MollyMadonna.com

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a letter for springtime.

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

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status update.

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

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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

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don’t forget.

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