MollyMadonna.com

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the art of good enough.

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!

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11!

Inquisitive Henry David,

Today you are 11 months old. Not quite a whole year, and a far cry from the babe we brought home last April 25th. You are changing so much, and still, some aspects of you become more and more obviously “Henry” every day. You have a whole arsenal of trademarks, HD–expressions galore that make us smile and wonder, remarkable car and truck noises, and a voracious appetite for books and anything with wheels.

This month, your curiosity is what strikes me the most as we turn the corner on the last leg of your very first year. You point at absolutely everything, then look either satisfied and delighted at knowing it’s name and purpose, or thoughtful and studious as you ask to see what object has grasped your attention. You furrow your little brow and turn as if to say, “What is it, Mom?!” at least a hundred times a day.

“Reading” and window watching are your top favorite activities, along with standing guard at your nursery gate. Nothing gets by you unless you are bone weary at the end of the day, and even then, I struggle to keep you from noticing every last sound and distraction as you have your last feeding before bedtime.

My child, you are strong. Physically strong and determined to get wherever you are going, and otherwise–as you seek your own answers, solutions, outcomes and consequences on a daily basis. I don’t worry much about you. I mean, as your mother, of course I worry–for your safety, your health, your heart, and your budding relationship with God. But I don’t worry about you. Even with only 11 months under our belts together, I am totally confident that you will be the one reminding me to keep it together some days. You’re sharp as a tack. I have no doubt I’ll be on my toes for the next number of years with you. And that’s a very good thing.

Perhaps it’s a first born thing, but you are one of the most calculating little ones I know. I can understand a little now why I’ve been teased a time or two about coming out of the womb a mini adult. You are a little boy, of course, and you like little boy things–sand, trucks, dogs, splashing with vigor in the bathtub. But you are cautious. From my vantage point, your little man wheels are spinning all day long and taking everything in. You turn pages of a book like it’s the most important task on earth. I cannot love you enough for this, or for how you study and take pause and study some more. Watching you is like learning an entirely new language and falling more in love with the culture behind it every day. As I get to know more of who you are becoming, I am increasingly aware of just how much I love being your mama. Proud doesn’t even cover it.

Between months 10 and 11, you have grown wildly independent. It’s only a matter of time before you are stepping–then running, everywhere you want to go. In the meantime, your two bottom teeth have finally made an appearance, shining up that gummy smile as if to say, “Here we are, world! What do you have for us!?” You have discovered your belly button (and mine, and daddy’s), and they perplex you in an adorable way. The Belly Button Book has helped us to hone in on your latest development–somehow, the “belly b’s” of cartoon hippos really clear up that mysterious little bump in the center of your tummy. You are also learning to tell us where your heart, hair, and ears are, adding to your repertoire of eyes, nose, mouth, and feet (but belly button is still by far my favorite–especially when you use both hands to tell me where it is ;). You’ve parked on the syllables ca-, da-, ma-, ba-, and ga- for a time, and you typically throw in some gibberish for good measure. And yet, every once in a while, you just get down to it and say the name of whatever it is you’d like to discuss. I love your little deep voice and how you get so serious when you have something important to say.

Now we’re counting down on birthday numero uno, and this mama is not yet ready to put a party hat on your head and admit that an entire year has gone by. Sometimes the days are long, yes, but the weeks and months disappear as if it were nothing. I love you as my toddler and I miss you as my infant all at the same time. No matter though, in the long run. You are still–as you’ve been from day one, my little bug. No walking, running, talking, chomping, pointing, or coming into your own will ever change that. I’m getting excited as I plan your party and scheme of ways to celebrate incredible little you. Get ready, Hanker Tanker. Here comes April!

love you right up to the moon. and back.

mommy

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pure (perfect) michigan.

I had to remind myself all day that it was March 21st. This weather has been unbelievable, and I’m fairly certain we’ll all be pinching ourselves again tomorrow when the temps reach 80 degrees effortlessly. How is it possible that we ventured out the beach tonight wearing summer clothes and worrying nothing about coats or blankets at sunset? Even after the punchy, pink globe dipped down below the horizon, we were hardly chilly in shorts and sandals. I don’t understand our good fortune, but I am embracing this amazing foretaste of Summer while it lasts. As we know, I’m not the biggest fan of the winter months, and this has been the most perfect “Molly” Winter in Michigan that I can remember. It’s the first day of Spring, and there was nary an umbrella or rain coat (or snow pile!) in sight.

Not only did we enjoy the sand between our toes and a gorgeous artistic display in the sky, but we ran into dear friends and laughed /played/snapped photos until the beach was all but dark. It was the perfect cap on the day–God’s handwriting all over every bit!

Today was absolutely, 100% pure Michigan. It was fancy and sunny and warm-breezey and I LOVED it!

A few (ok, my favorite) snapshots from the evening:

Nothing could make me happier: Henry discovering the delight of sand, the sun settling down over the lake, and running into people we love on an impromptu beach night. DELIGHTFUL!

blissfully sandy,

mm

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this is the day…

…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

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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