Happy Birthday Anderson

Today marks one year since this peculiar baby boy decided it was his time to see the earth. The memories of his birth are less than desirable. No first sweet moments together, no cuddling, no bonding, no nursing. Heck, I didn't even get to get a good look at the kid (besides his feet when he was in an incubator about to board a helicopter for a hospital an hour away from myself and my freshly severed abdomen). The next two weeks involved us temporarily moving into Jonathan's parents house to be closer to the hospital. And their bedroom nonetheless. We will always be grateful for their generosity to us in that time. It made the recovery more bearable. Anderson spent the next two weeks in the NICU--struggling along. It was tough. It was an emotional roller coaster. Wouldn't wish that on anyone. I'm already praying that the next baby (who is NCY, btw) is overdue rather than 6 weeks early.

Throughout Anderson's pregnancy and his first year, I've often thought about the baby that should have been. We conceived a baby in May of 2010. That baby went straight from my womb to the arms of Jesus at the end of June. Then, Anderson was created at the end of that same year. I can not imagine a more amazing little boy than my sweet Anderson. But there will always be a place in my heart and my mind for the baby that we won't meet until we get "over yonder".

So, today we celebrate Andy's life. He has more personality than any baby I've ever known. He is saying da da, ma ma, na na, and all sorts of fun sounds. He could have been walking two months ago, but he is too cautious to try it on his own. Funny, because he's not cautious to try anything else--emptying the cabinets, emptying the dishwasher, opening the fridge and throwing things onto the floor, climbing up the entertainment center, climbing in the washer, playing in the toilet. He is such a boy. In to EVERYTHING. But, he is so much fun. And he brings so much joy to us.

It is so fun to watch Emily and Anderson's relationship develop. They are playing together more now. In fact, last night I sat in the recliner for about 10 minutes just listening to their giggles in Emily's bedroom. She dumps out her box of shoes and tries them all on. Apparently it's pretty funny. Anderson will crawl back out into the hallway periodically to check on me and make sure I'm still in sight. He is absolutely a mommy's boy. Anyone who has been around us for long will testify to that. This is my first experience with attachment like that. Emily has been independent from the get go.  Sometimes the attachment with Anderson is trying (ok, a lot of times). But, that look he gives me when he hasn't seen me for a while and the hugs that immediately follow are almost more than this mama's heart can take.

Anderson never did take a bottle. He's been a master nurser. Thanks in part to that, I'm back to my old college sized self. However, I've been wondering how to wean him. I started praying about it a week ago. The night before last, he refused the breast and self-soothed to sleep (something he has never done). Yesterday, he refused the breast at both naptimes (yes, he still needs two naps) and refused it again at bedtime. I must add, he absolutely did not refuse to nurse during his two mid-night wakings. Of course those will be the last to go. I thought that I was ready for him to stop nursing, but now that he's doing it on his own, I'm not so sure. I know it's time and I know we've had a good run of it. Nursing my babies is one of the sweetest experiences I've had yet in life. I fully recommend nursing for a year. The benefits for mom and baby are absolutely immeasurable. We are reaping those benefits.


Anderson is a happy, healthy, filled-with-personality baby boy. Not to mention, he already eats us out of house and home. With both the heavenly Father and his daddy's leading, I can't' wait to see the man that he will grow into. For now, we are enjoying our day to day play times, meals together, snuggles, and learning experiences. 


I love you, sweet boy. 

*Note: NCY=not conceived yet*

Words to Treasure

I received a card in the mail today that I just have to share.


The card wishes me a happy birthday and tells me that I am a gift from God. But it gets better.


There are two notes inside--one from grandpa and one from grandma.


"Dear Amanda, we wish you a very happy birthday. Thank you for making the trip with your children. I know it wasn't easy for you. You are always so helpful and you always know just what I need. You are so special to us. We love you and Jonathan and your two precious little ones. Love, Grandma."


"Dear Amanda, 'June of the third' is a special day in your life. It seems like yesterday that we waited for word from the delivery room that we had a beautiful baby girl. We were so proud. You gave us a lot of joy and still do. We are so proud of you. You have two beautiful children not only on the outside but on the inside.


We love you and commend you for the finishing of your college education, for the mother and wife you have become, and for being a loving and caring granddaughter. May you have many years of joy in your life.


Love, Grandpa"


Melt. My. Heart.


I will strive to communicate such love and pride in my children and grandchildren. These two precious individuals have set an amazing example for me and have provided me with love and security when I needed it most. I will never doubt their love for me. That is an invaluable gift. 






This afternoon, my kids took horrible naps. While they were asleep (for about 10 minutes), I made cookie dough.

When Andy woke up cranky as all get out, I dipped his finger in the cookie dough. He didn't stay sad for long. After that first taste, he insisted on crawling to the floor beneath the mixer on the counter and demanding another taste. Over and over again. Then Emily woke up. She wasn't happy either. I had to bribe her to get her attitude straight with a warm cookie. Hey...sometimes a girl just needs a chocolate chip cookie.

























Now i'm anxiously awaiting bedtime (I won't post a picture of that--it's not pretty). I am running my first 5K tomorrow and would really appreciate a decent night of sleep. It's doubtful. I have been actively putting kids to bed since 7pm. It is now 9:30. There is something wrong with this picture. A change is in order--just have to figure out how to get the result I desire. Isn't that what parenting is about? I mean, how many times can she get out of bed before she gets the picture? And how many times can she really say "mommy, mommy, ma ma" in a semi-sing-songy voice before she gives up? I'll let you know.

 We have been going through things in our basement little by little. In one of the boxes Jonathan brought up last week, I found old picture albums. I found all of my school pictures along with an album that my Dad gave me a long time ago that I had completely forgotten about. I have something else of his to cling to! What a happy moment of discovery that was. In these pictures, he is obviously proud of me, his girl.

Looking up to my Daddy. 

He loved me. I know he did.

The picture above was taken at Mary Helms' house. I visited her house often with my Dad. He took good care of her--the widow (widder) woman as he called her. 

                                                       
                                          I love this picture because it shows his hands.
                                    I always loved his hands. They were so strong and skilled.
                            I took pictures of my last glimpse of his hands--folded across his
                                             body in his bronze embellished casket.            

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. :)