I Wore a Dress. And I Wore a Hat.

A few posts ago, I wrote about watching Under the Tuscan Sun and how I desperately want the white dress.

Well. I bought myself a dress. It’s not white. There’s no black belt. Am I’m a few sizes bigger than Diane Lane. But I bought a dress.

Molly Jo in a blue polka dot dress with straw hat.

I Wore a Dress. And I Wore a Hat.

And I love it.

I wore it for the first time today.

I’ve struggled with my hair since getting it cut last week. Melanie always does such an amazing job. But I couldn’t duplicate the salon style in my own home. Then we caught The Great Gatsby at the theater this weekend, and I became enamored with the abundance of short hair styles.

Today I love my hair. Even wispy after a long day and getting windswept just before this photo, I love my hair.

Gatsby Hair

It’s not always magazine-beautiful. But I like my short hair. Today, I love it. Tucked under a matching blue headband, I felt the part. I felt coordinated. I felt…

Confident.

I’m not a Size 0 or even a Size 6. I have an eczema flare up on my face that rivals any teenaged pizza delivery kid in town.

And today I wore a dress.

Molly Jo daydreaming.

Dreaming.

I felt strange. As though I’d been waiting for this moment. It was so much more than a dress. It was, as I thought it would be, an embracing of who I already am and letting what’s inside shine out.

A few months ago I wouldn’t have shared these photos. I wouldn’t have been confident enough. But today I am.

Today, I’m okay with being bigger than a Size 6. I’m okay with a less than perfect complexion. And I’m even okay with showing a yard that still needs some clean-up.

Because this is Who I Am.

And let’s face it: nobody’s perfect. Nobody’s even what you see. So much of us is hidden or ignored. That’s not to say I’m not going to strive for something better. But I’m not upset with the way things are.

How can I tell my daughter, “You’re Worth It!” if I example to her a lack of confidence or self-control? How I be a good role model for Dot if I’m constantly struggling with how I present myself or have a lack of willingness to participate in life?

Granted, you’ll (hopefully) never see a photo of me crawling out of bed in the morning… there are just some things y’all don’t need. Like a spider in the shoe or fingers on the chalkboard. I don’t want to leave you with that kind of experience. And me before coffee is exactly that. You’re just gonna hafta trust me on this.

Molly Jo and her empty coffee mug

There’s Nothing in My Cup!

Today was also about having fun and letting Dot take the lead. I simply handed her my iPhone and said, “Do your thing.” Inherently amazing behind any camera, she allowed me to be goofy and dramatic. I made a few suggestions of what types of photos I was hoping for, and she did the rest. Have I told you how amazing she is?

We had a time of fresh air, laughter, togetherness. And it was all free. And in my own backyard.

The legacies I leave my family are more than just my duties and responsibilities. As I’m putting energy into action to accomplish goals and dreams, I don’t want to lose sight of the “little” things. I don’t want to be so focused on writing that I forget to look. I mustn’t be so burdened with a drive to get to Italy that I neglect my own town. I can’t concentrate so hard on working that I forget how to play.

Molly Jo and Dot's Shadow

Going Places

Maybe someday I’ll have a slimmer body, whiter teeth, and a stamp or two in my Passport [Note to Self: get a passport]. Until then, I’m more than comfortable with who I am.

I’m confident enough to wear a dress. And a hat.

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

Follow us on Instagram!
Hannah E. Realy: @herealy
Molly Jo: @TheRealMojo68

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Tuesday

I love Tuesdays. I always have. I was born on a Tuesday. It’s when NCIS is on, and still reruns of Flashpoint. Monday is over, and the next day halfway finishes the workweek.

I’ve always loved Tuesdays.

This Tuesday is one of my favorites. This Tuesday is full of promise. The workweek has been shortened with the Memorial Day Holiday yesterday, which will make this Tuesday go by twice as fast as I catch up on a day’s worth of calls, emails, and other business at the office.

This Tuesday I have my writing work cut out for me as I re-edit the first three chapters of Amara’s Light to include recent character changes and other plotting shifts that Megan and I hashed out over the weekend.

Notes for storywriting for Amara's Light

Notes for Amara’s Light

This Tuesday I’ll wrap up some last minute changes for the new blog design which will be revealed with Friday’s TGIF post.

This Tuesday is full of promise. I can’t wait to see what next Tuesday brings.

What’s your favorite day of the week?

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

I Wish I Was a Helicopter Mom

I wish Dot was young enough for me to do things for her. To wrap my arms around her and protect her from the world. To care for her and take care of things for her.

But she’s a young adult, now. And I can’t live her life. I have to let her go into the world, in little tiny, dangerous baby steps.

I want to save her from certain memories. To be the kind of parent that pushes back when their child is bullied or looked down upon. I want to take her heartache as my own, and keep her from ever wanting to cry these tears.

I want to be successful enough to give her a job so she never feels rejection in the workforce. I want to give her training and life skills without fear of failure or condemnation. But I can’t. She has to search and search until someone takes a chance and hires her.

I want to choose her friends, her loves, her hobbies, her responsibilities. I want her to grow into the woman I know she will be, without getting hurt in the process.

I want to shelter her.
But I can’t.

And my heart still breaks for her.

I love that she’s old enough to have grown-up conversations with. I adore being in the kitchen with her as we experiment with new flavors. She has a sense of humor that she saves mostly for her friends, but now and then I’m allowed a glimpse.

My child makes me proud. And I want to scream at the world because the world doesn’t get her yet. Stop breaking her heart! Give her a job! Let her be!

But life is full of hard knocks and whatnot, and she’s only to grow if I let her experience them for herself.

I want her to be the successful young woman I know she is. I want the world to recognize what I already see in her. I want her to feel comfortable spreading her wings to fly.

I wish I was a helicopter mom and could do the flying for her. But since I can’t, I can only nudge her in the right direction and hope she understands. I can only be an example that I hope she chooses to follow. And I can only hope, in some ways, she’s smarter than me and will find her own way, a better way for herself.

As long she still calls me “Momma”.

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

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