Sunday School Rebel

closing the milk bar

Things that have made me cry in the past 24 hours: 

A post from one of Thomas' crushes, Rachel Coleman of Signing Time

Reading about, and praying for, Stellan

A particularly brutal episode of Intervention (takes you to a video)

A community surrounding a woman battling cancer

News that a friend and her husband are becoming foster parents for two little ones! 

I'm certainly more weepy than usual. Not sad or depressed - I don't have that heavy black claw feeling in my chest - but I'm more like a very overfull sponge, the slightest squeeze to my heart and I feel the tears flow. This I attribute to the fact that, after TWO YEARS, I have closed the door on breastfeeding. It was time. I was done. At times, I hated that I was so impatient with Thomas over it. I did not love that my own sweet boy would HIT me in frustration when I refused him milk. I really hated waking up at 4 a.m. with my child asking for milk, and having to negotiate with him until the sun shone through the window. They say you know when you're done, and I knew. I was finally willing to say no to him over and over, and he gets it. Mostly. I swear I now understand those women you hear about, the ones who breastfeed their kids until they're 5 or 6 or whatever, because my darling boy could SO do that. He would be ordering a breastmilk & vodka cocktail on his 21st birthday, if possible. Oh, he would, I promise you. I hear stories of kids who simply 'lose interest' and laugh, because that's never been possible for us. Only if I kept Thomas really super busy and distracted would he forget to ask to nurse. 

I am beyond grateful that I could breastfeed for as long as possible (for me). When I began this relationship, I was shooting for six months. Then it became a year. It was hard, at times, because SO many people don't understand nursing a toddler. It seems weird to them. And sometimes it seemed weird and awkward to me, with this long legged creature who didn't fit in my lap any longer. But I knew that we would do it until it became clear that it was time to stop completely. I was hoping for this, to let nursing go around his second birthday, and I feel very blessed and relieved, all at the same time. I was blessed in that breasfeeding was relatively easy for me. I was hugely blessed in that our lives changed a year ago, and I was given the luxury of staying home. No more pumping or cleaning bottles or any of that fun stuff. I really can't express how happy am I that we could do it for two years. I also can't express how happy I am to start the process of reclaiming my body for myself. 

Another thing I'm finding is that it feels like my heart has opened up, in a whole new way. Maybe it's a soul shift thing, where now that I don't have to use this body to nourish my child anymore, I have the energy to give to others again. I've been so lucky (again) that all my pregnancy and nursing hormones have made me so even and level, emotionally. Maybe that's why I haven't always felt like writing, I don't know. The jagged ups and downs of someone with a sensitive heart are awfully useful in an artist's life. I just know that it seems like the world has cracked open for me again, in all its pain and glory and love. I want to get in there, get off the sidelines, serve some soup, twirl the words around my pen. It's time. 

party madness and magic

I'm still recovering from The Birthday Party. The one that happened a week ago. No, really, I'm fine, but it did take me a few days to recover. You know how I am about parties. I get a little anxious. 

Our apartment is far too small to host even a family get-together, so we booked a fun playplace where all the kids could run around like crazy and the adults could eat good snacks. I was determined to make my child's birthday whatever, and Bethany Actually's cupcakes were a bonafide hit. Not only were they delicious,but I had MEN come up and ask me, "How did you do that? " 

But I have to tell you a funny story about the cupcakes. I had planned on making a batch on Saturday night, just to see how they went, give us time for a Plan B if they didn't work out. Mom (who came up on Saturday to help out w/ party stuff) and I were so pooped from all our party shopping (including nearly disastrous clothes shopping) that no cupcakes got made on Saturday night. The first batch was completely fine, even if I did mess up the steps to mixing up the dry ingredients. I kept calling Mom over to the mixing bowl, "Does this look fluffy to you?" 

"No," she would say. "Think...fluffy. That is nowhere near fluffy, Samantha." 

The second batch I made was a double batch. Mom patiently sat down with Bethany's recipe and wrote down the doubled measurements. I dyed the batter and dropped spoonfuls into the muffin tin, and Mom was cleaning up behind me. I popped them in the oven, sighing with satisfaction, and Mom hit the timer. Or at least she thought she did. I noticed that she had pressed the 'cook time' which is something different and we think is what you use to set the oven to come on at a certain time? Still not sure about that one. I knew it could shut the oven off but somehow my brain didn't register that NOW the oven was off. I reset the timer; my head was spinning - Thomas still wasn't down for his nap, he was filthy, and a phone call from Beaux's family informed me that we would have people in our apartment BEFORE the party. Off I went to give our official 2 year old a bath, while Beaux vacuumed and I chilled out in the bathroom. 

It was a good thing, because when I got out? Mom was in tears in the kitchen. She and Beaux were trying to salvage the cupcakes. The oven had totally turned off and Mom realized it halfway through and turned it back on - what a calamity! They were so afraid that I would lose it - but all I did was hug Mom, reassure her that I wasn't mad, and just scrap the batch and start over. I still had to get Thomas down for his nap, and so it was my wonderful amazing husband who stepped in and made the batter. Later on he helped me distribute all the colored batter, he wins an award for being The Most Helpful Spouse during Birthday Party Insanity. My mom...she has a thousand stars in her crown, no doubt. 

Later, it got a little crazy. That's putting it mildly. People arrived (including very active twins, a surprise to us!) and the pimento cheese sandwiches weren't finished, nor the cucumber ones. Only the first 12 cupcakes were iced - Mom had run to the store to get more icing (whipped icing? not a good idea) and other party things. My hair was still wet. Somehow, we made it through, even with TEN extra people in the apartment and a pretty cranky 2-year-old not quite ready to be awake and faced with lots of relatives. Everyone pitched in who could (with Beaux's grandma icing cupcakes) and my brother and his fiancee transporting most of the food to the party. We were a four vehicle caravan, and thank Jesus I had all that driving time to have Beaux talk me through some deep breathing exercises. 

The party was a hit. The kids barely stopped playing to eat cupcakes, bless them. 

Don't you love that Thomas looks like he wants to run away? He was bashful while we all sang Happy Birthday to You! 

His best bud L blew out the first candle for him. 

There was a valiant effort on Thomas' part, but still Beaux had to finish the job. 

Then it was time to share the cupcake love with Lovie. She deserved her own fleet of cupcakes, to be sure. 

We had both sets of great-grandparents in attendance, which was incredibly special. I love that Thomas has them in his life - I only had one surviving great-grandparent as a kid and I liked my Pawpaw a whole lot. 

Christopher and Phoebe, food servers by day, and party rescuers by day as well. I swear my Dad was at the party but somehow I never got a picture of him. Sorry, Daddy! There were also many other friends and children but I try not to post too many pictures of unaware people on my blog. 

Beaux really did save the day, or at least my sanity, several times over. Did I mention that he got up extra early and cut up cucumbers, got meatballs started in the Crockpot, AND had coffee ready? I don't know how I ended up with TWO such wonderful boys in my life, but oh I am thankful. 

I am especially thankful that they're so silly. And I am really very thankful that I have a whole year to recover from this party, because OH MY HEAVENS. I need it. 

oh, two

Receiving the first happy birthday call of the day from his great-grandma. He looks so blase, like, man I am worn OUT taking these phone calls! 

A practice candle-blowing-out session with our sweet friends B and L. 

The red you-are-special plate, and a birthday brownie. 

He spent a good twenty minutes or so entertaining himself by rearranging the letter candles. 

month 22 & 23

Dear Thomas,

Here we are, right on the brink of TWO, my sweet son. I can't believe it. I'm terribly excited and yet more than a little sad that my baby is really no longer a baby. I guess we'll have to stop referring to you as The Baby but I don't know that I can. You'll just have to be The Baby until another one arrives, which is who knows when but definitely NOT anytime soon. There are many braver people out there than your daddy and I, and also we're very selfish. We want to bask in your solo sun for a little longer.

I think back to what you've been up to in the last two months and can't think straight. You are into everything, as usual. You are a whirlwind of pure energy. If I could siphon just an ounce of your energy, our house would be spotless at all times and the laundry done. We could be very rich, selling toddler energy juice boxes, or little slushy shots. What? Is it inappropriate, mentioning shots at such a young age?

You are just your own Thomas-self. You are terribly playful and I'm discovering that it's really fun to play together. You are deeply mischievous, which I love. You beam as you steal my blanket and stick your cold little feet under it. You still love to play peekaboo in whatever form, the latest involving you hiding below the bathroom counter and popping up to beam in the mirror. You will chatter at your own reflection for any length of time, telling Thomas-in-the-mirror who knows what, but something indeed.

Your dancing obsession has morphed into running in circles. Sometimes we dance (okay, everytime 'The Veggie Song' comes on Sesame Street and definitely 'News Flash' on Backyardigans) and you chant "Dance, dance, dance!" For a while there, if you were excited about something, or just plain happy,  you had to dance. I wish all adults would retain this childlike sense, that we would drop all our important adult business and shake it, shake it, shake it when our hearts overflowed with all those happy feelings. You teach me not to be ashamed of my own childlike heart, and so I'm trying to take those moments and dance, even if I look like one of those hippo ballerinas from Fantasia. 

This summer you've been attending a Mother's Morning Out program, two mornings a week. We call it "playschool" and that's appropriate, because all you do is play, eat a snack, and then play some more. Your daddy and I felt it was time to give you a chance to get used to other people besides, well, us. Hanging out with other kids and plenty of toys is hardly punishment in any sense. The ladies there have been incredibly patient and in the last few weeks, you cry just a minute when I drop you off, and then there are no tears when I pick you up. Last week I walked through the doors and you weren't looking for me, or sitting in tears in a teacher's lap. You were too busy sitting in the middle of a table (!), beaming at a friend. I couldn't have been more proud.

I'm also so proud of you, for making the adjustment to so-much-less nursing. You are not completely weaned yet, but we're nearly there. Some days you nurse a total of two times, and that is such a freeing thing for me and for you. I am so glad that we could have this amazing nursing relationship for two years, and I never would have thought this is the way our journey would go. I can't help but be really proud of you and me; and I'm sorry for the rough nights where we both cried from frustration. 

You've become totally enamored with your books. You love nothing more than dumping over your basket of books by your bed and having some private reading time. For awhile there you would not leave me or your Dah alone; you were always tracking us down with a book in your hand, saying, "Ay, ay"- roughly translated: read me this book! Obviously, I couldn't be happier to have a small enthusiastic reader on my hands, but reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear eleventy times a day gets a little boring. For the moment, you've stopped demanding to be read to every half hour, but that's only because you're now obsessed with Signing Time and ask to watch it, all the time. You can also turn on the TV; you clever boy. 

Another obssesion: brushing your teeth. You say, "Teeth, teeth" and run off to your bathroom, to climb on your stool and try to grab your tootbrushes. That's right, you have two toothbrushes. I discovered the secret to painless tooth brushing sessions: I let you have one and you brush away. I give you a head start, and then I take the second toothbrush and give you a official brushing. Then you push your stool over by the potty, flush the potty whether it needs it or not, and we're done. Your Dah and and I have started locking the bathroom door, because you'd discovered the joy of throwing toliet paper in the potty. You are curious about the potty, but I am not rushing you into toliet training. That's probably the thing that scares me the most about you turning TWO, is that we will have to start all that, and I just don't want to think about it quite yet. Mostly because I want to make sure it's YOUR idea, otherwise it's never going to work.

You now find joy in coloring, even though you're still quite apt to chomp your crayon after scribbling in an old sketchbook of mine. Woe is me, scrubbing crayon out of your teeth. Your Lovie and Gramps brought you an easel just days ago, and not only can you draw on it, you discovered you could climb through it. Isn't art fun? 

I try to take you out to the sidewalks behind our apartment building in the cool mornings or late evenings. You think coloring with sidewalk chalk is the best thing ever, and I love it, too. It's a fun way to sneakily teach you shapes and colors, or just to write our names. Most of all you like it when I draw a picture and you color it, so to speak. 

I don't know how we arrived here, to this day before, where you are no longer one but two years old. Of course, I can't believe how much you've changed and all the ways you've grown. A year ago we were unpacking boxes and we had no idea how this year would be. A year ago we didn't know the joys of storytime, or making friends with strangers, or car carts at Kroger. A year ago I didn't know you half as well as I know you now, and you're my most favorite person in the world. I can't wait for your two year old self to unfold, and I'm excited and scared and thrilled, a bit like how you feel when you're sitting in the seat of a rollercoaster, ready for the ride to begin. 

I love you so. Let the adventure begin, all over again. 

Mama

yearning for phase two

I hate the word diet. It's such a loaded word. In my mind, it means all sorts of things, most of which equals nothing fun. Even if you go to the other end of the spectrum and say lifestyle change, that can make one feel hopeless, too, as if cheesecake is expressly forbidden until you hit the great banquet in the sky. I believe in being happy, and not depriving yourself - life is too short, right? I think I'm such an atypical woman in today's society, in that I didn't spend my teenage years dieting, nor my early 20's. I've never been obsessed with calories or fat grams. I've had a very healthy self image and was always really happy about my body - except my thighs, they've always been my weak spot. (Of course, I spent my childhood hearing my mother lament her thighs, so I think I just picked up the mindset from her.) And can I just say, my mom was HOT my entire childhood? She exercised very regularly and was just gorgeous. Her thighs were just FINE, I tell you. I still think she's absolutely beautiful, for what it's worth. 

The only time I've ever harnessed myself to any sort of reasonable eating plan was to lose weight for our wedding, and hello, we're here again. This time it's my brother (my BABY brother!) getting married, and I'm to be a bridesmaid. I simply will not be The Fat Bridesmaid, thank you. The last time I was a bridesmaid I was hugely pregnant, and didn't give a whig if I looked fat. Actually, I refuse to call pregnant women fat, because they're NOT, they're simply carrying around another human being. I feel like it totally disrespects the glory of pregnancy to categorize that state as "fat" - so wrong! 

This time, though, I really do need to lose the weight. I'm heavier than I've ever been in an unpregnant state. I'm tired of feeling unpretty and not recognizing myself in the mirror.  There are almost no pictures of me with my own child, which is very sad, but I just can't handle looking this way. My total disregard for calories and fat grams is quite apparent, and so that's why Beaux and I have teamed up together for The South Beach Diet, round two. You can see how I felt about round one in this old post. (How funny it is to read that letter, if only to realize that we were doing the exact same thing 4 years ago. Also, I'm re-reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince before the movie comes out next week - trippy, right?) 

Right now we're in the second week of phase one, which is so much better than week one of phase one, because that is just pure hell. Last week I had a very hard day - I was emotional and hormonal, as we're slowly transitioning to less and less nursing, too- and it felt like I was in a never ending black-and-white movie, with no pretty chocolate or special treat to look forward to - I sincerely didn't know how much I was depending on food to alter my mood. And good heavens, my eating choices are so much better these days. It's frustrating, having a limited amount of foods to choose from - and God help me, I am very tired of eggs. SO TIRED. But anything is better than the endless cycle of sugar crashes and highs - not that I sit around and stuff my face with candy, but sugar is in EVERYTHING you don't prepare yourself. Which I'm sure you already know, because you are all very smart people. 

Already, I can tell a difference in my energy levels. There have been some days where I needed a nap, but for the most part I am cruising along, feeling just fine. No more afternoon slump and coffee to prop me up. Beaux and I have discussed how it's easier to eat less when things don't taste so amazing that you have to have just one more helping, just one more bite. I mean, really! We are having all sorts of deep thoughts over here. While it's a difficult adjustment at first, and we've done some tweaking along the way - like I just can't give up my fat free creamer, I'm sorry, but NO - we know we're eating so much better. It's a huge improvement, nutrition wise. We take comfort in knowing that our little stumbles along the way are still so much better than our former way of eating. And I really couldn't do this without Beaux, who keeps me honest, and who makes the majority of all these damn salads we're eating. 

Still, next week looms like Christmas in my mind, when I can eat - without guilt - FRUIT! and maybe a whole wheat bagel. And we'll go off the diet a bit for a certain someone's 2nd birthday next week - I'm already dreaming of birthday cupcakes. I don't even really love cupcakes, and will endeavour to make them healthier. But still. CUPCAKES. Viva la birthday! Or at least Monday. I really can't wait until Monday. 

dreaming of hot air balloons

Last night we went with friends to a Balloon Glow - and fireworks, too. A handful of balloons were inflated and the fires were lit (the technical term, I sure). I secretly kept hoping one would accidentally take off. Now I am longing to see a balloon race in person - or fly away in one! 

Thomas and his friend L. thought it was all quite interesting. Oh, and Daddy, too. 

They are having a balloon race this morning in Canton, but alas, it started at the butt crack of dawn.

How lucky am I to have these gorgeous boys in my life? Lucky me. 

I think he is hoping to fly away in a balloon, too. Maybe with a magical kitty and a backpack full of snacks. 

By the way, Thomas likes to choose his own shoes now. He always chooses his croc-like pair, much to my dismay. 

Today we're having our friends over for barbequed pork loin, coleslaw, devilled eggs, and other yummy things. Diets are suspended for the day (in moderation) and I'm looking forward to having two little boys zooming through my house. When there's a quiet moment, I'll curl up with my favorite Revolutionary War book ("Celia Garth" by Gwen Bristow). Happy 4th of July, friends, may it be full of watermelon and sparklers and dreams of hot air balloons...