I am adding several posts written over the last few years, moving them from a sight I (sadly) rarely use any more, to my blog, where I need to spend more of my time sharing my writing. Please enjoy, all broken out by title!
My Child is Not a Sardine!
Aware as I am that I should be eternally grateful to live in America where my children's educations are free, to live in a town where they do not have to worry about getting shot on the way to school, and where I am able to reach them in 5 minutes, and to have a lifestyle where our biggest challenge in buying school supplies is that we forgot something and have to go to Target AGAIN, I am more than a little bit disgruntled today.
My daughter left her math homework at school. Not because she's lazy, unmotivated, forgetful or obstinate. She left her homework at school today because our city, in the last 2 years, has closed a large number of schools. Several elementary schools, one middle school and one high school (there were 3 each, now 2). She has almost all of her classes, as do all the other 8th graders, outside the building in portable pods. Please read, trailers. Of the two middle schools closer to us, this is the smaller one. The hallways are narrower and the lighting is darker. The stairwells are hidden in alcoves so that yuo can circle the entire building without seeing them, and one of the exits has been closed off and is now an access to the portables only. Somehow, this is all still up to code for 800 teenagers plus staff. So I am cutting her slack, on this 5th day of the school year, for not braving the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd to get a one-page worksheet. In the morning I will take her to school because last year the sudents had 10 minutes admission to the building to gather materials before the first bell. This year they have five minutes.
I don't know what it's like in your city, but I was in college when the bumper stickers came out that said "It'll be a great day when the schools have all the money they need and the military has to hold a bake sale". Yes, it will. In the meantime, I would like to see not necessarily MORE money, but a little fiscal responsibility would be fantastic. We are told that nearly every single classroom will have the new "smart boards" but that over half the teachers don't know how to use them. We have Lake Superior, but the high schools are getting olympic quality pools. The school district is paying more than twice the market rate to buy property through eminent domain. And to accomplish the actual construction, the interim 2-4 years of consolidation has created class size of 27 in elementary school to 44 in some high school classes. I can't imagine learning in that environment, teaching in it. I can barely imagine breathing in it.
Why don't we homeschool? I know, I'm asking myself that. Because I've struggled to get my nearly 14 year old youngest child and I to seperate. She needs her independance, where my older 2 grabbed it. My husband and I both work. And next year, God willing, she has school choice, she can go to our city's only charter school, where she'll be lucky to have 15 kids in most classes and where she can go for coffee with her art teacher if she so desires and if we deem it appropriate. As I've seen that day near, I've stayed as distant from the PTA and the school board as humanly possible. They don't want my input, and I'm quite sure there isn't an extra chair.
My E-Mail to BP
Mr. Prescott,
While I'm reasonably sure you won't read this, and just as sure you are kicking yourself for living in a world where our every sound-bite is recorded for posterity, I still want to tell you that I sincerely hope that every exec from BP is spending an equal amount of time on their knees as on the air.
While Louisiana may not be the only place in the world with shrimp, we only HAVE one Louisiana. I ask you to begin treasuring it. Yesterday.
Sincerely, A Minnesotan
short, sweet, to the point. don't waste perfectly good invectives, he's not reading them anyway.
Our Ritual of Spring
...will not be observed this year. Soccer sign-up. The first practice. Shopping for new cleats, a new ball and the many rolls of pre-wrap for her hair.
Part of parenting is watching our children evolve into the adults they will become. Finding themselves, as it were. Both of her siblings no longer do some of the things they were most fond of and talented at during their tween years. Little league, sign language classes, poetry writing and pencil and charcoal drawing have gone by the wayside, and we were sad to see them go. While no longer present, they still had a role in shaping our children into the adults they are today.
So as another transition comes our way, I am much more non-chalant about it than I would otherwise be. As a parent, I can still be sad that she's giving up something she really does shine at, while still being aware that it's my job to keep my mouth shut. I enjoyed being a soccer mom with a van and fresh fruit, with team trips to the DQ after big games and piles of stinky socks in the wash. And proud that I never became THAT soccer parent. You all no the one I'm talking about. That one, with the red face and the potty mouth. I've known a few and that's one thing I will not miss as we leave soccer behind.
Hello to art camps, Hello to BOYS, Hello to growing up (again).
Drug Testing and Welfare - Share YOUR Solution
Over the last several days I have seen something new on Facebook that has been bothering me. I have been mulling it over, and I sincerely hope that I do my inner thoughts some justice here.
The "newest" group on FB that some are joining is in a nutshell this: "People for Drug Testing to get Welfare" Now, admittedly, I have not read the link information, mostly because I have pretty strong feelings about this and I don't want to read something right now that may just make me angrier.
Also admittedly, there are real problems in this nation and the world with the poor, the down-trodden, and yes, the lazy using, abusing, and selling drugs. And yes, we need to do more in the "War on Drugs." More, and different measures, certainly. I am not at all sure that screening those applying for welfare is the solution.
When I was 20, I had to make my first trip to the welfare office. Many were to follow, but that first visit, with my one year old and my pregnant belly, explaining that no, I wasn't looking for work, but yes, I had just separated from my abusive husband, was humiliating, difficult and SAD. I have never been good at holding back tears, and I can just imagine that for myself, then, and for the millions more like me, the humiliation of adding a drug screening to the mix. My thoughts have gone toward the many thousands of people that are now applying or "on the books" as the economy collapsed. Do we really need to drug-test the coal-miners, the Detroit plant workers, the teachers and the government workers that are laid off?
At the food shelf that I work at, we generally have the perogative to ask those that smell of alcohol to come back another time. I have never heard of this happening, our clients being asked to leave. On a couple of occasions over the years if someone has been disruptive or inappropriately confrontational, yes. We are about compassion, however, and even those that numb their pain with alcohol are hungry. We are not counselors or cops, and neither are welfare intake workers. Some are social workers, but on those visits, generally you are meeting with the intake workers who already have too much on THEIR plates. Add more, yes there's a wise solution for everyone involved.
Here's a solution:
Yes to tough love and not enabling the drunk and the stoned to become more drunk and stoned, to be caregivers to children who are really caring for their parents.
NO to being judgemental due to a person's financial circumstances, or the number of children they have.
Yes to feeding the hungry, yes to compassion, and yes to a love of humanity. Yes to peace.
Powerful Messages
Jan 31, 2010
Sometimes I think it's been too long since I've changes my FB status, or I get anxious if no one's read my most recent CM post. Or my Chatterbox is lonely.
Today I have had several wake-up calls. After a new year's resolve to be more present in all the areas of life, I have certainly dropped the ball since the middle of January. Winter can be stressful for me, and I've been aware of this for a couple of years as more resources in the frozen north have discussed S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and what can be done to combat it. As above regarding the internet stuff, I have life-time issues with anxiety as well. This has never been a secret, if you meet me, you'll see my bitten nails.
As winter drags on, and daylight is scarce, it has become more and more difficult to drag myself to church, to my mid-week small group, even to events that take me away from my couch (but mostly my computer), and I've been telling myself when the weather gets warmer, this will change, it won't last forever. The wake-up calls today included this: Why Wait?
I dragged said sorry hind-end to church this morning and the rewards were great, immediately. I belong to a church that has been established in town for 15 years, and is new and fresh and vibrant every day. It is on days like today, when the bed and the books beside it were so beckoning, that actually choosing to engage in routine and life and being rewarded become so very precious. It encourages one to do it again tomorrow. The message of the sermon and the details of conversations with good friends aren't as important as the internal message: To take the focus off myself, my relative self-centeredness and put the focus back where it belongs. On my family, on my God, on my community.
Reflections
As Christmas nears, with the New Year at it's heels, and my birthday very soon after, I get more than a little reflective. This year has been no exception. I don't tend to make a list of "Resolutions" but I do make a mental list of things I'll try to do better.
This year my list is broader, but deeper. Almost everyone, I think, tries to be a better "something" next year. I would like to commit to being a more present person next year. I spend so much wasted time being distracted, by all those "other" things I should be thinking, doing, preforming, that I am going to try to put "other" down in 2010.
When I am talking to someone in person or on the phone, I am going to talk to them. This means no cleaning, filing, opening, or typing (well, maybe still cooking, as long as the cell doesn't fall in the sauce, right?).
When I am at an event, a concert, a movie, a dinner, whatever it is, absolutely no making mental lists of all the cleaning, phone calling, errand running I must be doing when I leave said event.
And when I am relaxing at home, please, GOD, don't let me fret about the work on my desk, the things I didn't finish or things at home that don't involve relaxing. It's not about being lazy, it's about letting myself off of the hook. A hook too many moms dangle from.
So I have a goal, in a nutshell of doing less, but having those things that I choose to do, count more.
Faith in Humanity
I picked my daughter up from Middle School late this afternoon. She had stayed after school for art class, during which they'd had a discussion about what can be considered art and what can't.
They came up with varying answers in their group, such as photography is still art because someone put a lot of effort into that. And a seashell is art because it is part or a much bigger work of art - Earth.
These kids are just wonderful, sometimes it's just nice to hear something wonderful about teenagers.
A Warning
My friends at large know that I have never, nor will ever win any parenting of the year awards, nor did I do a very good job as a citizen today.
A small black car, older and showing it wear across the parking lot. A very young, ponytailed mom bending in to the back seat, raising her voice "Why do you have to be so FU#%&ng naughty?"
I wish I had intervened, I wish I had honked, I wish I had done something distracting, really anything, but I didn't. If I saw someone actually hit their child, of course I would be all over the adult like a - the metaphor doesn't really matter here, abuse is abuse, verbal, physical, and God forbid sexual. ABUSE is ABUSE. ABUSE is ABUSE.
I am hear to tell anyone who will listen, if this is how you behave in front of you child or toward your child, I will not condemn you. Parenting is hard, parenting alone is harder. I have been there. But, honey, if you don't get help, it will ONLY GET WORSE.
If you are calling them Fu#%&ng naughty at three, what will you do when they are seven, what will you do when they are teenagers? GET HELP, because by the time they are teenagers, IT WILL BE TOO LATE! I am not saying there will be no hope, because I believe there is always hope, but they will be done listening to your tirades, and they will have tirades of their own.
Thanks, go hug your kid.
The Shower Scene
Not from Psycho, of course, but close.
We got home quite late last night after hanging out at our local Extreme Home Makeover site and waving franticly at our friend on the framing crew, leaving too early as it turned out, Eduardo made a crowd-pleasing appearance as we hit the highway.
Thankfully, I had a nicely compliant tween and she hoped right into the shower without crabbing, and I hopped right onto the desktop dinosaur, down-time for me, then hugs and bed for us both. I so hate it when things go so smoothly, then...MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
It wasn't at all loud, but it was long, so I kept one ear open and tried to keep the turned down to deaf. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. A bit longer, definite volume increase, then "I really need you Mom" Oh dear.
Picture this: Blonde 12 year old, sitting on the newly remodeled bathroom floor, Rubbermaid container spilled over, BLOOD EVERYWHERE! On band-aids and on a couple wads of toilet paper, toe-prints, yikes! She's been shaving her legs for quite a long time, almost 2 years maybe (she's not quite as fair as me), and has barely even scratched herself. Lucky night, I guess.
Seriously, I began to think stitches after intervening with clean towels and applied pressure. Suddenly that Smoothe Away thingy or even teen waxing is looking alot safer. Or better yet, before Hollywood pin-ups and the wide-spread use of panty-hose, women didn't shave their legs either. Thankfully, the torrent stopped and we have peace.
Mopping at 10:30 pm was not in my plan, but letting hubby come home to that wouldn't have been kind. Funny, but not kind.
The Bird Whisperer
Four gals had a 14 hour scrapbooking mini-retreat at the Guard base today, and we we surrounded by papers in hues and patterns to rival the carpets in palaces and tools to befuddle the mind of the most experienced carpenter. Yes, there are paper cutters and scissors and hole-punches, but there are also crop-a-diles, Cricuts and Slices.
And one very terrified sparrow.
While J and I were content to go about our work, K was intent on freeing the poor little creature before it either perished or shat on our creations. J2 was hiding under the table - think Alfred Hitchcock's Birds here, not cute orphan sparrow.
K's mothering instincts kicked in immediately as she tried to coax the small bird from the nearly carernous dining hall with a small, bird-sized cardboard box. She would appear to make advances toward the door when it would swoop back toward imagined safety and nearly cause J2 to collapse in horror movie fright.
So I joined K in her rescue attempt and we trapped the small pest in a kitchen supply room. Now armed with the box, a rubbermaid lid and a push-broom, we thought success and rescue nigh. Wrong. Mothering instinct left the building and profanity ensued.
Back to the dining hall and more screaming, chasing, ducking (not birding), and finally with the aid of two white sheets and a closed access door, we were able to usher our friend to relative safety in the wild outdoors. Yes, there was cheering.
We all wondered what sort of surveilance there might be amongst all those dining halls and F-16s, and muttered about the possibility of those surveilance tapes finding their way to AFV (America's Funniest). Mostly, we are proud of our very own Bird Whisperer - the Air Force version. Go, K!
The Mommy Shower
Over the many years I have been a wife and mother, and of course even before, I have been to countless baby showers, bridal showers, and even hosted a few. But have any of you ever heard of a Mommy Shower? Me neither. Because, as I realized the other day while IN THE SHOWER, there really is no such thing.
When in the throes of a new relationship, you may be thrilled at all the new antics you and your loved on can discover together in the shower. This is fun, new and exciting and you have no thought of the precident it might set.
Before you know it, you have your very first bundle of joy, and in just a blink of an eye, your SO is off to work and you are alone and desperately, more than you need your next breath of air, need to wash your hair. No way around it, you must not leave this precious bundle ALONE half way across the house. Into the bathroom comes the cozy infant seat, and you rush into the steam before she awakes - wait, no - she's already awake. Wash hair tomorrow.
Pretty soon, there is a pair of toddlers nipping at your heels, and between all the things you must do besides keeping up with them, you occasionally feel the need to shave your legs, and the only way you're getting a shower that long is to have them in the water with you. Ever shaved your legs with two slippery toddlers, bath toys and floating toiletry bottle dodging around? Who says the Marines have the toughest combat training?
Now that the kids are older and can plop down in front of cartoons or be occupied by iPods and cellphones, you're home free, right? WRONG! See below:
Mom, where is my athletic gear, band instrument, cell phone, cologne, dress, deoderant, earrings, glasses, hairbrush, headband, homework, iPod, keys, lunch, mail, money, mascara, permission slip, questionarre, report card, sunglesses, and towels,,,
Did I forget anything?
I Have No Patience With You People
You are a litterbug. You throw your cigarette butts on our beautiful beach and leave your beer bottles behind for my children and their friends to step on. Birds choke on your plastic bags, so when the seagulls SH%$ on your head in revenge, don't come crying to me. And who are you, who wishes for a beautiful future for your children and takes the time to take them to the beach, and leaves their dirty diapers behind?
And thank you so much for not bringing a doggie bag to clean up behind your puppy after training school - maybe the human half of your relationship needs classes too! And the condoms, well, I'd been meaning to have that sex ed chat with my child, so I am ever grateful for the opportunity.
So no lectures here. I know that the heavy stuff you lugged from the car and the fun you had all day left you far too tired to lug half those things back to the car, that the children were cranky from the sun and that "some-one else will grab that." That would be me. You're welcome.
This is the Day...
This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it! Psalm 118:24
You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Matthew 5:14
Our church home if moving today, and the great thing about moving, just like when you sell your home, your family comes with you!
For the past 3 years, we have been involved in the "Building a Community of Hope" campaign. We have watched and prayed over the purchase of the land, the hiring of contractors and the construction, with all of the rejoicing and setbacks that go along with the process.
There has never been a "fundraiser" mentality or the sense that Duluth is building a mega-church. Quite simply, our little grey clap-board church tucked awa in a quite bedroom neighborhood, has grown at 30+ percent a year for over 6 years and we don't have anywhere to put more people. We often here in the community, even a friend at a job inteview "Is that the church where the pastor does 5 sermons every weekend" Yep, that's us!
As exciting as all this new growth and the new opportunities we will have is/are, it's also bittersweet. Many of us are bringing our cameras to church today, to take snapshots to keep with us. As a good friend of mine put it "I've left a lot of tears and snot in that carpet". And coffee stains. I myself have been a Christian for almost 25 years, but 6 years ago I walked through the doors of this little church and found home and family.
So goodbye little church in the "valley" and hello to some new family members - God willing Lots of them!
Never Forget?
I am a red, white and blue Air Force wife who is proud of all the service people in my family, who supports the troops in tangible ways, who loves Jesus and my country.
I received an e-mail yesterday with some really gorgeous pics of the brand new - USS New York - a new warship buil to replace many that have been de-commissioned and built from many tons of steel salvaged from the World Trade Center. The ships motto is "Never Forget".
I will never forget. I will never forget the fear in my children's faces, the pictures my little one drew, the anger my husband expressed and the tears I cried. But as I looked at these gleaming new pictures, all I could think was this: The perfect way to "Never Forget" the many victims of that terrible day is to build a WAR-ship?
I know our troops need equipment from the small to the large, but could that steel been used to build a community center to wage peace? or better yet, shore up Walter Reed or any of the many VA facilities I'm sure could use it?
On the 6th anniversary of the official start of this war, join me in a prayer for
Santa LIVES!
When I was growing up, Santa was a very real presence at Christmas, it was an event to go see him at the Mall, a very big deal to see him come in during the parade.
As an adult, some of my very precious memories of my children at Christmas are the vision of joy and wonder on their face when they approach Santa, or on Christmas morning when they would shout "Thank You Santa" with every expectation that he was listening.
Now, none of my children "believe" anymore, and that is fine, but I raise them on the same principles on which my mother raised me: "If you don't believe, he won't come" and for doubters and askers "Yes, I do believe in Santa. He exists as the spirit of giving". My mom, and now myself, enjoy "playing Santa" very much.
So in the modern age, with so many blogs, posts and questions of "Do you teach your children about Santa (the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy, etc...) I find it profoundly sad that so many believe that if they "lie" then their children will be "emotionally damaged" Let me just say that I have met a few adults and I don't know a soul in therapy or estranged from their parents on these grounds.
Childhood is a time of magic and wonder, I would urge all the adults out there to enjoy the make-believe world a little more. Embrace wonder, embrace joy!
Girls Having FUN!
A few short months ago my dear girl became "Taylor Swift crazy" which I have told many of my adult friends I far prefer to my neice's "Hannah Montana" obsession. Except for t-shirts at Walmart, there is no merchandise at every turn, and I like her music too. So it's a Win-Win! Then concert tickets for Rascall Flatts with Miss Swift as their opener were advertised in our paper, and asking what she would like for her b-day, she picked the concert :)
We drove south after school on Friday and headed straight for the XCel Center and the concert. In her words to dad later "Just Amazing". She was squeezing my hand like a woman in labor (or I guess a tween girl at her first concert). For an 18 year old kid doing her first tour, Taylor Swift was very poised, fun and entertaining, and Rascall Flatts put on a great video and light show to go with their music (mostly their ballads), as well as some fiddle-guitar competition and one of the band funning on the fans in their skimpy skirts and push-up tops. He was cute, it's on YouTube. In a nutshell though, it was just as much fun to watch my girl as the entertainers.
We stay with friends (former neighbors) when we go south, and rarely need a hotel, so while they had to work we hung out at Mall of American and tried on goofy Halloween hats and I got to catch a well-deserved foot and eye rest in the dark cavern of Hollister while she spent $17 (her money, not mine) on a tank top. As long as that sort of thing only happens once a year, it's not so bad! When we got back in the evening we had the nicest backyard BBQ (about 20 degrees warmer 2 hours away), and another friend came over and we got to girl-chat everything from politics to sex to grandkids to ice cream until midnight!
What a great mini-vacation! Hubby had to work and was going to maybe get his special doe permit weekend in, but stayed home today to actually watch the Vikings squeak out a win! We are all crashed this afternoon, TV and Sunday paper time!
BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS, SUNSHINY DAY!
Sunday was my girl's day! We woke up to the gift of beautiful sunshine, and her day continued to brighten!
She is a very shy girl by nature but has learned to speak up for herself when necessary, and she got herself real worked knowing she had to be up in front of the whole church. Each "Baptizee" says their name and why they wish to be baptized, and I told her she could say quickly, "My name is ...and I love Jesus" by she was determined to make a little speech, and here it is:
"Jesus says in the Bible that "I am the Way the Truth and the Life" and I believe He is the Truth and He is the Truth, and that's why I want to be baptized" She spoke well and did great.
She went first into the little pool, and her elementary Kid's church teacher and I were both honored to be the people to welcome her into the Kingdom, and she went in and came out laughing, and when we wrapped her up in her towel and hugged on her, we were all crying happy tears! I held her sweet face and said "Oh, baby are you okay? and she laughs and grins and says "Yeeeaaahh!"
Lots of glorious worship music, hugs, love and loved ones, back to our house for glorious cake! We are so blessed to have this girl and to have her love the Lord with all her heart, and so proud of her for being brave in her faith!
BOMBS?
Are you kidding me???
You know those automated recordings you get from you child's school to tell you about the next fundraiser, PTA meeting or whathaveyou? Well, we just go one of those and my dear girl answered the phone and pretty soon she has panic in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. It wasn't the PTA, it was a recording of the principal kindly letting us know that our child's middle school has received a bomb threat.
Now I ask you, there is a time and a place for automation, but couldn't a PTA phone tree be used to reach PARENTS so that our kids aren't walloped with news like this? I am well aware that I cannot shelter my daughter from the world, nor do I wish to. Sheknows all about school shootings, she knows all about underage drinking, she knows as much as we've been comfortable discussing about promiscuity and becoming "Too Sexy Too Soon"
So without my husband immediately available to consult, I told my girl that she is more than welcome to stay home tomorrow (yes, there is school). Our local school last year received something like one bomb threat each last year, for a total of 4 or more, but that was at the high school level. More than I think about the danger, I am pissed of, because for the most part these are kid's pranks. They are not funny. And I told my daughter that I am not scared for her, that these things happen with more and more frequency because kids are STUPID!
The kid(s) who pulled this off across the bay last year got caught and got some very tough sentences, and one of the judges in our town that works primarily with juveniles is very fair but the man is no weanie! So hoping these kids get caught and get a serious wake-up call.
In the meantime. our girl will stay home tomorrow and my hubby (military and civilian security detail) is on the phone with me telling me exactly how the authorities will handle it, and the phone calls he will make before we allow her back to school.
The terrorists of all kinds win if we live in fear, I know, and we won't, just a serious mixture of caution and WHAT the Hell has our World Come to???
Child of the 80's, Part Two
I don't often miss the 80's. I have always been well-able to embrace my age, and high school was fun, but often quite painful. I was never, ever part of the in-crowd, although I did have an extra-cute, extra-popular boyfriend in 11th grade. He's now a pastor in Iowa.
I do occasionally miss some of the things about the 80's though, and the music, and the little red chevettes, and not having bills, you get the idea.
So who knew I would get to experience all of the 80's vicariously again. I have enjoyed my youngest child immensly, as I am pushing 40 and have had a much more relaxed decade of parenting than the previous decade.
Now that she has started middle school, as was I in 1981, the 80's are back. It started when she began wearing all her necklaces at once, and then came leggings, and most recently the Converse high tops ($5 at Plato's Closet, this girl's Mom rocks!). Then last week we got the cable hooked up after a 5 year hiatus, and she is glued to Saved By the Bell (I know, wasn't that a 90's show, oh well). She has never really gone through our stacks of CD's, she always asks before she does anything new, so she started bringing a CD in the car now and again. Let me just say that it's difficult to drive while cringing along to "Jessie's Girl" for the 8th time.
All in all, it's been a fun bonding experience as she wants to dig out every memento I ever kept, endless bedtime conversations, much laughter. Particularly painful though, the BLUE eyeshadow. One would have thought that it was dead and buried...
The Never-Ending (Sink) Story
The first part of this is from my hubby's Base email while he was on deployment, bless the soldiers that stay home and take care of the families:
Operation Clogged sink began as MSGT C. and MSGT N. arrived at the household, found the key, and tactically made our way to the upstairs bathroom sink. Shortly after assessing the situation, we were quickly able to ascertain where the problem was coming from and unclogged the drain within minutes. As MSGT C> and I were high-5ing each other on yet another successful covert mission, we quickly realized that the sink began top counter-attack and was leaking from 2 different locations and thus began Operation Leaky pipes. Our jubilation soon turned to horror as we took up positions under the sink to limit the damages. We were then relegated to "cheap plumbers" with a combined experience of maybe 10 minutes. With the pipes leaking like a sieve we said a quick prayer and put our combined experience together to take apart the pipes, clean them out, and then successfully put them back together better than before. About an hour and 20 minutes later MSGT C. and I walked out of the house as tired, wet, cold and hungry but successful warriors. Teamwork was key to this operation!
The blessing here was that I arrived home to a clean and fully functional bathroom, and the humor was increased by the fact that this original e-mail went out base-wide. I got a few phone calls.
Part 2:
We are now remodeling our bathroom, and are about to enter month 5. Almost everything is done, the new toilet is in, the new shower is very nice and the over-all ceramic tile and aqua blue decor make the first room one enters in the morning very spa-like. But you may have guessed, there are issues with the SINK.
We decided, wanting a modern bathroom, we would try to put in a new-fangled vessel sink. The first thing we did, pretty easy, was find a cabinet stand and counter. Done. Then we had to special order the vessel bowl as the ones stocked by Home Depot were much too large - think giant church punch bowl. When it arrived, we had to return it promply and at a 10% restocking fee as there had been to indication that the $175 bowl was plastic. Not fiberglass or melanine - think 1970's tupperware.
Moving on to selecting a faucet that will fit over the giant bowl Home Depot has in stock (doesn't look as big IN the bathroom, thankfully), we order the correct size, and lo and behold, it doesn't fit. Suprise! In the midst of all this nonsense, the counter-top under the bowl had had to be trimmed, so we have a source to go to for more bowls, as we are keeping the faucet.
Let us be hopeful that once it is done, it never, ever clogs!
BATS!
Our local paper had a tidbit the other day about August being the busiest month of the year for human-bat contact. I immediately showed it to my daughter, who will tell you if you ask (or if you don't) "My mom has a pathalogical fear of bats."
When I was about 10 a bat flew down the chimney of the cabin we were staying at and around the room. It scared me so badly that I was inconsolable for quite a while and I still remember lying awake for a good part of the night.
When I was 16 our family was visiting the Grand Canyon, and I went for a jog by myself - at dusk. On my way back to our campsite, I ran into a flock (Flock?) of bats headed the other direction. They were in my face, in my hair, and thankfully I didn't get bitten. They kept moving and so did I.
As a parent, I love the sweet story of Stellaluna, and a few years ago my parents visited Carlsbad Caverns and brought my daughter a Discovery book on bats and a stuffed bat. So she loved to torment me with her bat and we would all laugh - sort of. After she outgrew some of her stuffed animals and her Stellaluna book, I took the ba to work and he lived on top of my computer monitor for several months and I would tease that "Bart the Bat" was my therapy.
So one night we were on our way home and as I was driving along, I very clearly saw a bat swoop out of a tree to our right and fly in front of the car and then back up to the trees. So me, being afraid of them but always willing to laugh at myslef and anyone else in proximity, decided to mess with my fun and funny girl.
Me: Did you see that?
Her: What, Mom?
Me: Flying furry creature (beginning to sound scared)
Her: Flying Squirrel?
Me: N-No
Her: Ba-a---t
Me: SCREAMING, clutching steering wheel BAAAAAAAAAATTTT, BAAAAAATTT and so on
Her: patting my shoulder, Mom, it's okay, it's okay.
Me: Calming down, a little, OK, OK, I'll be fine
Her: It's okay, Mom, it's only a little bat.
Me: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAATT, BAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTT, etc. (Now she gets it, totally laughing, we're almost home, we're both laughing.
So now, she mentions bat in any context and I pretend I'm getting ready to scream bloody hell. We have a fun chuckle, and we go play with Caramel the Hamster (a wingless bat perhaps?)
Alternative Energy
During the 70's energy crisis, my older sisters were fond of the "Save enrgy, Fart in a jar" posters and t-shirts. I have a better idea, I think...
We have a hamster. Could someone please market something for everyone to hook up to that infernal wheel, and everyone on planet earth with a pet rodent could generate a little home-made power? Perhaps if everyone bought in we would not be so dependent on fossil fuels?
Just a thought.
Who Are You & What Have You Done With My Husband?
About a week ago I strained some muscles in my shoulder and was in a lot of pain, and Dan put his arms around me and crooned "You're like a bird with a broken wing"
Tonight he was cooking (he is the cook here) pancakes and sausage for dinner, and I walked into the kitchen and said that I smelled something burning "That's my heart burning for you babe" he says.
Now, this is nice, but after 14 years of marriage and 16 years together, my first thought at this out-of-character stuff is "What is going on here?!?" Too funny!
I Am So Proud!
My dear darling daughter never wears dresses, has hated the color pink since age three, and would miss out on almost any other activity to be playing soccer. She has spent the last two weeks begging to wear make-up and trying new hairdos, so last night in the car she started in about the social benefits of mascara, so I turned to her in sort-of mock horror and said "But I thought you were all-athlete, all the time?"
And she says: "I love soccer, and I'm totally ok falling in the mud, but I can look good doing it."
I am soo proud!
Iraq
March of 2005 until April of 2006 was the longest year of my life, and since I was pregnant for almost 19 months in just over two years with my first two, that's saying something.
In March Dan was deployed to Diego Garcia for 12 weeks. Never heard of it? Me neither. It's shaped like footprint in the way-south Indian Ocean. It is a British and American Air Force and Navy "co-operative" if the military can have such a thing as a co-operative. The guys were busy guarding planes, snorkeling, eating ethnic dishes prepared from the huge fish they caught, by their personal Philipino cook, biking, and oh yes, the Rat.
Underneath the large floor boards of the permanent tents on the island, there lived a large Rat. The men received a lot of flack for not being able to exterminate. One dozen highly trained military security personnel can't catch ONE LARGE RAT? Our tax dollars at work.
So Dan came home tanned, and I went under the knife. I have had issues all along with "Aunt Flo" and as I am fond of saying, my hysterectomy was the best thing I've done (well besides the marriage, kids, you get the idea). Thankfully Dan had the summer esentially off, he took care of me until we had to take all three kids to Red Lobster for dinner and tell them Dad was going to war.
September came and off to Nevada for desert training for 3 weeks, I think he got to be home for 4 days before we took him to the airport for goodbyes. Big b-day party for kids #2 and #3 before he left.
So we're at the airport and everything is going very well considering. Lots of pictures, lots of commotion, too busy to really give a lot of thought to what's happening here (or over there). Then just before they were out of sight, the kids started saluting Dad. As you can imagine, I lost it. Never mind strong wife. It was too much.
Frequently I am asked "How do you do it?" How does a military wife take care of the house, kids, bills, everything that Dad does when he's home. This is one of my favorites. I married a volunteer, and I am grateful for him. If it weren't for our thousands of volunteers, that talk about the draft a few years ago would have been more than just talk. I don't have a choice, so I just do it. Do I gripe sometimes? You Bet! It gets lonely. It is hard. But it would be lonely and hard in many other scenarios. I'm not that special. There are single moms out there for all kinds of reasons, so don't applaud me any more than anyone else - I only do it on a temporary basis. As for the scary, "Is he coming home at all?" part, many women go there. I try not to. I had so much prayer support, and I often feared how Dan would come home (changed, surely) but I honestly knew he would come home.
How else do "we" do it? So sue me, we had pizza, fast food and mac and cheese a LOT! We also made mincemeat out of bedtime and TV rules, but not homework, and we hung out at church a lot. My son broke my bedroom door when I grounded him, my daughter cried a lot, but we had trips to the city, we had a great Christmas, slumber parties, lock-ins, and long talks with Dad on his oh-so-fabulous satelitte phone.
Dan came home in April - I am writing this because he has been home for almost 2 years already and I can heardly believe we had this major experience and it's been 2 years. Yes he came home changed, and mostly it's been good. He spent a lot of time with the Iraqi children, and we sent over a lot of pairs of shoes. He came home touched by those children, some hungry, some joyful, some prostitutes, most barefoot.
And I changed too. I've never thought of myself as very strong and in many ways I'm not. But I got to find out about some of the stuff I'm made of. Pizza every night isn't going to kill you. Friends are powerful medicine. When you're lonely in the middle of the night, Jesus really does show up. My kids are fantastic people, even when they are standing on my last nerve. And I love my hubby -lots!
Hamster Love
Well, the hamster moved in a few days after Christmas and it's amazing how such a teeny tiny critter can (so quickly) move into the hearts of everyone involved.
We had no idea at first if this creature was a boy or girl hamster, so daughter #2 decided to christen it "Burrows until we know for sure mom." And Burrow it does - behind daughter's bed, into husband's flannel pajama pants (through the fly, no less), bathrobe pockets, and its oh-so-cute Tahiti hut.
The only time this fabulous furry addition to our family does not Burrow of course is at bed time. Not daughter's bedtime, MINE! On the wheel at top speed for, oh, I don't know, let's just say long enough, and that if I had enough energy to be on a treadmill for that long every night I would not be a size 16!
So my husband, whose military tough guy exterior likes to pretend he hates the cat (he doesn't), says to daughter "Oh, honey, he's really cute!". Brown and white, text-book hamster-cute. I myself look out for it's safety, as the cat is always a concern. Will Tigger eat it? Will Tigger have a heart attack if it gets loose? Then, the drama...
About four days into this, little cute burrowing noisy in the night non gendered critter is lying in the palm of daughter's hand gasping for air looking as if it has meer minutes to live. Girl child, who was minutes earlier cooing and laughing, is now bawling, intensely. I look at my hubby "Should I call the vet?" He looks at me with a look that says "Yeah, thought after the 3rd kid wife had lost her mind. This proves it" I say, okay I'll call the pet store. Before I can, dear friend calls, I say "Kid crying, Hamster crisis" and promptly hang up on her. By the time I get pet store clerk on phone to ask if there's something we might do besides make a sympathy card for the 11 year old, hamster is running across the kitchen table sniffing for crumbs, hubby and daughter both cheering.
So to all this, I say, we all deserve the look from my husband, including himself. We are gaga over a breathing cotton ball, except at bedtime.
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