Pom Pom Pom

Hello Darlin'. Nice to see you.

Are your speakers up?

My music this week is a tribute to my Dad. The first song is a favorite. The second was Dad's favorite song of all. It was played during his visitation. It will forever bring back that memory. And a nauseated feeling.

The third lovely song choice is definitely the song most closely associated with my Dad in my mind. When I was a girl, he took me out on the Dream (the name we gave an old aluminum fishing boat that we painted together because it would forever dream of being something bigger and better) and taught me to fish.

Let's stop there a second.

 Fishing with me consists of Dad baiting my hook, me castin', catchin', and reelin' in the fish, and Dad taking the fish off the hook. He did most of the work. He never minded though. I was a girly girl dressed in muddy boots from hopping the creek, my Daddy's baggy flannel shirt, and a crooked baseball cap. I loved it because I fit in with him. I was his girl--even if just for the few hours we were floating about Douglas Lake on the Dream.

Most of those fishing trips were spent with Dad fishing and me singing. Loud. Conway, Merle, and Hank Jr. were frequent company via the little radio we carried with us. One afternoon, I decided I was going to accompany Conway on the "pom pom pom" song. Dad was so tickled. And proud of me for memorizing a Conway Twitty classic. Ever since that day, every time I would talk to him, whether on the phone or on Facebook, he would undoubtedly say "pom pom pom, pearl".

Can't he just say that to me one more time?

One warm summer afternoon, we were in a cove on Douglas fishing for crappie. I suppose I had just learned all the words to the National Anthem because I sang it to him (and the entire lake) over and over and over again. I didn't hold back in the upper register, either. Dad finally decided he was taking me back to the dock. "Can't catch nurry a one out here with you caterwallin' like that Pearl".

What I would give to have more time with him. Isn't that the sentiment of everyone who has ever lost someone they love? I have been so insensitive to death. No longer.

This is the song I sang (okay, attempted to sing) at my Daddy's funeral. (I know you hate to, but you'll need to pause Conway for a second to hear this song.)  It's on my iPhone's "Purchased" playlist. I often forget that and as my phone shuffles through tunes to play, that one comes up so often it seems. Most of the time, I skip it. I can't bear the memory. Or I don't want to let it ruin that moment that I feel okay about all of it. Other times, I seek it out. I turn on that song along with all of the songs on the playlist that you are hearing. I pull up my Snapfish account that has the pictures from his funeral and I put them on the slideshow setting.

 And I sit. And I weep. And I remember. And I feel. And it hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Just one more conversation. One more hug. One more kiss on the forehead. One more "pom pom pom". One more call to check on Emily and Anderson and "Sarge" (dad's name for Jonathan).  I say "just one more", but the reality is that one more would never be enough. I would always long for more and more.

Of all the things I have faced in my 22 years, the death of my father is the most perplexing and the most painful.

I am thankful for the grace to forgive. I can remember my years with him with fondness. Suddenly, the memories seem to be dripping with Dad's love for me. I wish that I could have seen it when I had him with me, but I see it now. And I'm thankful. I refuse to let bitterness, anger, and a begrudging attitude hinder his memory.

Many things are happening in life right now. I have one week of college left. And for that I am grateful as well. It's hard to believe it is almost over. It has been five years since I began my college journey (yes, it has definitely been a journey). The end has seemed so unattainable--out of reach. But here it is. It is approaching full steam ahead with no time to stop and savor the moment. I tend to think that the more I struggle, despise, and dread something, the sweeter it is when it is finally passed. That sweet day is coming. Coming very soon.

I have been "training" to run a 5k. I am about a week and a half away from completing the training program. I am very much looking forward to running in a race soon. It will be my first one. I am proud of my newly developed habit.

My children both have birthdays in the next couple months. As do I. As soon as Emily found out that Mommy's birthday is coming close to her own, she has asked me about ten times a day "Are you going to be old on your birthday?" She also asks everyone else that we see--especially strangers. I'm pretty sure that twenty-three doesn't quite count as "old" yet. Maybe in her sweet mind.
She will be turning three in June. She is a bit obsessed with this fact and is a pro at showing you just how many three is on her fingers. Anderson will have his first birthday shortly after Emily's 3rd. I already know what he is going to do with his birthday cake....and it won't be pretty. But it will be fun. These are the days that will forever hold a special place in our hearts.

I wish my Dad could be here to see it all. He would be so proud of me for graduating and "gettin' educated".  Through this, I've learned to cling tightly to those that I do have here with me.


A song that's been in my head lately reads:

My heart can sing when I pause to remember a heartache here is but a stepping stone.
Along the trail that's winding always upward, this trouble world is not my final home.
But until then, my heart will go on singing.

Letter to You, Dad

*Edited for appropriateness

Dad,

Im so sorry for staying mad at you so much of the time during my adolescent years. I just loved you so much. And I wanted so badly for you to love me. I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted to spend time with you. I remember our things: you scratching my back with hair brushes...candy cigarettes...bubble gum...looking for fishing lures in the creek...painting the Dream together...fishing on the Dream...catching more crappie than you (once)...You always cut up my steak for me...you were the best cook...k-bobs and fried potatoes...perfect fried eggs...you did everything so well. You were so talented. So loved by all around you. You always fixed my car for me...gave me money for things I needed any chance you had. You always cooked salt bacon for me. :)

I was too hard on you daddy. I am sorry. Please forgive me.

You were my hero when I was a little girl. I remember saying to my mom constantly that I wanted to be with you because you were my favorite person in the whole world. I'll never forget my memories with you. I treasure them in my heart every day.

I can't believe i'm here without you.

I need you dad.

Why are you gone so soon?

I need you to be a grandfather to my children. Emily loves you so much. And you loved her so much. Now she will never know you beyond pictures and memories from mommy.

My heart is broken. It was such a shock. So unexpected. Were you sick? Were you hurting? Were you suffering and you just didn't want anyone to worry? Was it unhappiness that took you? I'm only 22. I'm just a young lady. I'm supposed to have my daddy to call and make me laugh. You always could. You sang silly songs to me, teased me, and spoiled me as much as you could. You came to eat lunch with me and 100 other elementary school children a lot. Now that's love.

You loved me even when I was pregnant at 19 with Emily. And you fell in love with her the moment you met her. You held her for me when she was 5 weeks old so that I could go out on the boat and have some "me" time. You walked her around outside and talked to her about nature to keep her happy. You did that again when she was two. She loved going on walks with you. You were going to buy her a lifetime fishing and hunting license. Anderson, too. I just wish she could have more memories with you.

I wish so many things dad.

I know that you weren't perfect. No one is. But you loved me. I know you did.

I just want to talk to you again. To hear your voice--your chuckle about "washing rusty" or tell me to learn to pronounce "tires" correctly-- "tars". You used to tell me that when people die, they have "passed over" or "expired". I guess that is what I can say about you.

I talk to Emily about you almost every day. I promised you at your funeral while standing over you in that casket (all of that you would have hated...i'm sorry) that I would never let your memory die and that I will pass it on to my kids. Anderson will have your fishing rod. Jonathan promises to teach him to fish. I will tell my kids stories about you.

Thank you for everything that you did for me.

And the things you didn't do--I forgive you.

I miss you every day. I talk to you in my car...in the shower...and at night after the kids go to bed. The tears seem to have no end. But they are therapeautic. I know you wouldn't want me to cry for you. I can't help it. I love you more than I ever realized when you were with me. And that makes me sad. I have your picture on my refrigerator, by the front door, and in my headboard. I have a few things of yours in a ziploc bag in my bedroom. When the pain overtakes me, I pull out that bag cling tightly to your torn handkerchief or your pocketknife--it's all I have.

Aunt Missy just told me that the old widder woman passed away today. I bet she is embracing you with arms open wide. And I bet she can see you clearly. Finally--sight.

I'm here thinking about you every day.

I'll carry you with me, daddy.

Always.

Amanda Kate

I Stand Convicted

I stand convicted to contribute to my own blog more frequently. Boy, am I terrible at that. At the urging of a sweet friend, here I sit. In front of my laptop. My problem with blogging is that there is always something "more important" to do. Laundry to be folded. Spit up to clean. Stickers to do with Emily. Homework (yuck). A husband who wants to spend time with me. A trip to the grocery store. Have to squeeze a shower in somewhere. Dinner to be cooked. Meals to plan. Bible study to go to. Phone calls to make. Text messages to return. Baths to give. A floor to vacuum. Toilets to scrub. The cutest baby ever to make funny faces with. The list goes on and on. Blogging just never seems to make the cut. On an average day, for some strange reason, I am inclined to put showering higher on the to-do list than blogging. Well, not today!


I sat down and typed in my own blog address. I started reading. I love love love that i've chronicled particular events in the way that I have. I will always cherish having such a thoughtful record of our life events. And for that reason, maybe i'll try to add blogging to the list.
I'm still trying to get settled in our new town. Having two kids under age 3 and being only 22 years old are proving to get in the way of making more-than-casual friends. If I let myself, I can get extremely discouraged by those two facts. If I let myself, I can go down the thought-road of "I'm only 22 and i'm almost constantly stuck in the house with two children who are utterly dependent on me for their every need and want. What are other 22 year olds doing? What are my friends doing? They are sleeping in on the weekends. Hanging out with their friends or husbands whenever they want. Going to see movies at the theatre. Going shopping *alone*. They have alone time! They can go to the bathroom alone!" The thoughts can go on and on. The harsh reality is that I made a decision when I was 19. That led to another decision--to have my baby. So, as a 20-year-old, I became a mother. Let me just say that I don't think many 20 year olds out there are truly aware of what becoming a mother means. I definitely wasn't. I thought so, but just now am I somehow realizing what a mother's life is like. Perhaps it was the second kid that changed things so much. With just one, you can go places, do more things, see more people. But with two kids, and a husband who works evening shifts, the possibilities are seriously limited.


I have to seriously limit how often I let my mind ask those questions and think that way. A pity party isn't extremely constructive. The question is: what to do about all of that? I mean, a girl's got to keep her sanity somehow. Well, I know that my decision to have my baby is and will continue to be rewarded. And I couldn't find a more perfect little boy anywhere in the world than sweet Anderson. (I could go into an entire discussion on how awesome my kids are, but i'll save that for another time). Simply stated, although maybe a tad high maintence in comparison to others, my kids have super awesome personalities and are a blast to be around. Their curiousity, "in-to-everything-ness", and bright minds will lead them down pretty exciting life paths, I'm sure of it. Beyond that, I am right where I am supposed to be in life. And i'm fine with that. Granted, I do think that people could be a bit more friendly or reach out a little more--relationships can't be one-sided.

Until my life changes a bit and my kids get a bit older, i'll be here.

Tending to my list.

Some may think that what i've described resembles a nightmare for someone in their early 20s. Some days I feel that way. But most days I view my work as lifelong. I'm not chasing after the wind. I see the benefits of staying home with my children and being a slave to their needs. I see how it is benefiting them. I know that they will reap the benefits from my sacrifices. And that makes it all worth it.


I think that eliminating something from that list might do a world of good for me. Speaking of the list...I have exactly 10 weeks until I will complete my bachelor's degree. Most kids go to college for 4 years, live in dorms, and are solely focused on their academics and light-hearted social life. I have a tendency to be hard on myself for it taking me 5 years to finish my degree when *if i had just stayed on track from the get-go*, I would have been finished a year ago. Then reality sets in. And I realize that it has only taken me one year longer than your average college student and in that year I have had two babies, moved eight times, acquired a husband, bought a home, and held four different jobs. Not too shabby.

Good Stuff

The big huge life events just keep happening before I can manage to document them via this blog. The next in line (although two months late) is Emily's adoption. Since our marriage in February of 2010, we have been working with our attorney to secure the adoption of Emily. After a year and a half of painful waiting, on July 27th, 2011, we met Jonathan's family at the courthouse in McMinn County and awaited our hearing. Shortly after our lawyer arrived, we were summoned into the judge's chambers and seated in front of her. She asked if we were truly ready for the commitment and explained that after her decision, Jonathan will forever and always be Emily's father in the eyes of the law. We agreed that we understood the reality of it all and she swiped her magic pen across that petition and made it all official. After all that time, on that beautifully sunny July morning, Emily became Emily Kate Schoap. Now and forever.



Adoption is a beautiful thing. It reminds me (and I pray it always does) that we are all adopted into one big family. I just know that my little Emily will have a super special understanding of her Heavenly Father's love for her by the example that her now-earthly father has provided for her. And THAT is good stuff. :)

Introducing Baby Anderson

On Sunday, July 3, it was my turn to make breakfast for our Sunday School class. Saturday night, I prepared the casserole and had it in the refrigerator ready to be baked early the next morning. We woke up, had showers, and headed off to church. We dropped Emily off at the nursery and then went to our class. After that, we headed down to the sanctuary for the service. As soon as the service started, I noticed some mild contractions. I contracted throughout the pregnancy pretty regularly, so I didn't think much of it. And, these were not very painful at all compared to other ones that I had felt before. I started noting when I felt them--about every 5 minutes. We went to eat with our Sunday School class after church and they became a bit stronger. Nothing I couldn't tolerate though. When we got home, I changed into comfortable clothes, drank a lot of water, and laid down to try to nap. The contractions eased up and became much more irregular. So...of course I thought it was false labor.

At about 30 weeks, I had an ultra sound that showed the baby was breech. About 4 weeks later, I drove down to Calhoun, GA to meet Jonathan upon his homecoming from his National Guard annual training. That night, I had some complications that landed us in the ER. I was directly sent to L & D and hooked up to monitors. Turns out, I was in labor, but thankfully it was progressing slowly enough that I was given a shot to stop it. It worked. My OB back at home told me that the labor was started because the baby had turned from breech to head down position and that can stimulate contractions. She even did an ultra sound to confirm and told me that it was indeed true. I was extremely excited and hopeful.

Now, fast forward a couple weeks and back to the start of this blog (how unorganized am i??). So, that Sunday, I was sure that it was false labor. However, there was a nagging thought in my mind that the baby could still be breech and if I was in labor, by chance, it could be very dangerous for both of us if my water broke and baby was breech. I called my OB's office--no answer on a Sunday and turns out they don't have an answering service! How convenient! Next, I called the L & D at Skyridge Medical Center (where I was supposed to deliver). The nurse I talked to said "Honey, I can't give you any advice at all. You'll have to get a hold of your dr." Thanks a ton. I started exploring other options...something in my heart just wouldn't let the issue rest at "false labor". I got a hold of a lady from our church who works in L & D here in Athens. Although I didn't know her at all, I called her up and explained all of the personal details involved. And she was MEGA-helpful. She told me to go into Athens hospital just to get checked out so that I could have some peace of mind. She said it's better to be safe than sorry and that it is totally acceptable for me to go to a hospital without them having my records just to be sure. So, J and I and Emily bee-bopped out the door on a beautiful Sunday afternoon "just to go get checked out". Before we left, I grabbed my camera just in case.

We got to the hospital to discover that my church friend had called ahead and told them I was coming. I walked in the doors and the nurses said "Are you Amanda?". How convenient! They wouldn't let Em back in the triage room so we called our friends Wesley and Sarah for babysitting help. They came promptly to get Emily (life savers!) and took her home to play. J and I waited in the triage room. I was sure I would be sent home soon, because those contractions seemed to disappear at first and I was dilated at just one cm--totally normal for 3rd trimester. Buuut I was wrong. The contractions came back and the nurse called in the doc on call. Turns out, the doc on call was the doc that I had seen at the very beginning of the pregnancy before I decided to switch practices. Talk about awkward! But, luckily, she was my favorite and I was SO relieved to see her face walk in the door. It was about 40 minutes from the time the nurse checked me to the time the doc got there and checked me again. I had gone from "a fingertip" to 4 cm in that short period of time. They rushed for the ultra sound machine to check baby's position and lo and behold, he was still breech. Next, all the surgeons and anesthesiologists were called in as well as a pediatrician. I was given an IV (horrendous experience and added nothing to the peaceful feeling I was trying to conjure up), papers were thrown at me right and left to sign, three people asking questions about my entire life history, and a man in scrubs came in to tell me about the risks of c-sections and spinals. Wonderful. I kept asking "Are you sure this is real labor?". The doc said so. I had time to call my mom and say, "Mom, I'm in the hospital. I'm in labor and he's still breech. I'm about to go back for a c-section. Can you come down please?" Ha. She hopped in the car and headed right down.

Meanwhile, Emily was passed over to Aunt Missy (another lifesaver) for an impromptu play date. I'm so thankful she was oblivious to our situation.

So, off we went into the operating room. By the way, I had prayed and prayed and prayed (etc) that God would somehow turn the baby in my womb. I wanted to avoid a c-section more than anything. Oh how I was terrified of a c-section. More than anything, I didnt want my future child-having options to be so limited! But, despite my earnest prayers, the Lord had different plans. I'm still having to trust him in that entire situation when I think back on it.

Anyways, Anderson arrived at 7:03 on July 3rd. He weighed 5 lbs and 5 oz and was 17 inches long. For being born at 35 weeks, I was happy about his weight. I got to see him briefly while I was on the operating table before he was whisked away to the nursery. When I got out of surgery, they told me that he was having a lot of trouble breathing and that they would need to transport him to a NICU asap. We requested that he be sent to Erlanger in Chattanooga because my sister-in-law was working in the NICU that very night. It was another hour or so later and the helicopter transport team was there and had him in an incubator, with an IV, and on a nasal cannula. They tried to wheel his huge stretcher into my room so that I could see him, but it was too large and I just got a glimpse of his little feet. Jonathan and Wesley left from the hospital where I was and drove to Erlanger. They met the helicopter there. By this time, my mom had arrived to see the baby and take care of Emily (who was all cozy and warm in her own bed through all of this). And Connie stayed with me in the hospital that first night.

My sister-in-law was his nurse in the NICU that night and was able to give him his first little sponge bath (of which she sent me video). Less than 24 hours after my c-section the doctors decided to release me so that I could go and meet my son. I was definitely feeling uneasy about leaving the hospital so soon, but knew nothing could keep me away from my baby. Jonathan drove me home, packed my bags, and then we headed to Chattanooga. Talk about a painful car ride! But we made it and I got to hold my Anderson for the first time that night--totally worth it.

Anderson was in the NICU for almost two weeks and battled respiratory distress syndrome and bradycardia. He took a bit longer than expected which probably signals that he was a bit earlier than my dates allowed. (We were never sure of the dates in the first place). It is estimated that he was about 35 weeks when born--possibly a late 34. His weight dropped to four and a half lbs in the NICU and he was back up to an even 5 when we were discharged. We spent the last night at the hospital in a lovely "care by parent" room. Not. It was terrible. Two chairs that kind of folded out into a somewhat flat sleeping surface, a terribly dirty pink bathroom, and the entire room was about the size of a nice hotel bathroom. Oh well. We were just glad to be with Andy. The next day, we took him home. What a feeling!

Now, he is above 7 lbs and is doing wonderfully. He eats all the time and is growing so fast. His preemie clothes and diapers are too small so we've officially graduated to newborn size! He is a wonderful baby and such a blessing to us. We have two beautiful children!

Emily has adjusted well. She loves to give her "baby Anderson" kisses. She is learning to be gentle and use a whisper when he is sleeping near her. She is a wonderful big sister.

I love that we are a family of four. It feels so...right. I love having my own little family unit and children to raise with my husband. It is a privilege to be entrusted with such precious little lives.

This is one of my favorite verses:

Children are a heritage from the Lord,
offspring a reward from him.

Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are the children of one's youth.

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.

Psalm 127: 3-5

Thankful

Know what I found super comforting today? Standing in the church pew, as the pastor read the verses for his message, I noticed the words in red. I was suddenly overcome with peace by the fact that no matter the outcome of all of the issues hanging in the balance in my life, those words will always be the same. The words in His word are constant. They will still be there and still hold the same significance (if not more) with every passing crisis, defeat, or victory. Today I am very thankful for the constant and unchanging nature of God and the word that He gave us to read. Now... if I can just remember that when the storms of fearful thoughts come.

Count Your Blessings

So, I'm pretty sure the last time I wrote a blog I had around 100 days left on that baby countdown over there -->. How did it get down to only 48 days left so stinkin' fast? I think that means I'm officially bad at keeping a blog.

In the midst of trying times, it helps me to count my blessings. It helps to sit back and realize the little things in life that make me really happy. Know what I absolutely love?

I love sitting with a cup of coffee in the morning and seeing visible sun streams coming in the window. Whether it be from flying dust or smoke from residue burning in the oven while breakfast cooks, I love it. The moving particles of air make it seem like the sun rays are dancing for me.

I love riding in the car, windows down, a song about Jesus on the radio (maybe even contemporary!), and glancing back at Emily to notice a smile on her face and curls blowing in the wind. I love glancing at my husband, exchanging a smile, and grabbing his hand. Then I remember how close we are to meeting our first son. It's moments like these that feelings of thankfulness completely consume me.

I love driving through the mountains and noticing how high they tower above me--little old me. I feel so small at the foot of the great Smoky Mountains. And I love it. I gain perspective when I feel that small. I remember that maybe my problems aren't world-threatening and, yes, the same God that hand-crafted those mountains has hand-crafted me and my exact circumstances.

I love the internal feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment when I sit with my Bible and am truly focused on things unseen. Today's Jesus Calling excerpt reminds me that we live in a sense-driven world. We depend on our senses to lead us to truth. It's a temptation that I have to fight. My strength, my hope--my only hope--is unseen. And that should be my focus.



Have you ever been through one of those times in your life where you think thoughts like "Why do I have one more thing to deal with?" or "Haven't I been dealt enough 'bad' cards lately?" or "When is something going to finally be allowed to go my way?". Perhaps you just give up into an unashamed pity party "What's next? It can't be much worse than this.". Well, good news is...it probably can. I found myself thinking these thoughts about a week ago and quickly realized how incredibly selfish and unproductive they are. It's just so easy to think that way--so natural. But wrong.

I have a list of prayer requests a mile long. Anxiety, worry, fear, and loneliness, can easily overtake me. During this season of my life, I am being taught to trust. Not obsess, not worry, not freak out, not try to desperately hang on to any ounce of control I may think I have over a situation. Just trust. I'm to trust in no human. Not even myself. I'm to depend on no human for peace or hope. And I'm to surrender my control (like I really have any anyways). The Lord has done far too much in my life for me to hopelessly wallow in a pit of self-pity and anxiety. He has made provision for me even when I didn't care to utter his name. I am to "Consider it joy, my brethren, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides" (James 1).

And so, life goes on. We get to focus on happy things that are in our future: preparing a sweet boy's nursery, a birthday party, a sweet homecoming reunion, and time with family.

It really does help to count my blessings.