Who Told You to Grow?

"You go to school to learn not for a fashion show."

Yes, I get most of my life's wisdom from DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. This little gem stuck with me when I was a teenager, probably bcause I wore Catholic School uniforms.

My kids, however, do not wear uniforms to school. As much as I can see the sound logic behind school uniforms, I'm glad for our school's policy. Mostly because I'm too lazy to make sure they have a clean uniform every morning for school.

They both usually start the school year in tight clothes. I hate to buy them new summer clothes for those first few weeks of school when I know that they'll be losing their extra summer weight and be fitting back into the clothes I bought them at the beginning of summer in no time. And I almost always have to buy them new summer clothes in May because they get taller.

But yesterday I noticed that both of my kids' clothes weren't just tight. They were short.

Who told those kids they were allowed to grow in August?

Yesterday while they were in school, I headed out to buy them some clothes.

Have you noticed the commercials on televison lately for back to school clothes? They really do make it look like there will be a fashion show on the bus and in the classrooms every morning. What kind of shallow values are we passing on to our nation's kids?

I find shopping for my daughter to be especially hard. Why do all of the clothes in her size have to look so old? She's eight for goodness sake! She doesn't need to go to school looking like she's ready for an MTV shoot.

But I also don't want her to dress like a toddler. There seems to be no middle ground.

I was curious if clothes were a big concern amoung the third grade sect. So, I asked my daughter, "Do you and your friends ever talk about clothes at school?"

She looked at me like I was insane. "Why would we do that?"

I wasn't prepared for that response so I kind of fumbled out, "I don't know. I was just wondering if certain kind of clothes were popular or if you guys even cared about clothes at all."

"Why would we care about clothes, Mom, jeesh. As long as we're comfortable and not breaking any rules, what does it matter?"

Well, I guess she told me. Apparently there aren't any fashion shows being produced on her playground. But it sure sounds like there is a whole lot of learning going on.

My Winnings

I’ve been walking around these last few days feeling like I’ve won the lottery. I can’t stop smiling.

First, my husband called from Iraq on our anniversary and we were able to talk for a long time. We talked about everything and nothing. It was so great. I love him so much.

Next, my friends seem to be adept at finding new and increasingly more touching ways to be supportive. I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life.

Yesterday my kids played violin solos at a Suzuki School Meet and Greet/Orientation event. I was so proud of them. Not because they performed flawlessly, because they didn’t, but because of who they are and how they have developed. There is nothing like performing in front of a crowd to magnify a child’s personality traits. As much as I can sometimes struggle with my kids, like all parents do, they really do have amazing and unique personalities. I am so proud of them.

And I’m proud of myself for remaining calm before, during and after their performances.

The kids are also incredibly happy at school. We are so blessed to be a part of the Southfield School community. It really is like an extended family, which is especially important for a military family. I am continually amazed at how the Southfield teachers and staff can value each child as an individual.

Lately I am consumed with feelings of gratitude.

Maybe it is a tad puzzling that a woman whose husband is far away and smack dab in the middle of a war would claim she feels like a lottery winner. I do live a challenging life. But there are so many harder lives to live. I am incredibly lucky to have a very comfortable and fulfilling existence.

I am so thankful for all I have. Even if my husband is far away, I still have a man who loves me for who I am and a strong marriage that grows with each passing year. I have friends who are like family, wonderful children who are thriving in a supportive environment, meaningful work, security and more blessings than I can count.

I have won the lottery. I’ve won the lottery of life.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Today is our 12th wedding anniversary. Twelve years ago today right about now my friends and I were actually putting on makeup. That in and of itself is so rare as to make the date noteworthy.

My husband and I can never seem to end up on the same continent on our anniversary. I'm sure in the past twelve years we must have spent some anniversaries together, but it's hard to even remember one.

Yesterday, the kids took me out for dinner to celebrate. We even ordered dessert. We had a really nice day together just spending time playing and talking. I don't think kids really grasp the concept of an anniversary though. It just isn't as glamorous as a birthday.

I am feeling a bit down today. I already got three e-mails from my husband, starting just after midnight to wish me a happy anniversary and they made me smile. But I am indulging in a bit of a pity party.

This morning I went to a committee meeting at school. I have great respect and admiration for all the women who sat around that table from me, but today I felt jealous.

I was jealous that they would be seeing their husband's that night. I was jealous that they would get to eat dinner with them. I was even jealous that they could argue and fight like a normal couple if they wanted to.

Over the years through all of my husband's deployments I've had moments like this. Luckily they are fleeting because they don't make me feel good about myself. There is nothing worse than pity. Throwing my own gala bash of a pity party is not my idea of the kind of military wife and mom I want to be.

As I was composing this very entry my husband was able to call. It was a surprise and hearing his voice has made me feel light years better.

"It's been a great eighteen years," he said.

"It's only been twelve years!" I laughingly corrected him.

"It's been eighteen years since we met."

"You're right." I replied. "Huh. That's more than half my life!"

And a great life it has been. Our relationship has grown stronger and our marriage even more wonderful year after year. Even if he is half a world away from me today, I wouldn't want any other man.

I love you, honey. Happy anniversary to us!

Parental Coercion Techniques

My son has developed a new coping mechanism since my husband has been away. Whenever things don't go exactly as he wants them to, he cries. He's not a very good actor so I have come to call this crying phenomenon his "fake cry".

As annoying as it is, and as much as I want to be angry at him, I have to give him some credit. It really is a clever approach. You see, while he is "fake crying" he can't hear a thing that I say. So he can claim not to be disobedient because he can't hear my instructions. I can scream, "Go to your room!" as much as I want and he just shakes his head, mimes an I can't hear you, woman, and goes about his crying.

It's genius, really.

I wish I could employ such a strategy. What if we all did?

The next time somebody takes my parking space I'm just going to pull in behind them, roll down my window, and wail. The next time a waiter ignores me, I'm going to throw my silverware down on the table and bawl. I might even throw myself on the floor if I'm in the mood.

This is why life was so much easier when we were five-years-old. We weren't afraid to embarrass ourselves for a cause like more cookies or more playtime. No parental coercion tactic was too shameful.

Of course, at five we also had an adult who had complete authority over our lives. We called her mom.

This mom has put her foot down. Fake cries will be ignored, and then punished. A few days without his Thomas trains should prove that as genius as he is, mom is smarter. And more well-connected.

Bad days are bound to happen

Some days are better than others.

Today was a bad day.

Of course some days are going to be better than others when your husband is deployed. But bad days can happen even when you are blissfully happy and together. That's just life.

But when you have a bad day and you're alone with your children, there is no chance of relief.

Not only is there no other adult here who loves you to offer casual affection or at least a distraction, there is no adult to step in.

There is no one to take over the bed time routine when you are so fed up and angry with your children you want to scream. There is no one to step in and help with homework when your last nerve is fried. There is no one to declare in his booming work voice, "You heard your mother."

There is no back up.

There is no good cop to your bad cop.

And so you get harsh with your kids when you don't mean to. Or at least I do. And I hate myself for it.

My friends say I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect. They think I put way too much pressure on myself to be strong and stoic when my husband is gone.

But to my way of thinking, that is my only job. My only responsibility is to keep these kids growing happy and healthy. I have to minimize the damage their father's long absence will inflict on their lives.

And I'm not going to do it by yelling at them for missing that note over and over again during violin practice.

This deployment has been so different from the others we've been through. I miss my husband, by not with the aching, burning need I have in the past. I think we've just developed a new sense of what is normal. I may have been down a bit here and there, but I haven't had the time to stop and cry.

Tonight I want to sob. I want to yell and scream in hatred at myself. But I can't seem to. I don't have the energy. I'll just go on quietly hating myself until I have the energy to turn myself around.

Remember to Savor

Today I went grocery shopping by myself.

It was the best feeling in the world!

For eight years my husband and I have been having heated discussion over who would go grocery shopping and whether or not the shopper should take the kids. We may have even once discussed whether or not shopping child-free was considered a break.

Today it was liberating to take my time and walk through the store comparing prices and labels. I managed to remember to get things like tape and soap that I always seem to forget.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy having both kids in school full time?

Everyone kept telling me that once my kids were off to school I would be bored. I wouldn't know what to do with all my free time.

They were so wrong.

Besides the fact that I keep very busy with volunteer work, writing, and taking care of my assorted friends and family, the hours between eight and three just seem to fly by.

Today I thoroughly enjoyed spending forty-five minutes of that time at the grocery store. But I can sense that someday the freedom of shopping alone will become mundane, and I don't want that to happen.

I want to remember that there was a time when it took me forever to shop because of little hands grabbing for things and little voices pleading for things. I want to remember the days of struggling to schlep a newborn and a toddler around with all my groceries in tow.

Today while I was taking a shower I wanted to remember that there was a time when I wasn't able to get in the shower for days. There were years of my life when it was hard just to get to the bathroom.

I am determined not to forget how good I have it now. Suddenly I have a little being in my house who takes out the trash immediately and with no argument whenever she is told. That little servant--I mean--person will even go to the fridge and grab me a Diet Coke if I ask her nicely.

I don't miss the baby and toddler days. They were hard. I loved them while I was in them, but I am more than happy to be where I am right now. I must savor these times. I must! Because the pubescent years aren't too far away. And I sense I'm going to pay.

Embarassing Moments

Just the other day my mother casually mentioned one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. It's funny, though, how she remembers it so differently than me.

First of all, she remembers me being only four-years-old when it happened. In truth, I was in fourth grade, which makes it all the worse.

That year before I turned ten, my parents took the family to Disney World. We weren't the type of family to have laid-back vacations. We had to make sure we didn't miss a single thing and we were always go, go, go.

I have a very clear memory of being in Tomorrow Land and rushing to get in line for Space Mountain. My mother said that she had to go to the bathroom again and my father yelled at her in frustration. I had to go a little too, but not enough to get yelled at, so I just waited.

Once we were in line I realized that I should have just gone, but in my pre-teen mindset, I was stuck. I couldn't admit that I had to go.

Surprisingly, I made it though the ride. I thought I was home free, but then we had to get on one of those moving sidewalks to exit the building.

I didn't make it.

I ended up standing in a puddle on the sidewalk. It was bad enough that I had wet my pants in public, but soon that moving sidewalk angled downhill. Yup. Waterfall time.

People were jumping out of the way to avoid getting wet. I was humiliated and my parents were angry and embarrassed. I can laugh about it now, but at the time and for years later, that was the worst moment of my life.

But when my mother mentioned that story the other day, it brought it all flooding back.

I'm going to try really hard to remember that my kids might be in a similar situation some day. For all I know, they've already had their most embarrassing moment. My kids do have a tendency to puke all over town.

But if they ever pee on a moving sidewalk at Disney World, I promise I won't get mad.

Two Months In

I just realized today that my husband has been deployed for two months so far. Two whole months.

Unfortunately not all of that time counts towards the six months he will be deployed overseas because some of that time was spent in training. But still, two months into this journey sounds like a good time to stop and take stock of how we're doing.

In a nutshell, we're doing fine. I just don't know what other words I could use to describe the state of my family. We're fine. We're not great. We're not awful. We're just...fine.

Now that the kids are back in school I have been running into a lot of people who want to know how we're doing. I appreciate everyone's concern so much but I often don't know what to say.

At times it seems like the days and weeks are flying by. I can't seem to get everything done. I feel like I'm running out of time.

But then there are moments when it feels like time is dragging. I feel like I am dragging us all through a muddy bog of denial and distraction. There are times, especially when the kids are asleep and the house is quiet when I feel like I am only marking time. I am only existing in a void until I can come alive again.

It takes a lot of energy to be normal. But at the same time I am amazed at just how normal and unaffected I have been. There has been so much to distract us from my husband's absence. There have been so many changes of scenery. There has been so much to look forward to.

I know from experience that this is the easiest part of a deployment, if any part of the experience can be considered easy at all. When you're about a third of the way in, you start to settle into a routine. He hasn't been gone so long that you miss him with a constant ache. You have yet to see how their father's absence has effected your children.

But you know those times are coming. The last half of a deployment can be difficult. Right now, while I'm feeling pretty good about how everything has gone so far, I need to store up energy to deal with the hard times ahead.

It will get worse before it gets better. This I know for sure.

We will be fine. We're always fine. It's who we are. This is the life we live.

It's two months into my husband's deployment and I'm going to stop, just for a moment, and give myself credit. I've made it this far. And fine is pretty darn good.

Benefits of Base Living

Last night I put the kids to bed at 7 p.m. as usual. Since they have been exhausted since school started, I laid down on my bed for a moment to listen and make sure they had gone to sleep.

And I fell asleep myself.

I didn't wake up until 7 o'clock this morning.

That's twelve hours of sleep. Twelve hours! What adult needs twelve hours of sleep?

Well, apparently I do. I am completely amazed that I could sleep so soundly knowing everything that I was missing last night. I didn't pay the bills like I always do on the fifteenth of the month. I didn't eat dinner. I didn't feed the dog. I didn't turn the lights off downstairs. I didn't even set my three alarm clocks.

It's a good thing the base plays reveille over the loudspeaker every morning or I would still be asleep.

Freedom

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

It's back to school time! I love this time of year.

Back to school time means new beginnings. It means my favorite season is right around the corner and we can say goodbye to these awful temperatures. It means meeting new people and making new friends. It means shopping for fall clothes and planning winter get-a-ways.

It means the kids are out of my hair for seven hours a day! But that's not the most important thing.

No, really.

Okay, I may have danced a little in the van when I rounded that last corner and saw our beloved school.

Okay, I may have started singing George Michael's Freedom at the top of my lungs when I pushed--I mean--let the kids out at drop off.

Okay, I may have pumped my arms in the air and whooped for joy as a drove back down the highway toward home.

Okay, I may have jumped out of the van, slid on my knees across my lawn, and whipped my jersey in the air a la World Cup soccer star Brandi Chastain.

But I'm really mostly looking forward to fall.

Really.

Lost Things

Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony look around. Something is lost that must be found.

It's funny how in our times of need we regress to what we were taught as children. As a child, I was taught a lot of things by nuns.

Yes, I am a Catholic school survivor. I even have the plaid jumper to show for it. I switched from public school to a private, Catholic school in sixth grade and I never looked back. I went to an all-girls Catholic high school and I even graduated from a Catholic women's college. I loved my schools.

But as an adult, I can look back at some of the things I learned there and just shake my head. Still, in times of stress I find myself falling back into old habits.

Right now I am stressed because I can't find my daughter's birth certificate. I need it to sign her up for soccer and the deadline is fast approaching. (My friends who want to keep our daughters together again on the same team this year are going to kick my butt when they read this.)

I was wandering around trying to find it and wishing that my husband was here to blame for its disappearance when I caught myself muttering.

Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony look around. Something is lost that must be found.

If only it were so easy!

I wish Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, could help me find that piece of paper. I wish Saint Nicholas could bring me my heart's desire once a year at Christmas. I wish a handsome prince would swoop in on his noble steed and save me.

But none of those things have happened except, maybe, for the handsome prince part. But only if you consider a rusting 1972 VW Bug a noble steed.

I've gone so far as to e-mail my handsome prince in Iraq to ask if he knows where her birth certificate might be. Like its whereabouts are high on his priority list right now.

There is one thing about me that has not changed one iota since my days in plaid skirts and knee high socks. It still drives me insane when things aren't right. I hate it when something is missing. I hate it when I'm disorganized. If the nuns could see me now they'd be shaking their heads at me and giving me that look.

Come on, Saint Anthony! Do your magic, buddy. I really need you now. Before I go insane.

Update: I found it! Woo hoo! Saint Anthoy pulls one out of the bag.

Not Quite Ready for HGTV

The kids are helping me redecorate the house one piece at a time.

Well, no. Let me rephrase that.

The kids are helping me redecorate the house by destroying one piece at a time.

Someone recently asked me how long I'd lived in this house. I was aghast when I really thought about it. My daughter was a baby when we moved in here. Interior design wasn't really a priority of ours seven years ago.

It isn't much of a priority now either, but I am getting just a tiny bit sick of our decorating theme. I call it early hand-me-downs and gifts I feel obliged to display.

And the quilts...oh, the quilts.

Let me explain. When I was in college my mom started quilting. And quilting and quilting. Now she even owns her own quilting business. So every holiday and major life event has been marked by the gift of one of her quilts.

Some of them are amazing. They really are. They went well with our early nineties style. But I have a lot of them.

And the kids! My goodness. They must have a dozen or so each. I can't even fit them on their closet shelves anymore.

So as much as I appreciate my mother's gifts, I'm just really over feeling like I live in a quilt museum. I'd love to redecorate, but I'm afraid of hurting my mother's feelings.

Enter my daughter, who decided to jump on the couch. She started to fall (big surprise) and put her hand on the wall to steady herself. But eighty percent of the walls in our house are covered in quilts, and she pulled it, and the wooden rack it hung on, down on top of herself. The rack broke and now I have an excuse not to rehang that quilt.

One down, two hundred and seventy-six to go.

I could only be so mad at my daughter.

My son followed this stunt up with one of his own. He kicked a soccer ball into a portrait in a very traditional frame, and now I am one more step closer to the modern design I would love.

"Mom always said, 'Don't play ball in the house!'"

I figure if I continue to let the kids run amok inside my house, I can have it totally redecorated before my husband gets home from Iraq. They better pick it up though. As fast as they destroy these things, new ones find their way into our home.

This summer, my mother taught my daughter how to quilt.

I'm doomed!

Grateful

Speaking of my friends...

Today in the mail I found a bright yellow envelope addressed to me. Inside was a bright yellow card covered in the distinctive printing of a long distance friend.

This friend isn't even one I would consider to be particularly close. He's more of a friend of a friend. But he brought me to tears and touched my heart with one simple gesture.

He was just writing to let me know that he was thinking of me. "You possess a strength as might as your heart is big," he wrote.

How incredibly sweet is that? I was moved just to receive a card from a faraway friend. But to read those words?

There are a lot of good and wonderful people in this world, and I am lucky to know and love quite a few more than my fair share.

Coffee Talk

Tonight I partook in what some consider to be a long standing military tradition. I went to a spouses' coffee.

My non-military friends love my stories of coffees over the years. They have an image of perfectly-coifed, perfectly-mannered women sitting around in fifties style dresses and white gloves sipping from dainty china. That couldn't be further from the reality.

For one thing, I've never actually seen coffee consumed at a coffee. At least half of us wear jeans. (Shocking, I know.) Our conversations run the gambit from our husbands and kids to sexual deprivation and reversed vasectomies, depending on the crowd. And as far as manners go...well, I once accidentally flung a greasy, sauce-soaked piece of garlic bread into the lap of a commander's wife.

When I was first married, I attended every event I could wrangle an invitation to in a desperate attempt to make friends. But in the last few years, I haven't been so enthusiastic.

It's not that I don't enjoy getting together and meeting new people. I do. But underneath it all, I am actually a painfully shy soul trapped in an outgoing body.

We've been here so long. I have been overjoyed these last couple of years to get to know some of the parents at my kids' school. For the first time in a while, I feel like I'm making real friends. These are people I really like, who seem to really like me. I've made civilian friends who are incredibly supportive.

My painfully shy side was making excuses. I don't need to go to this coffee. I have friends and support. I'm busy anyway. Maybe I'll go next month.

But my husband is away now. It's time to kick my painfully shy side in her painfully shy butt and get out there. Besides, a new commander and a new commander's wife mean a whole new beginning and even more people to befriend.

I'm so glad I went.

Being a military wife means being part of a very special community. Our bond is forged in sacrifice, strength and joy. It felt good to be welcomed into a room full of people who understand what I'm going through because they have been there themselves.

My civilian friends will always be very special to me, but I can't forget about my sisters.

My painfully shy self has been sent into time out. I think I can keep her in there for a while.

At least until the next coffee.

Yes, Ma'am, Mommy, Sir

The countdown begins. There is one more week until the first day of school.

Woo hoo!

I have never been so excited for something in my whole entire life. This year, my son will start Kindergarten. He is so ready. And so am I.

One thing we know he'll have to do in Kindergarten is answer his teacher politely with a, "Yes, ma'am." We've been preparing for it.

You see, ma'am and sir are terms I hardly ever heard growing up. Unless you were serving in the military or were in prison, addressing people that way is just not something we did in New England. So it is not something we taught our kids.

Luckily, though, we did teach them to always answer us with, "Yes, Mommy," or, "Yes, Daddy." I think that when kids verbally confirm that they have heard an instruction or command, they are more likely to follow through and do as they were told. It also keeps me from having to repeat, "Do you hear me?" over and over again.

So, a "Yes, ma'am," isn't too hard to adapt.

But being five-years-old and a military kid, my son has taken it to a whole other place. He probably thinks he's being cute when he clicks his heels together, salutes me, and calls out, "Yes, ma'am, Mommy, sir." But it can be a little embarrassing when he does it at Target. That's taking the whole Major Mom thing a little too far.

However, it is less embarrassing than what he called out at the Boardwalk this weekend. He bumped into me, as he so often does, but bounced right off. He then felt it needful to announce loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I'm sorry I bumped you, Mommy. But thank you for having such a big, squishy butt."

I'm thinking about sending him to a military academy. Do they have those for Kindergartners?

My Saviors

While getting ready for bed, my son screamed from the bathroom, "There's a wizard in the house! There's a wizard in the house!"

I'd say he has a really good imagination, but his voice held a bit more excitement than an imaginary wizard would warrant. Maybe we've been talking about Harry Potter too much.

My daughter, much more excited by his declaration than I, beat me to the bathroom.

"You keep an eye on it and I'll get a cup to catch it," she instructed her brother.

A cup? For a wizard? Huh?

Then a saw an almost clear little creature dart by the toilet.

Ew. A lizard!

I was out of there.

I don't think the kids even realized that I had vacated the premises, but I wasn't going to go within ten feet of that creepy little thing. I surreptitiously slid into my bedroom and shut the door. Then a shoved a towel into the crack at the bottom. I backed away from the door and listened to the kids' faint voices.

If they didn't catch it, we were going to have to move. You see, I would always live in mortal fear that the barely two-inch-long lizard would sneak into my room at night, somehow navigate my bed and crawl in my forever open, always drooling mouth. Yet, I'd be too embarrassed to call the exterminator to try and find a lizard smaller than a quarter.

It took them a while to execute their catch and release program, but they did finally catch the disgusting little creature. Then they brought the cup to my door to ask if they could go outside and, "...take him back to his family."

Are they insane?

"Take it! Go! Quick! And I'm pretty sure his family is in the neighbor's yard!"

Tonight my savior was an eight-year-old girl with a Spongebob Squarepants Dixie Cup.

Besides the obvious, the thing I miss the most when my husband is deployed is this. Critter removal.

Hurry home, honey. There's a spider on my ceiling the eight-year-old can't reach.

A Little Laughing Gas

I'm thinking of getting a nitrous oxide machine for the house.

My daughter went to the dentist today to get sealants. Because they know she's a little...sensitive...they gave her the gas.

I told her the gas would make her feel very relaxed. Daddy told her the gas would make her feel sleepy. Uncle Patrick told her the gas would make her feel like she was flying. The technician told her that the gas would make her feel giggly.

She says the gas made her feel like she was just lying there, looking at the ceiling.

So in other words, under the influence of nitrous oxide, my daughter was...normal.

Sounds good to me. I'm thinking I can pump that magic stuff in though the AC and we can all be a little happier.

Who Needs Sleep?

Under the best of circumstances, I am not a good sleeper. With the way things have been going lately, I'm starting to view sleep as the enemy.

I've gotten into a bad habit. You see, the man I love is seven time zones away. I've learned that the best time to catch him online or even receive a phone call is between midnight and one in the morning.

So I keep stretching out my nights. I keep checking my e-mail over and over and over just to see if he's sent word.

Yesterday he had e-mailed that he should be able to call me during the afternoon. I canceled my plans and hung around the house. Only to be disappointed. No call that day.

But then I got an e-mail. "I'll call you about midnight your time," it said. And so I stayed up. Again.

I've got to stop. I've got to turn the computer off and go to bed, even if it means I won't see an e-mail as soon as it comes in. I can't wait at home for his call. I can't stay up all night. I've got kids to raise and a life to live here.

I know other military spouses know how it is. You live for their calls because you never know when they might come. Connectivity isn't always good. You store up all the things you want to tell him and hope that he can call once or twice this week. You hope he'll call when the kids are awake so they can talk to him too. But you hope he calls when they're in bed because you want him all to yourself.

There is no picking up the phone and dialing his number because you need to hear his voice. You're at the mercy of unstable power grids and a mission that is much more important than your mundane life.

I suppose I'm moody because I'm so tired. A simple phone call is too much to ruminate on tonight.

One month down. Many more sleepless nights to go.