Sunday School Rebel

witchy feet, year two

witchy feet, year two, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

This is a quick post, if only to say, guess what I signed up for?

That's right.  NaBloPoMo.  I figured it was the best way to get off my booty and start posting more.  Last year I managed to post every day, and I'm hoping to keep my perfect record. 

I've barely had time to browse around the new site, or network and make new friends, but please let me know if you're participating, too, so I can clickety click over and make you a friend. 

As for now, I have to wrangle Thomas into his costume, and load all the treats into the car for Trunk n' Treat. I snapped this picture of my witchy feet whilst I was wrassling my preschoolers into order - that's a whole 'nother story.  Pictures of all the hullaballoo to follow, tomorrow! Happy Halloween, everybody!

time management

Okay, enough with the ooshy-gooshy stuff, right?

Life is swirly, and good, as always, but I constantly feel as though I am just catching my breath.  Or maybe it's just today.  I can't tell.  No, I really think it's just everything that I've piled into one week. One thing I am learning, and have tried to stick to, is that my life just can't be as busy-full as it used to be.  In order to stay sane, I require several things: lots of quiet, home time, a certain amount of "alone" time, a good slice of time to read and write, and, not to be underestimated, plenty of chocolate. I've been without a lot of that, lately, except for the chocolate, of course.  There is always chocolate in my house. 

One of the best things I've ever learned comes from the one and only Anne Lamott.  I know it was a major revelation for her, and I thank her for sharing it with all of us who love to be involved, love to be up in the middle of everything, love the inside loop of community and friends.  It's this;  "No is a complete sentence." 

I've been re-reading the glorious Operating Instructions, as my own copy finally flew its way back to me. (Aside: You all need to read this, new baby or no baby or whatever. READ IT.  I wish I had a stack of fifty just to hand out to friends.) I often say that reading dear Annie is like reading Scripture, you know, how you always seem to glean exactly what you need at that moment; to give you enough fuel to keep on going. At one point she talks about how she's learned from her therapist to say NO.  Here's the full quote:

My therapist, Rita, has convinced me that every time I say yes when I mean no, I am abandoning myself, and I end up feeling used or resentful or frantic.  But when I say no when I mean no, it's so sane and healthy that it creates a little glade around me in which I can get the nourishment I need.  Then I can help and serve people from a place of real abundance and health, instead of from this martyred mentally ill position, this open space in a forest about a mile north of Cherynobyl.

What I love about this is how it is very clear that you are not giving up on helping people.  You are not giving up on doing whatever it is you like to do.  It's just a...lessening.  And I really need to hear this, now more than ever.  It's so hard, to say no, to things that you really love. It's hard to say no because I want to be involved, I want to be a good friend.  I am the daughter of one of the biggest people pleasers on the planet, y'all.  I learned from the best, which means that I've also witnessed the fallout when the burnout hits.  And saying no sometimes means that suddenly you might feel a little lonely.  A bit left out, and isn't that why we get so crazy with our lives and schedules? Because sometimes, anything is preferable to sitting along by yourself and your jibbering brain. But that's okay, because when you practice saying no, thank you, but no - you're not spinning circles in your head, and you're a little less snappy.  Less prone to burst into tears at the smallest wrinkle you notice, the one appearing on your forehead, the one that makes you think Botox wouldn't be the worst thing, after all. 

(I'm kidding.  I embrace my wrinkles.  But uh, would anyone like to recommend a lovely anti-wrinkle cream?)

So, I'm thinking after this week - a week full of so many GOOD things, and also not so FUN things - one night, pumpkin carving at church,very good, the next morning, mole removal, good but definitely not FUN - well, except for Halloween, I'm going on hiatus.  We've had a windshield wiper going out in the middle of a huge rainstorm, the coldest wintery front making things feel so January, feeling kinda crappy on and off all this week, my mama helping me restore my house to some sort of order, and not to mention, several appearances of one cute baby in Halloween jammies.  It's good.  I'm off to go shopping for my kid's christening gown, and that blows my mind into smithereens.  But next week? I'm hoping for a little more quiet. 

three months

Dear Thomas,

You are now three months old, plus change. Three months is a long time to stick around in a family; it shows real commitment. Buddy, if you only knew what you were getting into – but don’t worry, when it comes down to it – you are my kid and Daddy’s, too, and we will keep you safe from all the craziness.

Except for our own, of course.

This past month has been so full – I look back at the days on the calendar, and wonder how we possibly fit all that living into only a handful of days and nights. We’ve taken you everywhere – to Oktoberfest, the Art Walk, a post-baby shower, a party – and you are always so good. I hate to use the word “good” because it implies that some other sort of behavior would be bad, as if you are capable of making a choice. We know you’re not, but dang it, you are SO GOOD and I especially appreciate it – mostly because it sucks to have a reputation, even at your young age.

 You have a little man voice now. It’s not just all falsetto cooing and singing anymore.  You possess a full fledged roar, and you do not hesitate to roar your happiness or displeasure. I’ve always perched your stuffed lion Rory on the edge of your changing station that’s a part of the pack and play – now, when you’re hanging out in it, you wave your arms at Rory, demanding that she come down and play, immediately! Sometimes I let your roar for awhile, and then go rescue the poor lion from the abuse – I snuggle her in your arms, and you smile – as wide as the Mississippi, it seems.   

Speaking of smiles, you are all about the smiling these days. You are especially smiley in the morning, as if the whole world is your best friend. You are now sleeping later – so much so that we have to start setting alarms so we don’t oversleep – and that means that we all wake up together. I used to wake up with you, back when you were a little guy, and watch the light grow rosy pink out the window, feeling hopeful and amazed as the light grew, chasing the dark towards the other side of the earth.

 Many mornings, I lay you in between the two of us, and we bask in your morning smiles, trying not to breathe our awful morning breath on each other. When I get up to go make a pot of coffee, I hear you and your daddy talking away to each other, lots of bellowing and coos, as if you are filling Daddy in on everything you dreamed during the night.

 You rolled over this month, before you were a right and proper three month kid. I was teaching class and your Ra-ra called me, asking if you’d rolled over yet. I said no – just that very day a little four-month-old friend had come over, and she had just rolled over. We were very happy for her, of course, and I whispered in her ear, asking that she tell you her roly- poly secrets – and apparently she did. It seems to be a random happening as you haven’t rolled over since then. You really want to, though, and helicopter yourself around on the blanket or crib. I never know what way you’ll be facing after I put you down. The other day you were fussing because you could get yourself on your side, but not all the way over. I flipped you over, and then clapped and cheered. You were so happy, and smiley, like you won the big high school football game.

When I let you stand up on my lap, and you beat your feet madly against my legs, and I feel so sure if I were to simply let go, you would take off running, like some marathon prodigy. You can almost sit up on your own, and it’s not for trying that you can’t. I see you struggle against your car seat harness, and now we always strap you into your pampasan or swing, in case you should take it into your head to try to climb out and go find a snack in the kitchen.

You love your hands. I watch you cram them into your mouth, and sometimes you stick one a bit too far back and make yourself gag. Sometimes I wonder if you will manage to get BOTH hands in there, but keep trying, bud, and I think you could do it.

Okay, but can we talk about your bigness? The giganticness that is you? Lord, child. People are going to think that I am sneaking you Twinkies in between feedings. We’re still exclusively breastfeeding (well, you get pumped breastmilk in your bottles) and you are seventeen pounds. SEVENTEEN. Dude. I’m starting to get a little worried, but I keep hearing that you will slow down with your weight gain. Please do, because I really don’t want to take you to your next doctor appointment and have her sternly instruct me to stop with the chocolate chip cookies, Mama.

Baby boy, sweetness that you are – you make life so grand. You just can’t know how much your Daddy and I truly enjoy you. We love you, yes, and would do anything, anything at all for you. But loving and liking are such different things, and we really do like you.  You can doubt almost everything in life – God, the government, whether people should wear white after Labor Day or not – but never, for a minute, doubt that I love you. I love you like crazy, kid.

Love,

Mama

 

 

P.S.  You are losing your hair. Embrace the baldness, honey.

 

 

two years

leaving, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Two years, I married a very good man.

Two years  - the trite thing to say, and we have, is this: It's only been two years? How is that possible? It seems that we have fit enough in this past year to last a decade.  A really good decade, but a decade nonetheless.

It's a common human experience, to wonder how having a baby will change your marriage, your relationship. (And I would think if you didn't wonder, you must be fairly oblivious.)  It's no secret that Thomas - darling, wonderful boy of all boys - came quite a bit sooner than we planned.  Of course, our plan was in negotiations, as I was pining for a baby.  I wanted to get on the baby train, not exactly immediately, but sooner than the airy "We can wait til we're thirty."  Suddenly, thirty sounded terribly far away. What, exactly, were we waiting for? Well, a good job, insurance, sure, but these eggs of mine - I imagine them shiny as a new car, all sleek and prime for action - were just sliding down the chute, being wasted, while we trusted in the future to be good to us, reproductively speaking.  I was definitely nervous about waiting, in case there was a problem, and if there was a problem, then it might take years, and the next thing you know, you're on Oprah with your $28,000 box of shots.

I've gotten a little off target here, as obviously we now have a baby, thank you Jesus.  The blessedness I feel everytime I shift his growing self from one arm to another, the at-home-ness that gives me - his life is, of course, nothing less than a tremendous gift. His conception was a surprise, and I will always be thankful that he came on his own volition - not by our calendar pencil scribblings.  Having a baby is a lot like grace, I think - it's so good that you can't believe it's actually happening to you.  You feel sure that all your mistakes surely outweigh the goodness that is right in front of you, flowing through your heart.  Inexplicably, the balance is tipped, and you're the lucky one, your pockets full of four leaf clovers. 

But what does this have to do with marriage? How are we doing, when we barely had time to establish our marriage, and now we are parents? I have to say that I think that we're doing really, really well.  Far better than I dared to expect, because, well, I consider myself an optimist, but you just never know.   Kids are tricksey, and sleep deprivation can push you over the edge.  But once again, I lucked out.  Luck is capricious, yes, but here's the thing: I married a man that I knew would be a good father. I married a man whose face is like the morning sunrise when he sees a child.  I married a man who stepped up to the plate in so many ways after that fateful morning we stared blearily at the pregnancy test.  I married a man who was strong enough to cry when our child was in the NICU, but not in front of me.

What it all comes down to is tremendous love, I think.  Love for each other, yes, and love for our child. Having a baby is no time for sweet whisperings, but love in action.  The nitty, down in the dirt part of love that means shoving aside your own personal preferences for whatever needs doing.  No, he's not perfect, but neither am I. (And thank God, because living with a perfect person would be really annoying.) The unyielding support (and respect) he gave me as I worked to establish breastfeeding - the many ways he hears my frustrations and emotional outbursts and doesn't dismiss me - the fact that if I ask, he helps me.  Even if that means stumbling out of bed to go rinse out our son's poopy pajamas.  What's funny is that you grow up dreaming of all the big grand romantic gestures - whirlwind trips to Paris, perhaps, or diamond earrings appearing under the Christmas tree, or heck, just flowers for no real reason - but really, the most romantic and loving thing my husband has done for me insofar? Would be holding something for me to vomit into while I was in labor.  If that's not love, then I don't know what is.  Even when I cried in the bathtub, afraid of the crushing love and responsibility I felt towards our helicopter kid, I never felt all alone. 

Part of me thinks I couldn't know how much my husband loved me until we had our boy, nor how my love for him would grow, from a mere sea of shared experience and stories to an ocean, wine dark and deep with the edge of promise and hope.  It was then that I glimpsed how far he'd go for me, for us, all of us now, our own ordinary trinity. The limitations of love - the underside of love, the legs you put on your words uttered in the dark, the secret stitchings that hold everything together - this is what it's all about, it seems.  He tells his son, "We waited so long to meet you, and here you are." 

Here we are, indeed.

life is good

out for a walk, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Oh, God, y'all.  What is this life I have now? This crazy life? Where there is no time to write, ever?

I'm recovering from spending way too much time working on what is officially known as "that damn monthly report".  What a behemoth. I abhor paperwork of any kind, and bringing home paperwork and trying work through it with a small kidlet? Not so grand.  But it's finally done and next month's should be much easier - I hope and pray.

I really do hate that I haven't been posting much; there's so much going on.  So many memories being made and I'm not writing it all down and I don't want to forget anything, big or small. Except for things like stupid monthly reports and all the hours of my life I've wasted on the phone with insurance companies.  We won't even go there, no we won't. There's no time for "good" writing; I just want to get the memories down before they evaporate.

First of all, Carrie came home for a short visit.  Last Thursday morning Thomas and I went for a visit with she and Bella.  This was very important because first of all, I miss my Carrie like crazy and we don't get to talk nearly enough, and second, because she had not yet held my child.  She was there for his birth (honoring our deal made in a Sonic parking lot back in our college days) but kindly let everyone else go before her in holding him until it was too late and everyone had to leave.  Finally, finally she got to snuggle and talk glorious baby talk to Thomas Kicking Feet, and it was truly wonderful.  At one point we looked at each other and said, "We're moms!" It still seems so surreal that we're both grown-ups and we have kids.  How did this happen? Who did we trick and did they know how messy our cars used to be?

On Friday night, we went on a date, just Carrie and I.  It's the first time I've done something really fun for myself, without my husband or my child.  A very big deal, obviously.  We went to a great restaurant and ate some really good food - I had, for the record: corn and crab bisque, filet medallions on fried green tomatoes with dirty rice, and white chocolate bread pudding.  Oh, and the most beautiful glass of Riesling.  It was wonderful to sit and talk and not be interrupted by anybody except for our cute waiter.  Afterwards, we wandered through the bookstore and drank hot yummy drinks and looked at People magazine together, just like we used to in college.  I'd forgotten how Carrie likes to read everything out loud, and it made me smile, just being with her.

I'm so blessed in friends, but there is something very special in knowing someone for as long as we've known each other.  Especially at this point of my life, where I am more Mama than anything else, it's good to be with someone who makes me remember the pre-Mama me.  Someone who always makes me feel known and heard and unequivocally loved.

On Saturday, Beaux and I took Thomas downtown for his first art walk.  The early evening was comfortable and it was great to simply be out and about.  We popped Thomas in his sling, facing outward, so he could see everything.  He was very happy, and ended up falling asleep.  He does get heavy, and so Beaux and I took turns hauling him around.  We even dealt with a big poopy diaper with no problem - thankfully we were near a place with a bathroom, the local organic grocery store! As the sun went down, it got a little muggy, and by the time we left, I was drenched in sweat and terribly thirsty, but still, it was a fun outing.

As for Sunday - well, we missed church.  Again.  Thomas is sleeping later and later and if there's no alarm set, we're not waking up in time for early church.  As there was a baby shower scheduled in Wiggins for the early afternoon, we headed on down as soon as we got the car packed.  There was a fabulous lunch with my parents and grandparents, and then Thomas and his Lovie and Granbonnie and I all changed clothes for the shower.  My major concern was that he would spit up or poop all over his nice outfit, but we made it through with no mishaps.  The shower - a book shower! how cool was that! - was for any Wiggins friends to come meet him and visit, and it was very lovely.  There was tons of good food, which is majorly important for a successful shower, and I really enjoyed visiting with some people that I very rarely see on a regular basis (thank you Hope and Courtney - you were wonderful hostesses.)

That's it for now.  It's late, both boys are asleep, and I am ready to crawl into bed with my book and my kid.  I've still got questions to answer from my lurkers - I haven't forgotten.  But until then - goodnight.

playing catch up

carrie finally gets to hold thomas, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

What lovely lurkers I have...thanks, everyone, who said hello.  I'm trying to go through my emails and say hello back - I do love meeting new people!

We've had a busy weekend, whatwith the Art Walk and a baby shower (the last one, I swear!)  and before that, well, I had a very special date with Miss BellaBelly herself.  I do promise to write about it all in the coming week, as well as answer the questions a few of y'all threw out. Right this very minute, I'm procrastinating on paperwork for my GED class, but I really need to work whilst the house is quiet.   

In the meantime, here's a tiny poem.

you know what to do

 So, I can think of absolutely nothing to write about except mice and how I may have conquered them, the perimeter is secured! (Can you tell I've been watching the new Ken Burns' documentary, well, okay, maybe one episode that I Tivoed?) But there's this concept that I want to introduce - today is apparently, the Great Mofo Delurking Day. (I can't get the code to work for the adorable button and no time to finagle with it this morning.)  And who I am not to participate in EVERY crazy Internet holiday or whatever that is decided upon.  And also, because I am the WORST DELURKER EVER now that I have a baby.  All my brain matter has leaked out through my breastmilk and I can never think of anything clever to say.  If I can think of something funny or clever or even downright helpful, well, it's sure to be erased by the eruption of someone's spitup or bottles that need to be washed or another thousand examples of how it's amazing that ANYTHING gets done with a small baby in your life. 

So! If you are lurking, please say hello! I promise I will try to do the same today.  And if you can think of anything you'd like to know about me, please say so, and I swear I will try to answer it in a future post. I will even be organized and make a tiny folder so that your suggestions won't get lost in my email. So, yes, please say hello, you lovely lurkers you. (I am quite sure that you are lovely.) I plan to be out and about in the Internetland this afternoon and do the same, confessing my lurker status and saying hello. And now someone is grunting AND hiccuping at the same time, so I think I'd better go check on him.  Or at least go squish his cheeks.  That always helps the hiccups.