Sunday School Rebel

NaBloPoMo: kablooey! it's over!

Today is the last day of November (in case you were wondering...) and that means that NaBloPoMo is OVER.  DONE. FINITO.

Thank God. 

Also, it's Bella Rose's birthday! Happy birthday, sweet Bella baby!

confession

OKAY!

I admit it.  Please don't flame me - even though my husband asked me "Why do you care what the Internet thinks?" like he hasn't been married to me for two whole years and knows that sometimes I care far too much about that very thing - but yes, yes, I let Thomas have a tiny taste of banana pudding.  It was the benevolent, loving thing to do.  Three minutes later Beaux's aunt let him have ANOTHER taste and she didn't even ask me and for half a second I was outraged and then I figured, whatever.  It's banana pudding.  Life is short, and now we can laugh and say that his first REAL food was a swipe of banana pudding. Not just any banana pudding, but his great-grandmother's banana pudding.  That has to be extra-special and count for something, right? 

This morning, he happily slurped down some rice cereal, perhaps the banana pudding was a good influence on his palate.   Then there was a hideously enormous poopy diaper, one that went EVERYWHERE right before we walked out the door, and so maybe rice cereal should be considered a loaded weapon, figuratively speaking.   

the banana pudding post

Gah, what a busy day.  A good sort of busy, but oh dear - very full. 

We ended up at Beaux's grandparents house for a family supper - all my favorites, roast and rice and gravy and BANANA PUDDING - and I don't know, there was something so cozy and fun about this house full to busting - zinging children everywhere, mayhem in the kitchen.  I love the feeling of being a part of a big family - people talking nineteen to the dozen and children underfoot and delicious things bubbling on the stove.  I don't think I could handle it all the time, but it makes for a fun change of pace. 

Thomas woke up, in the middle of all the madness. He was entranced with all the other children around - his eyes wide, taking in all the activity.  Lately he's really into whatever we're eating - he eyeballs our plates with his baby laser beams, as if he could will that food straight into his gummy mouth.  It's hilarious. His little hands grasp for real food - poor little dude.  I think he knows we're holding out on him, trying to give him dumb rice cereal when he could be eating BANANA PUDDING!

Thomas Tuesdays: the third

(Picture taken by my Dad.)

 

four minutes til tuesday

There was significantly less meltdowns and tears than I expected from my two year olds today. Only one major tantrum  -they generally seemed happy to be back with their friends.  Even I made it out of the door and only forgot one major component: a bottle to pump milk into.  I was all ready to pump into a Ziploc bag and throw that sucker into a freezer; but thankfully Thomas sucked down a bottle before my pumping time and one kind nursery worker washed it and had it waiting for me.  It's the small things that really make the difference, from that one small act of kindness, to the cashier who double wrapped my creamer "just in case," and wished me a blessed day. 

mishmash

Tomorrow we're back to our routine, and I'm ready for it.  Maybe I'm crazy, but I miss my preschool kiddos.  I feel sure things will be wild and wooly after our week off, but I am welcoming the idea of spending my morning with children who can actually talk.  Actually, it's going to be a rather off routine sort of week - a makeup class, and assorted family coming into town.  Including my mother-in-law, which, OH MY GOSH.  It's only for one night, this is what I keep telling myself. 

If you're looking for a really good sermon, go here.  Eddie really hit it out of the park this morning, and I felt completely encouraged and uplifted after hearing the message this morning.  Beaux and I are challenging each other to read one of the Gospels this Christmas season, we're going for John.  Mostly because I'm such a sucker for the first chapter.

Elizabeth  - one of my favorite finds through NaBloPoMo - posted a link to this; it's really very thought provoking.  Christmas will be simple around here, but I love the idea of making Christmas much less about the craziness and more about celebration. 

And if you missed my quandry post from yesterday, weigh in on the post below on what you think about our situation. Thanks!

in a quandry

I really almost decided NOT to post tonight.  I'm tired of this half assed posting of mine - I've had a whole week off, you'd think I could come up with something good, but no.  Time off with a baby is not really time off, time off with a baby dealing with painful shots is definitely not any kind of time off.  Poor child.  Day by day, he's done a little better, but there are still knots in his legs.  When we're not giving him Tylenol, we're dosing him with Benadryl, per the doctor's advice, trying to clear up his cough and runny nose.  Today I think he sneezed a hundred times.  The good news is that his cough does sound better, less and less like a hacking wheeze. 

It's been grey and rainy, perfectly Novemberish weather.  Everything green is fading away into brown. 

Something the pediatrician talked to us about has unsettled me.  She really encouraged us to try to move Thomas out of our bed, and to cut out middle-of-the-night feedings.  Theoretically, I agreed with her, and I was actually excited, but I don't have any idea how we can do it.  Or, how I can do it, emotionally. (This doesn't make any sense. I think I was just relieved to have someone in authority giving me some guidance, but then reality came crashing in.) Obviously, I want to transition him to his own crib before it's impossible to do so - but part of me is wondering, is it really necessary? At four months? He's a great sleeper and we're so lucky, and I do feel like I get enough rest.  Today I bought a copy of this book to help give me some perspective.  I just don't know.  Why mess with things when we're all pretty happy?

storm clouds

storm clouds, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

four sentence post

Is it wrong that I consider my Thanksgiving complete, simply because I got to watch a Gilmore Girls Thanksgiving episode?

I'm tired, in a good way, and in my warmest pajamas.  There's a lot to be thankful for. 

I'm just loving this post of Andrea's, do go read it if you haven't already.

(edited to add:  I realized that Typepad listed this as posted on Friday, when it actuality I posted it at 11:22 p.m. on Thursday night.  So I've re-posted it, and finally changed my time zone preferences in my profile. I swear this on all that is holy and right, such as buttermilk pie and my son's drooly smile.)

thankful

in the first rainbow light, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

It's a complete mystery, how this little dude has been a part of our lives for four whole months. He brings us so much joy - lashings of laughter - and we're infinitely thankful that he's healthy and happy. What are you thankful for today?

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Now go eat some turkey!

Thomas Tuesdays: the second

exersaucer!, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Full report tomorrow.  We've dealt with the aftermath of his four month shots today, and this mama is one whupped pup.

making memories

I'm just home from a date with BellaBelly, my dearest Carrie.  If there is one thing I could tell any new mama, it would be, after an appropriate amount of time - which varies for everyone, but I would say would be the point where you can leave your kid and be happy about it -  woman, go on a girlfriend date.  Yes, a husband or partner date is really important, too, but a girlfriend date? Is really the very best.  It's not the same as say, going to Bunko or going to some big gathering, where you can get kinda lost in the shuffle - and that's okay, too.  What's really special is to go out and have that one-on-one time, a whole different focus of attention.

Sometimes, it is very good not to be solely Mama, but solely yourself.  Then, it is so much easier to be very happy about being Mama again.   

We went to see Love in The Time of Cholera.  Now I am itching to find my copy and reread this story - I was still in college when I first read the book, and I remember slogging through it, a slow going.  Now, perhaps, I could appreciate it more.  The movie really revealed the humor of the story - and the passion! - and Carrie and I laughed throughout the entire thing.  Of course, I enjoyed the costumes - all that hand-embroidery and lace - and well, Benjamin Bratt is just as handsome as ever.  What a rascal. 

But the best part, perhaps, of the night was when we were in the car, shooting through the clear-starred night,  remembering odd and random things -always hilarious, in some form or another - from our college days. Regrets, some, love, always.  Sometimes when we talk about those memories, it's like blowing the dust off of some ancient book.  Did that really happen? we ask each other, as if we are eighty years old.  Like it hasn't been simply five years - only five years, really - for life to feel so different.  All the change that's taken place, the normal sort of change, marriage, responsibility, children, the grand and inevitable growing up - the sudden swirl of the present stopped, and we remember.  And one day, I know, we'll remember these times, too, through the hazy mist of whatever is to come.   

the short version

Thomas' baptism went beautifully - he was, by all accounts, quite remarkable in his behavior.  Not a peep! Not even when the water hit his head! And the brunch actually happened, which my worst fear is that it wouldn't, and so my worst fear did not come true. Lots of family and friends gathered and had a good time and there was tons of quiche, which makes me happy.  All of these things - friends, family, quiche.  Oh, and my mom's delicious fruit salad - yummy, and I didn't get to take ANY OF IT home.  How did that happen?

Hopefully I'll have pictures to share in the next couple of days.  I'm worn out, have no energy for writing anything about how meaningful it was and so on, though it was.  I really need more of a weekend.  I'm looking forward to working just ONE day this week, and then being free at last, free at last - for this week, anyway.

Anyway, amuse yourself with yesterday's post.  I actually felt like I sat down and wrote something more than a place filler, and I'd hate for you to miss that.   

home, home, where I wanted to go

home, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

This post of Ree's (the almighty, amazing woman behind Confessions of a Pioneer Woman - she who does it all - cooks yummy food, takes fabulous, fun photos, and writes a dang good tale) made me smile. 

Hay bales give my heart such a thump of goodness.  They are one of my favorite things, and here's why:  when we would come home for a summer visit to "Grandpa's farm," we would invariably find ourselves in the midst of hay-balin' time.  That was the best time, right behind cattle worming time, which is a whole 'nother kind of fun.  Trust me. 

Hay-balin' time meant that we were allowed to jump atop a hay bale, along with the dogs - never less than three - and Grandpa would spear the hay with a long spear on the front of the tractor.  That spear looked like the biggest, longest nail you've ever seen, maybe one fallen out of Paul Bunyan's tool box.  Up, up we'd go, and we'd clutch the hay, and each other, as Grandpa slowly drove us across the field, headed to whatever designated hay barn of the day.  I tried to always keep a hand on Christopher, even when he told me to stop, cut it out, I know what I'm doing, Samantha.  The best feeling was a hand full of hay, and the other around some beloved farm dog - Luke or Freckles, most likely.  Freckles especially loved the hay bale rides.  Luke was along for the ride because he was the most obedient dog that ever lived. 

Now that I think about it, of course it seems an awfully dangerous activity.  But Grandpa was always very careful with us, and I never remember falling.  Okay, once I fell, but I was on a bale being carried behind the tractor.  Which was probably a good thing.  But even falling off was fun; I distinctly remember bouncing off the ground.  As I'd never fallen off a hay bale, it was a surprise to find myself amidst the scattered, left-behind hay. 

Another funny hay bale story:  down the road from where we live is a field, chock-a-block with hay bales.  I'm talking over a hundred bales, the field is at least as the ones on our family farm.  Back in September, the hay was dutifully baled, and it's one of those sights that never fails to lift my heart.  Would you believe that the hay is still there? I kept watching for the bales to begin disappearing, for a long trailer to haul a load down the road.  But no.  And I have a theory:  I think the owner of that field is like me, and hay bales make him very happy.  Now, it's a lot of hot, sweaty work, to bale hay, but maybe he loves it so that he does it, just to have a beautiful field of hay bales, all his own. 

I wonder if one day I'll be an old lady in a straw hat, cheerfully atop the tractor, baling my own hay.  I'd guess I'd better start learning how to work the tractor. 

For more of my summery Mississippi memories, check out this old post of mine.

friday night, the best night of the whole week

We're fine here.  Sorry for the mama rant yesterday, I would delete it but it's all for NaBloPoMo, baby.  Thomas had a much better night - fussy, but not feverish.  I'm starting to wonder if we're dealing with that whole four-month regression thing that I've read about over at Ask Moxie.  He seems pretty happy during the day, and then at night he gets all clingy and mama, you're my everything. Which gets kinda old, though I appreciate being so very important to him.  And also difficult, when Beaux has solo parenting duty.

It's a big family weekend - Thomas is getting baptized this Sunday.  There's a brunch, there's family in from out of town, and just thinking about it all makes me feel tired.  I'm hoping that everything goes well and everyone makes it through alive and happy.  My mother-in-law is hosting the brunch, and, ahem, I'm feeling nervous.  For all my sweet in-real-life friends who read the blog, the baptism is at the early service, right after the music and a prayer. I've asked Eddie for a bang up sermon, and Thomas has the most awesome christening gown.  Let's just hope it's not covered in spit up before he's properly ushered into the family of God.

the sick baby post

What is it about medical stuff that brings out the mama bear in me?  Or maybe it's just doctors' offices? That make me want to bend steel with my eyeballs, or perhaps furtively kick people's shins?

Last night, Thomas had a little fever.  I say "little fever" because it wasn't very high - but he was definitely not my happy kiddo.  He wanted to be attached to the boob, or held the entire time while sleeping, and nothing much in between.  There was no drooling, or other teething-related symptoms. We're all battling congestion around here, and I've not been feeling so well myself.  It's one of those maddening things, where you don't know exactly what's going on, only that THE BABY IS SICK, GOD HELP US.  So, we dosed him with Tylenol, and did not freak out.  I think there's something about having your child spend his first few days in the NICU, it helps quench the impulse to go running to the doctor for every sniffle.

This morning, he woke up, and was most definitely still not his happy kiddo self.  In fact, he was downright unenjoyable. It was one of the few times I've ever felt like begging Beaux please don't leave me here alone with this child!  And there was that slight fever, again.  Not to mention a cough, which he's had for awhile, but now it really sounded like he was spending his free time with a pack of smokes, back in the alley with his friends.  He doesn't cough often - probably not five times a day - but it sounds like we're on the verge of consumption. The frustrating thing is that all the cough medicine is not!recommended! with about a thousand exclamation points! Even though I feel certain that I won't overdose my kid, because I can, what's the word, read - but still.  I haven't gotten to discuss it with a doctor.  So, I finally broke down and called the doctor's office.

(And yes, we've been doing the humidifier thing, and one of those plug-in vaporizers.  And baby Vicks, but not all the time.)

Except that it was only 7:30 a.m., and they were still closed. You might think that doctors would get started a little earlier than the rest of the world and their office hours, but no. 

We settled for another dose of Tylenol, and soon enough, he settled back down for a nap.  Around 8:30, I called the doctor's office back, and talked to my favorite nurse.  (Her name is Carrie, and so I am obligated to love her.) She asked plenty of questions and I assured her that I was not panicking, but his cough was worrying me.  Of course, our lovely doctor was not in, but Carrie the Nurse promised she would ask her what would be the best course of action, and call me back. 

After his nap, Thomas was much better.  He was definitely back to his smiley self, and so I loaded him up for a meeting at church, which he very kindly slept through.  We ran a few errands, and he was Mr. Chill, kicking it in his carseat.  I kept my phone close, so that I wouldn't miss a call, and then broke down around noon and called the doctor's office back. 

And my favorite nurse had still not talked to the doctor.  Which made me feel mildly frustrated, if only because I go to teach my class in the late afternoon.  Did I need to call someone and say, "Hey, I might need to take my kid to the doctor?"  Did I need to call my husband and tell him to meet us at the doctor's office?  In the meantime, I'm feeling like crap.  Total crap.  So I settled for a restorative lunch of chicken tortilla soup, the cure-all for any general feelings of crapitude. 

All afternoon, I checked Thomas' temperature, which never rose to fever level.  He fussed, and howled, and in general, made me feel awful for leaving him in such a state.  And still, the phone did not ring.  So I'm torn - obviously, I didn't think it was a big enough deal to go to the doctor's immediately.  But maybe I was wrong.  That's the whole reason to call the doctor, right? If you're not sure? I was so reluctant to make the trip to the doctor's office, full of germy, contagious munchkins.  The only thing I was sure of was that it was now time for me to leave to teach my class, and I was angry.  Seven hours had passed since that first phone call, and HELLO THAT IS A LOT OF HOURS. 

My solution: to calmly call  - AGAIN - and ask, very nicely, for the office manager.  That was the only way I could think to be heard, to make sure some action was taken.  I nicely explained that I was a new mom, and was trying to be wise with doctor visits.  Thankfully, she didn't treat me like some neurotic idiot and promised to ask the doctor immediately.  I recieved a call back from the lovely nurse Carrie, who didn't sound angry that I had basically called and TATTLED - that's what a feel like, a big tattletale - and the verdict was, yes, if still want to, I can bring Thomas in, tomorrow.  She did reassure me that they don't consider anything less than 101 a fever - which, would have been nice to know this morning! 

After all that, I am still reluctant to bring him to the doctor's office.  First of all, we're about to go for his shots next week.  That's a lot of exposure to waiting room germs.  Plus, with this new information, he hasn't run a true fever.  So I told her that I would see how tonight went, and make a decision in the morning. 

And that is exactly what I am going to do. 

 

quick, quick

Oh! Life is good, as Project Runway has returned.  And it's better than ever. 

Now, that's all the time I have to say anything, as I have a kid who collapses into tears if he's not attached to my body.  Good night. 

Thomas Tuesdays: the first

new favorite snack: fingers, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Because I have no words, or, really, no words worth reading at this late hour - I've decided that Tuesdays should be the designated Thomas picture day on the blog.  Much like Mia Mondays, of which I am a big, big fan. 

That doesn't mean that Thomas pictures can only appear on Tuesdays.  It's just a given, unless I happen to forget.  I think it will help me take pictures more often, too.  I adore my child, but my camera really drives me bonkers.  I'm hoping that Christmas will bring a new camera into my life, one that actually takes a picture when I press the button.  I know! What a concept!

i like to eat

Tomorrow I'm looking forward to spending the morning in my pajamas, a cup of coffee by my side, and writing a certain post that's been rumbling around in my head.  I swear there are deep thoughts swirling around, I've just got to get rested enough, quiet enough, to write them down. 

Today, it was a day to treat myself gently.  I dragged myself and Thomas off to preschool, where, incidentally, I think I dealt with the grossest poop of my teaching experience, so far.  I really hate to tell you that - my dad can't get over how much I talk about poop these days, but hey, my kid's poop is a major responsibility - but it was remarkable, the grossness. The true depth of grodiness.

Maybe it was that experience that sent me over the edge, where I gave myself full permission to spend the afternoon in comfy pants, and to consume the most healing lunch I could think of.  Lately I just can't seem to get well and stay so, it's always two steps forward and one step back.  So, after reviewing what I ate all weekend - completely yummy food, but nothing very health-full - I decided there was nothing to be done besides have miso soup, a gingery salad, and my favorite sushi rolls.

And of course, it totally worked.  The miso soup was absolutely what my soul was crying out for, and the gingery salad even more so.  I've never been one to sip soup out of the bowl, it always seems just wrong.  Soup is for SLURPING with a spoon.  You know those commercials for the soup you're supposed to drink? They make me shudder. But today, if you would have given me a mug full of miso, well, that's what I needed. 

Add to that, a quiet nap in my own beautiful bed, with one lolling, roly poly boy.  And Gilmore Girls.  Have I told you how I've come, quite late, to the joys of Gilmore Girls? I took to TiVoing it so I'd have something worth watching back when Thomas ate every twenty-five minutes or so, and then I got bitten, hard, by the Gilmore Girls bug. Rory and Lorelai, and Luke, and oh, the all absorbing love for all things Stars Hollow.  Last week they started the series (in syndication, of course) from the very beginning, and my joy, it was fathoms deep. I get a happy, curly sort of feeling when I think of 4 p.m. and Gilmore Girls.

The best part of the day was Beaux coming home, and then making the most fabulous supper - steak and cheese grits.  Oh, the beauty.  I, for my own part, made a salad, which of course was very good.  But cheese grits are just, well, a gift from God.  In fact, I am sure that they must have them for breakfast in heaven, every morning.   

if I had a picture of a old rotary phone, I would post it

Once again, I'm phoning in my post.  Our trip went very well -  Thomas was a trooper, a champ, a dream baby.  But now it's time to wash bottles and pump milk for tomorrow and I can't believe tomorrow is Monday.  How do people who normally go away for the weekend handle Mondays? Because I really need another Sunday. 

Or a lot of coffee.  For tomorrow. 

possibly entering into insanity

We're scrambling to get everything together for a quick overnight trip.  I'm a little nervous, taking the baby out of town, spending the night in a hotel - I'm really hoping that Thomas will be as flexible as he's proven in the past.  If not, I'm going to spend a lot of time sitting in the car or hotel room.  Which is really okay, too.  (Maybe I should I pack the iPod?) Anyway, so here's my total, hold-this-space, not-default-on-NaBloPoMo post.  I'd forgotten how NaBloPoMo ends up making you want to bang your head against your keyboard, hoping that the random letters will spell out some profound wisdom.  Something, anything.

So, yeah, wish us luck!

asleep with a book

asleep with a book, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Beaux needs the computer tonight, so this will be a short post. I snapped this picture of Thomas yesterday, and it made me laugh - simply because, before he came into my life, I always, always fell asleep with a book. It seems he takes after me, after all.

hungry

I'm up in the middle of the night.  I woke up hot and thirsty, and clambered out of bed, slipping between my two boys with whom I share my bed.  It's been a rough day, emotionally speaking, and no wonder I fell asleep at 9:30 p.m. 

But here's why I'm really posting - after reading Molly's post, I find myself really hungry for something good to read.  I feel a bit lost when I don't have a good book in my life, and currently, I've got nothing.  The last truly amazing read for me was Middlesex .  I got lost in that world, and relished every moment of the story, smacking my lips with such a satisfying read.  Because I liked Middlesex so, I borrowed The Virgin Suicides from a friend, but cannot get into it.  I'm sure it's a perfectly good book, it's just not the right time. 

So, there's nothing else to do but ask for your recommendations.  I want something hearty, and good, like a yummy hot soup. A down deep, make-you-feel good sort of book. You can probably tell, I actually am craving the perfect comfort read, so don't feel like you can't recommend, say, a really fabulous piece of chick-lit.  I'm up for anything, as long as it's good.  Has anyone read The Almost Moon, Alice Sebold's newest book, and one that I am very excited about? I am eager to hear if you think I should go ahead and buy it now, or put it on my Christmas list.   My Christmas list always has books on it, and so if there's anything you think I should read, even if you wouldn't call it a comfort read, let me know.  I'll store it away for further book hunting-and-gathering. 

sweet moment

Sitting around with my preschool kids, eating lunch.  Peanut butter and jelly and bread, apple slices, sippy cups - ordinary life with two-year-olds. 

J:  Ms. Sam, do you love me?
Me:  Yes, J, I sure do.
J: (Beaming) Give me a hug!

And that, my friends, is what life is all about - the quest for love.  End of story.  Actually, it's the beginning and end of every good story, isn't it?

short but terribly exciting

Tonight, there was a definite roll over.  From back to side to stomach, even though he tends to get stuck on his arm.  In fact, he did it twice, two whole times! And as I was falling asleep on the floor beside him, that will have to suffice for a post.  Very exciting stuff. 

The End. 

a day in the life

I've got around twenty-three minutes left before I miss writing for Monday.  Tiredness is gripping my brain, whatwith all I've crammed into this very day.  All morning with kidlets, and all afternoon away from my child, sitting through a spiritless training session on tiny bits of numbers, logistical, mind-numbing fluff.  I despise training for training's sake, and wish that there was more time and energy spent on learning how to be a better teacher instead of futzing around with sheets of paper.  Not too long ago, I hopped into the car and sped to my classroom, to work on end-of-month paperwork in perfect quiet.  Who goes to the office at 9:30 p.m.? Me, because the baby was asleep and because I couldn't put it off another day. 

And then, to the store, so I will have creamer for my morning coffee, and maybe a bagel.  Lately I am indulgent, and slather my bagel with both cream cheese and strawberry jelly.  It's terrible, I know, but also terribly good. 

As I put my keys in the door, I could hear Thomas crying from the bedroom.  I dropped the bags, and found him in his daddy's arms, wailing with the outrage of waking up, alone.  Lately, he grips my arm when I hold him, a hungry hold that pings my heart.  Part of me wishes he will never grow up, that he will always be this kissable dumpling, this toothless wonder.  So simple to love and nurture and thrill over the details of his babyness.   Earlier tonight, his daddy kissed his cheek, and there was his laugh.  Laughter sent straight from the angels' guitars, I think. 

the light bright

I usually don't comment on many current events, unless you consider the very exciting launch of Season Four of Project Runway a current event - November 14th, friends and neighbors! However, if I'm going to post every single goshdarned day of November, well, I'm going to have to find something else, besides my child's snot, or better yet, poop, to write about. 

This past week, the story of the Marine's father who has won a suit against the leaders of the Westboro Baptist Church really caught my attention.  I am one of the least litigious people you could ever encounter, but when I heard that this father had won ten million dollars in damages from this "church", I said, "Thank you, God." There was this jolt of the triumphant, though he may never see it, and that's not the point.  The point is to stand up against such hateful activity, and possibly, to bankrupt them. While I understand the First Amendment may protect their speech - oh, that tricksey First Amendment - and I value that; there's no way that their actions in any way reflect the Christ I know.   The video footage I saw featured a woman from Westboro nearly frothing at the mouth with her rage.  It was frightening, and very sad.

Sad, because we-who-are-Christians are called to be in the light.  Darkness was on her face, terrible darkness.  Instantly, I felt sorry for her, compassion for someone so terribly lost. 

This group actually came to our little college town, oh several years ago.  It was quite the ruckus.  They were protesting, if you can believe it, a chapter of Amnesty International forming on campus.  No, really.  Because, at that point, I don't think they had found their true calling of protesting outside  American soldiers' funerals.  It's so ridiculous, to think that a group of people calling themselves Christ-followers, would spend their time and use their voices for such a purpose.  Not to mention that such a narrow focus on ONE thing - their anti-homosexuality stance that defines them - is well, decidedly odd. I don't know why anyone chooses to be so preoccupied by whatever people are doing in their own bedrooms; it seems exhaustingly futile.  I remember that I went on campus, and walked by the group.  I wanted to say something, anything, but I was mute, speechless at the sheer stupidity of it all. They were waving their signs to all the cars down the main throughfare - people more intent on having a good time tailgating than anything else, paying very little attention to this mislead group.  What sticks with me, through that vague mist of memory, is the children in the midst of that protest.  Children.  Being taught hateful untruths, twisted religiousity, and spending their one, precious childhood standing on street corners.  And that frightened me more than anything, to think of these kids growing up in such an atmosphere of hate. 

I can't even link to their official website.  It's too hateful, and I got an awful creepy feeling in my heart when I skimmed some of their content.  I just don't understand how someone could fall for this sort of lie. I know at the heart of their belief is a very tangled sense of purpose.  I'm sure the leader is charismatic and feeds them exactly what they need to hear, an inflated sense of their own skewed righteousness.  It's just too ridiculous for words.  Anything can be justified with a Bible verse, but how many times did Jesus go about, fussing about homosexuals? Did he ever say anything about such behavior? Not that I've read. He had bigger fish to fry, as they say, water to turn to wine.  He was busy transforming the ordinary into the holy, he was God on this tilted, staggering earth. 

Of course, these sort of people, they don't concern themselves much with Jesus.  You see, they cling to the Old Testament, living in the pages of Leviticus and Deuteronomy.  I wonder if they've ever contemplated the meaning of grace.  It's hard not to dismiss these people, easy to feel spiritually superior to their bent, smallminded ways.   Yet I feel the whisper of God in my heart, to do something really revolutionary:  to pray.  Pray for these people to stumble into the light.  Hope that one morning, they'll wake, and be tired of such a futile, hate-filled struggle.  Hope that the scales fall away from their eyes, and they realize they've been misled, by that old Lie-teller, masquerading as a light-bright angel. 

Ft. Thomas

Ft. Thomas, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

We've survived, but now our schedule is all out of whack. Full update to come on Sunday, as for now, we're ready for bed.

Good night!

so it begins

Would you believe me if I said I really, really think that Thomas is teething?

(Beaux thinks so, too.) 

Here's the evidence: a slight fever (99), major fussiness, constantly wanting to nurse, drooling far more than usual, and he's been chomping on his hands(or anything else he possibly can) for days now.  I know he's technically NOT four months yet, but still.  There's something afoot.  Or atooth. 

Not to mention that there's some major congestion as well.  He sounds like a little snuffalupagus.  Poor kiddo was so miserable that we finally called Beaux's dad (a pharmacist) and he gave us some advice, which we followed to the letter.  We'd already dosed him with Tylenol, and I'd taken a cold washcloth and rubbed his head periodically - but his congestion sounded so awful.  My father-in-law recommended a dab of some sort of vapor rub, which I love, but wasn't sure if it was okay. (And actually now I've just Googled it, and there is some dissent.  I pretty much trust my father-in-law to be cautious in his recommedations. Besides, we used a tiny, tiny dab.)

So, yeah.  I think this weekend's going to be loads of fun. Any advice from you mamas out there would be appreciated. 

first halloween

little bookworm, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

Y'all. Halloween, as they say around here, "done wore me out."

I loaded Thomas and I up in the car Wednesday morning, headed to preschool - he's going there now, and stays in the nursery, oh the things I neglect to inform you of - I with my witchy tights and shoes, and he in his Halloween jammies. And oh dear. All my kiddos - I have eight two-year olds that have captured my heart, I love them so, and they were all costumed, one way or the other. So, much fuss was made, pictures were taken, costumes were wrangled with on and off the potty, all that fun. One of my little dudes was a cat, but it got a little warm on the playground, so he transformed back into himself, but not before I heard him meowing at his friends.

They were all so very excited. I'd made a big deal of our Halloween party, and then we had "party moms" who came and did, well, not much. But that's not really the point to this story - though I will say, nearly every mom sent a goody bag or treat for each kid, which of course, got distributed in their take home bags. I'm telling you, these treats were quite involved - it was like Martha Stewart barfed her perfection everywhere. Just a bit intimidating. Even Thomas got a goody bag from one of the other kids in the nursery. It's moments like those that you feel clueless as a mom - like, who tells you when it's time to send treats for the other kids? I don't feel bad that I didn't do it for the other nursery kids, as most of them don't eat candy. At least I hope not. (His goody bag had rubber duckies in them, and Mini-Oreos. Yummy!)

So, the madness has begun. My class had a really healthy snack, and then one tiny cupcake. They usually don't have sugar at snack time, and dear Heavenly Father, could I tell the difference. It was wildness, it was definitely close to a rumpus. I was never so glad to see those kids go home with their mamas.

As for our family, we participated in our church's Trunk N' Treat. It's a great concept - people come and park their cars, throw open their trunks, and hand out candy. It's safe and you get to see all your church buddies in their costumes. We actually hosted a trunk, I suppose you would say, and I was a little ashamed that I didn't decorate our trunk more fabulously, but now I have lots of good ideas for next year. Thomas loved watching everyone bustle around - as I was holding him, he would lean out, out - trying to figure out exactly what was going on. We had just enough time to slide him - noisily protesting - into his caterpillar outfit, and then affix his glasses that transformed him into a bookworm.

I think it was about two minutes later that he completely lost his cool, and wanted nothing more than something to eat and a nap. We sat in our lawn chairs, exclaimed over all the cute outfits, and I held the sleepy boy in my lap. He slept through the whole dang thing.