Baby on the Brain (and nowhere else!)

I've had baby on the brain for several months now...no probably longer than that...at least a year.  I've been convinced that I felt that way because I wanted another baby. 

My good friend J had a baby just months ago and throughout her pregnancy we spent a lot of time together, baby is all we talked about.  One of my best friends is due any day, and so many of my friends are expecting (or that's what it feels like),  I am still young...in prime "child-bearing" years.  I want to experience those things again.  I've been spending more and more time with my neighborhood friends J and J, who both have babies.  The sweetness of cuddling a baby, nursing a baby, having a baby reach for you, or put his little head down on your chest.  Those are the good bits.  There are only a few bad bits, but those bad bits carry some weight.  I didn't LOVE being pregnant.  I wasn't thrilled about the prospect of a 3rd C-section, then there are the many sleepless nights.  D's age was a factor too.  D would be older than my parents when I was born....and it's no secret that I struggle with that. 

Today, on H's last day of preschool, I met D for lunch near his work.  We figured that this would be the last time we had lunch together until the fall, when both boys would be in school again.  I confessed to him that during his deployment, I had drafted an email to him about my desire to have another baby.   We've jokingly talked about it before.....he "joked", I was serious.  This isn't just a case of him not wanting another child, as it would require a "procedure" that may or may not work.  Anyway, in my letter, I asked him to just "think".  I asked him not to respond, but just to consider, and that we would have an in depth conversation when he returned. 

I never sent the email, and I deleted it the next morning.  Even at the time, I realized that if I sent that email I was committing to something.  I was committing to something, that I wasn't sure I really wanted.  What I discovered today when we talked about H's preschool graduation and his entering kindergarten in the fall, is that I don't want another baby....I want my babies back.  I want to go back in time and hold their tiny bodies in my arms.   I want to go back to every stage, shoot  I want to go back to last week or yesterday to look at them and hold them.   I am not ready for H to go to school, I am not ready for L to go to second grade, I am not ready for the next stage of parenting.  It seems too hard.   Somethings can't be fixed with a hug and kiss, I not prepared....  They have all kinds of special sessions for parents who are sending off their oldest to kindergarten, where are the classes for those sending off their youngest? 

At the same time, I am looking forward to all the adventures this family will have in the future.  I am...really.  But what I would wish for right at this moment (besides dinner preparing itself) is for this summer to move at a snails pace.  I want to look and them and hold them for as long as I can, because it really does go by so fast. 

The List

Why do birds poop on newly washed cars?  Or in our case...on a newly stained deck?

That's right, folks...we finished the deck.  It's only been on our "list" since we moved in two years ago.  Things sure do get in the way, kids getting sick, unexpected trips, and lack of motivation (that's the big one!).  But today we crossed off "deck" and earlier this week we crossed off "fascia boards".  As I posted earlier in Looks Like $$$, we found that the damage was beyond our expectation and consequently the repair was beyond our ability.  So we had that fixed by professionals, who did it in in 1/10th the time and didn't swear once (more that I could have said for D).

  Now I really need to do something about the sickly landscaping.

After fighting the weather for so long, it was nice to get the deck finished, even if today was the hottest day of the year so far.  But again it felt good to sweat...sweat was dripping off my nose, which makes it tricky when you are staining the floorboards of the deck.  It was nice to work with D, we had a lot of time to talk.  We work well together and even did a little laughing when he dropped a huge drip of stain on me (yeah...real funny wise guy!)  We decided that the reason it had taken us so long to tackle this task was lack of confidence.  It seemed like such a big job, one that we'd never done before.  Now that it's done, it seems silly that we were nervous, it was pretty easy after all...just labor intensive. 

I'm hoping that this recent success will improve our confidence and motivate us to tackle more of the "list"....like "garage storage" and the one I just added today "stack washer and dryer".   Those have D written all over them.  But I think I'll give him a few days before I start drawing up plans. 

Bridesmaids

What is wrong with me?!....no don’t answer that.

Today I see what is probably the funniest movie I have ever watched…seriously thought I would be sick from laughing…but I left the movie theater in tears. Yes, along with be a confessed Know-It-All, and a compulsive worrier, I am also a teensy-bit emotional.

Today, as a reward for not completely losing my mind during D’s deployment, I went and saw a movie all by myself. I saw Bridesmaids. I will say it again, THE FUNNIEST MOVIE I HAVE EVER SEEN!!!! Without spoiling anything, I will just say that potty-humor (as my mom would call it) amuses me. I don’t know if I’ve always been this way, or if it is the result of living with boys.

But why was I crying? I realized as the lights came up in the theater, that I was the only one there alone. I had come in, literally moments before the movie started and stumbled into my seat, which was thankfully not already occupied. Furthermore there was only one man in the audience who had come with what can only be assumed was his “new” girlfriend (no man in his right-mind would agree to come to this movie unless he was trying to impress a woman…I mean it’s called “Bridesmaids” after all). Anyway…..as the lights came up I see these groups of two and sometimes three woman still crying from laughing so hard, clutching their sides, and unable to speak without launching into another round of laughs. Then I realize, that not only did I come to this movie alone, that none of my close friends would have found this movie amusing. The only person that I would have felt comfortable sitting next to during this movie was my sister, N….and then I may have laughed so hard I wet my pants. Instead since I wasn’t sitting next to N or anyone else I just felt lonely and really sorry for myself.

Here is a trailer:

And here is some advice: go with a friend and if your sense of humor is anything like mine wear a diaper and save your popcorn bucket…just in case.

Activity +

So.... the Indy 500 is this weekend. I don’t follow racing of any kind. I don’t really even like racing, besides it being a colossal waste of fossil fuels, it’s really kind of boring. Except for the wrecks (you know I'm right).  I will probably watch the Indy 500, or wake up periodically from my nap and see that it is still going on. I’m from Indiana; they revoke your license if you don’t at least have it on….I think.

Anyway, this morning on NPR (D’s favorite words!) they were talking about the Indy Car series and Formula One. Until this morning, I didn’t know that that the 500 was not a Formula One race....again I don’t follow racing. So I’ve learned something already. The interviewer referred to the drivers as, wait for it…..”Athletes”. Now to be fair, I WILL say that I am sure most of the Indy Car drivers ARE athletic. They are in good shape because they exercise as well, not because they drive a car. I know, I know, G-Forces and high temperature….I know.

See in our house we have classifications, from lowest to highest in athleticism: Game, Game+, Activity, Activity+, and finally Sport. 

Here are some examples for you, on the professional level:

Game: Checkers

Game+: Bowling (come on, if you can eat and compete at the same time, it’s not a sport)

Activity: Golf

Activity+: Baseball

Sport: Soccer

So D and I discussed that we believe Indy Car racing would fall into the Activity+ category.

We actually spend more time than you normal people debating the merits of and deciding how to categorize just those things….I wonder if that makes it a Game? ….and if we got up from the table and demonstrated the skills and abilities…would that make it a Game+?  

SHORT

I would love to be taller. Not tall, just taller. Even if I miraculously grew several inches I would still be under the average height for American women.


I would love that when I buy pants, I could wear them immediately, but I can’t. I have to measure and hem first. I would love capri-pants that didn’t look like cropped pants. I would love to be able to reach the top shelf of my cabinets without a stepstool. I would love to be able to reach the chain on the ceiling fans without a chair. I would love to be able to put my feet flat on the floor while sitting at the table. I would love it if I didn’t have to sit right up on the steering-wheel so my feet could reach the pedals. (When I first met D, I couldn’t drive his car; my feet really would not reach the pedals!) I would like very much not to have to climb up the shelves of the dairy section of the grocery to reach the yogurt we like….of course I only have to do that when there are no Marines to come to my rescue *sigh*.

and there it is......the silver lining.

I am not at all suggesting that John Glenn, has ever helped me reach the top shelf yogurt...not yet anyway.

Flashback Wednesday

Here are some fun flashbacks for you:

That's me, probably 4 years old, I would guess.  I look like I am typing something mildly funny like my favorite joke.  No, I'm pretty sure I was just pushing the keys until it would "ding" and return.  Then guess what?  I would do it all over again.  There probably wasn't even a ribbon in it. 

Here's me, at six months or so.  From what I've heard, I may have been the only child of all six of us to go on a trip with my parents alone.  Not a vacation, really, our trips were more utilitarian usually...remind me to tell you the story about the cross-country trip we took WITH a goat.

If you look closely you can see that the hair on one side of my head is longer than the other.  Well I was a thumb-sucker.  What?  That doesn't answer why I am missing hair?  See I would suck my left thumb and twist my hair with my right hand, so tightly that my mom would have to cut my hair to free my fingers.

I love this picture, I should make it my profile picture on Facebook. I remember that I did have a Strawberry-Shortcake doll when I was little..it smelled good.  Even now, I will sometimes catch that scent and remember my doll.  This picture was taken by one of my older siblings, I'm sure...they could get me to do almost anything.  

I don't know...I really loved "The Land Before Time" Who didn't?  But I would like to point out that those supper cool glasses were fake, and may have been missing one if not both lenses.

These glasses, sadly, were not fake.  I actually picked those out.  Also during this time I spent an awful lot of time speaking in really terrible and inaccurate foreign accents.

Somethings never change:  I still spend too much time at a keyboard and don't type a thing.  I twist my hair still, but I'm not having to cut my hair.  I still wear glasses that I will think are ugly in ten years.  And yes, still try to speak with foreign accents...badly and inaccurately.

Too Much Skin

Summer is upon us. For my boys that means just one thing: going to the pool. For me, going to the pool means feeling fat in my bathing suit, feeling stupid for having to hold my nose, and anxiety.

The only thing worse than buying a bathing suit is actually wearing one. And can someone tell me why when I take my kids to the pool, the only other moms there are hot moms? Come on! Nothing makes you feel worse than a 40 year-old mother of 4 with not a single stretch mark….I know this because she of course wears the smallest two piece allowed by law. Yes, we look. That’s what women do.

Yes, it’s true…I have to hold my nose to go underwater. It’s embarrassing. I didn’t always have to; when I was little I could swim underwater without holding my nose….what the heck happened?

Anxiety, if you know me even a little, is my constant companion. It’s not an overwhelming kind of anxiety; it’s more of an undercurrent. The boys wear long-sleeve swim shirts, I cover every inch of their precious skin with sun screen (including scalps)…and I re-apply as directed. Even playing outside on cloudy days the boys get “greased-up” before they are allowed outside…and they must wear hats. I am equally as vigilant with my own skin. Even with all that care I still worry. What if I missed a spot?

I got some pretty bad sun burns when I was young and stupid. Once so badly that I still have the scars. I’ve learned so much since then. I’ve learned about the increased risk I now carry. I’ve learned that it is my responsibility to protect my children’s skin now, and teach them the importance of protecting their own skin in the future.

We spend a lot of time teaching people about breast cancer and prostate cancer. We encourage people to stop smoking; we even chastise smokers for how they impact others’ health. I had a conversation with a nurse once who described her decision to “tan” as a personal choice. This was my question to her, “If you could do something to decrease your risk of breast cancer, you would do it, right? Why wouldn’t you take the same care to prevent skin cancer?”

Vanity can cost you so much.  If you have a few minutes watch this video.

Looks Like $$$

Well my high from yesterday’s “robustness” has worn off.  Worn off is not the right word, that implies a gradual lessoning of effect, this high had a quick death and has left me a little nauseous (not unlike hitting the skunk). 

Since it rained last night, and we couldn’t finish staining the lower part of the deck, I thought that he we thought that we could handle the simpler task of replacing some fascia boards on the front of the house.  We had the replacement boards, already white.  We even had caulk!  We were set; this was going to be easy.  Famous. Last. Words.  This is what we found:

Really?  Before this I thought the biggest eyesore were my sad and sickly azaleas.  What you can’t see is that the damage goes back up into the floor boards in the front room.  Not only that, there is some “insect activity”.   I should mention here that it is also D’s birthday.  Happy Birthday!  For your birthday I decided against an actual tangible gift and decided to give you the gift of seeing-how-long-your-positive-attitude-will-last.  Do you love it?  So far, his positive attitude is intact; but mine is gone. 

Also the HOA is going to be doing their annual “walk-through” soon to check for violations.  That’s what we have here, a big, rotted, infested violation.  Write me up…. I can take it.  Please don’t mistake that for a positive attitude, that’s resignation.

I'm Feeling Robust!

What a productive day! I can’t think of anything that makes me happier than having a productive day. I sometimes will wish for days that I don’t have to do anything, but when I get an afternoon where I don’t have to do anything, it never feels as good as I thought.

When D was deployed, I complained a lot about having to shovel our driveway. The driveway is just as steep as the yard, and it too is tricky. This was the second winter I’ve been on shovel-duty; D was recovering from shoulder surgery during our locally named “snowmageddon” last year, and deployed this year. That’s okay, I actually didn’t mind. It made me feel strong and useful, “robust” was my favorite word. Last year, a neighbor man came over to introduce himself to me and assumed I was a Marine after seeing me shovel. Nice! I’ve been bragging about that ever since….my family is pretty tired of hearing about already.

Today was different than shoveling, my nose wasn’t cold, I wasn’t moving 24 inches of snow, and I wasn’t sliding down the driveway in my snow boots. It was also similar to shoveling. I worked up a sweat, my back will be sore in the morning, and I got to see hard work making a big difference.

In my official job, as mother, I rarely get to see hard work making a “big” difference. Not to say that my work as mother isn’t making a big difference, I’m hopeful that it is. But you don’t get the instant results; I will wait years to see my hard work pay off. I am also hopeful that it will be even more gratifying. Sometimes though, it’s nice to work hard and see the results while you’re still red-faced and sweaty.

Today D and I stained the upper-half of the deck!

My Midnight Serenade

Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlights people

Don't stop believin'
Hold on
Streetlight people

Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'

 I do like this song a lot, who doesn’t?  However…..

D and I were woken this morning around 1:10 am to a stirring rendition of this song.  Yes, stirring.  It stirred me from sleep, in my bed, in my house, in my boring quiet suburban neighborhood.  Belted at full volume from down the street by 3, maybe 4, grown men.  Seriously?  If it had been daylight on a Saturday, I would have applauded, because it actually was sung pretty well.  However, this was not the first weekday morning that that group has serenaded me.    

So my question is, under what circumstances does this happen?  The man that lives there is middle-aged, who I am pretty sure works on Fridays.  (Hey…don’t’ judge…so I keep track of my neighbors comings and goings…it’s no secret that I’m nosy.)   It’s strange because we didn’t hear them at 11:30 when we went to bed, seems like drinking would have had to have started by then, right?   Of course, I am only assuming they were intoxicated. Had they been inside all evening?  Until one guys said “Hey, I have a brilliant plan!  Let’s go into the garage with the door open and SING!....I mean, come on, it so quiet and dark out there…it’s perfect.  I can’t think of any reason why any of my neighbors with school-age children would mind.”

What I should have done was take over some information on local karaoke nights, but instead we called the Sherriff’s department.  They came out and took care of it for us; I didn’t even have to leave my bedroom.  Not completely, unfortunately, because we had to call them again an hour later.   Seriously when do people grow up?  It’s not cute or funny.  It’s sad and aggravating. 

I have stopped believing that there exists a basic level of common sense in grown-ups.

Wildlife

Fair Warning:  This post contains stories about dead animals.

I was talking to my sister N on the phone last evening; she was relating an experience she had with a raccoon.  The raccoon was on the second story deck of her house, and put it paws up on the sliding glass door, when she realized that she had never seen a live raccoon before.  How can that be you ask?

Well we grew up in the country; wildlife, though it was all around us, had enough room to avoid us.  Does that make sense?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a live raccoon either, I’ve seen plenty of dead ones.  Dead raccoons, opossums, coyotes, etc… The wild animals didn’t come up to our house in the country… they got in front of our cars.  They are mostly accidents, I say mostly, because sometimes you aim for the moles….just saying. 

I’ve never hit an animal intentionally.  The first animal I ever hit was a turtle.  I don’t know how it happened, it was daylight and it’s not like the turtle ran out in front of me.  I just don’t think I swerved enough. I felt pretty bad, so I turned around and went back to make sure it was dead, and then I dragged it off the road.  It was a big turtle.

The second animal I ever hit with a car was, and this may upset people, a kitten.  What’s even more upsetting, is this was the forth kitten I’d accidentally killed.  The first 3 (wow, that sounds awful!) was when I was little.  My cousin, my little brother and I were playing house with the kittens.  We put them in the “playpen” which was a cooler.  We left the drain hole open and the top, but we went off to play somewhere else and the wind blew the lid closed.  So we learned an important lesson that day, the drain hole doesn’t let in enough oxygen for 3 kittens.  Talk about a mental picture that I’d like to delete from my childhood memory.

The third animal I ever hit made me feel the worst.  It was not someone’s beloved pet nor did it total the car.  I hit a skunk…I’m not joking when I say I felt bad.  So bad, I had to stop the car and throw-up.  It was awful.  Right afterwards they wouldn’t let me park right behind the theatre when I went for rehearsals….I had to park clear down the street.  Even months later, I could smell skunk when I started the car. 
Many of my memorable animal experiences are with dead animals.  But I will spare you the stories of the baby rabbits, and the chick that got loved to death, the deer that could have killed my brother.  Some, too, are with live animals.  Like Elroy my dog, the foal born on Mother’s Day, the many kids (as in baby goats) I’ve seen born, and the deer that walked right passed my brother and I as we waited for the bus, those are memorable too.  

Perhaps Wild"life" wasn't the best title.

Non-Smoking Please

Confession: I smoked in college. Well to be precise I took one drag (is that what they call it?) from one cigarette. I was walking with a friend who smoked. I was curious what the attraction was; it was one of those “just to say I’d done it” things. She demonstrated for me how to do it; I even practiced breathing in and blowing out. I’m technical that way…ridiculous.


It was disgusting; I couldn’t stop spitting the rest of that day. My stomach was upset, I had a horrible taste in my mouth, and I felt sick. I can’t imagine any circumstances where I would have become addicted. I’m pretty sure that my initial response was pretty typical….why on earth would anyone do it again? I don’t get it, I don’t get it, I don’t get it.

I don’t understand why anyone would have started to smoke in the last 15 years? I really don’t, I mean, don’t they know what the risks are? What benefits are there that make it worth the risk? Are there benefits at all? The documented and researched risks are well-known, like cancer and over-all health risks of smoke and second-hand smoke. But there are other risks too. Smoking is expensive, and sadly the majority of smokers are the people least able to afford it. It influences the way people perceive you. I am guilty of that. I know it’s unfair, but…. And finally, smoking is smelly.

The smell of a person smoking two cars ahead of me in a drive-through is enough to make me gag. It’s annoying that people smoke right in front of the entrances to buildings. While I realize that no one smokes inside the building, how does having to walk through a poisonous cloud protect me from second-hand smoke?

When L was born we lived in a half-house, the people we shared the building with were smokers. It seeped through the walls and wafted through the windows. D’s mother and step-father were heavy smokers at the time, and I refused to take my infant son to their house. We made them come to a hotel to see the baby for the first time. Thankfully they no longer smoke, and while D’s step-father has passed away his mom is able to have her grandsons to the house, and more importantly she is healthier.

I think it is unacceptable and irresponsible to smoke with children around…and saying that it is an addiction doesn’t make it okay.

R, A, and Oreo's

Would you believe that until about 2 years ago, I had never had a double stuffed Oreo? Shocking!

I had seen them of course, but because I wasn’t a big fan of regular Oreo’s, I never bought them or even tasted one. Why didn’t anyone tell me that they are a thousand times better than regular Oreo’s? Where were my friends to guide me on the right path?

Well, that is just Oreo’s, my friends do help me to keep my priorities strait. I am very lucky when it comes to friends. I don’t have many, but I have quality friends. They are the ones who aren’t afraid to tell you to stop being a jerk (well, maybe a little afraid!), the kind of friends to whom time and distance don’t matter. My two dearest friends, R and A, are amazing women.

A, I met in middle school; she is kindest person I know. She would object to me saying that, because that is what kind people always do. She is genuine. The past 5 years have seen A in some pretty unhappy places, and more recently in some bright and wonderful places. I feel honored that she wanted my company on her journey. We did a lot of crying, laughing, and cussing together. (Really! She did cuss once…it was amazing!) We also had the gift of being pregnant at the same time, our due dates were only a week apart. Our sons were born 3 weeks apart, though. A’s a week early and mine 2 weeks late (I was so jealous!)

R, I met in high school, she is brave and independent. She is without a doubt one of the best moms I’ve ever met, and not just because she is expecting #4, but because she fights for what is best for her children and the children she teaches. You see, she is a middle school teacher… I remember middle school, she has to be brave. I love that she calls to tell me funny stories that happen at school or funny things that happen at her house. R and I got married the same year, one week apart. D and I had originally planned on the 7th, but there was no way I would miss R’s wedding so we moved ours to the 14th. This has had a very unexpected but appreciated benefit….I always get a week reminder of our anniversary (yes…sometimes I forget). R probably doesn’t remember this, but once during high school we hit a rough patch in our friendship, over a boy of course. She wrote me a note on a napkin and gave it to me after a theater production…basically telling me how important I was to her. I still have that note.

I’ve not lived in the same state as these two friends for almost 6 years now. I’ve missed seeing them pregnant with their other children. Despite all that I’ve missed, I feel a close to them as I ever. Thank you, R and A …and whether you like it or not…you are stuck with me. But come on….you could have told me about the Oreo’s!

Credit Where Credit Is Due

So I have this “friend”……

Say this “friend” of mine has a 5 year old son, who sometimes struggles with constipation. Say that because of a combination of events (and major oversight on my “friend’s” part) her son has not had a bowel movement in over a week. My “friend” feels really awful…

She should feel awful. Above anything is the health of her children. What was she thinking? Stupid woman. For as angry and ashamed as I am of her, I feel even worse for her poor child. He deserves a much better mom than the one he got dealt. She is such a failure. She should have realized 4 or 5 days ago that he needed to “go”…but did she? No! She was too busy with the schedule and housework to realize that he was having a problem. It doesn’t matter that he goes to school two days a week, he never goes # 2 at school, and she knows that! She is clearly incapable, and her children pay the price.

I would NEVER say that (and can’t think of once when I’ve even thought it) to a mom. But I say that to myself all the time. Because in case you didn’t realize, that “friend” is me, and that is the voice in my head this evening.

I once heard someone say, “That if you take credit for your child’s good behavior, you have to take credit for their bad behavior.” I don’t remember who said it, but I have repeated that so many times…and today I propose an addition to that saying: if you take credit for good parenting you also have to take credit for bad parenting.

A friend of mine (an actual friend this time) whose children are younger than mine mentioned the other day, that no one ever told him so much of parenting is about “digestion”. I never really thought about that before, but it is so true. We worry about what they eat, how much they eat, how much they pee, and where they poop. I am not so far from this part of parenthood…how could I let it get so bad? That is Parenting 101….and I flunked.

Tomorrow I hope to be able to take credit for some good parenting.

Homecoming Part 2: The Adjustment

We were able to pick D up at the airport with very little incident. We even parked and went inside to meet him rather that just driving slowly past the passenger pick up area and having him jump in. It was nice. We stopped near home and ate dinner at a sit-down restaurant, which was also nice. I don’t remember what the boys talked about, but the fighting was at a minimum. I don’t even remember what I talked about….I was just happy to be talking to him in person and not through a telephone.

In the days since he’s been home, things have gone pretty smoothly, actually. He was only gone four months; I know the difficulty of transitions grows exponentially, so this has been almost a non-issue. In fact, I think the person that has had the most adjustment issues has been me. D is much more concerned about the boys getting hurt than I am. Not that I am negligent, though, I just don’t see the harm in letting them experiment physically. I understand that bruises, bumps and scrapes happen. D on the other hand, sees danger in everything. He is the master of the Worst Case Scenario….a scratch turns into infection which turns into gangrene which then results in amputation….that’s really how his brain works. So you can see how L walking too near the edge of kitchen counter would cause him concern? No?....You can’t see that? It’s hard for me to grasp too, so living without that influence for the past few months has been kind of refreshing.

So it’s been an adjustment, for me. I keep reminding myself that this is his way, this has always been his way, this is the way he sees things. We are good team; we balance each other a little. Heaven forbid there is ever a broken bone in this house; but if there is, it will probably be on my watch.

However I am proud to say that in the last four months we’ve had no serious illnesses and no emergency room visits. Scratches, bumps and bruises….yep, we’ve had those. To use one of D’s favorite phrases, it’s good for you, it builds character. (Kind of weird that he says that, huh?)

Things My Children Have Learned: Who's in Charge.

I overheard a conversation between D and H this afternoon. They were playing with some toy animals and a barn.




yep...this is the boss mom, I'm trying not to be offended



First H explained that you have to separate the girl animals from the boy animals. Secondly a mom animal is always in charge, and if there are no moms only then can the dad animal be in charge. Thirdly, if there is more than one mom animal, the mom animal with the widest mouth is the boss.

He’s only five, but it seems like he’s got a good grasp on things. Now I would never say that I am in charge…I don’t need to. Yes, in this house, I am in charge. I decide what’s for dinner (I welcome suggestions….usually), I clean the bathrooms (when I am good and ready), I decide what colors to paint on the walls (from the reject shelf at Lowe’s), etc… Moms set bed times, make appointments, and buy the clothes. How could we not be in charge?

My mom tells a story about the time my dad was left in charge of getting me ready in the morning. I can’t say that it was true, because I was only around 2…and my mom tends to exaggerate stories. What? No I do not see a striking resemblance! Anyway, the story goes, when my mom came back later in the afternoon, I am filthy and my shirt is on backwards. We’ve all seen the email that goes around about what happens when dads get left in charge….kids eating cake for breakfast, poor diapering, and total destruction in the kitchen.

I think this is pretty accurate, and it is not a slight on men. Generally, men have a different “skill set”, right? D skill set includes but is not limited to: grilling, mowing, locating exits, finding the way back to the car, and chili. Managing the rapid mood swings of children is not in his skill set. He is a great dad, but would be a crappy mom. This is why when children are involved the moms are usually in charge. In general moms are the primary care-takers even when both parents work full time. It’s part biological, part cultural, and part skill set that we fall into these roles.

As far as wider mouths go, well you only need to go to one PTO meeting to find out that is true. That is not a slight either…organizations need squeaky wheels.

Piles and Golf

It’s kind of amazing that my husband has put up with me for so long. Not only that, it still seems as though he likes me a lot, even though I am such a pain to live with.


Within one hour of D being home…there were little piles all over the house: A pile of pocket contents in the living room, a pile of carry-on contents in the kitchen, and a pile of suitcase contents in the bedroom. But I didn’t nag…that would be too strait forward. I tease, I say something like “hey, did you want to keep this wadded up scrap of paper?” or “ooh are we starting a collection?” or “the lamp in the living room is a GREAT place to keep pocket change, it won’t be a problem at all to dust around it!” I am a pain in the neck, right? I know D well enough to know that I could just simply ASK and he would very happily do whatever I want. I know that the teasing and sarcasm is a little passive aggressive. Yeah….I should probably work on that.

Today, I let him take a break from the HDL (Honey Do List) and we went to the driving range. No, I do not golf, in fact this was only the second time I’ve ever hit a golf ball (besides putt-putt). Today he let me hit most of the bucket…and he was giving me instruction. SCARY.

I am not the best at taking instruction.

I wasn’t always that way though, I listened to my parents…for the most part. I always listened to my dance teacher, directors and choreographers. He is good golfer…why would this be so difficult for me? Well the good news is that we went to driving range holding hands and left the driving range holding hands, and I only snapped at him once. That is success! Forget the times I actually hit the golf ball, only snapping once….that took focus and skill.

Maybe it’s not too late for me…

Arrivals Gate

I picked the boys up early from school yesterday so we could park and go into the airport. It felt like everyone was driving 15 miles under the speed limit…. But that served as a good reminder for me to slow the heck down. We got to the airport, parked, and hiked inside. There is something special about an arrivals gate, isn’t there?

I’d had my heart in my throat all day and here all around me where people feeling the same way. And this was prime people-watching for me:


There were a lot of men with flowers. One man in particular had a dozen white roses, for his wife or girlfriend I don’t know. But when she walked toward him she was already crying, she hugged his neck and they just stood like that for several minutes. It was hard not to cry myself.

There was an older couple waiting, too. Turns out they were waiting for their daughter and her family. As soon as the family came through the daughter hugged her father and grandma scooped the baby out of the stroller. The baby cried….they all cried.

There were drivers with signs (who I’m guessing did not cry), there were friends waiting for friends, there were sons and daughters waiting for parents. And there were a lot of wives and children waiting too….just like me.

We stood in one spot for 40+ minutes. It is hard enough as an adult, torturous for the boys. It was crowded, noisy, and hot. I stood holding their hands while watching the steady stream of passengers as they came through customs, always hoping that the next one would be D. I glanced twice at any men wearing a light blue shirt of the same height and weight. Finally I saw him, and he saw us.

At that moment, my heart and stomach went back to their original positions, and I took my first deep breath in four months.

Talking

Last week I went out to dinner with my girl friends J and J. Not only that, their husbands watched my boys along with each of their own babies. I can’t decide which is more shocking…the babysitting...or that I actually have friends to dine with?


In some ways we couldn’t be more different. We are from South Carolina, New York and Indiana. We are full-time working mom, part-time working mom, and lazy stay-at-home-mom (that’s me!). It’s the differences that make things entertaining and interesting. J and her husband are Cowboys fans…D is a Colts fan. The other J’s husband is an Ohio State fan….D is a Michigan Fan. We are envisioning lots of fun vacation decorating in our futures. D says, “Why can’t you bring home the right kind of friends?” I say, “What’s the fun in that?” Where is the fun if everyone has the same opinion? D is teasing of course; he likes them as much as I do.

While at dinner, we were re-sharing stories on how we had met our husbands and the horrors of the births of our children. It’s no fun talking about how miraculous the first cry was…boring. I like talking, I will talk about anything. I really am an open book. There is typically only one topic I won’t talk about, but if someone were specific enough to ask then I would. Not on here, though…my mom reads this.

Army Wives and Tums

So here is my Sunday evening TV lineup:


8:58: Masterpiece
9:55: the last 5 minutes of Army Wives
10:00: Coming Home
11:00: the first 5 minutes of Army Wives
11:05: Bed

You only need to watch the first and last 5 minutes of Army Wives to know what is going on. Truthfully, I think the show is a joke. I remember when the show first started; I watched the first episode hoping it would be great: but instead it made me angry. Here is what ticked me off:

Enlisted wife has waited hours in the ER for her son to be seen. Officer’s wife breezes in and immediately gets an appointment in the ER for her daughter to get a physical. Now in the show, the officer’s wife gives the appointment to enlisted wife and son.

It would almost make me laugh, if it weren’t already making me cry. That doesn’t happen…and they never go on to be friends. How do I know this? I once sat in the ER with my baby boy, who it would turn out had pneumonia, for hours waiting with all the rest of the sick and hurt children. After 3 hours a woman walks in followed by her husband who proceeds to throw a fit that his wife has not been “seen” yet, and why is she out here with all of these “enlisted”? He actually used the word “enlisted” like it was a disease. His exact rank I don’t remember, even though he shouted it enough, but I do know that his wife was then seen immediately. It still makes me angry. That was one of our first nights on Ft. Belvoir, talk about disappointment.

So why do I still watch? Maybe I am hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of my life. Or maybe I wouldn’t watch the show at all if it didn’t come on right before Coming Home. I don’t know why I even watch that? It only makes me cry. And it encourages people to feel sorry for me, and I hate that. Don’t feel sorry for me…. I’m fine. I’m strong, capable and independent.

Wow! Would you believe this was supposed to be a post about D’s homecoming? Way off track. We are just over 24 hours away….

I’m nervous. How crazy is that? I am nervous about seeing my husband of 8+ years. I noticed this niggling feeling in my stomach yesterday but today it has turned into full fledged anxiety. Who knows if I will be able to sleep tonight? Tomorrow? Forget about it, I’m going to be a mess. And for the life of me, I can’t tell you WHY I am so nervous. It’s only been four months, we’ve done that before. I am more nervous about him coming home that I was about his leaving in the first place. Why is that? Really…does anyone know?

I need a Tums.

My Crazy Mom

My mom is part lunatic, part saint.


She had 4 children in 4 years….I am pretty sure that should have qualified her for institutionalization. Not only that, but as she and my dad closed in on 40 they decided they wanted more children: enter me and JT.

Even before she had children she was a little crazy. Seriously, who moves to the middle of nowhere into a 4 room house with loose windows, no facilities, and says “hey let’s have a baby!”? She must have really loved my dad. She would go on to have the others while my dad worked away from home and was single-handedly building their home. Crazy.

She worked third-shift in a hospital lab when I was little. She was the one who drew blood from drunk-drivers; she was the one to get down on the floor to draw because the police had to hold the guy down. All the third-shift cops knew my mom. She put up with endless teasing from JT and me about how she worked in “lab” and could she bring home some “samples.” She in turn would lecture us on the dangers of dirty needles. She put up with JT and I's pranks, like the Christmas ants, and the “Mom! The cows are out!” So we, her children, also have to take responsibility for her craziness.

She cheerfully puts up with my dad bringing home strays. He brings home stray animals, stray machinery, and even stray people. My mom has been chased by geese, stranded in vehicles, and met some very interesting people. She cheerfully puts up with all the teasing, like the time we all got Mad-Turkey disease at Thanksgiving…the teasing was brutal.

She loves us…even though we make mistakes and don’t visit as often as we should. She loves us, even though we don’t call and tell her the same. Unconditional love is a little crazy after all.

All the things that make her crazy also make her awesome. I hope one day my kids will think I’m crazy.

Fairness

There is that moment in most of my days, when I say to myself, “is this really my life?” Sometimes it is said with joy and relief, but not this morning.


Before I was even out of bed the boys had spent an hour bickering, tattling, and yelling. Suddenly L comes into my room holding his arm and crying. “H hit me” he said. I put the bookmark in my book and got out of my ever-so-comfortable bed. H of course says, “I didn’t hit him.” After some careful questioning, I got to the bottom of what really happened. H did hit L…with piece of paper. Is this really my life?

This morning had dawned so promising too. The boys slept in until 7, but I still woke at 6:30 so I was reading until they woke. I was in my comfortable bed, in comfortable pajamas, and the day looked beautiful. Then before I knew it, it was 8 am and I wanted to run out of my life.

Are you thinking that I completely overreacted to the hitting-with-paper incident? I was so angry….angry at L for carrying-on like he was really hurt, angry at H for hitting (he does sometimes hit, so hitting with anything is a problem), and angry with myself for feeling this desire to “check out.” I was sad that this beautiful Saturday morning was already stained with yelling, fighting, and tears. Where are those lovely Saturday mornings? The ones where the children wake slowly and in good moods, and moms are woken by the sounds of their children’s laughter and not alarm clocks or fighting? When families eat breakfast together and spend the day enjoying each others’ company?

Once when L was a baby, a friend of mine said, “you are a mom, but you are not a parent until you have two.” Oh, yes, I was irritated. How dare she say that my job is easier than hers! Now I’ve come to see what she meant. The words she used aren’t exactly right, but I can’t think of a better way to say it. Settling arguments is the biggest and most challenging part of my job. Arguments that on the surface may seem silly, but boiled down they are arguments about fairness. Aren’t they all? Fairness is a big deal, and not just to children either. Fairness is absolutely overwhelming.

I didn’t run out of my life, but I did run out of the house. I sat on the front porch until I realized that I had stopped thinking about how angry I was, and was thinking about landscaping instead. 5 minutes had passed, maybe 7, enough that I was ready to talk and not yell at the boys.

The day has gotten better of course. We’ve laughed, played and had lunch together. I’ve still facilitated cease-fires, surrenders, and time outs. There is fairness in that for me, because every parent is doing the exact same thing on this Saturday. Some are handling it better than I, and some worse.

Tomorrow I will at some point ask myself, “Is this really my life?” and no matter my mood, tomorrow the answer will be the same as it was today. Yes, Mary, this is your life….how will you use it today?

Respect

My friend J told me today was Military Spouse Appreciation Day. J is a military spouse, too. Where was she going to celebrate the day? The commissary. What did I do? Yard work.


I think Military Spouse Appreciation Day is a little silly. Do farmers’ spouses get appreciation days? Do nurses and teachers? How about factory workers?

You might say, but think of the risks the military take! There is risk in everything. Anyone who has grown up or spent any time in a farming community knows how dangerous it can be. Soldiers, sailors and marines aren’t the only ones who loose limbs. What about the moving around? I say it’s not all bad, I think of it as adventure. One of my friends, with no association with the military, has moved far more often than we have. Does she get an appreciation day?

The biggest thing is…..We signed up for this. Anyone who joined the military post 9/11 must have known what they were getting into. Now sure, I didn’t raise my right hand and join the military; but D’s reenlistment was a joint decision. We knew what we were getting ourselves into. I knew that it meant deployments, TDY’s (Temporary Duty), and moving. I also knew that it meant job security, health insurance, and adventure….it’s not all sacrifice. I might as well have raised my right hand and said:

I, Mary, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend my husband; that I will bear with good humor the single parenting, periodic relocations, and my husbands’ Army buddies; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers’ wives appointed over me. I will do my best to learn and understand the acronyms, strange customs, and what all the different patches mean. So help me God.

All joking aside, don’t treat me special today, or any day. It makes me uncomfortable, I’m not special. If anyone deserves an appreciation day it is the military child. Or any child who won’t be able to say “I grew up in….” and just name 1 place. Any child that says “I’m worried about my dad” or “I miss my mom”. Appreciate the mom and dad who never imagined their “baby” fighting in a war, and every parent that mourns the loss of a child.

We all have risk, worry, and grief in our lives, don’t we? It’s life. It’s the good the bad and everything in the middle that make a life. All wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, and children deserve respect. It irks me when someone says “they have to earn my respect”...that’s crap. Respect does not need to be earned…it’s part of the foundation.

So today, on Military Spouse Appreciation Day, I only ask that I am respected. Respect your spouse, neighbor, boss, child….everyone….even the dinner-time telemarketer.

H's Mom Survey

H’s preschool had a Mother’s Day Tea this morning. It was fancy, we got to eat food the children prepared themselves, make pasta necklaces and sing, “Tony Chestnut, knows I love you.”  Strangely there wasn’t any actual tea, which I had been looking forward to.

They had each of the children complete a survey about their moms, but before they gave them to us, the teachers read some of the funny answers the children gave. The questions were basic: name, favorite food, likes, favorite vacation spot, age, and my mom likes it when I _____________.

Some I knew were not H’s answers. My mom’s favorite food is “mushroom soup”. Not me, I try to avoid foods that grow accidentally, or that can grow on wet plywood. My mom likes to “work out at the gym”. No comment, but that was certainly not H’s answer. The rest of us eyed that mom…justifying our dress size with time spent with our children. My mom’s favorite vacation spot is “T J Max”. Now that is just plain funny, and also based on the drab contents of my closet...not H’s answer.

There was one answer that I was a little concerned may have been H’s. My mom likes it when I “leave her by herself”. Please not H, please not H. All the moms were saying that prayer I think. I was, of course, relieved that it was not H’s answer. Initially I had some less-generous thoughts about THAT MOM, but I quickly realized that it could have just as easily been H’s answer. Boy was I ever thankful that I spent all that time yesterday looking for a small plastic lady bug, building towers, and answering questions.

Sometimes I say to the boys “please, just stop talking to me for 2 seconds” and “please just let me eat my food while it’s still warm” or “no I don’t want to play animal rescue with you for 100th time today” And “please fight about the invisible cheetah somewhere else”. Some days I do want to be left to myself. That is a luxury that I don’t get too often. I seriously envy D’s commute. That is 60+ minutes every day that he gets to be in a car alone. ALONE! No bickering, no talking, no questions, no “you’ll sing a song and I’ll sing a song and we’ll sing a song together….” Why did I think a 3-disc set of Raffi was a good idea? Alone time is why moms make kids take naps…. Sure we tell them it is good for them, and helps them grow and be less grumpy. Mostly we just want to watch Oprah. Just the same, in the mornings I am anxious for them to wake and I am looking forward to the end of the school year.


These are H’s answers, and he was spot on with ALL of them:

My mom’s name is Mary.

My mom’s favorite food is pizza.

My mom’s favorite vacation spot is grandma and grandpa’s house.

My mom likes it when I do the right thing.

My mom is 22 years old.

Okay...well...most of them.
Moms don’t get days off, and we wouldn’t enjoy them if we did. But sometimes an hour is nice.

I'll Pass on the Grits, Thank You.

I live in the south…it's hot, grits are a standard with breakfast, and the cannons on the courthouse squares still point north...seriously.


When we first PCSed (that’s Permanent Change of Station) here from Germany we lived much closer to D.C. on a military base. I met a lot of people and not one of them from Virginia…not one. In fact, I don’t think I had even met anyone from the south at all…except Florida…and, well, everyone knows Florida isn’t really part of the south. Until I moved south of D.C., I had only been called a Yankee once in my life…when I was in New Zealand. Of course he was referring to me as an American in general and not because I was from Indiana.

Because of our proximity to military bases, we still live with people from all over the place, but there are certainly a greater number of “locals”. There is also a tremendous amount of history here. Civil War Battlefields, and famous American homesteads are all around. The further south I drive the more often I find myself saying “pardon” or “I’m sorry can you repeat that?” Twice in the last week, I’ve had someone point out that I was a Yankee. I guess they figure that out when my Yankee brain can’t handle the flow of vowels and missing consonants. It was never said in a derogatory way…just as a fact.

The local Virginians I’ve met have all been very pleasant. There are only two things that bother me, the inability to drive in snow and the use of the confederate flag. It’s one thing if you have it on your POV (another fun military acronym: Privately Owned Vehicle) but another on company vehicles. Granted they are probably all small, local, business owners…but I still think it’s inappropriate.

One day my children may ask me what that flag is, that is easy to answer. The “Why” is more difficult to answer. You hear the word “heritage” used often…but no one has yet to explain to me why that makes it appropriate for use outside of a museum.

Here is an admission: none of my ancestors fought in the Civil War…most of mine were still in Germany at the time…so maybe I am not entitled to an opinion at all about the confederate flag?

A local would certainly have more than two things that bother him about me (I can think of twenty off the top of my head)…but he is far too nice to say.

VEP

My sister, N, just ran a marathon. How cool is that, right? She did great, and has already agreed to do another one….even before she is able to walk up a flight of stairs with any degree comfort. Cool and little bit crazy, if you ask me.


Dad told N that he was really proud of her. You are probably thinking okay….and? Those words from Dad are pretty rare. In fact I’ve only heard them once, when I was able to slowly descend a rope using only my arms. He usually expresses his pride when we have done something physically impressive. My little brother JT probably gets the illusive “I’m proud of you” more than any of the six of us. Dad once referred to JT as “a fine physical specimen”…

Last year, I ran my first 5K. Sure I did it for the school fundraiser, and for myself, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to get an “I’m proud of you” from Dad. I didn’t. Who cares about a measly little 3.1 miles? I suppose I peaked on his VEP (Verbally Expressed Pride) Scale when I was 16.

Physical fitness and weight have always been important to Dad. He’s been able to wear the same suit for the last, I don’t know….45 years? Seriously, recently his doctor told him he had the body of a healthy 55 year old…and he’s in his 70s. He obviously knows what he is doing. Recently he was impressed that a 25 year old was able to keep up with him on a 4 mile walk. I love that he forgets his age; I really do, because it helps me to forget his age.

I don’t know why he doesn’t say the words and I know that it is not intentional. I also know that he IS proud of me. I know he is proud of the woman I have turned into, he is proud of the kind of wife I am, and he is proud of the kind of mother I am. I also know how deeply he loves his children and grandchildren. Maybe it goes back to his childhood….doesn’t everything?

We all want our parents to be proud of us. And parents want their kids to be happy and healthy. I know that it is his desire that we maintain our health and certainly physical fitness key to that goal. So instead of feeling hurt, I have decided to try to look at it as a strategy. This is his unintentional strategy to keep us healthy. I guess it’s been working, I will be running another 5K this summer and maybe a 10 mile in December. I stress the word “maybe” and I use the word “running” very loosely.

H is for Hair

H is my baby boy.  Born weighing over 8 lbs. (1 lb was his hair alone!)

H, at 6 weeks, was a tank...with some wacky hair. 

At 8 weeks poeple stopped giving me accusatory looks.  But still with the wacky hair!

I started giving him haircuts before he was 6 months old...bad ones.  Well have you ever tried to give a 5 month old a haircut? 

Probably why he was wearing a hat for his first birthday!

At 2, he evidentally spent a lot of time with food on his face.  I started using clippers with marginally better results.

And in case you haven't heard.....3 is the new 2.   I really stink at haircuts. 

H had a lot of new experiences at age 4.  Like using a public toilet, preschool, and a professional haircut.

Now I am looking forward to what 5 has in store for H...probably a new set of clippers.  He's worn the old ones out.

Eating in Public

I never encountered any issues with breastfeeding in public. Now given the choice, certainly I would rather be at home or sitting in the car, but sometimes you can’t. Nursing on park bench, restaurant chair, or airplane seat is much more desirable than a toilet.


Last night, friends with a new baby were over for dinner and Baby was hungry. She kept asking her husband to bring her the baby to feed at the table. Her husband, at first, said “no” that she should nurse in the living room and not in front of my boys who, like she, were still finishing their dinner. I told him to stop being ridiculous. He consented and brought her Baby, even she asked me if I was sure this was okay. Uh…yeah...it’s okay….everybody’s got to eat.

L was about 2 ½ when H was born. L used to copy me when I nursed H, he would get a pillow, and his lovey and even a burp clothe, pull up his shirt and “nurse” his bear. Of course I took a picture that he would hate me for later!

We often had company during this time, mostly young single soldiers. I would always tell them, that it only made me uncomfortable if they were uncomfortable. They got used to it, evidently, they kept coming over. Who knows…that may have been why we had so much company? If you eat at D’s house you may get to see Mary’s breasts!

But the best “boob” story (sorry Mom!) comes from when L was just a baby. My brother’s wife had a baby just three months before L was born so that Easter we were both nursing. We commandeered my little brother JT’s “bachelor pad”. It was a small bedroom on the first floor of my parents’ house that JT (only one living with mom and dad at the time) had turned into a living room. It was perfect for nursing in, it was warm and quieter (holiday’s at mom and dad’s are LOUD!) JT once joked when he sat in there with my sister-in-law and I, “this was not exactly what I had in mind when I thought of breasts in my bachelor pad!”

If while I was a nursing mother, there had been a “nurse in” in my area I would have gone in a heartbeat. Is it just American’s that are so persnickety about this? It’s nipples, people, everyone has them. Men, too, can breastfeed after all. Seriously…look it up…they have all the required “equipment”!

At any rate, my friend now knows that she is welcome to breastfeed her baby in my house at any time and any place…and if someone doesn’t like it…they can go wait in the bathroom for her to finish.