Wasn't this supposed to get easier?

It's funny how quickly things can change. Less than a month ago I was a strong, self-sufficient woman who could do anything on her own. Now I'm sick and exhausted and wishing my husband never had to go back to work.

My husband went back to work this week. He was only off for two weeks but I got so used to having him around.

When he returned from his deployment, he jumped right back into home life with two feet. He drove the kids to school most mornings and accompanied me on our errands all over town. It's funny how when someone you love has been away for so long, that just something as mundane and simple as sitting in the carpool line together can feel like a gift.

Still, I had been looking forward to the return of our routine. The kids and I thrive on routine.

But doesn't it just figure? I got through his entire deployment without ever being really sick. Now that he's home, I've caught the cold to beat all colds. My poor husband is just getting back into the swing of things when I go down for the count.

I'm going to hold onto the thought that things change quickly. Hopefully in two weeks my horrible cold will be a mere memory. Right? Hopefully in a month or two all the stress we're feeling now will be barely remembered. Right? Things have to "calm down" and "get back to normal" sometime. Right?

Right?

Merry Christmas to Me!

It wasn't until a couple of hours into our Christmas morning festivities that my kids realized that Mommy hadn't opened any gifts. That's mostly because I hadn't realized myself that there was nothing under the tree for me until late on Christmas Eve.

Mommy's stocking wasn't even filled.

Oops. I guess I must have been bad this year.

I can't complain though. Not at all. My parents had sent me a Barnes & Noble gift certificate that has long been spent. And my husband sent me an e-mail.

It wasn't any ordinary e-mail though. Oh sure, he told me he loved me and how awesome I am. (My mom taught me to train my man young.) But he also included this picture.

And it was accompanied by the question, "What color do you want?"

Well, I couldn't decide and it took us until this past weekend to finally get it all picked out, but here is, by far, the most expensive Christmas gift I've ever received.



Isn't it pretty? My husband says I deserve it. I'm not going to argue with that.

Nothing says, "I love you!" like a brand new Mazda CX-9.

It's All in Your Hands

I found this article (click right here for the link) at USA Today to be quite interesting.

"Recently, scientists in North America and Europe have looked to the relative lengths of index and ring fingers for clues about a variety of characteristics, including musical ability, athletic prowess and, in a study just released, osteoarthritis risk.

The researchers believe that the difference between the two fingers' lengths signifies the level of testosterone exposure in the womb. The longer the ring finger compared to the index finger, the thinking goes, the higher the exposure."

Interesting. It goes on to say then that in most men, the ring finger is longer than the index finger and in most women the two fingers are about equal.

Me? My ring finger is quite a bit longer than my index finger. Not to worry, the study tells me. This most likely suggests strong athletic tendencies.

"But, Manning says, one country hopes the tool will help identify future athletes. He is working with Qatar's Aspire Sports Academy, whose vision, according to its website, 'is to discover the best young sporting talent … and transform them into world-renowned champions.'"

I'm going to go measure my kids' fingers right now. I was hoping my son could support me in my old age on his professional baseball salary. Momma wants a beach house!

The Writer in Me

My daughter is fascinated by the fact that I am a writer. Of course I've been a writer in one form or another for years, but she doesn't really realize that.

She thinks it is so glamorous that the things I write are sometimes in newspapers, magazines and the Internet. Of course she doesn't realize that anyone with a land line and a computer and fourteen bucks a month can publish their "work" on the Internet.

She thinks that being a writer must be fun and easy, mostly because it is fun and easy for her. Of course she doesn't realize the hours I spend sitting in front of a blank screen without a thought in my head. She doesn't understand the all-consuming need to narrate and scrutinize every experience in my mind to seek out potential writing topics. And of course she doesn't understand the agony of constant self-editing.

She thinks it would be super cool to be featured in some of her mom's writing. Of course she doesn't really know that I've been dissecting her life for the amusement of others for years. This can only lead to a lifetime of therapy. Some day she'll avoid telling me anything about her life for fear I'll turn it into a snappy little antidote.

It may be time to teach her the phrase, "Mom, this is off the record," because the things she says and does are irresistible sometimes.

Or maybe someday she'll have a best-selling book entitled, "All About My Wacky Mom", or "How to Survive Having a Dork for a Mother", or "Matricide in 12 Easy Steps".

She is as much of a writer as I ever was. And I find that fascinating.

I Lost a Pound!

And it was all hair!

I've always complained that my hair is way too heavy. I swear that when my hair is long, just holding my head up is hard work. This weekend I had the chance to prove just how heavy my hair is.

I had ten and a half inches cut off for Locks of Love.

I actually weighed myself right before I left for the salon. And I weighed myself upon my return. According to the scale, I lost exactly one pound. Funny, because my hair in the bag felt like it weighed five pounds at least.

Last January I decided that 2007 would be the year I finally donated my hair to Locks of Love. My hair was shoulder length at the time. It took me an entire year to grow enough hair to donate.

Trimming my split ends became one of my favorite pastimes. I became obsessed with the idea that I should donate the healthiest hair possible. I spent an inordinate amount of time inspecting my ends with sheers at hand.

On the morning I went to get it cut, I felt like I had to give my hair the best shampooing of its life. I wished I had splurged on some pricey shampoo and conditioner. I was very cognizant of the fact that whatever state my hair was in that morning would be the state of my hair when it reached Locks of Love. I wanted it to be smooth.

It was also supposed to be completely dry. But I don't think my hair has been completely dry in six months! In desperation, I asked my husband to help blow dry the very back part that I can't ever reach. Men are awful with hair. He was no help at all.

Since I was starting to really despise my long hair, I thought I would be overjoyed to get it cut off. But I have to admit that I was a little disappointed. I was hoping that after a year, I would have more than ten and a half inches to donate. I wish I had explained better to my stylist that I wanted to cut off as much as possible, even if it left me with a really short style.

Still, ten and a half inches is nothing to sneeze at. I'm glad I did it.

I've been surprised at how people have reacted to my shorter hair. I've been especially surprised by how many of my friends' husbands noticed and made great comments. I guess now if they don't notice their own wives' new hair styles, they'll be in trouble.

But I've been a little embarrassed by people who have made a big deal out of the fact that I donated my hair. I mean, it is sweet of them to say such nice things, but it just isn't a big deal. I sat around for a year and did nothing but grow hair. It was the easiest act of charity I've ever done.

And I lost a pound! I can think of worse things.

Dog Gone It

I saw a lively lost puppy running around in our base neighborhood today and it reminded me of something I did years ago when we had a beautiful but fat and irksome husky for a pet.

My neighborhood is all historic homes, with tree-lined sidewalks, so there's a lot of pedestrian traffic. I glanced out my kitchen window one night and noticed two guys running by my house. Okay, I'll admit that I took a second and stopped to look at them. Only to find my dog Yukon running behind them.

My kids were still babies at the time. They were busy eating so I shot out the front door yelling, "Yukon! Yuuuukon!" He was my husband's baby, so I felt some real panic. I'm sure it showed in my voice. The dog turned and looked at me and kept running with the men. That was pretty typical of our dog. But I couldn't go after him and leave the kids in the house alone.

I headed back through the house to peak in the backyard and see how he had gotten out of the fence. Only to find my big, fat, obnoxious dog sitting there, looking at me like I was crazy.

I'm sure he's not the only one who thought I was crazy. I was chasing after someone else's dog!

I Cry Southfield Blue

I'm not much of a crier.

Okay, that is such a lie. I guess what I mean is that I am not one to cry to get my way or manipulate situations. But it seems the older I get, the more things will set off my tears.

I cry when I'm really angry, which only makes me angrier. I cry when something is really touching like Extreme Home Makeover, long distance commercials, and songs on the radio. And I cry when I am proud, which means that I can't go to a single one of my kids' plays, concerts or sporting events without starting the waterworks.

But I hate to cry. It embarrasses me. So I spend a lot of time covertly wiping my eyes and pretending I have allergies.

I guess my daughter comes by it honestly. Yesterday I was doing a lot of covert eye wiping and holding back tears. But the one thing that will always set me off is if my daughter is crying in joy too. And she set me off yesterday.

Anyone who knows me even just by acquaintance knows how I feel about Southfield School. We love Southfield. Southfield is our family. We may have been here in Louisiana for nine years but we're still a military family and we never expected to develop the kind of deep relationship we have with our kids' school.

From the first day of preschool, we have felt a part of things. I can't imagine a better place for my children to grow or learn. My husband has been on three deployments since the kids started school, and my Southfield family helped me though all of them.

The amount of support I've gotten from my fellow Southfield parents has been tremendous. They have done everything from the little things to help me out to the big things like including my kids in their own family time. I can't say enough about my kids' teachers or the staff at Southfield. To say that I appreciate them all is a huge understatement.

But yesterday at our monthly Flag Ceremony, Southfield honored its military families. They called us up in front of the school to show their appreciation. My husband and I stood with our kids and the other military families in front of the whole school. My kids were beaming.

I was doing okay with the tears even during the National Anthem which always makes me cry. But when the school gave us all a standing ovation, and my daughter started to tear up, well I did too.

How could these people be cheering for us when they're the ones who have done everything for our family?

After the ceremony we had a small reception. The headmaster and development director had an announcement to make. As part of a capital campaign, the public phase of which will begin very soon, a wonderful Southfield family made a very generous donation to begin an endowment for military families.

The fact that our Southfield family has made a commitment to ensure that any military family like ours who wants to attend Southfield School will be able to regardless of their financial situation is absolutely overwhelming.

They showed us a short video to introduce the campaign and I could not help but cry.

You see, we're on borrowed time here. For a military family to stay in one place for more than nine years is almost unheard of. I have wanderlust in my heart just as much as the next military spouse.

But it will break my heart to leave our Southfield family.

I sooth myself by remembering that my children will carry the spirit of Southfield with them through all of their school years and into adulthood. But to have an endowment in place and to know that any military family will be able to experience all that we did at Southfield?

Well, I'm crying right now.

Disney Fixes Everything

For the last six years, I've been living in a fantasy world. A world where my children are best friends and treat each other with nothing but kindness and respect.

Since I was the queen and supreme ruler of this fantasy world, I patted myself on the back. It took more than the waving of a wand to make two little kids get along. All of those lectures about the importance of family apparently worked.

Until now.

About a month ago the kids slipped into this horrible phase of fighting and arguing. They can't seem to play any game or engage in any activity longer than thirty minutes before the gloves come off. So I separate them. And I lecture them.

Of course being forcibly separated just makes them want to play with each other more. Suddenly they are best friends, when five minutes ago they were worst enemies. What's up with that?

My daughter thinks she has it all figured out. Last night she came downstairs all teary-eyed and announced that we must return to Disney World.

"We have to go back to Disney World." Sob. Inhale. Sob. "It's when we got back from Disney that my brother started being mean to me and hitting me and not liking me anymore!" Wail. Inhale. Sob

We went to Disney World four years ago. He was two. She was five.

Little do they know that we have a trip to Disney World planned for Spring Break. It's going to be a surprise. (Shhh.) I can't wait for her theory to be tested.

Maybe returning to Disney will bring back my fantasy world. If not, at least we can live in Walt Disney's fantasy world for a while.

Delurking Day

With my husband fresh home and my head (and house) a complete and utter mess, this comes at the perfect time.

Word around the Internet is that this week is the annual National Blog Delurking Week!

Well, to be honest, until 2007 it was always National Blog Delurking Day, but like every good thing, we have to make it bigger and better. Or in this case, longer. It's the American Way.

Delurking Day is a day to go ahead and click on the comment link and say hello. Have you been reading Major Mom for a while but never commented before? That's okay. Here's your chance.

You don't have to sign up for Blogger to participate. Just hit Anonymous in the comments section. Then you can tell us who you are, or not. It's not important. As long as you feed my ego let us know you're reading.

This could be fun. Or it could be a crushing blow to my fragile ego. Don't leave me hanging, ladies. Spread the love.

Note: Click the word "Comments" right down there!

Home Again

My husband returned home from Iraq on Sunday afternoon. To say that it is nice to have him home is an understatement. After all, he lifts heavy things.

Unfortunately, his commercial flight home on Sunday morning was canceled due to maintenance issues. So we spent the very last day of this deployment trying to track him down and keep the kids entertained.

It's funny, because whenever anyone asked when he'd be home, I would always say something like, "Well, they say the sixth, but we'll see." Even right up to the last day when I knew he was actually on US soil I was still saying, "Well, we'll see if his flight takes off."

I guess I was annoying my friends but I've done this enough times to know that homecomings never go smoothly. You have to roll with the punches.

His squadron-mates were nice enough to roll with the punches too. There was a nice little contingent from his squadron (including wives) at the airport to greet him. That was so sweet. They even brought cookies!

He made it home and so far things are going quite well. After all, he took the kids to school and let me sleep in this morning. And he jump started my car. What more could I ask for?

Decorator's Taste

It's funny how even when your kids are driving you the most crazy, they can suddenly crack you up.

Just last night I'd had enough. Enough bickering. Enough complaining. Just...enough. In exasperation I told the kids, "Just go watch T.V."

Yup, my Mother of the Year award should arrive any day now.

So they went into the living room and hit the power button on the television. It came as no surprise to me that the T.V. turned on to HGTV, since that's about the only network I've been watching lately. What did surprise me is that the kids sat and happily watched it!

Apparently, House Hunter's is their new favorite show. And they sat and commented to each other about each potential property like an old married couple.

"Ooh, that one has the nicest backyard."

"Yes, but the bathroom is so small."

What? Huh? Since when do a six-year-old and an eight-year-old care about real estate?

This morning my son declared that Designer's Challenge is his favorite show. My husband will be so proud when he gets home.

Of course, my son forces me to watch hockey all day long too. That should make Daddy's heart burst out of his chest. And free me up for more HGTV.

On the Bright Side

My neck is starting to crick with all the naval gazing I've been doing. But with the time of year and the events that are unfolding in my life, I suppose it is only natural.

I'm also trying to be very self-aware as we embark on a new phase in our lives.

I was feeling very down about all of the things I haven't accomplished in the last six months or so. So, I broke out my journal and started making a list of all of the things I have accomplished. Since my journal is more a place to flesh out writing ideas than a record of my days, I had a lot of reading to do.

But my finished list made me feel a bit better. I may not have accomplished any of the things I had stated that I would, but I still did a lot.

From fulfilling my volunteer obligations at the kids' wonderful school to taking the kids on a summer vacation and everything in between, I really did manage to keep it together. And as my daughter pointed out recently, the kids never even missed a day of school.

Not bad for a perfectionist insomniac. Not bad for an overly-analytical creative-type. Not bad for a lonely stay-at-home mother.

Not bad for me.