Anatomy of an Illness (even if it is psychosomatic)

My husband came home from work early yesterday because I needed him to take Noah to piano lessons so I could attend a discussion group for the school district.

As soon as he walks in the door, I can tell he doesn't feel well. My first thought is to feel really bad because he is going to have to sit in the car with Zoe while waiting for piano lessons to be over. But my second thought?

He'd better keep that crap to himself! I don't want that!!

At 6:30, I am sitting in the library of the local high school waiting for the discussion to get underway and my thoughts drift to DJ and hoping that he is feeling a little better and the kids weren't too obnoxious.

6:32- Oh, no! I have a tickle in my throat. I had better not be getting sick!!

6:32:30 Oh whew! There was just something stuck in my throat. Silly me.

6:40- Crap! My throat is scratchy. I knew I would get sick!

6:42- Maybe I am just thirsty. I AM pretty thirsty. I bet a good drink would fix this. I'm fine.

6:50- Nope. Definitely scratchy.

7:15- Well now it went away. Weird.

7:30- Good! We're done. My throat is a little phlegmy though. I'm starving! I will go home, eat and have a big glass of iced tea- I bet I am just thirsty!

I arrive home at 7:45- help get the kids ready and into bed and then sit down with my dinner.

8:15- Ugh! The iced tea did not help and NOW my throat hurts!

I then spend the entire State of the Union Address analyzing my body's symptoms and cues and finally, at 10:30, we turn the television off and I open the medicine cabinet and take two Tylenol.

DJ looks at me, puzzled and says, "Do you have a headache?"

"NO! My throat hurts! I think I am getting whatever it is you have."

**eye roll**

"How did you get what I have? I saw you for like, five minutes when I got home this afternoon."

"Yeah, but you were facing me and snoring with your mouth open last night. I'm pretty sure you breathed your germs on me."

**another eye roll**

"LOOK! YOU COULD SHOW A LITTLE SYMPATHY- AFTER ALL, I DO HAVE STREP!!"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Well, maybe not STREP.. but my throat definitely hurts and that's the beginning of something bad. I can feel it."

"Go to sleep, Jennifer."

"Fine! But when I am hospitalized due to the Swine Flu, you are going to feel so bad for mocking me!"

**eye roll**

"Swine Flu is so 2009. Be a little more creative."

"Whatever, Petri Dish! You better hope my MRSA doesn't spread to you, 'cause THEN you will be sorry!"

He doesn't hear this- he is already snoring. (10:33)

I'm sharing my awesome with Momma Made it Look Easy!

The Falsie Story

I had a flashback while getting dressed this morning. And it reminded me of why you should always think about what you tell your children even if you think you are protecting/censoring them.

I had a goofy "aunt" growing up. I placed quotation marks around aunt because she was actually a cousin of some sort- my grandfather's first cousin- and we were not up on the family tree jargon of third cousin, first cousin twice removed, third cousin once removed, tree branching or not branching.. I dunno.. but she was related, a part of our family and older and I was told to call her "aunt". So... I had a goofy aunt that was always telling hilarious stories and making the adults laugh. I somehow sensed this and always wanted to be around to hear her stories.

One day, she was relaying a story to my mom and grandmother and I walked in on the end of it. Just in time to hear, "...and one of my falsies popped out of my bathing suit." Everyone erupted in laughter, including me. But I had no idea what a "falsie" was. So, being the inquisitive child, I asked. And one of the adults answered, "false eyelashes." I accepted that-although didn't see what was so funny about a false eyelash floating around a pool, but adults found odd things funny- and moved on.

No one ever corrected this and at some point, obviously, I learned what a falsie really was. The story became so much funnier once I knew. But my point is- even now, at thirty-eight years old, when I see false eyelashes, the term "falsie" immediately pops in my brain and then my brain immediately corrects that thought. But that association is hard-wired in there for life.

Perhaps it isn't such a bad thing after all, though, because it also always makes me giggle, remember that story and remember my aunt who died when I was a teenager. And, on this day, not only did I look down at my fake eyelashes, remember this story and my aunt, but also made the connection that perhaps that is where I get it from-my willingness to lay everything out there for the world to see, just for a laugh.

Thank you, Aunt Jettie. I am sure you would love to know I inherited your self-deprecating sense of humor.

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop- FAQ's

I have not been blogging regularly nor have I participated in Mama Kat's Workshop in some time. Every week, I get the prompts in my email and can't come up with anything. This week, I told myself, no matter what, I was going to pick a prompt and write something.

I got the list on Monday and one of the choices was to write a FAQ about yourself. I liked this idea, but as usual, time got away from me and I didn't write it. I was so disappointed in myself this morning, so while I was sitting in the waiting room for an appointment this morning, I jotted down some questions on a receipt. After the appointment, I had to drop some papers off at my son's school and afterwards, I decided to make my first ever Vlog (video blog) right there in the parking lot of his school. I knew if I didn't do it then, I wouldn't do it at all.

Things I learned from my vlog- I make weird faces when I speak, I repeat myself a lot, I have nothing interesting to say, there is a reason why I WRITE- so that I can sort my thoughts- I am not good off-the-cuff.

So.. here ya go.. my first ever vlog and a FAQ about myself:

This post is inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Prompt#2: Create an FAQ page about yourself.

Once a Band Nerd.....

Let me preface this post by saying that I was raised in the south where high school and college football is almost a religion. I know the rules, terminology, and logistics of most sports (excluding basketball, because, let's face it.. I just don't care about that one). But sometimes, that which runs through my very veins- the band nerd in me- trips me up a little.

I joined band in 5th grade- I played in the band all the way up through high school, also serving as a majorette and eventually as replacement drum major halfway through football season my senior year. I was in band in college and majored in music for two years before switching my major. Even after switching my major, my scholarship was contingent on my being in symphonic band and taking flute lessons (which obligated me to flute choir and flute class). I was in the band service sorority- and even served in the offices of historian, vice president and president. My junior year, I was elected by the band to represent them on the homecoming court. So, yeah.. "band nerd" could perhaps be an understatement. I was "supreme band nerd-ette". After I graduated, while I was still in Texas, I was still teaching flute lessons and judging high school twirling try-outs. Once I moved from Texas, I was out of commission for awhile. In 2005, missing my band nerdiness, I googled "community band" and discovered one right here close to where I live and joined. I briefly served on their executive board until I had to resign because DJ's crazy schedule was making me an unreliable member. My point... still a band nerd.

Now, my husband is not a musician at all. He played soccer all the way through college. He loves to point out my nerdiness and lately, it has come out several times in my children's sports. Like the dozens of times I have mistakenly informed my son to, "Hurry, up, or you will be late for REHEARSAL." and they always remind me.. " it is PRACTICE, NOT REHEARSAL!" Yeah.. I get it. Fine.

Then, a few weeks ago, while sitting at a game, the ref blew the whistle for half time. And one of the other moms looked confused and said, "Is it over?" and I replied, "No, it's intermission. Uh.. I mean half time." **blush** Yeah, I really did that.

While unrelated to the kids's sports, I also have been having a hard time at Zumba because the steps start on the right foot. My instinct is to march on my left foot and always step with my left foot first. This makes me angry because I am a perfectionist and I want to get the steps right. So when I go left and everyone else goes right.. it upsets me greatly.

Last week, while at Noah's game-in my head, I wanted to say that I should put Noah in a soccer clinic or camp to see if we can improve his skills; but what actually came flying out of my mouth was "master class". My husband looked at me, I corrected myself and we moved on.

The moral of the story: You can take the girl out of the band, but....

Oh HEY!

What is the football team doing on the marching field?

What's Up- the Moody Blues Edition

Right- so I used to blog regularly. I love to write. Really I do. But, lately, it has fallen by the wayside-along with everything else. I feel the need to explain what is going on- although you may not care. So, if this particular post is just for me, then that is fine, because that was all I intended it to be anyway.

When DJ and I first got married, he was in a maintenance squadron overseas. Maintenance entails shift work and crazy hours because the aircraft is the priority. He was a maintainer in a Special Ops squadron which also meant frequent, no-notice (well, okay- oftentimes it was like 8-10 hours notice) deployments to unspecified places for unspecified amounts of time. That was my initiation to the world of a military spouse. Living overseas, off-base, with an often-absent husband. It was an adjustment, but we did it. The thing was- when he worked, he worked hard and often, but when he was off- he was off to spend time with his family (just me at the time as we had no kids). We managed to squeeze in trips to Paris, all over the United Kingdom and a week-long tour of Italy. It really wasn't a bad gig. Yes, he worked the swing shift (3pm- 11pm) but it was only 8 hour shifts- he had plenty of time to rest and still hang out with me- even with me working quite a bit. They had to cover the weekends, but had it set up so that he only had to work one weekend a month.

When we moved to New Jersey, the first squadron he was assigned to was a special duty. He was no longer working on aircraft, but was working in a unit that goes where there is trouble in the world. When someone has an earthquake/tsunami/ flood/hurricane or any natural or man-made disaster- they were there to facilitate relief efforts. This included US as well as international locations. After September 11, 2001- they deployed often. As in, he was gone just short of 300 days total in 2002. When they worked- they worked hard. But, this squadron recognized that when they were home, they weren't home for long and allowed them to spend time with their families. They would often release them on Fridays at noon if it was a beautiful day or on the eve of a holiday weekend. So- again- parts of it sucked- but when he was home, he as able to spend time with us before he left again.

After this assignment- in March 2004- he moved to another special duty as an instructor. There was rarely any getting off early, but he had the closest thing to a civilian job he will probably ever have in the military. He worked Monday- Friday 7:30-4:30, weekends and holidays off with minimal TDY's (temporary duty for you non-military folks). It was a good gig. We had a good six year run with that one.

All good things must come to an end and in March 2010- he was assigned back into the maintenance world. If you look back through my post history- everything began to unravel at that point. They work 12 hour shifts- 7pm- 7am or vice versa. If you are on the night shift, you NEVER get off at 7am because all the normal things you must take care of- like finance, doctors appointments, any administrative stuff must be done during their normal hours (7:30-4:30) so you have to stay over past your shift to get it done. When DJ was on nights, he most often came home around 10-10:30am but also came home plenty of times around noon. Just to go to bed for a few hours, get up and go back to work. He was exhausted and cranky. When he was on dayshift- it was better, but he still rarely only worked 12 hours. And oftentimes, he had to go in on his day(s) off if even for just an hour or two.

Then, last January, he deployed. Granted, because of his work schedule, not a whole lot changed- we weren't seeing him much as it was, but the kids did take it hard and it was a long winter with a lot of snow-shoveling by my lonesome self. He came back in May with the promise of getting a new position where he would work Monday- Friday dayshift until further notice. He leaves every day at 5:30am and is home most days around 6:30pm but it is not uncommon for him to come home between 7-8pm. He is stressed, tired, and cranky when he gets here. All of the perks enjoyed by the "nonners" (military lingo for non-maintenance world) like days off for scoring a 90 or higher on your physical do not apply to his world. This "day job" does allow him Fridays and Saturdays off with us, but he has been tasked for several TDY's at last minute that cause him to miss even those with us. They have told him at work it is just a matter of time before he goes back to shift. That means- same long, crazy hours, but nights and weekends too. Still stressed and cranky when he comes home, still missing everything the kids do. Still going in on his "days off". I try to plan around his his schedule, but EVERY. SINGLE. TIME I plan something based on it, he either has to work late, work a day off or go TDY. I am not exaggerating this- EVERY TIME I have planned something around his schedule- I have had to change or cancel it because he has to go somewhere. Seriously.. EVERY TIME. What it has come down to, is that after the fall activities are over with, the kids will no longer get to be in extra curricular activities, and I will no longer get to participate in anything outside of the kids and their schools. I can't do it. I am trying to honor my commitments now and am failing miserably. Why put that stress on myself any longer?

My point is- our world has drastically changed. I am- for all intents and purposes- a single mom. He is not around to help with anything. During my battle with the school district that started last May when they informed me that my daughter would not only not get to go to preschool at her brother's school, but that they would not allow her to go to his school at all, ever. I listed this as a hardship. I explained that it the responsibility of parent-teacher conferences, back to school nights and every other school obligation falls solely on my shoulders and having to get to two different schools, with start and end times an hour and a half apart, makes my life extremely difficult. In some cases, I just can't do it. My concerns have fallen on deaf ears time and time again.

I tell you all this to now point out that in my previous life (BEFORE March 2010) I liked to craft and scrapbook. I played flute in a local community band and enjoyed it very much. I also enjoyed pouring my efforts into Halloween every year and my kids' Halloween costumes. Having the contest-winning costume was kinda my thing. I also took pride in throwing some pretty magnificent parties for my kids. (Circus, Circus Outfit, More Circus, The Lego cake, and my personal favorite-the Ice Cream Social) I LOVED that sort of thing. And lastly, I have always loved to write and enjoyed chronicling my kids' lives and adventures through creative writing. (Don't forget this one).

But, I have not scrapbooked a page since Fall 2009. Two years ago was the last time I made a Halloween costume and last year was the last time I orchestrated the idea and had them made by someone else. This year, I- GASP- bought their costumes. June and August 2010 was the last time I threw a party for my kids. This year, I went to Party City and bought minimal supplies and had the party at my Dad's house in Texas. It was still a hit with the kids because he has a pool, so they had a blast. However- I have lost the desire to create. I cannot tell you the last time I blogged regularly, or creatively.

We are in survival mode here. I feel that we are just barely keeping our head about water. I know it is just one of those hurdles you get through as a family and one day it won't seem so big. But I am war-torn and weary and frankly, I am just treading water, barely hanging on. I get the kids where they need to be, I participate in what school activities I can, I keep the kids fed and make sure homework is done and piano is practiced. I am surviving and that is all.

I appreciate if you still read my blog, but if you have moved on and given up on me, I completely understand. I cannot promise anything exciting in the future. In fact, I cannot promise anything at all. I will blog if the mood and inspiration strike me, but let's face it-it hasn't in a really long time and I don't see it happening anytime soon.

Thank you for reading. I am closing comments because this is not about me fishing for sympathy, support, advice or comments. Frankly, I am tired of all the Pollyanna comments I get sometimes about how I should be thankful and I need to realize how blessed I am. Because, right now I am barely surviving. I have tried to put a smile on and force myself to do things I like, but I find no joy in it.

Jinkies

Alright, so I get bored every once in awhile and totally change my hair. The fact is, it is a miracle that I have kept it red for as long as I have (about three and a half years now). And when I change it, it is always drastic.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to go back to the dark brown I had several times before, but the last time I had it was when I was pregnant with Zoe. I printed pictures I had of myself with the dark brown hair and showed them to my stylist. She said she was clear on what I wanted and when it was all said and done, it was black. It is always hard to tell with the lights in the salon, so I came home and examined it in my bathroom- still black. I looked a little like Gene Simmons.

Thanks to Facebook, I received tips for fading it quickly- and they worked, but not as fast as I would have liked. It still took almost a week to fade it to where I am not so self-conscious. It is still a tad dark for my taste, but I like it- it isn't black anymore.

This brings us to last night. The kids are in Texas and my husband and I decided to have a real date. We have a local restaurant I LOVE that has live entertainment on Friday nights out on the patio. I booked the reservations, put on a hottie sundress, some makeup and out we went.

The live entertainment was a comedian. To be fair, he busted on everyone in the audience and I know how comedians are, I've been to shows before. But, he pointed to me and said, " You- with the glasses. God bless those glasses, they are so hot! You look like Velma from Scooby Doo." There was actually more to the joke, but it was R-rated and I try to keep this blog PG, so I will leave it out. It was funny, I am not a bad sport, but I couldn't get past the Velma thing. My husband tried to tell me Velma was hot to make me feel better. And I was like- come on! She's the homely one with the bowl hair cut and baggy clothes. She's the one in orange.

So, if you are looking for me, I might be either playing with sharp objects or hanging out with my head in the oven.

Jinkies!

{taken the first day, when it was still really dark}

The Impostors Have Arrived

I blogged last week about breaking my very favorite pair of glasses and how I was forced into picking new frames against my will. If you missed it, you can read it here.

Thursday I picked up my new glasses. I don't love them. But I don't hate them either. That is a good sign.. it means there is the possibility (and likelihood) that they will grow on me with time. Of course, this means that eventually THIS pair will also be the pair I can't replace and then we will one day find ourselves right back here at this very same spot. But, until then.. I promised a picture...

Goodbye Dear Friend, You Served Me Well

I have a hard time with change.

I realize the irony in this since I am a military spouse. But the fact is, I like consistency and things I can predict. Familiar. Comfortable.

I have had the same frames for my glasses for eight to ten years now.

I love those frames! Every time I have had my eyes checked and the sales-associate-of-the-day has tried to talk me into new frames, I have always talked him/her into just putting the new lenses in my old ones. I have tried on others, but I can't find any I like as much as mine. About two years ago, it was time, so I settled on new frames and kept my old ones as a backup. Less than two weeks after getting my new glasses, we went camping and I left my glasses lying on the table with my laptop where Zoe retrieved them and snapped them. I was upset at first. And then I was happy, because it meant I could wear my old frames. And as loose and crooked and old as they are, I have been happily wearing them since then.

That is, until this past Monday when my frames met a tragic demise. I took my glasses off when I put on my sunglasses and laid them on the console in the van. When we got to our destination, I could not find them. Noah said he remembered seeing them slide off the console while I was driving. I made him get out of his seat and look underneath all the seats and down by his and Zoe's seats. They were nowhere to be found. So, while we were stopped at Sonic, I got out of the van and opened his side and crawled around looking underneath the driver's seat and his seat and all in the third row. I crawled across and looked under the front passenger seat and Zoe's seat. I couldn't find them.

It was then that I walked around the van and pulled on the handle to Zoe's door. It's automatic and it began to slide open and I heard a very distinct "CRUNCH". I could feel the bile rising in my throat and the tears welling up in my eyes. I didn't even have to look. I knew they were gone. One lens crushed and the frame snapped in two. I had to sit down. I cried a little bit.

I mourned their loss all the way home and have mourned the rest of the week. This morning, I had an eye exam and picked out new frames. It wasn't the same. The new ones are okay, but they aren't MY frames. I feel as if I am dishonoring their memory by moving on with new shiny ones. I miss them.

Farewell my friends. I hope you are whole again in the great LensCrafters in the sky. Know that you are/were loved and are dearly missed.

Note: I won't have possession of the impostors for seven to ten business days. I will try and remember to take a picture when I receive them.

The Sweet Life

There are days when I wake up, the sun is shining and it is just gorgeous outside. I take a deep breath, think to myself, "Today is going to be a wonderful day" and before I can exhale, I am bombarded by screams, yells, accusations, tears, requests and demands.

Suddenly, the peaceful serene day outside seems a distant view from a small window in the storm brewing inside my house. I am suddenly sucked into the vortex of my life. It turns out, life with small children is very volatile. It should come with a hazardous materials sticker- WARNING: EVEN THE BLINK OF AN EYE PERFORMED IN THE WRONG MANOR MAY CAUSE AN EXPLOSION. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

I am convinced I should start every day armed with a haz-mat suit, chemical spill clean-up kit ( what IS that congealed substance stuck to the kitchen floor under Zoe's chair?) and a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Negotiating with Terrorists and/or Small Children. You know, just in case. It also helps to have a bleach pen, Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, stash of snacks and some baby wipes within arm's reach at all times.

The truth is, there are days I wish I could walk away from it all. Noah is six, Zoe is two and apparently that is the prime age to trigger twenty-four hour scuffles. When both of them are home, they spend 98.9% of the time fighting. Frankly, it's exhausting and I have grown weary of playing referee. It's constant, relentless and seemingly never-ending. I long for the days before children.

Once upon a time, I was a twenty-six-year-old woman. Thin, with a board-flat stomach, perky breasts, newly-married and living in England. My time was my own, spent at my leisure, reading, writing, lazily watching a movie, going on weekend jaunts to Paris and week-long tours of Italy. We took impromptu trips that didn't require planning and packing supplies, toys, food, diapers and numerous changes of clothing. Our money was ours and we both worked. There was always money in the savings account and my house was spotless. Our Friday and Saturday nights began at 10pm and we could stay out all night and sleep in the next day. I was smart and witty and knowledgeable of world events with educated opinions on them.

And now, here sits a thirty-seven-year-old woman, thicker around the middle, a saggy tummy with stretch marks from my second pregnancy, breasts- well I still have them anyway but their conditions is unspeakable, living in a house that is rarely clean for longer than five minutes with time that is never my own, weekend jaunts to the laundry room and sometimes as far as the mailbox, very little money in savings, Saturday nights that end with me not entirely sure if I fell asleep or passed out from exhaustion at 9pm, not even sure I can remember how to spell my name most days and quite certain that I just heard someone yell they were hungry, hurt, bored or angry.

So I sit, in my own little fantasy world- a small moment stolen for myself where the kids cannot penetrate- and I remember what it was like to be me, Jennifer, not me, Mommy. I was hip, young and cool. I was cute and funny and smart. I was clean and neurotically organized. Ahh... yes.... I inhale deeply and remember the sweet life before children.

But, I can't shake the feeling that something is missing in the fantasy. I take inventory. It's all there, just like it used to be. The quiet is nice. For a little while, anyway, and then it's too quiet. I still can't quite find what is missing, but then I am jolted back to reality by two small arms wrapping around my leg and the sensation of a tiny kiss on my hip followed by a quiet, small, "Doot Doo, Mommy!" ( Love you, Mommy) and then I know.

Poetry

Okay, so I don't usually get a good response when I post serious stuff. I know everyone loves the humor. I do too. Therefore, I've been holding off on posting this but I decided, hey, this blog is for ME too.... so.. here is something I wrote in January:

I am the mighty pine.

I’ve seen the forest burn below me.

My foundation is scarred but still I stand.

The winds toppled the giant oak beside me

but I bend and sway

never breaking

never falling

high and mighty above the rest.

I am the rock

nestled beside the raging river.

I’ve weathered her anger;

allowing the torrent to

smooth and soften me

but still

never breaking

never falling

I become more beautiful

as the waves polish and make me shine.

I am the tiny crocus seed

beneath the frozen earth;

waiting to spring forth and bloom

alone in the barren winter landscape

never breaking

never falling

I flower against the odds

a symbol that there is hope.

I am hope.

My past does not rule me.

My family does not dictate me.

I am my own spirit

free and loving

never breaking

never falling

always choosing

peace.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

Linda, at Bar Mitzvahzilla, awarded me this Creative Blogger award! Thanks, Linda! If you only like boring, dull, scoop-of-vanilla blog posts, you most definitely should NOT go visit her blog. No, nuh-uh, because she is make-you-pee-your-pants-a-little hilarious! She writes with a creative and humorous twist about being one of seven sisters, daughter of Holocaust survivors, mother to a teen and pre-teen, and raising Jewish children in Arizona. Some of her most recent gems include: a sudden realization that her forks are disappearing and discovering that she thinks her kids are throwing them away (That one set me off into a mad dash to count my spoons, because I had noticed that the spoon-spot in the drawer seems to be eternally empty these days! ) and her husband's symbol of eternal fidelity to her by -instead of following in the footsteps of many men and needing to purchase a sports car or acquire a girlfriend at a certain stage in life- buying a box truck! So, first go check out her blog.. because you will be happy you did- or maybe not so much if you actually do pee your pants- but here's your warning, if you have a tendency toward this, grab a Depends and head over there!

Now, the stipulation of the award is that I have to come up with some little-know facts about myself and an equal number of outrageous lies and you can try and guess which is which. I am having difficulty coming up with the little-known facts about myself ( but am apparently a great liar), because I have a big mouth, but I'll try.


1. I am a cold weather gal. I love the snow, making snow angels, building snow forts, sledding, skiing and everything about winter!

2.I played Little League baseball.

3. I spent a summer doing hard labor such as pouring concrete and driving forklifts.

4. My husband is in the military, but the only place we've been assigned is New Jersey.

5. I've never been to Mexico.

6. I finished my bachelor's degree in three years.

7. I've been on a submarine.

8. I never learned to swim.

9. I had a bug collection I hid in my room when I was ten.

10. I am of cajun descent, but I don't like crawfish.



Ok.. I won't make you wait for the answers:


1.hahaha! Seriously.. do you READ my blog? I HATE the snow! False

2.Unfortunately, this is true. For some unknown reason, I took temporary leave of my senses at the tender age of eight and asked if I could play Little League. I was terrible. I mean, the WORST one. I was so bad, that my coach instructed me not to swing at the ball. Ever. The reason behind that was that I was so small, I would get a walk 90 % of the time. It worked, too, because I think I only struck out two or three times the whole season, but I never hit a ball.

(I'm the awkward one front and center)

3. True. The papermill where my stepfather worked had a summer program for college students. We got paid $8 per hour doing groundskeeping duties and maintenance. The best part was when we subbed for an employee, we got paid their hourly wage ( $16-$17 per hour in 1995!!) and we were always getting overtime which was time and a half. I drove a trash truck, operated a forklift and clamp truck, poured cement and dug up water lines to name a few of my duties. I was a rich girl that summer, but too tired to spend my money! Ha!

4. False. My husband has lived in Mississippi, California, England and New Jersey. We got married while he was stationed in England and I spent the last two years of his four year tour there with him before moving to New Jersey.

(Roman lighthouse within Dover Castle, Dover, England)

5. This is true. I grew up in Texas. I lived there until I was twenty-five years old, but I've never been to Mexico. What's up with that?

6. Umm... false. I changed my major four times and finished in five and a half years.

(1997)

7. True. My ex-boyfriend was in the Navy and I got to visit his sub. I don't know how they do it.. I don't do well with tight spaces.

(1997)

8. False. I LOVE the water and I love to swim!

9. Hahahaha! That's funny, I don't care who ya are! Nope. I'm a total girl when it comes to bugs.

10. This one's true. I'm a disgrace. I don't like seafood of any kind.

Holy Peeping-Through-the-Ground-Foliage-but-I-Don't-Wanna-Get-Too-Excited-and-Prematurely-Say-the-"S"-Word Batman!

The snow finished melting last week.
**corner of my lip turns upward**

It's fifty-eight degrees right now.
**twitching with restrained excitement**

Look-y what I found in my flower bed:





EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**composes self, straightens shirt and smooths hair back into place**

Ahem...

Dear Mother Nature,

I'm sorry I have been such a fair-weather friend. I have removed your name from my slambook and have resumed doodling your name on my math folder with hearts all around it. Can we be B/F/F's again?

Reflections of a Fabulous Weekend

Me, walking through the streets of my second favorite city in the world (Paris is my favorite) with two of my favorite people in the world and a third behind the camera.

Life is good.

[click on the photo to see it enlarged]

I Have a Superpower

Invisibility.

I had no idea I was invisible.

As a mother, I am often the invisible force behind my children. For the most part, I can handle it. There are times when it is unnerving and I feel like I am not noticed or appreciated.

But this post isn't about that. That is part of motherhood and it happens to everyone.

This post is about the fact that I have become invisible when away from my children. When I am trying to be me. The old me. The real me that is not defined by my children.

In the past, people liked to be around me. I've never been attractive, but for the most part, I was funny, fun or at least interesting enough to be able to capture someone's attention in a conversation for a few minutes. People liked to hang out with me.

Since we have been in New Jersey, I have increasingly noticed when I'm talking to someone, that they aren't listening to me. They are looking around at other things, distracted, or interrupt me in the middle of my sentence. My husband convinced me it was just the area. The people here are in more of a hurry. I accepted that, but now I'm not so sure.

Last night, I went to rehearsal. The woman that normally prints and distributes the tickets to our concerts to each band member has been very ill. So, another woman passed them out for her. A woman that has been in the band for many years. A woman, that sits on the front row directly across from me playing clarinet. In a band that I have been a part of for the past FIVE years.

So, I was talking to another member before rehearsal and Woman approaches and gives the tickets to the other member and moves on. I didn't think anything of it, I just thought mine were probably further down in the stack and she didn't want to dig for them. But, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her talking to the tuba player and pointing to me. She was asking what my name was. And the tuba player threw her hands up in the air and said, " I don't know!!"

Seriously? Five years. FIVE YEARS! I am also on the executive board of the band. I co-chair the scholarship committee. But, people don't know my name. Wow.

Later in rehearsal, there was a part where the flute section has the melody and we missed it. I say "we" meaning the section as a whole. But, I actually played the first measure and a half, realized noone else was playing and thought I messed up and quit. So, when the director stopped us to ask what happened, everyone was laughing and talking about how we ALL missed it. I mentioned that I played. Everyone just kept laughing and talking about how the entire section missed it. I said again, " I played." and then the director said, " I just didn't hear ANYTHING there!"

I PLAYED!

Do you ever feel invisible?

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

Sanity?

What's that?

Monday- President's Day- another system is moving through. Nothing epic, mind you, but right now they are looking for an additional two to eight inches of snow.

I'm out of Sangria.

But, I found the NyQuil... and I'm cowering in the corner in the fetal position rocking.

And rocking.

And rocking.

Has anyone seen my blankie?

Go ahead, judge me.

I don't care.

**thumbing my nose at you**

Writer's Workshop- The Transformation of Me

One of the writing prompts today on Mama Kat's blog is "a song you can't escape". Well I don't think it would really be writing if I just include the lyrics to a song that won't leave my head lately, so I feel the need to explain why it is there.

You see, I've been working on me for the past year. I mean really working on me in ways that have been very uncomfortable but have ultimately resulted in a better, more confident me. I have my little bubble where I pretend nothing is wrong and ignore all the bad, or even remotely unpleasant things. The problem with ignoring them is that eventually they catch up with you. So, I have had to step outside my bubble and outside of everything comfortable and safe for me and confront myself head-on. What I learned is that I have to step outside my comfort zone in order to grow and I have grown so much this past year.

My growth has become more evident to me in the past few months. I decided to go back to school in pursuit of a graduate degree although I fear not being able to handle it and failing. In the past, in the community band where I play, when the other firsts have offered me a solo, I have politely declined. Playing a solo is so far out of my comfort zone it almost wraps around and back into it. Solos terrify me. I just don't have that kind of confidence in myself and my ability. But, the last two concerts, when they have asked, I have said, " Sure." and taken it on. None of them are difficult, mind you, but playing in front of others still terrifies me. By accepting the solos, I am forcing myself to confront my fear head-on. Don't get me wrong, they still terrify me, but I am gaining confidence.

There is a song that I love. I have had the soundtrack for a few years now and have always loved it, but it means more to me now. It is like a little anthem for myself and I have awakened with it playing in my head numerous times over the past two months. My mind is telling me that I am there... I'm ready.... " to close my eyes and leap".

Defying Gravity ( from Wicked)
written and composed by Stephen Schwartz

Something has changed within me.
Something is not the same.
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game.
Too late for second-guessing.
Too late to go back to sleep.
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits
'Cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But 'til I try I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me good-bye
I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down.

So if you care to find me
Look to the western sky
As someone told me lately
"Everyone deserves the chance to fly!"

And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me

Tell them how I
Am defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity.
And soon I'll match them in renown
and nobody in all of Oz
No wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

Zen and the Art of the Female Psyche

As I was browsing through a friend's photo album, I was making note of all the fabulously-dressed fashionable people in her photos ( including her). I became somewhat jealous and was taken back to a time when I, too, was pretty trendy and well-dressed. Circa 2002 B.C.

Before Children.

Now, I'm not saying this happens to all moms, because I also have some very well-dressed, put-together mom friends. I envy them. The truth is, while it would be melodramatic to say that having children has caused me to lose the will to live, I CAN say that I have lost my will to accessorize.

Most of my days are spent in the company of my two-year-old. This is someone that would be perfectly happy to go out dressed in her Dora pajamas and would also wear said pajamas every day for months straight if I didn't put my foot down and insist that they go in the wash. She is the same person that loves to wear a tutu over jeans with one sandal, one snow boot, a tiara and magic wand. In short, she looks like the lady that hangs out under the bridge with a shopping cart talking to herself. Unfortunately, so do I.

Which brings me to my revelation. Occasionally ( "only in leap years" is occasionally right?) I dress up. When I do, I actually feel good. Common sense says I should then do this more often and it would lift my spirits. So, why then, do I own more pairs of yoga pants than I care to admit? And why do I resort to a pair of those yoga pants and a t-shirt ( long or short-sleeved depending on the season) every day? Because it is easy and I am lazy. I am usually dragging when I get out of bed in the morning. I have to hit the ground running while shuffling kids, lunchbox, homework, library books and the demands of a two-year-old, which is like meeting the demands of a terrorist. It is easy to hit the snooze button and catch a few more minutes of sleep ( sixteen to be exact, I hit the snooze button exactly twice every morning) and get up, throw on the yoga pants, t-shirt, brush my teeth and put my hair in a pony tail. Done.. in less than three minutes. Besides, who is going to see me anyway?

Well, it's the season where packages arrive at my door almost daily and I am starting to sense that the UPS man is scared of me. He throws the package at my front door, knocks and runs. I open my door to find a package lying in my flower bed and the sound of the truck speeding off. So much for "What can brown do for you?" Brown can make you feel like a troll, that's what! But that's fine, because perhaps brown has done quite a bit for me after all. Because I need to do something about this. I don't want to be THAT mom. I don't want to LOOK like a mom! Now, I'm not getting all radical and quitting the yoga pants cold turkey. No, I could never do that! **shudder** But, I CAN try a little bit more every day to make myself feel better.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll only hit the snooze button once. Perhaps I can use that extra time to use my straightening iron to smooth my rat's nest of hair rather than just resort to the pony tail. Maybe I'll even put on my LOFT jeans, which I love and have hanging on display in my closet like the Mona Lisa because I never wear them. You might even see me with a scarf- if that travelling band of gypsies I summoned a few weeks ago would ever show up and trade me one for Zoe.

Yes, maybe tomorrow I will turn over a new leaf. I've already made a small effort this morning. I'm actually typing this in my LOFT jeans ( and University of Texas t-shirt and pony tail)!

Baby steps.

The Dropouts

I was telling this story to someone today and had forgotten how funny it was ( to me anyway) so I thought I would share it. It is a story about me and college and being a musician. But, please, don't stop reading if you are not a musician, because I promise, even if you only took a few piano lessons as a child, or played in beginner band or were in choir for a few years, this will not be over your head.

After majoring in music for two years, I changed my major to elementary education. My friends Aimee and Tracie also changed their majors around the same time. Our new degree plans required a Humanities class. That's code for some form of appreciation of the arts. Now, my argument was that after numerous piano, music theory, music literature, recital, band, flute lessons, flute choir ( I could go on and on) classes, if I didn't appreciate the arts, well, I wasn't gonna. And no perky professor and her class could make me either! ( So, THERE!) Well, of course I appreciate the arts... but for argument's sake, I'm just sayin'. And, incidentally, the powers that be, disagreed with me on how much I appreciated the arts.

We enrolled in a class that was half theatre appreciation and half music appreciation. We obediently took the first half, enjoyed it and fared well. Then, the day came for us to plant our behinds in seats in the recital hall of the building we had practically lived in previously to listen to a new professor on staff in the music department who was obviously a former elementary teacher. You know why I know this? Because she was perky as all get-out. I mean REALLY perky. ANNOYINGLY perky! And on that first day, she walked up in front of the class ( full of non-musicians that looked bored to tears to even be there) and said (chirpily and loudly) " HELLO CLASS, MY NAME IS DR. _____ ________! THAT'S CALLED FORTE!" (now whispering) "Hello, class, I'm Dr. ______ _______ . That's called piano." The three stooges in the back of the classroom rolled our eyes and groaned.

Before the class was over, she had drawn a whole note on the board and said, "This is a whole note, it gets FOUR beats!" Oh yes she did. I was certain God was very unhappy with me, because I had just been cast into Hell.

As soon as class was out... we marched straight down the hall and to the office of our band director who also happened to be the music department chair at the time and closed his door. We proceeded to tell him in great detail about what we learned. After he finished laughing... and he laughed, HARD, he said he would see what he could do. He talked to the professor and informed us that she was not happy that we wanted to skip the classes and just take her final. She felt that we were being all self-righteous, but he managed to talk her into it anyway. ( Thank you, Dr. Johnson) But, she wanted to make it difficult for us. If we were such music geniuses, then we should he able to pass her tests WITHOUT the notes. I can't remember if she completely refused to give us the outline of what would be on the tests, or if she just refused to give us what would be on the listening portion of the test, but she did refuse to give us much to work with.

The day came for the final and we shuffled in there nervously. Dr. Happy Britches passed out the multiple choice answer portion of the test and was in the process of passing out the questions that we would all turn over on cue. Now, Dr. Perky Pants decided to make the ONE listening question count for a good portion of the grade, further complicating our plight. So, we quickly scanned the answer part to the listening portion to see four choices we did not recognize. She was playing hard ball. We confirmed that none of us had ever heard of any of the pieces, until....

My nerdiness and love of figure skating offered a glimmer of hope. One of the pieces was "Bolero". I did not recognize this piece because of my music background, but because of my love of figure skating and the famous performance by Torville and Dean in the 1984 Winter Olympics. I quickly explained that I DID know one piece, so we had a one in four chance that we would get it, or at the very least, if it WASN'T Bolero, we would only have three other choices and narrow the odds of guessing incorrectly.

Well, the moment came. She started the piece and we all craned our necks to hear. And ever so softly, I heard, DUM da da da DUM da da da DUM da da da da da da da da da..... I could see Tracie and Aimee cut their eyes sideways at me. I smiled from ear to ear and we all three furiously bubbled in "C". We all made an A in that class. And proved that God either loves unholy backsliding quitters OR just loves them more than He loves perky elementary school music teachers.

** I would like to add a very ironic and hilariously funny afternote- Tracie is now an elementary music teacher. I have faith that she isn't annoyingly perky, though. At least I HOPE she isn't!

The Bride of Franken.. er.. Uncle Sam

A few of the hardest things about being a military wife :

** You don't get to choose where you live, you live where the military tells you to live. Because of that, you often don't have your friends and family around you for support.

** Having to be a single mom and fill in for Daddy for your kids.

** Being sad to see him go, but having to keep it together for the kids because they are already a wreck.

I've been lucky. My husband deployed a lot when we lived overseas and it was lonely. I had an entire ocean and half of the United States between my family and friends and myself. BUT, we didn't have children, so I could work to pass the time and just worry about myself. Once we got to NJ, he was put in a job where he worked 7:30- 4:30 and had nights and weekends off ( as opposed to the shiftwork and weekend duty overseas). It was awesome for about a year and then after September 11, he was deploying quite a bit. Once again, I had no children and a job to occupy my time. The hardest time was the weekends when I was home alone, all day.

Shortly after Noah was born, my husband was offered an instructor position and took it. That was an even better job, because it was as close to civilian life as you can get in the military. He never deployed and only went on short TDY's ( temporary duty) to other bases in the US. The longest of these trips was just two weeks. No big deal. He's had this job for the last five and a half years.

The longest Noah has known his father to be gone is two weeks. Zoe has never endured a separation of more than one week. This brings us to yesterday. My husband left for NCO Academy and will be gone until October 30. In reality, compared to the six month and year-long deployments out there, this isn't a long time. But, it is the longest my kids have had to endure so far and I am scared. This is my first lengthy separation since the kids and I don't know how they will handle it. I don't know how *I* will handle it. I mean, I know I will handle it, because that's what you do when you are a military spouse, you suck it up, draw on strength you did not know you had and you trudge through it.

In the past, we lived on base, so if something decided to break in the house, I just had to call maintenance. Now, we are homeowners. If something breaks, I have to fix it or find someone who can. We have one bathroom.. if something in there breaks, we don't have a spare. These are the things I worry about, but it is always something you don't expect that goes wrong when they are gone. Time will only tell what obstacles we have to deal with.

The other thing that weighs on my mind, is that his time in his instructor position is up. It's been a nice run, but it's time to go back to his real job- aircraft maintenance. He hasn't been assigned to an aircraft in nine years. We don't know exactly when it will be, but he is going back to the flight line sometime around the first of the year. That move brings with it the shiftwork, weekend duties, working holidays and deployments. The squadron he is going to typically has four and six month deployments.

I guess the positive side is that this six week separation will be good practice for a deployment later. It's a better way to ease myself back into single mom mode than to just plunge into a four or six month deployment.

Noah has known his Daddy was leaving for awhile now. We even talked about it Monday and he seemed like he wasn't affected too much. Monday night, DJ put Noah to bed and Noah started crying. He didn't want his Daddy to leave. DJ talked to him for a while and then put him to bed. About thirty minutes later, Noah came walking in the living room and said, "Daddy, I don't want you to work for the Air Force anymore! I think you should quit that job and be a bus driver, because bus drivers don't go away." It was so simple, so naive and yet so sad and sweet all at the same time. We explained that he couldn't just quit his job and put Noah back to bed.

I am proud of my husband, but I won't lie- there are many times I wonder what I was thinking marrying a man in the military. I miss my family and my friends so very much. My kids don't really know their grandparents or their cousins. They see them at best, once a year. We spend many holidays with only the four of us... our little family.

So, I apologize for the random, run-on, all-over-the-place, woe-is-me blog, but I'm feeling a little sorry for myself today. I always have to have my "pitiful me" moments and then I get over it and conquer it. I am a much stronger person that I ever thought I was and I have proven that to myself over and over for the last eleven years ( the length of time I have been married to the military). One day at a time, one battle at a time, baby steps.. however you want to look at it. Tonight I will cry and tomorrow I will wake up feeling better, brush myself off and try it all again.

Momma Needs a New Rug

I'll bet you never imagined someone can write an entire blog dedicated to.. umm... er..., "carpet". We'll call it "carpet". Well.. you were sorely mistaken, my friend, because anyone who can compose an entire blog about nothing other than caterpillar poo, can drone on and on about absolutely nothing at all. So.. here goes:

I was in the salon today, waiting for my turn to have my hair cut and colored. While waiting, I was browsing the products looking at the new conditioners, shine sprays, make-your-hair-curly/straight gels when I spotted a box of something called, "Blonde Betty". The description said, "color for your hair down there.". I did a double and a triple take. I physically got out of my chair and walked over there to inspect it up close because I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I had no idea such a product even existed, but there it was sitting on the shelf next to the Redken products.

Throughout my service, I could not stop thinking about this product.... and giggling at all the scenarios popping into my mind. For example, why would one WANT to color there? Perhaps because they dye their hair blonde and want "the carpet to match the drapes" for all those times they hang out on nude beaches? Because they spend countless hours walking around nude and when they catch a glimpse of themselves in a mirror, they are reminded they aren't really blonde?

Next, I imagined someone trying to actually do this at home. How long does it take for the color to set? I guess you have to run around naked while waiting. Do you start with the roots and work it to the ends after a few minutes? How big is the bottle that you mix this stuff in? Does it stain your skin? Do you get that awesome little tube of after-color conditioner that comes with regular hair color?

And THEN-because I have too much quiet time in the salon and can allow my thoughts to run freely - I took it another step and wondered if you can get creative with it. Can you, say, dye it brown and then give it highlights and lowlights.. you know.. for that NATURAL look? Or, for the crafty gal, could you possibly use a stencil and dye it all blonde leaving maybe a heart or a cute butterfly in your natural color? I dunno... you tell me!