Age is Just a Number

Or so I'd like to think.

Today for the first time ever, I felt old.

I was walking out of CVS with a heating pad and a wrist brace when the feeling struck. I'm falling apart!

Apparently, when you're old, it is possible to injure yourself while asleep. I woke up yesterday morning and couldn't move my head because my neck and shoulder hurt so bad. I'm also a writer who never learned to type, so I think I might have carpel tunnel.

When I exclaimed, "Man, I'm getting old!" in front of the kids, they immediately came to my defense.

"You're not old, Mom!" my daughter asserted.

"Yeah, Mom. Lot's of people are older than you. Like Daddy," my son added.

I think Daddy may be feeling a bit old right now though. I sent him pictures of our trip to New York City. He showed a picture of his "little girl" to his roommate.

"That's your little girl?" his roommate asked. "How old is she?"

"Nine," my husband answered.

"Well, I think we should get you a rocking chair, old man," his roommate answered.

I guess she is starting to look old. But she's not as old as her father thinks. When he was telling me this little story I had to stop him. "She's eight, you know."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Um, hello? Your daughter is eight-years-old."

"No," he finally responded. "She's nine."

Then there was a long pause. "Isn't she?"

Nope. She's eight. And one sure fire way to make sure you don't feel too old is to not age your kids beyond their years.

Girls Who Drive Pick-Up Trucks

I was talking with some guys recently who were joking about girls who drive pick-up trucks. Actually, they were saying that back in the day, those were the best girls to date.

Hmmm. That's funny. When I first started dating my husband I only had a learner's permit. But once I got my license, I drove my dad's old green Ford F-150 truck.

In fact, I'm driving a new green Ford F-150 truck right now!

Okay, so I lose some of my pick-up girl cred because it is my husband's and it has a DVD player, but still.

Not only am I driving it, but I fixed it myself. I worked under its hood! I got grease on my hands!

My husband's poor, overly expensive truck had sat in front of our house undriven and unloved for so long that the battery needed to be replaced. It's not rocket science. I just dug out my husband's repair and maintenance guide and followed the instructions.

The hardest part was finding all of the tools. Somebody needs to invent a system that forces men to return their tools to the proper tool box when they are finished using them.

A few years ago I got fed up with always having to solve the case of the missing tools before I could complete any job, so I bought my own set and wrote my name all over the box. Who wants to place bets on how many of the tools were missing when I opened the box to fix the truck?

Anyway, when I told my husband that I had replaced his battery and got his truck running he asked me, "Aren't you proud of yourself?"

"No," I answered. "It wasn't a big deal. Although I did feel kind of like a magician."

But the truth is that I do feel pretty darn proud of myself. And I've been driving his truck for a couple of weeks now to ensure that is stays working.

Now if I could only learn to fit it through the Starbucks drive-though without hitting a curb or taking off a fender I'd feel really proud.

The Seams

I feel like I've been holding myself together pretty well, all things considered. I think after all these years I've learned how to keep my outer shell very well preserved.

I am a strong woman. I can get through anything, mostly because I have a tremendous amount of love in my life.

Or at least that's what I tell myself.

But lately I've felt like my tough outer shell is starting to crack. Today I felt like all this rain has seeped into those cracks. And for a moment today, I felt like the cold had turned that rain to ice and my tough outer shell had shattered completely, falling away from me piece by piece.

Nothing big set it off. That's not usually the way it happens.

Today I bit my lip.

That one moment of pain made my eyes tear up. But once I had let go of that tiny bit of control, all of the pain I've been burying came pouring out.

I had myself collected and patched up again within five minutes, but it was a little scary to realize just how tenuous my control really is.

My husband has been in Iraq for over five months now. His return date has been pushed back to mid January again. I've been noticing how much the little things are slipping away from me. I've forgotten to pay certain bills. I can't remember appointments. My son has been more than a handful lately. I get mad at the drop of a hat.

And just when I'm really starting to enjoy my little pity party, I'm brought back to reality.

I have a friend who is an Army wife. Her husband has been in Iraq for fifteen months. They have struggled through major health issues during his deployment. They have also lost several people in their unit. My friend's husband is returning right after Christmas like my husband was supposed to.

I was casually mentioning to a friend how I was really into Christmas this year. I feel like I have to be, because it will only be the three of us here. And my friend said, "You're getting the best Christmas gift of all. You're husband will be coming home."

But I replied, "Well, I'd hardly call that a Christmas gift. He won't be home until weeks after Christmas, if then."

And then my friend said something that pretty much broke my heart. "Oh, it's not that long. Think of our Army wife friend."

It broke my heart in two ways.

This is hard to explain, but first of all, I feel a lot of guilt over my husband's service. I can't help but think about the families whose loved ones are deployed for fifteen months, or more, at a time. I can't help but think of all the service people who never come home. I can't help but think about the danger that so many military folks are in every day.

And my husband only has to go for seven months. And he was lucky enough to get pulled off of a convoy unit and into a leadership position. And yes, he's been deployed four times, but never for more than seven months.

I feel a tremendous amount of guilt that my life is so easy! It could be so much harder.

It might not be rational. But it is the way I fee.

My friend knows I feel this way. My heart is more than a little bruised that he would turn my guilt against me like that.

I don't let very many people get a glimpse past my tough outer shell. My husband knows me inside and out and loves me anyway, but the only person who really knows me outside of my family is this friend.

We all need someone like that. A buddy who we can say anything to. Maybe I'm being overly dramatic here (It wouldn't be the first time!) but I feel like I've lost that. I've lost my confidant.

It will take more than a little ice in the cracks to permanently destroy my outer shell. It's too important to too many people that I stay strong.

Seven months apart really isn't a long time when you're in your thirties and you know you have many happy years ahead of you. I certainly haven't lost anything. My husband and I share a bond stronger than ever.

Its' a bond strong enough to hold my outer shell together. No matter what the weather.

*Note: I'll be posting the rest of my travel log to New York City in the days ahead. Scan down to read more about my trip.

Travel Log: New York City, Day 4

I had been looking forward to this day of our trip for a while. Today was the day Uncle Patrick and I split up the kids.

After a breakfast of muffins (clearly breakfast nutrition is a low priority when we travel), I brought the kids to Uncle Patrick's office to make the big drop-off. Uncle Patrick was taking my daughter on a tour of lower Manhattan, including the treat shops at Chelsea Market.

Being the enthusiastic uncle, Patrick made up an itinerary for my son and I to follow that included the Transportation Museum, Battery Park, Chelsea Piers, and a rendezvous at Chelsea Market.

After the day we'd had with my son on Tuesday, I took one look at that itinerary and said, "There's no way this is going to happen."

You see I had promised each kid one trip to the toy store. The Toys R Us in Times Square is like the promised land to them. And it is pure...well...heck for me. If you think the local Toys R Us is a madhouse, you should see the one in Times Square!

We left Patrick's office in East Midtown and went our separate ways, except we all ended up on the 6 train together. I guess Uncle Patrick knows a faster way to get out of the building.

My son and I took the S shuttle train between Grand Central Station and Times Square. When we emerged onto the street out of the subway my first thought was, "What was I thinking?"

We went to lunch at Ellen's Stardust Diner, where the wait staff are all Broadway hopefuls who sing and perform as they serve. My son loved it. They all climbed right up on the booth behind him to sing.

Then we headed toward the M&M store on our way to Toys R Us. But first we stopped at a popcorn store that was just opening on Broadway. I wish I could remember the name of that place because it was the best popcorn I've ever had.

The M&M store was packed. But my son loved mixing his own pack of M&Ms from all the dispensers on the wall. He also bought a Thanksgiving colored mix to take to our Thanksgiving day hosts.

We finally made it to Toys R Us where my son was so afraid of the life-size animated Lego T-Rex that he wouldn't go on that side of the store. They have a huge Thomas the Train table and set there for the kids to play with, except they only had one train. My son perused the Thomas toys for quite a while, while I witnessed many screaming matches between parents over that one Thomas train. When I thought one of those exchanges was going to come to blows, we headed to the check out lines.

I let my son choose how we were going to get home. We could walk over to Eighth Avenue and take a can forty blocks North, or he could get us to a C train and we could ride forty blocks North. Not surprisingly, he chose the train and he navigated us all the way to the proper platform.

After some rest and play time, my son and I headed back down to Times Square to meet my daughter and Patrick for dinner at Dave & Busters. What were we thinking?

My daughter was eager to share with us all they had done. We ate dinner then played skee-ball and games in the arcade. By the time we got home, we were beyond beat. We took the time to look at the pictures we had taken while separated and we all turned in for the night.

We'd have to get up early to stake out a spot on the parade route the next day.

Travel Log: New York City, Day 3

I think that on most trips with little kids, you'll end up having one day live in infamy.

Today was that day for us.

It started out innocently enough. We slept in a little bit while Uncle Patrick went to work. I let the kids eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast and we just relaxed around the apartment for a while. But then it was time to do something we should have been doing for the last couple of days.

We had schlepped the kids violins all the way from Louisiana so that they could stay up with their practicing. My daughter went first and we actually worked through quite a bit of her newest song.

Then my son took out his violin. But something didn't look quite right. His bridge had slid a good inch or so. I tried to fix it and was doing okay until I tried to tune the E string. It popped right off the peg.

So now we would be spending the next few hours tracking down someone who could fix his violin.

It was actually sort of an exciting adventure for me. It made me feel like a real New Yorker to find a shop, navigate our way there on the subway and get myself into the building all on my own.

The shop itself was fascinating. It was on the eighth floor of a nondescript building in the theater district. There were all sorts of shops for musicians and dancers in the building. The Japanese man's tiny shop was filled with hundreds of violins and autographed pictures of apparently famous violinists. He played music for the kids and asked them about their training.

My son was funny though. He didn't like giving his violin over to someone else. He was quite concerned that there were so many violins in the shop. "I don't think he ever fixes them," he said. "I don't think I'm going to get my violin back."

Of course he did fix it, while we waited.

On our way out of the building, Uncle Patrick called to let us know that he was out of work early. We met up at a Starbucks to plan the rest of our day.

We decided to go to the South Street Seaport where there were ships to look at for my son and shops to look at for my daughter. But this is where our day started to go downhill.

My son wasn't too happy that he couldn't board the ships. And he wasn't too happy with our intent to look in shops. He got whiny. He developed quite a little attitude, bad enough for me to stand him in a quiet corner for a talking-to and a time out.

Which apparently made no impression on him. On the way back to the subway he had the kind of screaming tantrum that most of us only read about. Uncle Patrick even tried to pick him up to move him along to the subway station but he only kicked and screamed louder.

I ended up sitting him on a random door step and giving him the talking-to of his life. In public. On a New York City street!

This made my daughter cry too, because she was embarrassed.

Of course by this point I had realized that we'd only had Pop-Tarts and Starbucks cookies to eat all day. We headed to a Jackson Hole for a quick dinner and then home to put my little monster to bed.

Both kids were asleep before 7 p.m. Patrick and I ordered some dessert and watched the Food Network for the rest of the night.

I went to bed early that night too, only to dream about my life being taken over by a screaming demon child. Hopefully, the demon would leave us and my own sweet child would return for Thanksgiving.

Travel Log: New York City, Day 2

Monday morning of our trip to New York was spent relaxing a bit. Well, I relaxed. The kids watched television and played and ate potato chips for breakfast.

By the time we really got up and going it was past noon. We walked down to Lincoln Center and saw Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium at the movie theater. The kids loved it.

On our walk home, we stopped at Gray's Papaya for hot dogs. We sat at the picturesque 72nd Street subway station at Verdi Square to eat our dogs and sip our root beer. We also did a little shopping at the shops along the way.

When Uncle Patrick got home from work, we headed to Vynl for dinner. The waiter was impressed that my kids ate all of their $12 meals. It's not surprising to me at all.

We got the kids to bed early that night and I spent the evening chatting with my best friend. It was nice to reconnect. And the kids got lots of rest.

They'd need it for what was to come on Tuesday.

Travel Log: New York City, Day 1

We started our first day in New York by getting up early, braving the chill, and heading out to the Race to Deliver.

The kids ran a race in Central Park to benefit God's Love We Deliver. Between the two of them they raised $2,395!

I'm so proud of them, but I am also completely overwhelmed by the generosity of our friends and family. Their responses were amazing. Thank you to everyone who supported them and helped raise money for a very worthy organization. You all rock!

After the race we went out to brunch at Nice Matin with Uncle Patrick and an old friend of his who was visiting from Wisconsin. Then the kids and I headed to the Diana Ross playground in Central Park.

Of all the amazing things you can do in the city, playing in Central Park is probably their favorite.

But we had to hurry off and meet up with Uncle Patrick and our theater critic friend Mr. Byrne for a children's show at an Upper West Side theater. We saw Welcome to New Jersey. The kids loved it, but I'll leave the theater reviewing to the experts. All I can say is that I'm always a little creeped out by adults playing children's roles.

After the play we walked down to Times Square for dinner at Junior's. Junior's is originally a Brooklyn attraction known for their cheesecake. We got ice cream, apple pie and layer cake, so Ican't vouch for the cheesecake.

Since we were so tired, Uncle Patrick let us do the tourist thing and grab a taxi home. Usually he makes us take the subways like real locals.

We crashed on our assortment of air mattresses and prepared for another busy New York City day.

Off Again

For the last couple of weeks one thing has been dominating my thoughts. I was one of the chairs of our school's annual Grandparents', Family & Friends luncheon.

I wouldn't say that it was a hard volunteer job, but it was something that meant a lot to me.

Now it's all over and I can only hope that everyone was happy with the results. I have to admit that I am feeling very relieved to have my major volunteer commitment fulfilled for the year. I always have fun and make new friends when I do these things, but it has been a hard year for me.

Today, the kids and I are flying to New York City for Thanksgiving break. I hope that it will be a fun and relaxing time, but with a five-year-old in tow you just never know. Our plans are open and we'll take each day one day at a time.

I have to run because, of course I waited until the last moments to pack for my trip. I feel like throwing together all of the clothes and things we need together at the last moment just adds to the excitement.

My Big Mistake, Part 2

Remember when I gloated that my daughter didn't even want Hannah Montana tickets?

Yeah. Once again, I get my comeuppance.

When all of her friends were desperate for Hannah Montana I went ahead and bought tickets for the Little Mermaid on Broadway. She was so excited. And then it turned out that my friend the theater reviewer was going to join us and help pay for the tickets.

And then the stage hands went on strike and Broadway went dark.

I felt so bad for my daughter. She had been so excited to see a Broadway show. I decided to go online and see if I could, just maybe, find some Hannah Montana tickets for a decent price.

I couldn't. But I bought them anyway.

I don't know what I was thinking. It was impulsive. As soon as I hit the "submit" button I felt like throwing up.

But I still figured, with all her friends had been talking about it, that my daughter would be ecstatic.

Not so much.

When I told her about the tickets, she sort of said, "Oh."

So I told her, "I paid a lot of money for these tickets. And there are a lot of girls who would love them. If you don't really want to go, I can sell them."

"No, I want to go. A lot of my friends will be there. They love Hannah Montana."

"But, do you love Hannah Montana?" I asked her.

"I don't love her, but I don't hate her," she replied.

Great.

I was having fits of guilt for spending that much money all week. But she loved it. My mom was in town and took her while I spent time with my son. Even my mom loved it. In the end, especially since the Broadway stage hand strike doesn't seem to be ending and I'll get a refund on those tickets, I'm glad she went

She's a good kid. No, actually, she's a great kid. I'm glad she had so much fun.

By the way, I had the brilliant idea of taking my son to Chuck E Cheese's that night. And so did half the other moms in town. It was mobbed. And possibly louder than the concert.

The Empty Box

On this date, sixteen years ago, my husband proposed marriage to me.

And boy did he blow it.

On November 13, 1991 my husband and I were juniors in college. He was a cadet at an aviation college one whole state away from were I was a softball player at a women's college. I had driven out to visit him for the weekend because he had a special event to attend. His ROTC detachment was having a Dining Out. (Think of a Dining Out as a formal event with cocktail dresses, dress uniforms, and more silly traditions hat you can count.)

His friends had been telling me for a month or two that he would propose to me in uniform. We had been talking about getting married after graduation for a while. By then there was no doubt in our minds that we belonged together.

So when I realized that he would be in his handsome dress uniform that night, I started to get my hopes up. There would be a romantic saber guard to walk through on the way into the event. There would be dinner and dancing and plenty of opportunities for him to pop the question.

As was usually the case with him, he was organizing the whole event and needed to go to the hall early to help set up. I stayed in his dorm room to primp and get ready.

When I went to brush my teeth I realized that I didn't have any toothpaste, so I went looking through one of his drawers for a tube.

That's when I saw it. A pink, velvet ring box.

I slammed that drawer so fast the wall shook. I concentrated on squashing all of my romantic fantasies while I got dressed, skipping brushing my teeth all together.

I drove over to the hall. I walked in and met him. He was busy but after a bit, he asked me to walk back out to the parking lot with him so we could enter through the saber guard.

This was it. I just knew it! This would be our moment. He offered me his arm, we walked though the saber guard and...

Nothing.

Okay. I figured there were plenty more moments for him to ask me.

We had dinner. Nothing

We danced. Nothing.

He got up to make a special announcement. Nothing. He was just selling sweatshirts.

As the night wore down I got more and more disappointed. And I'm not good at hiding my feelings.

On the car ride back to his dorm room, after much imploring on his part to explain my mood, I finally explained my disappointment. He just grunted.

When we got to his room he asked me, "What color box did you see?"

"Pink," I answered.

So he opened his drawer, pulled out the pink box and handed it to me. This is was my moment. I opened the box and found...

Nothing.

He gave me an empty box.

In my despair, I actually threw it across the room and burst into tears.

"No, no no!" he panicked. "I have another box!" Since I was sobbing into my hands, he passed it over my shoulder and stood behind me. And there in a black, velvet box was my engagement ring.

"Well?" he asked me.

"You haven't even asked me yet!"

I was still crying and he was still standing behind me, but he asked me anyway. "Will you marry me?"

I cried harder.

It took me a while to say yes.

I was more than a little mad about his botched proposal for a couple of years. I got over it, but I've never let him live it down. I can finally see the humor in it.

And he has finally accepted that whenever we meet new people and exchange stories, I will tell them about my empty box.

My Big Mistake, Part 1

I've been very mistake-prone lately. Let's chalk it up to the unavoidable pitfalls of being a waiting spouse, shall we? I'd hate to have to admit that I'm just a complete flake by nature.

My children are running a race for charity in New York City next week. They are extremely excited about running in Central Park and helping to raise money. And our friends and family have been extremely generous with their sponsorship donations. (Thank you, everyone!)

My mother-in-law was especially generous. But she didn't want to make a donation online so she sent me two checks for five hundred dollars each made out to my children. My plan was to deposit them in my account and then use my credit card to make the donation online.

But I threw them away.

Yes, I threw one thousand dollars in the garbage!

In a frenzy of cleaning I threw the envelope containing the checks into my kitchen trash. I didn't realize what I had done until the next night when I was checking the kids' donation amounts online.

Of course, in my cleaning frenzy, I had also bagged up that trash and taken it to our outside bins.

I had to go out in the dark and root around in the trash bins with the lizards, and the bugs, and who-knows-what-else! I found the right bag and brought it inside. I sorted through all the garbage on my kitchen floor. And there, at the very bottom of the bag, creased but stain-free were the checks.

I deposited those babies as fast as I could before--I don't know--the dog chewed them, or they got knocked into the shredder, or I decided to use them as scratch pads!

I think this only goes to show you. It doesn't ever pay to clean in a frenzy.

The Family We Make

Right now there is a discussion going in the Babies and Toddlers forums about how hard it is for military folks like us to be away from our families.

Click HERE to read what other moms have to say.

One mom says, "It makes me a little sad that our family isn't seeing my daughter grow up. Has anyone experienced this, and what have you done about it?"

I have realized that my response is quite different than one might expect.

You see, we have lost touch with a lot of our family in the thirteen years that my husband has been in the military. Sure we try to keep in touch through phone calls, e-mails and visits, but eventually, only those are who are most committed to continuing a relationship really last.

For example, my kids are very close to my parents despite the couple of thousand miles between us. But my parents put in a lot of effort to make sure that is true.

It's a little sad that my kids aren't especially close with my brother. It's a little sad that they don't have the kind of large family holiday gatherings that I had when I was a kid.

But that is just not their reality.

In the complete absence of any local family members, we have made our own family. And I am really okay with that.

The thing about embracing a family of choice when your family of origin isn't around is that you get to choose who you let into your circle. We chose a school with an amazing family-centered atmosphere for just that reason. We have cultivated close relationships with fellow military families who share our values.

I don't think my kids will ever feel a dearth of love. I don't think it matters if they are related by blood to the people who most touch their lives.

Living here on the bayou for nine years has meant that visits from family other than my parents have been few and far between. It's not Orlando or Las Vegas. Nobody is rushing over for a visit.

But it has meant that we have had the time to develop some amazing friendships. Life is so fluid. People flow in and out of our lives for so many reasons.

Instead of focusing on the loss of people we have left behind, I focus on the people we have right now. We may even have different people in our lives tomorrow. But I am thankful for every single person who has touched our lives.

Personal Day

Today I did something that I haven't done in ages.

I took the day off!

The thing about being a stay-at-home mom is that there are no days off. There is no down time. In fact, the weekends--when everyone else is winding down and relaxing--can be your busiest days.

Moms also don't get sick days.

And moms of little kids whose daddies are deployed to war definitely don't get sick days.

I've been trying my best to hide it but I have been really sick.

But how can I back out of driving my kid and her friends on a field trip just because I can't breathe? How can I miss not one but two violin graduations just because I have a fever?

There is nobody else who could replace me at these events. Even if I could get a friend to fill in for me (and I'm sure I could) there is just no replacement for your mom in the audience while you get your violin trophy. Or your soccer trophy. Or anything!

There just is no replacement for a mom. So unless I need to go to the hospital I'm going to keep on pretending I'm not sick.

And until my friends form a mob to punish me for spreading my germs all around, I'm going to keep up my daily routine.

Today, though, while the kids were at school, I did nothing more than curl up in bed and read a holiday novella. I took medicine and drank tea. It was heaven.

I need to rest up and rebuild my strength for when that angry mob comes calling.

Tweens in the Minivan

Today I packed four third grade girls into my van and took them on a field trip.

They were cracking me up. Sitting in the drivers' seat while the girls chatted behind me made me feel like Dian Fossey. Instead of Gorillas in the Mist I was starring in Tweens in the Minivan.

I felt like a foreigner observing a strange society because my daughter is so different at home with me. She is pretty disconnected from the social scene. Plus, their conversations were so different form the ones I had when I was eight.

Oh sure, they talked about horses and boys. But they also talked about juvenile detention.

They are both more sophisticated yet more sheltered that my peers and I were at the same age. We live in such different times.

And then there is the laughing and screaming. Why do girls have to laugh and scream so much? Man, you get a bunch of our girls together and loudness ensues.

After we dropped them off, some of the moms and I went out for lunch. We too talked about horses and boys. We also talked quite a bit about our girls and how difficult it can be growing up.

As we sat at our corner table talking and laughing I realized how the rest of the world melted away. We were like a society onto ourselves. A loud society.

We were nothing more than our own girls fast forward a couple of decades or three. Oh sure, we're past those difficult girl years of competition and backstabbing. But at the core, we're just the same. We're girls looking for other people who will accept as as ourselves.

And then there is the laughing and screaming. Why do girls have to laugh and scream so much? Man, you get a bunch of us girls together and loudness ensues.

Complete and Utter

I've had some rough times here and there in the past. But all in all my life is pretty awesome.

I'm in love with a man who loves me more than ten women deserve. I have two incredible children. And on a daily basis, I am able to do exactly what I want with my life.

But last night, when my alarm went off at 3 a.m. so I could check on my son, and I stumbled to his door and just stood there smelling the pee and dreading waking him up to clean up, I just couldn't take it.

I felt utter and complete despair.

I just couldn't even imagine how I could keep this all up.

Then I woke him up, helped him clean up and change his sheets, crawled back to my own bed and overslept this morning.

And life goes on. And despair passes. And I have no choice but to keep this all up.

And my life is still pretty awesome.

My Comeupance

Last August I was feeling all smug when everyone else was shopping for Back to School clothes. My kids' closets were full of cute, relatively new clothes that we had to buy last May.

You wouldn't catch me braving the Back to School shopping throngs. I am Superior Shopper! Queen of the catalog sales.

But it is payback time.

Now that the weather has turned cooler, and my kids have grown a few inches each, they have nothing to wear. Who said those kids were allowed to grow so much?

I also had to buy them real winter coats since we're traveling to New York City for Thanksgiving.

All in all, I just spent $460 on Land's End dot com and I probably only really got them a few outfits each.

This year, I swear, I am going to buy them each a wardrobe of winter clothes one size up when the clearance sales start. Then I can be all smug again next year.

Caution: May Include Bragging

There are certain times during a deployment when I really wish that my husband was here. Today is one of those days.

Today I went to my kids' Parent/Teacher conferences.

More than our birthdays or Christmas, I wish my husband could have been here for this day.

I have always been fascinated by how we can see ourselves so differently than other people see us. I've realized that I also see my kids differently than other people see them.

Maybe I'm the only mom who does this (Please tell me I'm not!) but because I'm always concentrating on their development, improving and growing I tend to spend way too much time concentrating on the things that need improving.

So while I was stressing about how messy my daughter's homework always is, her teacher was marveling over her creativity. While I was stressing about how my son tends to speak out too much, his teacher was impressed with his enthusiasm.

It's too bad that my kids' teachers have to point out their gifts to me, but I'm grateful that they do.

In truth, I think I knew that my daughter is a gifted writer. And I knew that my son has an exceptional mind for math. And I surely knew that they both have wonderful character, but it is so easy to get bogged down in the daily struggles.

Especially when you face those daily struggles alone.

I wish my husband could have been here to hear my daughter's teacher tell me that she hasn't been crying at all this year. He just might not believe it without hearing it with his own ears. For the first conference ever, we didn't have to hear that my daughter is wonderful but a little immature, a little young and a lot oversensitive.

I know I almost wept with joy.

I almost had to ask, "Are you kidding me? Whose child do you have mine confused with? She hasn't had one single break down? Really?"

Could it be that she has finally grown up? Could it be that she has finally caught up with her peers? Could it be that the fairies finally came back and switched back my own human child to whom I gave birth with their own changeling?

It could be. She has matured immensely during my husband's deployment. And I am immensely proud of her.

And for just an hour or two, I'm going to be immensely proud of myself. It's not often that I let myself relax and take some credit as a parent. But I'm going to force myself to today.

I've done well.

Now, if only my daughter can manage the ring of debris that constantly surrounds her school desk, I'll consider myself a not-horrible parent after all.