no doubt that God uses Henry in my life all of the time to show me the way.

pursuing traction, one step at a time.

mm

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movie review: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men

Usually when Jason and I squeeze in a movie over the weekend, it takes the form of a Redbox rental we missed in the theaters. Not so last night, when we cozied up in the living room to watch the latest Veggie Tales release: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men. I know…it seems a little strange that we would land on a kid’s movie for our weekend entertainment, but Henry’s not quite old enough to share his opinion, and I needed a little company on the couch. This well-quipped and highly enjoyable film arrived in our mailbox a few days ago for review*, and I can honestly say it was a pleasure to watch. I don’t always laugh out loud during a movie–in fact, it’s probably more the exception than the rule, but this had us both cracking up! Perhaps its something about vegetables posing as classic characters and being tongue-in-cheek funny that does the trick. 🙂 No matter. Robin Good grew on me from the minute it began.

“So what’s the story?” you ask. In Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men, Robin Good and crew set out in the town of Bethlingham to help the poor by fundraising from the rich. All is well until the Sheriff of Bethlingham, by order of the greedy (and hungry) Prince John, halts the merry men’s efforts and gathers the ham they’ve worked so hard to fund. Without anything to show for their hard work, the merry men go rogue, leaving Robin Good on his own, and setting out to steal from the rich instead. Things don’t go so well for the suddenly Not-So-Merry men when Prince John’s guards capture them for stealing hams within Bethlingham’s walls. All the while, Robin Good is left to his own devices as he tries to bargain with the Prince on the poor’s behalf. Alone and frustrated after his friends have deserted him, Robin Good learns the important lesson that no hurt is too big for God. He puts his new understanding to good use as he sets out to rescue his friends and to restore hope to the town of Bethlingham once and for all.

In light of the plethora of challenging material we encounter in the media daily, Veggie Tales has forged on in the world of children’s entertainment to provide–not only appropriate and encouraging material, but quality stories and well-crafted characters that will delight the whole family. Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry men is no exception. As a bonus to an already great show, Jason and I thoroughly enjoyed the included short, “Lenny and the Lost Birthday,” featuring Junior Asparagus:) Just when it seems as though everyone has forgotten his special day, Lenny learns an important lesson about Leap Year and how the calendar changes once every four years.

Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men is now available for purchase in stores and online here, as well as on Amazon. If you’re in the mood for something to brighten up the DVD player, all the while encouraging your children to understand more clearly how God loves and cares for their every hurt, this would make a great purchase!

happy viewing,

mm

*Disclosure: Big Idea Entertainment did supply me with a copy of this DVD in exchange for my review. I was not compensated in any other way. All opinions stated here are my own. Cheers!

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ten (plus ten).

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