Just Write | A Day in Mollywood

Good Tired

July 10, 2012 By Molly

I notice my legs and arms are tan. This never used to happen when I worked. I was always inside. Typing and analyzing the day away. Only to emerge nine hours later. Tired, whittled down . . . white.

I gave my kids what was left of me. Smiled for them even though I wished to be between cool sheets. Minutes away from sleep.

Now I’m not working. And I’m still tired. But it’s a good tired.

I knew the exhaustion would still be there. Stay at home moms have the hardest job in the world. But at least now I go to sleep thinking of my happy family. Instead of wondering what I’ll have to force myself to do the next day.

It was a lazy morning. A jammies until noon and cereal for lunch kinda day. I let the boys do things they’re not supposed to do. Like climb on the back of the couch and play basketball with the ball hurdling toward our fancy dining room table.

I wonder what it would be like to have the freedom to always be a stay at home mom. I know it’s not possible for us. At least not right now.

We were getting so close to having our credit cards paid off before I lost my job. Now our plan had to abruptly stop.

We’ll start it up again soon. Pick up where we left off. Finish what we started, damn it.

We will.

Our boys will be better for it.

Will I be better for this break in being a working mom? Will I learn to appreciate the time I do have with my family before it’s time to go back?

I sure hope so.

It’s nap time and it’s quiet and I’ve got a lot of straightening up to do before the boys wake. Soon it will be noisy again.

Soon I will be tired again.

Good tired.

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Filed Under: Finances, just write, Mommy Moments 9 Comments

weekend

March 27, 2012 By Molly

It was Saturday. The boys went down for an afternoon nap. I kept myself busy. Dishes clanking in the sink, the sound of the dryer thrashing wet clothes round and round. Until finally I stopped cleaning, looked around and breathed.

I slipped off my shoes, grabbed my journal and opened the sliding glass door. With no shade on the back deck, the hot sun beamed onto the part in my hair and my pale neckline.

The chair leg squealed as I pulled it back from the table. I listened to my surroundings. Peaceful with the exception of a car passing here and there.

I leaned forward, opened my journal and forced myself to find gratitude. Oh, how I need to look for it more often.

Something about the weekend opens me up to possibilities. It’s funny how on Saturday and Sunday, life looks better, smells better, sounds better, tastes better.

After I’ve filled an entire page with things I’m thankful for, I closed the book. Only for the wind to whip it open again, sending the pages into an acrobatic performance that ends at the last page.

I am glad for weekends.

I am grateful for feels-like-summer sunshine and new hope in my heart.

and for a blue sky that goes on for miles.

Filed Under: just write, Mommy Moments 5 Comments

rainy day

March 13, 2012 By Molly

It was gloomy and rainy on Sunday. The boys went down for a nap in the afternoon. I brewed a 2:00 cup of coffee and sunk into the corner seat of the couch, watching as droplets of water pelted the windows in our living room.

I sipped confidently knowing that none of it would spill over due to a wild child running and jumping on my lap.

It’s funny how I long for nap time on the weekends. Pray for those quiet moments when I can think. Or better yet, not think.

Then when the house is finally quiet I realize I miss them already. I miss the way Landon begs me to watch him throw the ball into the basketball hoop. I miss how in the middle of playing, Brigham will crawl into my lap, look into my eyes and say, “hi, mama” with a squeaky baby voice.

These boys are my everything. They are my song in the quiet. They are my inspiration on a gloomy rainy day.

Landon wakes up early and comes down the stairs asking me to put his pants back on. I slide them up his legs and before long he runs to the window and exclaims there is a flood in the backyard. The backyard is flooded and I am worried how we will fix this problem as it will only rain more.

I say to Landon, “Daddy and I are going to have to figure out how to get rid of all that water.”

And he says, “We don’t need to get rid of it, mommy. We need to go splash in it.”

I smiled. Then I promised him a new pair of rain boots come spring.

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Filed Under: just write, Mommy Moments 10 Comments

burrito face

January 31, 2012 By Molly

I walked into work today, disheveled, moody, hurting to see home again.

My shirt sloppily untucked. My cardigan unbuttoned. Wet curls dangling at my shoulders. There was not time to dry them. There never seems to be enough time. Landon was coughing and sniffling and complaining that his ear hurt. But I still had to take him to school. Because I can’t miss work again.

I barely saw my kids yesterday. A few minutes in passing before I left for work. A quick exchange of tiny kisses. Then for 30 minutes during their bath time before I left for dinner.

I realized something yesterday. Something that has been going on for a long time but I became awake to it after crying in my car on my way home.

Naaman sent me a photo on my phone. Brigham was scaring down a burrito and his little cheeks were puffed out, full of food.

I burst out in tears. I missed it. I missed his burrito face.

The realization was that I emotionally separate myself from my kids.

I had an amazing bond with Brigham when he was first born. I couldn’t set him down. I held him in my arms and I didn’t want anyone else to hold him. He was mine. It was like gravity. He gravitated to my chest and that is where he stayed.

Then I got a job.

I started when he was 8-weeks-old. I remember the week before it began. I started setting him down more. Giving him bottles instead of the breast. Letting Naaman hold him more because I knew he needed to get used to me not being there.

On my first day, I was unwillingly pulled away from my newborn.

The bond was broken.

But I broke it. I did it on purpose. I thought it would hurt less if I let go a little. I thought I was protecting myself. I thought I was protecting my boys. That if I got too close or spent too much time with them I would realize what I’m missing.

The truth is – I’ve known all along what I’m missing.

I’m missing burrito faces.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

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Filed Under: Brigham, just write, Work 11 Comments

Instead

January 24, 2012 By Molly

I wanted to be the next Jewel. On tour, strumming my guitar while singing love songs to an adoring audience.

instead

Every night, I have the pleasure of performing You Are My Sunshine and Rock-a-bye Baby to the two most adoring fans I could have ever wished for.

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I wanted to write the next best-seller.

instead

I write a small blog whose inspiration comes from two precious souls I endeavor to deserve.

——–

I wanted to travel the world, my eyes soaking up the vast views of what God created for us.

instead

Every night I drive to a comfortable home in an outer lying suburb in the great midwest. And it is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. Because of what’s inside.

——–

I wanted to wear expensive shoes and fancy dresses to an important job in a big city.

instead

I wear a piece of jewelry on my left ring finger that means more than any other item I will ever own.

——–

I wanted to go to parties and sip $8 martinis while talking to stylish friends.

instead

I throw on some pajama pants and play Duck Duck Goose with two giggling souls who run circles around me.

——–

All these things I wanted? They weren’t right for me.

instead

My instead is so much better than who I hoped to be.

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Filed Under: just write, Mommy Moments 15 Comments

it’s okay

January 10, 2012 By Molly

My purse is hung over my shoulder. The sound of pills click clack, click clack as I walk to wherever I’m going. It’s a common sound. I carry certain pills with me always.

pass the tylenol

Excedrin Migraine for the awful migraines I get as a side-effect of my anti-whatevers. Tylenol for the usual aches and pains I feel deep down in my bones every day.

Then there’s the xanax. The xanax I was prescribed by my doctor two years ago. The xanax I carry with me always. The xanax I choose not to take.

I don’t know why I do this. On top of everything else I was diagnosed with a panic disorder long ago. In certain situations I panic and have the fight or flight response. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to but when it does it takes it all out of me. After the panic attack is over I have nothing left.

My psychiatrist looked me in the eyes and told me, “It’s okay to take these, Molly. It’s okay to use them to keep yourself calm when you know you are in danger of having a panic attack.”

He also told me to use them for anticipatory anxiety. Meaning, if I know I will be in a situation that in the past has caused anxiety, it’s okay to take it a few hours before that event will take place.

A good example is when I fly. I hate flying. I know I hate flying. It makes all the difference when I take it two hours before a flight.

It makes so much sense. But still I hesitate.

I don’t know why I listen to it rattle, rattle, rattle in my purse, knowing that it’s there at the ready. It’s there when I need it most.

Somehow it feels like a crutch. I’m 33-years-old. Shouldn’t I be able to handle these things by now? Shouldn’t the medications that I already take make this go away?

But I ignore it. I ignore it until it’s too late.

All that stops. Here and now. Today.

If I’m feeling anxious or know that I have an anxiety-provoking event coming up, I am going to dig around in the bottomless pit of my purse, retrieve that bottle, pop it open and swallow that pill.

I will do so without worry. I will do so without shame.

It’s okay not to be okay.

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Filed Under: Damaged Goods, Depression, just write, Stuff I Don't Love 18 Comments

waiting for him

December 20, 2011 By Molly

I was alone last night.

He was gone, playing a soccer game with a friend. I walked into our bathroom. Leaned in close to the mirror. Ran my pointer finger under my eye, wiping away mascara marks that gathered in the wrinkles throughout the day.

I turned around and leaned up against the counter, breathing deep. My hands spread across the cold granite and I saw his things. Deodorant, vitamins, electric razor. I can’t wait for him to get home.

My husband. He has been working so hard. Last week he worked six days in a row. That may not sound bad. Until you find out he’s an RN working 12 hour shifts. He is so committed to providing more than enough for our family while we try to pay off our debt fast. Determined to give our children the future that they deserve.

He is a hard worker, possessing a work ethic that not many people our age have anymore. He regularly gets awards at work. He doesn’t want them or need them. He would provide the same care for sick people if he never received them. He is always on time for work and won’t leave until all of his duties are complete. This means that sometimes he doesn’t get home until 8:00 p.m.

So we sit, his boys and I, eating whatever meal I’ve managed to fix after a long day at work. I put kitchen towels over the food for him, trying to keep it warm so he doesn’t come home to a cold dinner.

Landon says, “Someone’s missing.” As if daddy’s just playing hide and seek. Daddy misses dinner. Daddy misses bath time. I know he doesn’t want to and I don’t want it either. But he is in the medical field. We are grateful for a stable job. We are grateful for a paycheck that always comes.

I start the bath for the boys. I can’t wait to hear the garage door go up. I can’t wait to see him come up the stairs. I can’t wait to hear the boys scream, “daddy!”

I guess it’s okay that I don’t see him very much these days. Because every time he comes home I’m reminded just how much I love him.

I can’t imagine if one day he didn’t come home. I don’t even want to think it.

We’ve built this marriage. We’re building this life together.

My things mix with his things in the bathroom. Our toothbrushes touch in the cup on the counter.

And I smile. I’m waiting for the garage door to go up. I’m so glad he comes home to me.

Filed Under: Finances, just write, Marriage, Naaman 15 Comments

do you know?

December 13, 2011 By Molly

I walk aimlessly through the toy aisles of Target. Eyes popped, on the look out for something for Brigham. Landon makes shopping easier. At least he can tell us what he’s interested in. But Brigham. Brigham makes me question why we do this at all.

I’ve been having a hard time validating the money we spend on Christmas gifts. The truth is, I always have. I promise I’m not judging anyone. Every family does what is right for them. But for me, it is starting to feel wrong.

Maybe it’s because we are on a newly begun quest to live debt-free. Or maybe it’s because I know no matter how many gifts we buy for them or for us it won’t fill us up.

I long to be filled up. To look at the Christmas tree, no boxes underneath, and feel whole without it all. I pray that someday our children understand that the greatest gift we’ve been given is Christ’s love and acceptance.

We’re new in this journey. The journey to find God and Jesus and walk hand-in-hand with them throughout our lives. We didn’t start going to church until recently and I worried that I was too late. That Landon was already three and too much time had passed. I just needed to accept that my kids missed their opportunity to become believers. That I messed up again in the biggest way.

Even so, I unpacked the new nativity scene and displayed it on our dining room buffet. We’ve never had one. Just santas and elves and reindeer. They are all okay too. But I wanted Him there. An excited half-my-size son stood next to me patiently watching as I carefully set each figure in their place.

I looked down, his eyes twinkling as the white lights from the Christmas tree bounced off of his baby blues.

I pointed to the figure in the manger and asked, “Do you know who that is, Landon?”

He gazed at the ceramic baby and quickly piped, “That’s Jesus, mama!”

Four Sunday school classes and he already knew.

And then I remembered, it’s never too late to feel whole.

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Filed Under: he's growing up, Holidays, just write, Landon 15 Comments

waking up.

December 6, 2011 By Molly

My alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button, a reflex I’ve perfected over the years. I hit it multiple times because once never completely wakes me.

The third time it beeps, I finally flip over with a sigh and peer out of the covers with just my eyes. The sun does the same on the horizon. I don’t like waking up before it is light outside. It just feels wrong to me.

The kids beckon. I hear them hoot and holler down the hallway. Such enthusiasm for another day.

Something tells me to look out the window. I see the white snow freshly pressed across the earth. I put my face close to the window and blow hot breath onto the glass. In the silence, I make a wish. Because it’s my birthday today.

Another year, come and gone. I’d like to believe I get better each year. That I become more with age.

Although it hasn’t always been easy . . . my years have shaped me. They’ve made me uniquely who I am.

As I run my fingers through the cloud on the window I feel certain that everything that has happened to me was supposed to happen. It may not have made sense before. But it does now.

My soul stirs in that thought until Landon rounds the corner to find me.

“Come here, bud,” I say, “It snowed on my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday, mama?”

“Yep, it sure is.”

He kisses me on the cheek and we start another day.

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Filed Under: Birthdays, just write 12 Comments

another chapter

November 22, 2011 By Molly

I stare carefully at the fresh word document before me. Completely white like a snowfall spread out over the driveway before anyone has woken to change it with tire tracks.

My story lies still on this morning. Waiting for fingers to tap dance across the keyboard and bring it to life. I want to. I want my heart to seep and my characters to soar. I don’t know if I have it in me.

I don’t know if the hours spent in front of this computer screen have been worth it. Or whether these words are good or bad or anything at all.

It’s something to me. Something big. Maybe the biggest thing I’ve ever done besides give birth to two beautiful children.

Still, I can’t help but want this story to be something to someone else. To have another set of eyes read it and say, this is good. This means something to me too.

Maybe this is what writing a novel is supposed to be.

It feels wrong at times. And so right at others. It feels good and bad. I doubt and it hurts and I cry. I get up from my chair and vow to never return to it because I’m living it all over again. I find myself wishing I had no story to tell. There would be less pain that way. There would be innocence and purity. The kind that was taken from me.

But when the night comes I realize I’m lonely without it. Now my novel is important. Because it’s half. It’s half done and it deserves to be finished. I’m busy with it and for the first time in a long time it feels like there is a point to all of this.

So on with another chapter. On with filling up another white snow with tire tracks. I’m going to work in my own little way. So you can read my story. And I can get something back that has been lost for so long.

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