Thursday, August 08, 2013

Sam: 53 Months

Oh, Sam,

These past few months have been, well, some of my most difficult months ever as a parent. We are in constant discipline mode and I feel as though this phase will never end, even though I know better. I keep on keepin' on, though, because, what else can you do?? (Well, pray, and I'm doing A LOT of that these days, too.)

One particular night you got in trouble at the pool, and you were not able to get back in, but you came up with your own Sam way of playing poolside:

True Sam fashion, pushing the limits while making the most of a hard situation. Smiling. Creative. Silly.

You are full of funny Sam-isms these days, saying the funniest, most clever things that keep me giggling long after you've gone to bed. One afternoon you were trying to negotiate an extra dessert and mentioned that you had enough sugar already, and that too much of a good thing can be not-so-good for little bellies. You said, "Mama, it's okay. I can have more sugar. I hear the sugar in my belly and it's saying it's okay." 

Last night you went to see Turbo with your Grammy and Auntie Cheryl. Later, at bedtime, you were insisting that I get a piece of paper so you could draw your "snail race(track)" before falling asleep. I tried everything to distract you, to no avail. Finally, I asked if it would work to take a picture with your brain to help you remember exactly what you wanted to draw, so you could start first thing in the morning. You agreed, to my surprise, taking your time, eyes squinted, lips akimbo, until you finally exclaimed, "click!" Then I asked you to put it somewhere safe in your brain, where you could access it easily. "It's ok, Mama," you replied, "it's at the end of the 8th aisle in my brain." 

You take a lot of hard falls these days, what with your ever-increasing sense of adventure and ever-decreasing safety filter. There's no ladder too high, no water too deep, no mud too thick, etc. At a church concert you took a horrible tumble, face first, onto the sand. It was clear you were going to develop a swollen, black eye and I offered ice. But after just a few minutes of crying and a little TLC, you were well on your way. That shiner is not your first, and most certainly won't be your last.

You continue to select particular outfits for particular purposes, such as the cowboy get up for our trip to the peach "farm." It was so hot that day, and the sweat was pouring from your red face as you ambled through the orchards, up and down ladders, clad in full-length sleeves and pants, boots, chaps and a vest. You didn't do much peach picking (obvi), but you definitely made time to check out the farm equipment:

Though you are at times naughty as naughty can be, you are still the sweetest, loviest boy. One morning in Woodlake you snuggled up on the couch, asked to feed your brother, and gave him the most tender and precious little kisses. I'm so glad I was able to snap a quick photo of that soft, quick moment between you.

And then there's moments like this:

No shirt, "craft beer" hat cocked to one side, smirk on your face, up to no good. You are funny and sneaky, creative and impulsive, crazy and 

This week you had your first sports camp, Li'l Baseball. It was pretty darn cute. You enjoyed throwing the ball, playing little games, and clowning around. Grammy and I watched you during warm ups, falling over while trying to stretch, tossing your glove in the air and catching it, and kicking the dirt by your feet. It was perfect. Now you want to try soccer camp, basketball camp, and fireman camp. 

Sweet little buddy, how I wish I could just hold you and comfort you and keep you safe until this crazy season/phase is over. How I wish I could make it easier for you to navigate the world. But I know that you will eventually grow out of the chaos and step into a new, centered sense of self. I trust that God has a good plan and purpose for your life. I look forward to seeing just how he meets you in the midst of this all. Thanks for letting me journey with you. You are my best big boy.



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