Awake.

...
So, last week I drove all the way to the gym just to take a nap on the couch and shower without my children around me.

It may have taken me a week to justify my actions but that's okay. I now feel no shame and quite honestly, have figured that I burned at least 100 calories herding the kids to the gym, perhaps even 60 calories alone just getting Gabriel to actually stop moving and put his shoes on. So there. Go me.

Small victories, people. Small victories and very big naps.

You see, in case we hadn't mentioned this to one another on the ole' bloggity blog... naps are a pretty big deal for this Mom. As a diagnosed insomniac working on-again/off-again night shifts in a pediatric emergency department, sleep is beyond a luxury--- it is eeked into wherever I can get it, no matter how little the amount of sleep I can muster. I seize it with the fervor of a starving vagrant. Man, that's pretty sad. Balancing the role of Mom to the professional self you treasure as well is tough--- but well worth the effort. Some important parts of living were trumped this year for my-tank-is-almost-empty-critical levels of sleep. Some days, it is balanced so much better and yet others... well, let's not focus on those days, mkay.

I am telling you this, because finally after what feels like so very long...I am on the brink of change! After today, we are officially back in the world of regular staffing for our little ole' ED crew. Which means, better scheduling, better life work balance, better blogging... you get it. Better.

More days of this....

And less days of this...

To top it off... my children are big now. Like go-to-school-5-days-of-the-week-and-come-home-talking-science kinds of big. While I miss our chaotic rhythm of home, I couldn't be more excited for my schoolers on their grand ole' adventures. It is just so awesome to share in.

Today was no exception.

I didn't cry. Well, okay... I did tear up when I picked them up because in that moment, as they rushed up all toothy, four-eyed grinning into the arms of Lucy and me, I saw just how big they are and felt even more how much I had missed them today.

Happy reminders for my heart that weren't lost in a desperate search for slumber. Even sleepy, there's been a lot of those moments recently and my heart is so grateful for each and every one of them.

So, I am moving into this new season of life with just one little at home. It's different and yet in many ways, it is like a new present that I am excited to open. So much to learn. So much to see with Lucy. I'm excited to finally be in a place of rest to share it all with you.

It's good to be back.

Molly's Seven.

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Seven years, sweet girl.

SEVEN years.

There are very few ages in this lifetime that I have earmarked as bigtime ... and while, I gasp at the idea of my baby in one of them... here we are. All beautiful seven years of you.

I love now. In fact, this might have been my favorite year ever with you! When I think of all the wonderful years yet to come, my heart wants to waltz. You are the girl that my inner little self would have wanted to be best friends with. You're quiet and yet silly in your space. You feel the world the best when you are writing. Goodness, do I ever know what that's like. You prefer a book to just about any form of play and have the craziest obsession with robotic stuffed animals. Molly May, you are leaving the most precious fancy footprint on this lifetime.

Cruising through pictures this year, I realized that I had far less of you alone than in years past. I am in no way surprised by this. Those loud and silly siblings are such camera hogs... and yet almost always, they are holding on to you in some way sharing your space. You are the solidarity in their world. To be in the light of you is such a beautiful glow. Who can blame them?

This year was full of new. We went camping with family and even took our first big girl only trip. You swam the entire length of a pool, had your first pedicure, rode your first "rollercoaster",ate your first sushi and bravely leapt  into freezing cold 14 feet water before all your friends. You caught tons of jellyfish, made a true bullseye, had your first real crush and were visited for first time by the tooth fairy. Holy Moly... you are keeping her so busy these days.

You are still a teeny but so mighty in spirit.

I love you, big girl. Here's to number 7--- I think it's going to sparkle.

Love,
Mom



Molly's 7! from Julie May on Vimeo.

Deep Cleaning

...
So, hello. I'm Julie.

This girl you once knew a long while back that used to have this silly little thing of a blog that she poured her heart in to filling up pages upon pages with stories about her people. Her world. Remember her?

 She misses you too.

Stepping back in is a lot more unfamiliar these days. My soul feels restless and my mind feels tired. Hard to move mountains whilst sleeping, no?

You see, I've been cleaning.

I am discovering that as I age I have become progressively (and intensely) more neurotic. To be expected to some degree, but in many ways, still slightly alarming. When life pushes me to the smallest version of my self, it happens momentarily, that with eyes wide shut, I find myself reaching for the vacuum to suck the gunk of life away.

I know, that's strange. Let me better explain.

If I have a patient die during my shift, I grieve. My heart, linked ever-so-delicately to this grieving mother beside me, weeps. While on the outside, my professional self is reflective of all things it should represent: supportive, intuitive, caring--- inside, I'm dredging the trenches trying to see the light and sorting through a lifetime of catechism trying to ensure that the end is in fact the place of light and beauty that I am echoing to this grieving Mom beside me.

I can't fix her pain. I want to so badly, but it isn't possible and my efforts to erase it all would be an injustice to the significance of her loss.

So, instead. I focus my efforts on concrete tasks of cleansing.

There is this little gas station outside my new neighborhood and let's suffice to say that I am having an ongoing relationship with their vacuum. When my mind is cluttered and my heart is full with emotion, it often feels too much to fix. So, I start small and simple.

I attack the teddy grahams.

Vacuum in hand, I approach with stealth and precision. Those dang bears don't see it coming. The removal of each graham bear is like a stitch of healing in my soul. Next come the goldfish. Wedged between buckles and sidled with care, into every single crevice I find them, suck them up and send them to some place out of my reach and beyond my level of care. It's therapeutic and the end result is pleasing.

You see, I can't fix loss. I can't suck it up or pretend it didn't happen. No spotify playslist, no matter how awesome, can erase the sting of sadness that comes with the loss of light. I know this all too well.

Last week, I lost my grandmother. For all the years that we had assumed to be her last, the final day snuck in like a bandit and left us feeling empty and broken inside. Her spirit of life coupled with her love of her family radiated warmth in this world and now this space seems less shiny without her in it. Through time, I'm going to have to come to peace with that. I can spend day in and out supporting someones loss... but this was my somebody and the sting still feels so new.

My Granny was a light for my heart. I can't replace it nor do I chose to forget it.

So I grow, and I work hard to pour the light of that love into the people and places that I care so greatly for, feeling her encouraging, supportive presence all along the way.

And for the hopeless moments of sorrow, that seep into the crevices of fatigue---- there's a stop on my way home just waiting for me. Vacuum in hand, I'll attack the day.