Karen Fisher -- Major Mom

The Year of Red River Moms

2008-05-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Red River Moms was launched on Mother's Day, a year ago today. And what a year it has been.

I just happened to stumble upon a call for writers on the Shreveport Times site late last April. I hadn't been looking for a gig, but for some reason, that little announcement called out to me. I have been writing for businesses and for myself for years. So I gathered a small selection of my best mom-type writing and sent it along to the Times.

Major Mom was born.

And so now, a year later, as I prepare to pack up my life here on the Red River and move to the banks of the Chesapeake Bay, Major Mom has come to an end.

It is appropriate, I think.

I have had so much fun writing for Red River Moms. The amount of positive feedback I have received from readers, both friends and strangers alike, has been absolutely overwhelming. I was writing away thinking nobody was paying much attention and was quite surprised, and pleased, to be proved wrong.

I have so many people to thank. First and foremost is the original director of Red River Moms (and writer of Toddler Talk) who put her trust in me to write for her baby in the first place.

I also have to thank my best friend Patrick. I was by his hospital bed when I got the call that I would be writing this blog. He is the one who suggested the name Major Mom, and I can't thank him enough.

I'd also like to thank the Director of the Suzuki School, Laura Crawford who has been such a strong supporter of my writing form the beginning. The teachers and administrators at Southfield School have also given my blog way more attention that I deserve.

In fact, my supporters have been many and I don't think I could name them all. All of my friends have been amazing and have inflated my ego more than I ever deserved. I have a special shout out for my friends Lynn and Julie who have been my biggest commenters and fans.

The Times staff who have kept Red River Moms going so strongly this year should be commended. They've done a great job and have created a special online community.

I can't forget to thank my husband and kids for allowing me to write about them. My poor kids would probably be quite embarrassed if they ever stumbled upon these pages and read everything I've said about them. But I hope that they could see the love shining through my words too. I am beyond lucky to have my amazing little family. I love them so much.

I'd also like to thank my mom. Besides bringing me into this world and supporting me all these years, for the first time she was able to follow along in my writing. My mom has always been my biggest fan, no matter what I was doing. And thanks to her reading Major Mom now she knows that I don't like quilts.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. And happy Mother's Day to all of us.

I have been so busy preparing to leave that I haven't stopped to give much thought to how much I will miss the people who have become my family here. These last couple of days have been emotionally difficult. We're starting to say our goodbyes and my heart hurts so much.

And now I'm saying goodbye to Major Mom and I am more than a little sad.

But my adventures aren't over. If you'd like to keep up with me and my family you can find me at my personal blog The Continuing Adventures of Major Mom. (Click the title for the link.)

I couldn't bear to say goodbye, so I won't. I'll just say...see you around the Internet and thank you, Shreveport/Bossier! And happy first birthday, Red River Moms.

Air Show Attraction

2008-05-10T14:24:00.000-07:00

As of this week, my husband has been in the Air Force for thirteen years. Sometimes that sounds like forever, and sometimes it sounds like just a drop in the bucket. But Air Show weekend has arrived and it is making me feel quite old.

If you include the four years I worked on an Air Force base before I married a military man, that means I have been attending air shows for seventeen years. You can subtract out a year for the post-9/11 cancellation, but you can probably add back quite a bit of time for the year we lived right near the Blue Angels practice area in Pensacola. (And I mean right near. I used to have to rehang all my pictures every Tuesday morning after they practiced.)

Seventeen is a lot of Air Shows to see. I used to be very excited every year. There is just something about the roar of the jets that is exhilarating. But then I had kids, and I had things to do on Air Show weekend that didn't involve the Air Show and it just got to be...a pain.

We feel trapped in our home on Air Show weekend. The traffic on base is so bad and it is just hard to get anywhere. My family would like to take me out for breakfast on Mother's Day tomorrow, but it is just too hard to take a left-hand turn out of our street.

But still. I hear those jets zooming over my house and my heart races. That noise, that feel just induces feelings of patriotism. I love airplanes. I love our life. It all goes together.

So we'll spend the majority of tomorrow hanging out in the home I should be cleaning and packing. We'll probably walk over to the flight line at some point, if the weather is nice. We'll probably also complain a hundred times about the traffic and the congestion.

But it is worth it. For the people of Shreveport/Bossier to get excited about our military and the people who keep our military running, it is worth it. If other people can experience that feeling I do, I'll manage a weekend of inconvenience.

Things We'll Miss in SBC

2008-05-09T20:46:00.000-07:00

Alternately Titled: Things You Should Check Out in the SBC

As much as I will miss our friends when we move away in a couple of weeks (more on that later), it is starting to hit me just how many of the things we'll miss here too.

As I make a slew of appointments to wrap up our time here, I am struck by how many wonderful organizations and people we have been taking for granted.

1. CABOSA: The Caddo-Bossier Soccer Association is well run and well organized. My kids have both been playing soccer since they were four-years-old. Many of our happiest memories are from the soccer fields at Cargill Park.

2. The Duck Pond: Of all the great parks in the Shreveport/Bossier areas, the Duck Pond was always our favorite. It is just such a charming little place. And it's proximity to our favorite Shreveport library branch made it the perfect place to spend the days before my kids were old enough for school.

3. Mid City Pediatrics: Before my son was born, we took my daughter to the pediatric clinic on base, where she screamed and cried though every visit. But because of staffing shortages, Dr. Pace from Mid City Pediatrics took care of our son in the hospital when he was born. At the time, my daughter cried whenever an adult tried to talk to her. But Dr. Pace walked into our room, bent down to her level and talked to her without her shedding a tear. She actually conversed with him! And we were hooked. I'm afraid we won't find another pediatric practice like Mid City when we move. I can't say enough about them and how well they've helped me take care of my family.

4. Dr. Holly Cook: A friend of mine who was a dental hygienist before she had kids came up to a group of us at soccer practice one day and announced, "If you don't already have a pediatric dentist you like, I have one you have to try!" It was perfect timing for me because I had just decided to look for a new dentist for the kids. My friend was right. Dr. Cook was so thorough and so good with the kids. Her office is quaint and calm. My only regret is that we found her so late in our lives here in Shreveport.

5. Dr. Pete Nasser: After my son was born, I knew it was time to bite the bullet and finally get my teeth and jaw fixed. I was nervous about having a second round of braces as an adult, and I was anxious about having to have jaw surgery, but upon the recommendation of my dentist, I couldn't have chosen a better orthodontist. Not only were Dr. Nasser and his staff competent and kind, but they went above and beyond what I expected to coordinate with my dentist and surgeon (the excellent Dr. Brian Smith) through the extensive process of redesigning my face. My daughter is just about ready to get braces now and I am sad that she won't be seeing Dr. Nasser. My kids grew up in his office!

6. Target: Whenever anyone asks me where I bought something, my reply is always the same. "Target. That's where everything we own came from." I spend so much time at Target that I'm surprised they haven't started charging me rent. There is a small Target near our new house in Virginia, but the closest Super Target is over a hundred miles away! I am going to miss my home away from home on Youree Drive.

7. Centenary Suzuki School: We knew we wanted our children to study a musical instrument, but we hadn't given much thought to which ones when we were lucky enough to become aware of the Centenary Suzuki strings. Southfield School has a satellite of the Centenary program. When my daughter was just three-years-old and we attended our first Grandparents' Luncheon at Southfield, their Suzuki kids played as the entertainment. We thought they were awesome. After spending a lot of time researching the Suzuki method of teaching and Centenary's program, we knew we couldn't pass up all they had to offer. And so my kids are violinists. It hasn't always been easy as the program requires much dedication and discipline, but our Suzuki teachers have brought much joy to our lives. I will be so sorry to say goodbye to such a wonderful program.

8. Our Squadron: Before the kids went to school, I was always very involved in life on base. I was active in our squadrons and volunteered to help around base in the small ways that I could. In the last couple of years, my husband has been in the best squadron of our lives. I regret that my schedule kept me from being more involved. I hope that my husband's next unit will be as welcoming and active as his current squadron.

9. Our Neighborhood: As much as we are looking forward to owning our own home, I know I will miss many of the benefits that come with living on base. We have had the most wonderful neighbors over the years. Those neighbors helped me through so many deployments. I have also grown used to having all of the base's amenities just a few moments away. If you are a military family who isn't sure if you want to try living on base, I think you should check it out. Not only were we able to save a great deal of money, our community has helped shape who we are. Our kids could not have grown up in a safer place.

10. Southfield School: I will miss Southfield School most of all. The Southfield family has become our family. There are no words to describe what our school has given to my family. This very blog is full of my Southfield stories. There are plenty of fine schools in the Shreveport/Bossier area, but I urge everyone to visit Southfield and check it out for yourself. The feeling that permeates the campus is not something you can read in a brochure. It is an especially wonderful place for military families especially since the Southfield community has shown its commitment to bringing military families into the fold with its military endowment.

I think we'll miss the Shreveport area more than we even realized. As I sit here writing, the number of wonderful places we're leaving behind is overwhelming. From Sutton Children's Hospital to The Boardwalk, the SBC is growing and maturing more and more every year.

We've never gone back and visited a place we've moved away from before. That will have to change now. We'll miss Shreveport, but we will be back.

My Daughter Speaks Again

2008-05-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

My daughter really enjoyed her day as headmistress at school. She asked if her new school would have such a thing. I know they do, but I also know that the items at their auction go for way more than we could ever afford. So I asked her, "Why?"

"Well, because I was thinking," she told me. "If I ever get to do that again, I am going to proclaim anything but no homework."

I started to smile as I asked her, "How come?"

"Because we just ended up with more homework the rest of the week. It wasn't like the homework for that night just went away."

Aha! I think someone learned a little life lesson there. I guess that makes her day priceless.

Headmistress for a Day

2008-05-05T11:47:00.000-07:00

Can you imagine, for a moment, what your kids would do if they could run their school for a day?

Today, I got to find out.

At our school's auction in March, my husband placed the winning bid on Headmaster for a Day for our daughter. I may have guilted him into it just a little by saying, "Aw, come on. Wouldn't that be a great way for her to end her time at Southfield?" But he's the one who raised his paddle.

Today was the day she got to be Headmistress for a Day.

She got to lead the school in the Pledge of Allegiance at flag ceremony this morning. She also got to make proclamations (with guidance for the administration of course). She proclaimed that there would be no homework for the third grade. And she proclaimed that the whole school could have extra recess.

I'm sure she's quite popular among her classmates now.

She also asked if her little brother could be included somehow. So he got to be the Associate Headmaster for the day. I let him wear his little tie and he was pretty cute. He was so eager to get to the microphone and sing God Bless America. I was very proud that my daughter would want to include her brother and share the limelight that way.

Toward the end of the flag ceremony, our wonderful art teacher stepped forward to announce the winners from Art Break. My son crossed his fingers and chanted his sister's name in a quiet whisper. "I hope she wins," he said. "I hope she wins."

How sweet is that?

As it turned out, it was his name that was announced. He won a little Showcase Award. I was so proud of him. We think of him as our little math wizard but he really loves fine arts too.

I can't wait to go pick them up today and see how the rest of their day went. I'm also really looking forward to a homework free evening. But I didn't push her to make that proclamation at all.

I swear.

We are going to miss Southfield School so much. I don't know how I kept from sobbing this morning.

Hurrah for Technology

2008-05-02T05:04:00.000-07:00

I feel like doing a little dance this morning. I finally, finally have Internet access.

Our little network of home computers has been acting up all week. I haven't been able to get online for more than a moment or two before things grind to a screeching halt. I haven't even been able to write in Word without things freezing up.

Of course, my husband hasn't had any trouble with it.

It's funny how I've been thinking to myself, I miss writing everyday! Like I've never heard of pen and paper. It's also funny how much the writing process, or at least my writing process, has changed over the years. There is no blank page anymore. Just a blank screen.

It's too bad I never learned to type. My handwriting is horrendous and illegible too. So, of course I became a writer.

I suppose if my computer acts up again, I can always try dictating to my husband. Maybe if I stand far enough away, the computer won't sense my presence and it won't crash.

If you notice a lot of misspelling in my future, you'll know why.

My Daughter Speaks

2008-04-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

Last night at my son's t-ball game, it started to rain just a bit.

My daughter kept asking if she could go to the car and look for an umbrella. In exasperation I finally told her, "You're not going to melt. You're not made of sugar!"

To which she responded, "If I were any sweeter I would be."

I can only shake my head.

Of the Devil, I Swear

2008-04-24T08:23:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I did something we swore we'd never do.

We bought the kids Nintendo DS games.

I don't remember which one of us came up with the idea, but for the sake of argument let's say it was my husband. (I will when I complain about it for the next few years.) He said, "They're good kids. We have so much traveling to do. They need something to keep them busy while we're house hunting."

All those things might be true, but I think we were more enticed by all the really quiet children playing handheld video games at the Orlando airport. The terminal was filled with kids and every one of them from about four-years-old on up was playing a Nintendo or PSP. The silence was eerie, but...peaceful.

So we were a video-game-free family for more than eight years. But now we've gone over to the dark side.

At first, the games didn't bring us much peace anyway because the kids were constantly asking for help. Since I've been video-game-free since the days of Pac Man, I wasn't much help. But once they got the hang of things, well, it really was nice for them to have something to do while we were meeting with Realtors and Lawyers.

But it was during our long layover in Dallas on our way home last week that I snapped.

Oh, wait. Did I not mention that when my husband went out to buy the two Nintendo DS games, he also bought himself a PSP? Yeah. He did.

I spent almost seven hours in the Dallas airport staring at the top of the three heads I love most in the world. They were gone. Lost in their own little worlds. Aliens might as well have sucked out their brains.

I decided right then and there that the Nintendo games would go away when we got home. They will be for plane rides only.

It's funny though. The games have been sitting on a table by the front door since we got home and the kids haven't touched them once. My husband is another story.

I may not be able to put down my foot and take his PSP away from him like I can with the kids. But I can nag him to death about how much I hate it.

Too bad his brain was sucked out and he's not listening to me anyway.

Signage

2008-04-22T18:34:00.000-07:00

I got my sunglasses caught in my hair today and pulled out a little chunk of about 8 or 9 hairs.

And half of them were gray.

When the heck did that happen?

I'm not going to see it as a sign of getting old but as a sign that I need to de-stress. It's not the only sign I've received lately.

Yesterday I reached into the bathroom cabinet and an avalanche of unused products fell out. But it was the Eye Stress Gel that hit me right between the eyes.

Message received. I look tired and old. I feel tired and old. I'm going to bed early tonight.

The packing can wait.

Things Decided

2008-04-21T08:23:00.000-07:00

I feel like a completely different person now.

I hadn't even realized it, but for years the questions of what school we'd send the kids to next and what kind of house we'd be able to afford when we move have been on my mind. I guess it's just part of being a military wife. You always know you'll move eventually. And you always wonder what your new life will be like.

But for the next chunk of my life, those questions have been answered. Even if the answers aren't perfect, it feels so good to know.

I have a little game I play with the kids whenever they need a distraction. (Distraction techniques are probably 85% of good parenting.) I ask them what their most favorite things were about that day, event or trip.

On our way home from our house hunting/school finding trip my son's favorite thing was spending the day at his new school. My daughter's favorite thing was finding the "perfect" house.

That's a pretty good summary of our trip to Virginia.

First of all, we visited two schools. The kids took tests and had tours of each school and they spent the day at one. It's funny because the school I had an ehh feeling about the last time we visited ended up being the school I had the best feeling about this time around. Considering that it has a 25% acceptance rate, I just felt like it was kind of weird that they seemed so eager to have us.

They are lacking in a couple of programs that we're used to, like violin lessons, class musicals, and computer lab time for first graders. But when it comes right down to it, I think the kids' personalities fit better there. In fact, it just feels like we're a perfect fit. Maybe the reason they are so eager to have us is because they can sense it too.

All three of the schools we visited in the last few months have been great. But we decided to choose the second school we visited. In the end, it turned out that it was the only school that had room for both kids, so maybe it was just meant to be.

I cannot even explain how relieved and happy I am.

Now we just need to come up with the down payment. The tuition numbers make me feel a little queasy. But it's worth it.

Speaking of money, our mortgage numbers are making me a little queasy too.

We looked at almost thirty houses in two days. Thirty! That's insane. Unfortunately, at least five of them got sold right out from under us. We've been looking at these same houses sitting on the market for months, and once we get out there to start looking, they start selling like hotcakes. It was a bit frustrating.

In the end, of the thirty houses we saw (that weren't sold) only one really fit our needs. It was a house that I've had my eye on for months, based mostly on its location and the huge backyard. If all goes well with the VA appraisal, it will be ours on May 15.

It's funny because whenever I talked to locals about where we should live or go to school, they kept explaining to me the different cultures of Norfolk versus Virginia Beach. It seemed strange to me that two towns so close to each other could be so different. But they were right. The problem was I wasn't really sure if we were Norfolk-type people, or Virginia Beach-type people.

Now I know. We're beach people. Through and through.

Like the kids, I have a favorite moment from our trip too. On our last day there, we went to the school to buy the kids' summer workbooks. While we were in the bookstore, two little girls came rushing in with their arms open to hug my daughter.

"I'm going here!" she told them. And they hugged harder. The smile I saw on my daughter's face as she spotted her new friends...it's going to stay with me for a long time.

Hung Up and Headed Out

2008-04-09T20:55:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, my parents made me go to school every single day. Unless I was throwing up (which I never did) I had to go to school. For years, I had perfect attendance.

I think responsibility is a very important concept to teach. And I thank my parents for helping to mold me into the extremely responsible person I am today. But my strict upbringing did have one drawback.

I developed a weird hang-up about missing things. I hate to miss things. I never skipped a class in college or called in sick a day to work. I just can't stand the thought of my world going on without me.

This next week or so, the kids and I will be missing a lot. A lot! Our world will be rolling right along without us. I have to admit, it has me all tied up in knots.

My husband finally has his official orders. He has to be ready to work in Virginia in June, which means that we need to go house hunting soon. Now, actually. Plus, the kids are going to go spend a day at each of the schools we are still considering.

It is an important reason to miss school and it just can't be helped. But I can't help thinking about the three softball games, t-ball game, play auditions, soccer games, birthday parties, class work and homework we'll be missing! Ack!

But we're flying out bright and early tomorrow morning for a week of checking out what will soon be our new home. I'm unbelievably excited. But until I'm on that plane, my hang-up about missing things is going to have me tied in knots.

Sometimes, it's a wonder my husband can put up with me at all.

Little Boy Kryptonite

2008-04-08T20:45:00.001-07:00

I have discovered little boy Kryptonite. I have discovered the one thing that can stop any little boy no matter what his path. I have discovered... (drum roll, please)

Mommy tears.

To say that we've been having a difficult time with my son lately is a bit of an understatement. We're trying to take care of a little routine medical problem, but it is affecting his sleep. And Major Boy needs his sleep!

Lately I have been finding him asleep in the oddest places. I'll leave him alone for just a moment and he'll fall asleep eating dinner. (Buffy the Wonder Puppy finished that up for him.) I'll turn around for just a second and he'll fall asleep on the playroom floor amidst all of his Lego’s. This afternoon he fell asleep during a concert!

The boy is tired. This is a kid who normally sleeps eleven hours straight every night. This fatigue is killing him.

In his very worst moments, he can be obstinate and stubborn anyway. He's going through a phase where he can't seem to see any one's needs beyond his own. He's prideful and he enjoys arguing. Add exhaustion to that mix and we are at wit's end.

We had such a wonderful time at Disney World, but we did have one bad episode. While we were waiting for a parade to start in the Magic Kingdom, he hit his limit. He cried and wailed, but we were saving seats for my daughter and husband and I didn't feel like we could leave. When my husband got back and he didn't desist, Daddy took matters into his own hands. He scooped him up and left for the hotel.

I have to admit, I cried. Here we were, in the happiest place on Earth, and I just had my husband and son storm off and leave us behind.

This afternoon after a particularly difficult "I don't wanna leave!" moment at the mall, my husband was so angry it broke my heart. I sent my son off to bed and gave him a bit to cool down. Then I went upstairs to have a talk.

I swear I didn't mean to, but once I said to him, "Remember when you cried and cried at the parade and Daddy took you back to the hotel?" I started to tear up again. As I explained to him how sad those moments made me, he teared up too.

I have never been one to manipulate my children emotionally. But in trying to explain to him how Mommy and Daddy respond to things differently, we both succumbed to real emotion.

When I started to tell him how much we love him and how I know that he is a very special little boy I really started to cry. This kid can just kill me.

I could see it in his eyes. Something clicked for him tonight. For the first time ever, I think he really realized what it meant to be sorry.

At least I hoped it clicked. My heart just can't take any more of these episodes. Especially when they flare up in the midst of so much joy and love. Only time will tell if this Little Boy Kryptonite made any difference at all.

For Our Musicians

2008-04-05T17:11:00.000-07:00

Music brings many beautiful and wonderful things into our lives. It has been true since the beginning of time. The people who create music are a truly special breed, particularly those who spend years and years studying a craft and even passing the skills and love of that craft onto children.

Personally, music doesn't just touch our family's life. It is a foundation, a root, a core of the way we live. Since they were babies, we have done our best to expose and teach our children about music and I truly believe that my kids' intelligence, love of math and exceptional creativity are a direct result of our efforts.

Furthermore, musicians have made an indelible impact on our family, particularly musicians from the Shreveport Symphony Orchestra and the Centenary Suzuki School.

Violin lessons aren't just one more of the many activities we pursue. Our study of violin is an inherit part of the value-based way we have planned to raise our children. Their Suzuki teachers haven't just taught them the difference between a sharp and a flat. They have taught them about discipline, joy, commitment and even love.

One of my proudest moments as a parent was at an orientation for parents new to the Suzuki program. The director Laura Crawford asked each of my children to play a solo, just as an example of what can be expected of a young Suzuki student.

Before my son began to play, Ms. Crawford stood before the group and said, “For those of you who wonder what a little boy can really do in violin, this is it.”

My kids don't just enjoy playing violin at home. They revel in the chance to get up on stage and play in front of adults and peers. As a parent it is absolutely amazing to sit back and watch your children shine with such self-confidence.

That is a gift from their teachers. It is a gift that will serve my children well as we move across the country and find roots in a new hometown.

Most of the Centenary Suzuki School teachers are also musicians with the Shreveport Symphony Orchestra. I was so distressed to hear about the drastic pay cut for the symphony players that has been in the news. I believe that it is a proposed 75% pay cut!

I would hate to see Shreveport lose its wonderful symphony, but I can't imagine why a musician would stay here to play when they can move on to a place where they can afford to live on their salary. Not only would Shreveport lose a talented group of artists, it would lose a part of it's culture. Great cities don't stay great when the artists start to flee for better prospects.

But even more, I would hate to see our children lose such a valuable resource. Symphony musicians and Suzuki teachers have been part of the village to raise our children. Words like beautiful and wonderful can't even begin to describe the contributions they have made to our children's lives.

Report Card Day

2008-04-04T13:47:00.000-07:00

Wednesday was report card day for my kids. And today were parent-teacher conferences for us.

When I was in Elementary school, I remember report card days as some of the best days of the year. I always got all A's (maybe due more to the mediocre school system I attended than any diligence on my part) and I was always rewarded. Five bucks from grandma. A trip to grandma's to pick up my five bucks from my parents. I was always excited to get my report card and never anxious. At least not until high school geometry came along.

But I always get a little anxious when my kids get their report cards. There is always something. They're great kids with great spirits. They are both bright and engaging, but they aren't perfect. And to me these report card/evaluation times always feel like a time to highlight our faults as parents. Or to be more honest, they highlight to me my faults as a mother.

That's not to say that my kids' teachers make me feel this way. The exact opposite is true. My self doubt is all self imposed. I know it. I can say it over and over again. I never claim my kids' successes as my own. So why do I claim their failures?

Perhaps I am especially sensitive right now. Because we are applying to private schools in a new part of the country, my children have been objectively and subjectively evaluated more closely than ever.

Reading or hearing about the wonderful recommendations my kids' teachers sent the new school is heartwarming. Having some admissions director I've barely met tell me that my son is hard to understand and my daughter is mediocre at math stings more than a little. This whole process is gut wrenching.

But these evaluations at report card time always yield a few surprising gems. Amazingly, my daughter doesn't appear to be immature anymore. She no longer cries at the drop of a hat. And my son? Apparently, he is quite the singer. I seriously had no idea. Sure I've heard him sing here and there, but I had no idea that he has a "lovely" voice. Don't all six-year-olds sound the same?

One of the challenges of being a military family is moving the children from one school system to another. It feels like they need to prove themselves all over again. But moving can be an opportunity too. We're all starting fresh, the kids included.

Who knows what the next year of report cards will bring.

Our Week of Dreams

2008-04-02T13:37:00.000-07:00

Well, my husband gave away the Disney World surprise when we were in the security line at the airport. As he was getting situated, he handed my daughter the boarding passes to hold.

Um, Honey? She can read, you know.

As soon as she saw the word Orlando, she knew where we were headed. "We're going to Disney World!" My son somehow managed not to hear her. But when she kept repeating that she knew where we were going, we finally told him.

"Oh, yay," he said. I somehow hoped for a bigger, "Yay!" after the money we spent.

But our trip could not have gone better. The weather was perfect. We only had a couple of glitches in our planning. And we were able to rest a little everyday between riding attractions and seeing big firework shows.

For the first time in a long time, I was actually sad to see a vacation end. Of course, I had to come home to mortgage applications, packing and dealing with leaving our Shreveport/Bossier lives behind. That may have something to do with it.

Now I'm feeling the time crunch. We'll depart from here as soon as school is over for the year. There is a big part of me that would love to escape back to Never Never Land. Being a grown up is hard work.

Off to Never Never Land

2008-03-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

We're surprising the kids tomorrow with a trip to Disney World. It will be a miracle if I don't blow the surprise before then.

I've had to bite my tongue at least a dozen times in the last few days. If it were up to me, I would have told them weeks ago. But my husband really wants to surprise them.

All I can think about is how I still haven't put the pictures from our last trip to Disney in an album.

I'll be off for a week taking more pictures. I hope everyone has a lovely Easter.

Tales from the Diamond

2008-03-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

I can still remember the day in fourth grade when the principle announced over the school intercom that it was time to register for softball. Back in the dark ages when I grew up, you couldn't start playing league sports in town until fourth grade. I had been waiting for years.

I went home and begged my parents to let me sign up. They agreed and that was the start of my passionate love of softball.

There is something about softball that is just Zen to me. The field, the bases, the dirt and the grass. The smell of leather and the fwap sound of the ball hitting your glove. I love how the game is all in your hands when the ball is hit to you or when you are up at bat. But it still takes a team to succeed. No other sport is quite like that. It's all so beautiful.

I never gave it much thought back then, but I guess I was pretty lucky to be playing ball at all. When I was three-years-old I was diagnosed with Legg Calves Perthes disease (LCPD). This is a pretty rare disease that literally makes the ball and socket joint in your hip disappear.

Back in the late seventies, doctors still didn't know much about LCPD. I spent the better part of a year in traction and a couple of years in a leg brace. Back then a long term prognosis was unclear. At the very best, I was told that I may be out of the brace some day, but that I would have debilitating arthritis by my twenties and most likely need a hip replacement by thirty.

Yet I played basketball and softball all though high school and college. In fact, I played softball right up until I was pregnant with my son. The very last softball game I played I was pregnant with him. I hit two home runs in that game.

My father said to me just a couple of years ago that all while he watched me play in college, he was just amazed that I was there. "No matter how you play it just doesn't matter," he said. "There was a time we didn't think you would walk, never mind play college ball.

I was very lucky.

Of course now they know that when LCPD is diagnosed before age six, the prognosis can be quite good. My parents also took an alternate route to my treatment. They used new braces and let me swim and exercise as much as I wanted. It worked better than bed rest and I'm glad my parents made the decisions they did.

Now I'm the parent.

They do think that LCPD may be hereditary, so I was a little worried that my kids would also be diagnosed with it. I didn't think about it too much, but I did always keep my eye out for symptoms. Luckily, it seems like they are both fine.

And it is my daughter's turn to play softball.

At the end of last season, she begged me to coach this year. Last May when it was such a far off thing, I agreed. But when the time came to register the team this year, I got a little nervous. It's not that I didn't want to coach. I've coached with an inner-city program, I was a private pitching coach and I have coached a high school team. But seven and eight year-year-old girls can be scary.

By our first practice, I had practically made myself sick with worry. My friends scoff at me, but I really don't think I'm very good with kids. I was worried that the parents would think I was having too many practices or not enough practices. It's hard...no...impossible to make everyone happy.

We're two weeks into practice and I'm feeling much better now. I still get tense before practice and I still spend quite a bit of time planning drills and lessons. But the girls seem to be having fun.

I have to remind myself of how I felt back in fourth grade. For all I know, one of the girls on my team is right now developing the kind of love of the game that I have in my heart. If I can teach her the very best basic fundamentals, she will have an excellent foundation to take her game wherever she wants to go. It is the best gift I have to give.

And I have to remind myself that I am lucky to be out on the field at all, walking through the drills, teaching them how to run a base. I'll be thirty-five soon, with no hip replacement in sight.

I am so thankful for a chance to pass on my love of softball to a new generation of young girls. Even if they never play another season, I hope I can help them grow just a little bit in confidence and have more than a little bit of fun.

Success can be measured in so many different ways. To me, success on the field is success in my heart. The softball diamond is home to me.

Auctions & Alibis

2008-03-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, my husband and I went to our school's annual auction. As always, it was a blast. But I learned something this year that I didn't know in years past.

My husband is very suggestible when he has been drinking. He isn't normally a very big party-type person. At least not around me and our friends. Some of his Air Force buddies may be guffawing at that right now, for all I know. But generally, he's a low key kind of guy.

It's not like he got very drunk. He was just...looser...than normal. And he smiled more. And he spent a lot more money!

Last year we spent a total of $75 on auction items. The year before, we didn't spend a single dime. This year we were making up for lost time and spent...well...I don't want to tell you how much we spent. But it was a lot. When at the end of the night the cashier says, "I see you're going out with a bang," you know you've spent more than expected.

I thought my husband might feel bad about it in the morning, but he doesn't have any regrets. As he says, it is for a good cause, and a cause that means a great deal to us, Southfield School. And we'll have a market umbrella designed by my daughter's third grade class to take with us when we move. She'll always be able to remember her friends though their artwork.

She'll also get to act as headmaster for a day. I have to admit that I guilted my husband into that one. "Aw, come on. She's leaving. What a way to go out," I cajoled. His hand shot up with our bidder number before I finished the sentence.

Our family will also have a private party at the Southfield gymnasium with snacks provided by Wilmore Snack Sales. And I got a very pretty necklace donated by my friend, Julie.

Speaking of my friend, Julie chaired the auction this year and did an amazing job. The theme was fun and everything went off without a hitch. Now that the auction is over, you might see her around the forums here again. Tell MsHokie congratulations on a job well done.

And if we have to eat Ramen noodles for a few months and make our own clothes next year, it was worth it. You should always go out with a bang.

Smiling Through it All

2008-03-12T20:27:00.000-07:00

My son really is amazing sometimes.

For months my son has needed to see a specialist and we finally got him into an appointment yesterday. Not to worry though. He is just suffering a little bit more than normal from a common childhood problem.

So, yesterday my husband and I took him straight to the doctor after his violin lesson. My husband and I were both a little nervous but my son was as happy as can be. He was just so happy to be alone in our presence that he skipped and chattered like going to see a new doctor was just no big deal.

He waited patiently while I struggled though an insurance issue that was due to my own misunderstanding. When we finally got it cleared up we went in to see a nurse and two different doctors.

My son is so friendly and easy-going that he actually seemed to enjoy his office visit. Both doctors had excellent bedside manners. And we walked away with prescriptions for medication and directions for treatment that should help him.

Now we just have to teach him to swallow a pill. But so far, he is taking that in stride too.

This has been an incredibly bad week for me, filled with bad news about our impending move and schools. Seeing my little boy so happy in the face of something that could be intimidating lifted my spirits tremendously.

There is no better feeling in the world than when your kids can make you smile just by being themselves.

An Evening at The Strand

2008-03-11T08:48:00.000-07:00

On Sunday evening, my husband and I went on an actual date. We went to see The Producers at The Strand and it was excellent.

I love The Strand. I love old, restored theaters. They are so beautiful, glamorous and romantic. They remind me of our courting days when my someday-husband and I attended the theater in Boston as often as possible.

But sometimes when I see a play, I get distracted by the actors. I tend to daydream and think about what it must be like to live an actor's life. I have many friends who were actors and I know that the backstage drama of a touring group can be more engaging than the drama on stage. So I sit and wonder who is dating whom and who is fighting with whom. And suddenly it is intermission.

But I didn't think about the actors' personal lives at all while watching The Producers. That's the sign of a good show to me.

My husband enjoyed the show too. It made him nostalgic for the days when he worked in a playhouse. It's hard to imagine my warrior husband working in the theater, but he loved it. Now he's dreaming of retiring and working in a theater again. I suppose it makes sense since we're raising a little drama queen.

I'm sure they'll be plenty of former military men working in the theater. Isn't it every aviator's dream to retire into a life of drama?

Space Cadet Mom

2008-03-09T16:54:00.000-07:00

With everything I've had on my mind these last few weeks, I've been a bit scatterbrained lately.

Okay, that may be a bit of an understatement. To tell the truth, I've been a complete space cadet these past few weeks.

Mostly I've been overlooking the small things. I forgot to take the dog to the groomers last week. I keep forgetting to make certain phone calls.

But last weekend when my husband met me at the YMCA for my daughter's last basketball game, I graduated to a space lieutenant when he pointed out to me that I had parked my car the wrong way on a one way street.

Well, my normal spot was full. I saw an empty spot and I went for it. Traffic laws be darned.

My promotion to space captain may be in the works, however. At my daughter's violin lesson on Friday, I noticed I was wearing two different shoes.

And it wasn't like they were slightly different shoes that were easily confused. Oh, no. They weren't even the same color. And I had been wearing them all afternoon!

My daughter was quite embarrassed. She practically rolled her eyes and said, "And you always say I'm unorganized!"

I don't know when I went from being the daughter who rolled her eyes at her mother to the mother who has eyes rolled at her, but it has happened.

My Magnetic Personality

2008-03-07T23:45:00.000-08:00

My husband says that I have some kind of magnetic force around me. No, it doesn't draw people into my sphere of influence. It just messes with everything electronic in my world.

This past week, my phone stopped working, my printer broke, my Bluetooth was touchy and my Internet access went completely wonky.

I swear I'm not doing anything to break my expensive gadgets. It just happens! One second all is normal and then, bam. Broken.

Maybe I do have some weird magnetic pull. I have a lot of metal in my face from my jaw surgery. Maybe it really is messing with electronic components.

Maybe I should stay off airplanes!

Or maybe I just have horrible luck.

My husband fixed our Internet tonight by replacing the splitter box. Since I didn't even know we had a splitter box, I don't think I should be held responsible for breaking it. I don't even know what a splitter box looks like.

But I do have about 100 e-mails waiting for replies from me. I think I'll get right to them, before my magnetic personality kicks in again.

Ready for Hockey

2008-03-04T22:44:00.001-08:00

After waiting for six years and a couple of months, my son finally lost his first tooth!

I noticed that he kept touching his teeth last week and asked him if something was loose. He was wiggling one of his bottom, front teeth.

"Go show Daddy!" I encouraged him.

He ran to my husband all proud of himself. "Do you want me to pull it out?" my husband asked him. "I bet I can get it out right now."

"No!" he exclaimed and ran back to me.

Do all men say those kinds of things to their kids, or is it only mine?

After that, the questions started. "What if my tooth never comes out?" "What if my adult tooth doesn't grow in?" "What if Daddy really rips it out with a pair of pliers?"

I reassured him that it would all be fine and I reminded him that he might stand to gain some cash. Suddenly he was all about getting that tooth out.

Near the end of his soccer game on Saturday he was making his way to the sidelines when he stopped and started rooting around in the grass on the field.

"What are you doing?" I called.

He picked something up off the ground, raised his hand in triumph and yelled, "I lost my tooth!"

It's one of those parenting moments that can go either way. He could either celebrate or he could notice the blood and start to cry. So we yelled out, "Woo hoo!" and raised our hands in triumph too.

He handed the tooth to my husband, sat with his teammates and immediately immersed himself in the game. What's a lost tooth when there is a game to be played?

Now he's telling everyone that he lost his tooth in his soccer game. It makes him sound kind of tough.

I think he's ready to play hockey.

Off the Record

2008-03-02T17:27:00.000-08:00

There's a reason I've been bogged down with a bit of writer's block lately. People keep forbidding me to write!

One of my favorite authors is David Sedaris. He writes with outstanding wit and humor about his life and the people in it. His stories about his parents and siblings are hilarious. But in his recent Live at Carnegie Hall audio book, he laments the fact that his family has started going off the record. They're sick of being the butt of his jokes.

Mr. Sedaris may be in an entirely different league than me, a league I can only dream of, but I understand how he feels.

My husband has started saying, "Oh, great, you're going to write about me, aren't you?" whenever he does something blog-worthy. Then I feel bad writing about him. That's not fair. I have to get my material from somewhere!

My friends have started saying, "Oh! I better not end up on your blog!" whenever they do something funny or interesting. Do they think I can come up with all of this stuff on my own?

Just this weekend, an opposing soccer coach at our son's game saw me sitting on the sidelines and yelled over, "Hey, you. You better not write about this!" (Hi, C!) What am I suppose to write if I can't make fun of people I know?

But my kids have pulled the last straw. They used to feel proud that their mom was writing about them. "I'm in a magazine," my son tells everyone. But the more people talk about what I've written, the more my kids have started to worry.

My daughter asked, "You're not writing anything embarrassing about me, are you Mom?" and I told her "no" with a straight face.

I may have to block RedRiverMoms on her computer.

If my kids ever learn the phrase off the record, I'm going to be in big trouble.

Le Troisième Petit Cochon

2008-02-27T17:30:00.000-08:00

Today my husband and I went to the kids' school to see my daughter perform in her Third Grade French play. They presented Les Trois Petits Cochons, the story of the three little pigs and the big bad wolf all in French. She was le troisième petit cochon, the little pig who builds the brick house, except her version was also a rockin' singer.

Sometimes I am so amazed by what my kids can do. Even after five years of high school and college French, my diction wasn't nearly as good as a class full of eight and nine-year-olds.

Today was an excellent example of two of the many things I love about Southfield School. One is the amount of performing each kid gets to do. For a school that isn't a performing arts magnet, they do an amazing job of including every child in a wonderful variety of programs, plays and presentations.

The other thing I love is the opportunity the kids get to pursue enrichment activities like French, art, computer, and music. My kids can converse in French. It's how they talk to each other when they don't want me to understand!

I think both of my kids have a deep sense of confidence and self-worth because of both of those opportunities. They have no problem speaking with adults or in front of groups and they have plenty of interesting things to talk about. I know this will serve them well as we interview at other schools when we move.

And I am so tremendously thankful. I feel like my children have a solid brick foundation that no big, bad wolf could ever blow down. No matter how hard he huffed and puffed.

Running with Bacon

2008-02-25T14:07:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wanted to trip a runner?

I have. I do every time I see one. They think they're so awesome in their tight little pants.

Sometimes I go to races just to fantasize about tripping them all on their way to their post-race brunches.

On Saturdays, we go to the downtown YMCA for my daughter's basketball games. This week a whole group of runners was chatting by the door after their run.

They all had tight little pants.

I was quietly working hard at suppressing my urge to trip them all when one announced, "Come on, you guys. Bacon's waiting."

If only my eyes shot laser beams.

After we entered the Y, I turned to my husband and said, "Did you hear that? He said bacon! I hate them."

"You don't really hate them," he replied. "You just want to be them."

I think he's wrong. I think he just underestimates my love of bacon.

Tailgating and Hockey Games

2008-02-24T20:46:00.000-08:00

For the first time ever in my whole life, I went tailgating this weekend.

It was...fun. I guess. I don't know. I'm just not an eat-food-outside kind of girl. I'm more of a tuxedoed-waiters-and expensive-cuisine kind of girl on a tailgating budget.

But we went tailgated with my husband's squadron before the Mudbugs game and it was a good time. We are not hard core tailgaters though. Instead of my husband's pick-up, we brought my new Mazda CX-9. We set the DVD player up and let the kids watch Air Buddies. If I was a Girl Scout, I wouldn't' have earned my Tailgating Badge.

We are hockey people though. My husband and I grew up playing hockey. I even remember going ice skating in P.E. class in elementary school. One of the things we hope our new town will have when we move is a very good youth hockey program.

Recently my son has really gotten into hockey. He wants to watch games on television every night. And of course we have DirecTV Center Ice so we get every NHL game televised. We even TiVo every Bruins game. So the kids were very excited about going to the game.

Despite having to go to the bathroom three times, my son loved the game, especially since the Bugs won 3-0. And my daughter loved the game to. "Except for all the fighting!" she exclaimed. She just can't understand why the players need to beat each other up.

The only answer I have for her is, 'Testosterone." She'll understand some day.

When it comes right down to it, I think the thing the kids love most about going to the Mudbugs game is the food. Somehow...I don't know how...but somehow this is the first hockey game that my son has puked after.

I guess I'm not the only spoiled one in this family.

Grace

2008-02-20T09:28:00.000-08:00

My daughter's middle name is Grace.

Shhh, don't tell my husband, but I got that name from a Natalie Merchant song that I loved in college. He thinks we named her after his mother.

I loved to listen to the song Wonder on the little radio in my college dorm room.

I believe
Fate smiled and destiny
Laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
Laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
With love, with patience
And with grace
She'll make her way"

Aren't those great lyrics?

Except years later when my daughter was in Kindergarten I finally got an iPod. I legally downloaded Wonder and couldn't wait to listen to it. But in all its digital glory, I noticed something.

Laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
With love, with patience
And with faith
She'll make her way"

I hit the back button over and over. "Did she just sing 'faith'?" I asked myself aloud.

With love, with patience
And with faith
She'll make her way"

Yup, she did. A Google search proved it. My daughter is misnamed! All because I grew up before the digital age!

Mom First

2008-02-19T08:16:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine just became an uncle to two tiny, twin baby girls. Seeing the pictures of the sweet babies in their incubators at the NICU has brought back memories for me of when my twin nephews were born.

Almost eight years later the details have become fuzzy. I think they were born at 32 weeks, but maybe it was 34. But what I remember most about visiting them in the NICU is a feeling of being very fortunate.

My daughter was eight months old at the time. She had been a bit premature herself, born at 36 weeks. But she never went to the NICU. She never had tubes coming out of her face or needles in her tiny head. She weighed six pounds and three ounces when she was born. She had her struggles with jaundice and feeding, but by her two week checkup she was fine.

Compared to the twins, she looked so huge!

We were very lucky.

Because my brother is four years older than me, I guess I always thought I'd be an aunt before I was a mom. But I ended up getting married first and it all just worked out that way. In fact, my parents were visiting my newborn when we all found out that my brother and his wife were pregnant.

I have lots of friends who just love being aunts and uncles. But it wasn't that way for me. I was a mom first, and my nephews (I have three now) and my kids are close in age. I can never be the spoiler; I have to be the mom first. Plus, I live far away. One of the twins is my godson, but I've never felt like I can treat him special because their mother is very invested in keeping things even for the twins.

The twins turn eight next month and it is hard to believe that they were ever teeny, tiny, little humans in incubators. If I could give my new uncle friend any advice it would be this.

Savor every second. They grow up quickly. Soon the tubes will be gone and the constant worry about their weight will be a thing of the past. Help your sister as much as you can. She'll need it. And never, ever let those kids forget that you're their uncle.

Role Models? Us?

2008-02-15T11:41:00.001-08:00

I friend of mine is getting married back in Boston, but she is having her big, blow-out bachelorette party in New York City this weekend. Unfortunately, she just told me about it two days ago.

I said to my husband, "Danielle is having her bachelorette party at a karaoke bar in New York City and she invited me. I've never been to a bachelorette party before."

"When is it?" he asked me.

"This weekend," I replied.

"Well, you know what," he said. "You're still never going to have been to a bachelorette party."

Shoot, I think I almost had him convinced to send me. If only I'd had more notice.

I wrote my friend back and told her that I wouldn't be able to come, but I thanked her for the invite and told her to have fun. She sent me back an e-mail in reply that had me saying, "Awwwww."

She said, "And thanks for being such a strong, positive example of how to make a marriage work. You really inspire me."

See? Say it with me now. Awwwww.

Like every marriage, my husband and I have had our ups and downs. But even during our hardest times I always knew that we would come out of the difficulty with our marriage even stronger than ever.

But to hear that someone else sees us as role models? That's amazing. It makes me feel incredibly proud. And more than a little lucky. I hadn't realized that anyone was watching us.

Happy Valentine's Day to Me!

2008-02-14T08:35:00.001-08:00

My husband is an incredibly sweet and generous man who loves me more than ten women deserve. But he has never, ever been able to pull off a romantic surprise for me. He even managed to blow his marriage proposal.

But he's a hotty so I learned to live with it.

But today he did it! He managed to combine a sweet surprise with high technology. Those are my favorite kinds of surprises.

When I got in the car to drive the kids to school this morning, I found this.

It's perfect, especially since my old 3rd Generation iPod became a very expensive paper weight just yesterday.

I guess now when my friends call me spoiled I'm just going to have to grin and bare it. I might get some nice gifts sometimes, but more, I am spoiled by having the best husband in the entire world.

Now if only he'd take me to Paris.

Great Moments in Parenthood, Part 3

2008-02-12T22:58:00.000-08:00

This past Thursday, my son and I set off for our little adventure. We went on a whirlwind tour of a town we might move to this summer. We visited some schools and enjoyed being together.

But after three whole days of flying, interviews and tests, my son was really looking forward to a "Mexican grilled cheese" (known to the rest of the world as a cheese quesadilla) during our layover at George Bush International on our way home.

So when he was only half finished and tipped his plate onto the floor and started crying in grief, I had absolutely no qualms about picking his tortilla up off the floor, wiping it off and handing it back to him.

"It didn't hit the floor. I caught it," I lied because he wouldn't eat it otherwise.

What would you have done?

The "Not-Knowing"

2008-02-11T20:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when you have news to share, you lose track of who you've told.

There will always be a part of me, too, that feels like it is egotistical to think that people would even care about my own drama. But right now, there is little I can share without setting the stage with some background information.

We are moving.

When my husband was in Iraq he told me that we would be moving this summer. For a while he thought he might know where we were headed. But things change.

We're moving this summer but we don't know where.

At first I thought that I would keep this information to myself until things were clearer. I hadn't even planned on telling the kids. But things get complicated. They get especially complicated when you start dealing with contracts and admissions deadlines for private schools.

As always with this military life, it is the "not-knowing" that is the hardest.

After living here for nine years, our roots are deep. My children were born here. We've lived in this house on base for seven years. And our daughter started at Southfield School six years ago.

We have fond memories of this base, for sure, but we won't be sad to leave it. Shreveport/Bossier City has grown tremendously in the last few years and we like it here more than we thought we would. But we won't miss it either.

It is the people we will miss. And our school.

So, even though we don't know where we're moving too, we know that we want to find another Independent School (a private school like Southfield) wherever we may go. Since my husband will be moving to a certain type of job, there are a handful of places where we are more likely to move than others.

And so armed with this knowledge and the database from the National Association of Independent Schools, last month I started to do research. I soon discovered that the admissions deadlines for most of these schools were February 1. I also knew there was no way we'd know where we were going by then.

I must admit that I felt a certain amount of despair. Not only will we be leaving a school and a life that we love, we don't even know what our life might be like next year. I feel rudderless. I feel like we're leaving our family yet have no destination in mind.

I decided to be proactive and go ahead and apply to the schools that we loved the most in the cities where we may most likely end up.

Of course all of these schools want us to visit.

This past week we decided to bite the bullet and my son and I headed out to visit a couple of these schools on the East coast. It was quite an adventure and the two of us really enjoyed our time together. We both fell in love with a school and now my son is desperate to move there.

But we still don't know where we are going. If nothing else, it was a good experience for him to test and interview at high-quality schools. And we spent some serious quality time together.

I haven't slept well in weeks. I've been dreading telling people we're moving because I know from experience that you can start to feel the distance right away. People stop making plans with you. People who don't want to say hard goodbyes start to distance themselves now. Some people even get mad at you for planning to leave. (Blame my husband, not me!)

And I've been losing sleep because I can’t stop speculating about where we might go and how it might be. We have lots of decisions to make and they are all on hold.

It's the life of a military family, but it has been both easier and harder because we have been here so long. It's hard to sever deep roots. It's hard when you don't even know where you're headed. For all I know, it could all fall through and we’ll end up staying here!

It's the "not-knowing" that is always the hardest. Always.

Mardi What?

2008-02-06T09:32:00.000-08:00

As a good New England Catholic school girl, I learned about Mardi Gras back in middle school. But to be honest, the nuns taught us that indulgent Southerners would engage in gluttony and indecent acts prior to Ash Wednesday.

I thought Mardi Gras was interesting, but I never thought I would participate myself.

Our first exposure to Mardi Gras was when we lived in Pensacola in the late 90's. Their parade was pretty decent and not too crowded. We had Moon Pies and we were happy.

The next year we traveled to New Orleans with a bunch of our fellow aviation training cohorts. After an hour of gawking at the madness on Bourbon Street, I was done. I'd had enough. On our way back to the hotel, someone on a balcony peed on my head, and I was officially done with Mardi Gras for all time.

The nuns were right!

But my children really are Southern born and bred. They were born on the bayou. As much as I consider myself a New Englander, my kids don't think of themselves that way. They love Mardi Gras, even though their mean parents won't take them to a parade.

Still, our school has one of the sweetest Mardi Gras traditions I've ever seen. The Kindergarten class does their parade every year on Fat Tuesday. They pull floats (decorated wagons) around the gymnasium and present songs and poems. It's adorable.

This year their theme was "Sail Away on a Poem" and my son was a sailor.

It hasn't turned my mind around about Mardi Gras completely but it was so cute. Even the nuns would be moved.

The Boy

2008-02-03T13:47:00.000-08:00

My husband and I often refer to our son as just The Boy. I don't know why. He has plenty of nicknames based both on his proper name and the names of NHL players (not that we have high expectations). For some reason, The Boy just seems to fit him right.

My son is...well...he is one of a kind. He has got to be one of the most self-assured humans on the entire planet. His self-assuredness causes him to do things like speak out in groups and take center stage that, frankly, make me want to crawl under tables. I'm proud of his self-confidence for sure, but still. Come on, Buddy. Give someone else a chance.

This weekend the kids and I attended a violin workshop at Centenary with our Suzuki Strings program. The whole experience was amazing. Each kid had a semi-private, small group and large group lesson with some of the best instructors in the country. We ended the weekend with an informal concert in which every kid, from the oldest to the youngest got to play together on stage.

It was inspirational.

But over and over again parents would make comments to me about my son. "He's so cute!" someone would say. "He's so funny!" another would add. "He's so smart! We just love him!" It went on and on.

And while I am extremely flattered and proud, inside I sort of have to shake my head. I want to ask them, "But doesn't he drive you crazy with his constant talking? Doesn't it drive you nuts that he asks a thousand questions?"

It's funny and a bit sad how sometimes as parents we see our kids' very best attributes as negatives. The very things that endear them to others drive us batty.

I'm trying very hard with my second child to accept him for who he is. I'll try to teach him to control himself, but I don't want to crush his spirit.

The Boy is a special kid, to be sure. He's sweet and kind and smart and happy and inquisitive. And if he asks me one more question tonight, I'm going to lose it!

The Humor in It

2008-02-02T19:52:00.000-08:00

My daughter is learning her multiplication tables.

Well, I take that back. My daughter is supposed to be learning her multiplication tables, but all she really has been learning is how to test my last nerve.

I absolutely hate to hear my daughter say things like, "I'm not good at math." For one thing I think it sets up a lifetime of missed opportunities and unfortunate expectations. For another, it plays in to the world's worst kinds of gender stereotypes.

The truth is that she's a decent math student. She just psyches herself out.

But these multiplication tables have been a bit of a stumbling block. She understands the concept but refuses to memorize facts. She still counts out every answer, mostly on her fingers. So my husband and I decided to follow our instincts and be the militant kind of parents we really are at heart. We're drilling her.

And she's crying. And crying, and crying, and crying. It got to the point where she was sobbing out answers. My husband and I just had to laugh. We had to! At some point you just have to see the humor in it.

Of course this only made her cry more. "Stop...(sob sob)...laughing...(sob sob)...at...(sob sob)...me!"

We apologized but also explained how we felt. As a parent you have to have a sense of humor. Without it we'd never get through having our kids whip their clothes off at inopportune moments, or pee in Santa's lap, or tell their whole class about how mommy snores.

And without humor we'd never get through these times. Not even two times two.

Wasn't this supposed to get easier?

2008-01-30T22:28:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-28T17:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-24T22:02:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-23T21:24:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-22T08:12:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-17T20:22:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-15T06:46:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-14T11:38:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-10T19:00:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-08T10:24:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-04T19:43:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-02T17:31:00.000-08:00

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.

On His Way

2007-12-31T10:28:00.000-08:00

My husband made it out of Iraq. Yay!

He's on his way home. It's an awfully long trip, with stops and all, but he's on his way.

Whew. I didn't realize how relieved I'd be once he was out of Baghdad.

This is a good way to start 2008!

Wrapping It Up

2007-12-30T09:55:00.000-08:00

With this deployment about to be wrapped up, everyone keeps asking me if I am happy and excited.

I am. I really am. But I'm finding that I am very stressed and a little depressed too.

What most people don't know is that the reunion with your spouse can be one of the most difficult parts of a deployment. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but it does really make sense.

For one thing, it can be hard to get used to having someone else around all the time. Yes, I miss my husband tremendously. But life has gone on and I got used to doing things on my own.

Sometimes a returning husband can feel like they don't fit in and aren't really needed anymore. My own man has jokingly stated that I only need him for his paycheck.

And I think, worst of all, because we all set such high expectations for blissful reunion, we can feel let down if things aren't perfect. It's similar to post-holiday blues.

But my husband and I have been through the reunion stage three times before. We've learned how we need to communicate, and with a good understanding of what to expect, I think we'll get through it okay.

It's the kids I'm worried about.

They have grown so much since June. They have each had a birthday and are halfway through a grade that my husband hasn't been here for. My son has gotten used to being the only "man" around. And my daughter is suddenly having a very difficult time with being separated from Daddy.

She was absolutely beside herself last night. It started with her yelling out of nowhere that her life has been ruined.

She may have a small flair for the dramatic.

When I tried talking to her, she went on and on about how it's unfair that Daddy has to go away for no reason. I spent a lot of time trying to explain how that just wasn't the case. She is not inclined to believe me. I think she is a little affected by some post-holiday, daddy-missing blues. Now that the presents are all opened and played with, she wants him home now!

As for me, well, I feel disappointed in myself again. Every time my husband deploys I try to see it as an opportunity to focus on myself and reach some of the goals I've been putting off.

But here it is, more than six months gone by and I haven't done a single one of the things I had wanted to do. I didn't lose weight. I gained it. I didn't write a book. I got writer's block. I didn't start running. I feel farther away from becoming a runner than I ever have before.

I've learned a lot though. Mostly I've learned that I need to adjust my expectations. I can't put my life on hold just because my husband has deployed. But I have to accept that just getting the kids through each day is an accomplishment. A triumph, even.

And I've learned that dealing with a deployment with school-aged kids is a whole different beast than when the kids were younger. I really thought it would be easier. I was so wrong.

I am very happy. It may sound like I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth but I'm mostly just trying to prepare myself. This next week, though...

It's going to be a long one.

Christmas for Three

2007-12-27T21:50:00.000-08:00

"This was, perhaps, the best Christmas ever."

So says my daughter. Yes, she really talks like that. Imagine her saying that with accompanying facial expressions and hand movements.

Everyone kept telling me that I should just postpone Christmas until my husband got home, but that's just not realistic. Imagine telling two little kids that Santa wasn't going to come for two more weeks. That's not how life works. I thought this holiday was a good opportunity to teach them that life goes on and you must roll with the punches. Adaptation is the key to survival.

But Christmas doesn't just happen. A parent has to make it happen. And making it happen on my own wasn't all that fun. I wouldn't say that I felt stressed about it. More like, resigned. And tired.

I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. on Christmas Even wrapping gifts and eating Santa's cookies. Who knew it would take so long when you're all alone?

But both kids proclaimed it the best day ever, and I'm just glad it's all over. Now I have ten days until my husband comes home. Yes, I have an actual date and time for his return now. It's nice to have that nailed down. Yay!

What's not nailed down is what is going to happen with the rest of our lives. So much is up in the air in terms of my husband's career and our future. I hate the "not knowing" You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

All Aboard the Polar Express

2007-12-26T14:35:00.000-08:00

On the night before Christmas Eve I surprised the kids with a trip on the Polar Express.

We had to drive for two and a half hours through rural Texas to get to the train depot in Palestine, but it was worth it. I have never seen my son so excited.

They did an excellent job with it. Each car had chefs to serve hot cocoa and Rice Krispy Treats. They read The Polar Express. Santa met us at the North Pole and boarded the train for the trip back. He sat and talked with each child and gave them a bell. Then we sang Christmas carols all the way back.

You've never seen so many excited children in one place. But the parents were even more excited. You'd have thought the paparazzi had boarded the train with all the cameras at work.

It was pretty magical. Of course, the next morning when Uncle Patrick asked my son, "What did you do last night?" he replied, "Oh, I forgot. Um...I built a track for my trains."

And my daughter told everyone that they went to the North Pole, but she would only say the words "North Pole" while making air quotes with her fingers.

Kids. You can't live with them, you can't throw them under Santa's sleigh.

Middle Aged? Bring It On!

2007-12-23T13:55:00.000-08:00

It's amazing to me how I could go from being a young mom with young kids to being a middle-aged mom with school-aged kids overnight.

Or at least that's how I feel now that my son has turned six-years-old.

I've never been one to complain about getting older. In fact, I revel in it. These last couple of years have aged me quite a bit, but up until my son was born, many people still thought I was a teenager.

You should have heard the whispers about me when I was pregnant with my daughter. Even I'll admit that I looked young, but I was twenty-six-years-old. Still, I'd hear strangers whisper, "Isn't that awful. Look at that poor girl. Teenagers today." And they'd shake their heads.

At first I wanted to yell, "I'm twenty-six and married, people!" but after a while I just laughed about it. Not that teen pregnancy is anything to laugh about. Just ask Mrs. Spears.

No, I live very much in the moment. I don't spend a lot of time looking back at the past, unless I'm in a sentimental mood. And I don't spend too much time obsessing about the future. Unless it is to dream about the day that my daughter is old enough to babysit.

I never did want my kids to stay babies forever. I am looking forward to seeing them grow up. Bring on the gray hair! Bring on the wrinkles! I haven't missed a single moment of the growing-up years so I'm ready for the next stages.

I only wish my husband could feel the same.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy

2007-12-20T13:32:00.000-08:00

Today is my son's 6th birthday.

It's hard to believe that only six years ago today I was screaming, "Get him out! Just get HIM OUT!"

He was being stubborn and had to be dragged into the world with forceps. Figures.

It can't be easy to be a late December baby, but he has never complained. Today at school was all about their Christmas program and class Christmas party. But he doesn't seem to mind. Heck, considering that he was due December 7 and we forced him out on December 20, it seems like he actually likes being a Santa Baby. (It helps that his sweet teacher made a special point to do all of the birthday-type things for him.)

He's a great kid with an adventurous spirit and kind heart. He's smart and strong and I love him to pieces. Even when he's pooping on the floor.

Happy 6th birthday, Baby Boy. We love you!

Gifted

2007-12-19T21:48:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the most precious gifts are totally unexpected.

Tonight a friend called and left a voicemail. This voicemail was filled with some of the most wonderful things I have ever heard. The sentiments expressed made me cry. It was so touching. The fact that a friend took the time to call just to let me know how special and appreciated I am was overwhelming.

I am so thankful.

Isn't it funny how when we need friends the most, there they are? The last week has been a rough one for me. I'm fine and I'm feeling better every day, but I sure did appreciate that shot of love and the huge self esteem boost.

I also got to talk to my husband tonight. That always makes me happy.

I have about two and a half weeks left to go in this deployment. Because Christmas is between now and then, it seems like a much longer time. Tonight's good vibes make me feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Home for Christmas

2007-12-16T22:49:00.000-08:00

A dear friend of mine got a wonderful early Christmas gift this year. Her Army husband came home from Iraq a bit earlier than expected. They were supposed to return on December 30th but were able to make the trip home sooner.

He has been gone for fifteen months. I am so very happy for them.

She wrote me an e-mail today. She said now that she's past the finish line and hooked up to her oxygen tank and an IV, she's pulling out her pom poms for me.

She is no stranger to the life of a waiting wife. Her husband has deployed for more than a year twice before. But this was an exceptionally difficult deployment.

She was diagnosed with a severe medical problem. They have been trying to become parents for years and those plans were...well...they still have some hope. They would be wonderful parents.

He lost ten troops in his unit during this deployment. My friend sat with the widows, helped guide them through arrangements, and attended the funerals. She volunteers to do that job. She quit her paying job to be able to do it. And she tells me that it was a blessing to be able to attend those funerals.

As if that weren't enough for them to deal with, he temporarily lost his sight. He spent a short time in Germany to recover yet yearned to return to his unit the entire time because they needed him.

Their strength awes me. It humbles me.

And it makes my jealousy at his return feel doubly horrid. I'm so happy for her but I'm so sad for myself. It makes me hate myself.

It makes me hate myself more than I already do.

Great Moments in Parenthood, Part 2

2007-12-14T23:06:00.000-08:00

My children have grown so much since last June that I'm afraid my husband won't even know what to make of them when he gets home from his deployment. Sure, they've grown a few inches each, but they've grown up even more.

My daughter especially has matured so much. The child who never, ever craved Independence is now starting to experiment with it a little.

And I've been experimenting with letting her have more responsibility. Some of those experiments have worked out well. Some haven't.

Like when I let her make lunch for the two of them and they ate an entire jar of peanut butter with four spoons. (I have no idea why it took four spoons.)

But these forays into responsibility have reminded me of one of my most embarrassing parenting stories. This one will get told to my daughter-in-law some day.

Back in the Spring of 2006, I struggled with whether or not my kids should be allowed to play behind our house on their own. Our backyard opens right up to a playground where I can look out at them from any room in my house. My kids are very well behaved and I can trust them to follow rules. Plus, we live on a military base for goodness sake. You couldn't ask for a safer neighborhood.

So I decided to have a trial run where they played outside while I cleaned in the kitchen. My daughter was supposed to watch her little brother and I spent most of my time watching them too. I only glanced away now and then while I emptied the dust pan or put away a dish.

I glanced up from one of these chores only to see my son's lily, white butt. He might as well have been wearing a sandwich board that read, "Judge my mother!"

"Oh no!" I exhaled as I ran toward the back door.

I made it to that sand box in record time.

"Honey! Are you watching your brother?" I yelled as I sprinted.

"Yes," she yelled back."

Yeah? Are you watching him take his clothes off?"

"Ack!" she screeched. "He's naked!"

As I ran by the little pile of clothes he had left in the grass, I snatched them up. My plan was to cover him and race back to the house. But his jeans and underwear were wet. So I ended up wrapping him up in my arms and scooting the two of us into the house as quickly as I could.

Apparently, he was too busy playing to come into the bathroom. And naked is fun.

We are not a naked family!

Needless to say, they weren't allowed to play outside without my constant supervision for quite a while. And now when the little girl from next door tells me, "We're not allowed to play in the sand because kids pee in there," I can say, "I know," with great authority.

Do the Math

2007-12-12T21:10:00.000-08:00

My husband called from Iraq this morning. I haven't heard from him in a while and it was great to hear his voice. It would have been greater if it wasn't five o'clock in the morning.

"Mello? I mumbled.

"Hey, Hon. It's me. What time is it there?"

He's been deployed for six months with his boots on the ground in Iraq for the last five and he still hasn't figured out the time difference!

We talked for a little bit, but I'm not really at my best in the morning. Heck, I'm useless until 10 most days. 5 a.m. is more than I can handle. At one point I sort of remember saying, "You say stuff now."

He laughed at me and offered to call back after I had dropped the kids off at school. "I'll talk to you between 8 and 9," he said in farewell.

He called at 12:30.

"Do you have any idea what time it is here?" I asked him.

"Nope, I haven't a clue," he replied.

"Well, let's see. It's 12:30 here so...one, two, three..."

But he interrupted me. "Honey! Don't even bother. If I haven't figured it out by now, I'm not going to."

It's a good thing he sent flowers today.

Yes, he really did send me flowers. Orchids, in fact. Just because he loves me. He liked the "race" post I wrote yesterday. Maybe that inspired him. I can't tell you how happy his simple words and sweet gesture made me feel. His timing was perfect. I needed a lift.

What can I say? He gets me. He just can't count backwards.

I do have some constructive criticism for the flower delivery person, though. If you're going to leave flowers without ringing the bell (In fairness, he may have rung the bell but I didn't hear it because I was sleeping. What? I was up at 5 a.m.!) don't prop the box up on the screen door.

I was trapped inside my house! At least until I remembered that I had a back door.

The Race without Training

2007-12-11T19:50:00.000-08:00

Recently I was talking to a fellow military wife about dealing with deployments. We've both had our fair share so I shared with her my favorite analogy.

Deployments are like races. Except you can never really train for them.

Let's say that a seven month deployment is like a seven mile race. Being in the last mile doesn't really make it easier. In fact, it might be the hardest part of the race because you are already so, so tired.

"And that last mile is uphill!" my friend added.

She's right. It's uphill, and maybe it's started raining so it's a slippery slope. And worst of all, they keep moving the finish line. You're never really sure where it is.

And then your shoe falls off!

The major difference is that you can quit a race. You can throw up your hands and walk off the course. You can say that you did well enough and feel proud that you even made it that far.

Quitting a deployment is not an option. There is no choice. You're in it for the long haul whether you like it or not. You may feel pure joy when you cross the finish line but some of the hardest work is still ahead of you.

I'm just glad I'm not racing alone.

Spinning the Holidays

2007-12-07T19:54:00.000-08:00

In the newsletter that my son's Kindergarten teacher sends home every Friday, she has asked for parents to come to the class and share some of their families' holiday traditions.

Is it sad or just pathetic that I can't think of a single thing to share?

Oh sure, we celebrate the holidays just like everyone else. We celebrate Christmas by exchanging presents, decorating a tree and hanging stockings. The problem is that we celebrate Christmas just like everyone else.

I can't think of one unique thing that we do.

Hmmm, maybe I could take the kids on a little field trip to the post office. I spend 75% of my Christmas preparation time there anyway. Or maybe I could bring in my laptop and show the kids how the bank has made it extra easy for me to obsess about our seasonal finances online. That's how I spend the other 25% of my time.

Maybe I could bring in a fire extinguisher and talk about fire safety. Between burning candles under a shelf, using the oven for the first time in months, and letting the Christmas Tree dry out until it is a pile of brittle pine needles, almost burning down the house has become a sort of family tradition.

Oooh, maybe I could put on a little skit for the kids entitled Stupid Fights We Have around the Holidays. Or maybe I could call it How Mommy and Daddy Test Their Marriage Every Year. What? It has a happy ending, I swear!

Oh! I could bring in a scale and let the kids chart how much weight I'll gain in December. That would be a good math lesson.

In an attempt to avoid inflicting all of the things that will send my kids into therapy twenty years from now on everyone else's children, I think I'll ask my kids what holiday tradition they would like to share.

Seeing what they come up with could be the most entertaining thing I've done all year.

And We Hit a Wall

2007-12-05T23:31:00.000-08:00

That's it. My daughter is done. Absolutely and completely done. She actually stood in our house today with her face straining to the roof and bellowed, "I just can't take it anymore!"

I sort of saw it coming. Sort of. You just never know with my daughter.

A couple of days ago she told me that she only wanted one thing for Christmas. "All I want is for Daddy to come home."

There isn't much you can say to your child when all she wants is her Daddy back and there is no way he'll be out of Iraq and home in time for Christmas. I find that the straight answer works best. Not even Santa can bring Daddy home for Christmas. Daddy has to stay in Iraq.

Tonight's desperate episode all began when I sent her back to her room to redo her homework.

She stood on the stairs and took dramatic I-can't-believe-my-mom-is-so-mean breaths until I raised my voice. "Enough with the drama. Go!"

She was only gone a few minutes when I heard her desperate wail. Apparently, she just can't take it anymore. At first I didn't even realize what she was talking about. In bewilderment, I asked, "What can't you take anymore?"

"I can't take Daddy being away for one more day!" Then she burst into tears.

It's funny how she misses Daddy the most when Mommy is being mean. But she ran into my arms and sobbed and cried. What could I possibly say?

"I know, honey. I miss Daddy too, but he won't be back for a few more weeks and we have to just keep living our lives day to day."

"I know," she sobbed. "But you don't know what it was like at school today! I missed him so much so I put his picture on my desk. I didn't get in trouble but it didn't help!"

I let her cry it out for a while but my son struggles with that. He hurts to see her hurt and he tries in his own five-year-old way to help.

"Maybe Daddy will be back next week," he says.

But I can't let that false hope fester. "No, he won't, but maybe you could e-mail him."

"No, no," my son insisted. "I saw a big sign that said that a big group was coming home January 2. Maybe Daddy will be home then."

Never mind that he can't read yet.

None of the normal things we military moms do to help our kids with separations are working with her. She doesn't want to write him or send him anything. I'm not sure why. She has been so amazingly mature these last few months that I sometimes have to remind myself that she is only eight-years-old. She wants her Daddy. Nothing else will do.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I sent her to finish her homework.

My son summed up his own feelings then. "I miss Daddy too, but I don't get sad about it."

"Why is that, Buddy," I asked him.

"Because I have so many other people who love me too." He and I are a lot alike.

My daughter has struggled to fall asleep tonight. Her brain and her heart are in overdrive. And that's how we're alike.

Deck the Halls

2007-12-03T21:46:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time I had a beautiful Christmas tree with twinkling, white lights and coordinating blue and silver trinkets.

Once upon a time I had a beautiful Christmas tree with twinkling, white lights and coordinating red and gold baubles.

Then I had children.

Now I have a Christmas tree with blinking, multi-colored lights and more kid-made paraphernalia than you can shake a candy cane at.

The truth is, my beautiful Douglas Fir is now kind of ugly. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

We might have to compromise on the dozen inflatable monstrosities in our yard though. A mom can only take so much.

The Silver Lining

2007-12-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

Here's a little secret kept closely guarded by military wives everywhere.

There is an upside to your husband's deployment.

When you're alone for months and months you make all of the daily decisions by yourself. This can drag on you after a while. But sometimes it is a huge benefit. Like when you want to do something that your husband usually hates.

For example, today I bought a real Christmas tree.

And I don't have to listen to my husband complain abut the cost, or dragging it home, or taking care of it, or vacuuming up the needles, or stringing the lights.

There is a teeny tiny little place deep inside of me that glows proudly whenever I do something alone that I would usually depend on my husband to do. It would have been so easy to forgo a Christmas tree at all this year and just fly back to my mother's house instead.

Today I learned that a seven-foot tall Douglas Fir isn't nearly as heavy as it looks.

Age is Just a Number

2007-11-29T18:33:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-28T21:49:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-26T19:08:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-20T22:08:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-19T23:51:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-18T21:30:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-17T09:15:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-16T21:54:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-13T21:15:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-12T11:09:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-08T19:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-07T12:41:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-03T23:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-11-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

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.

The Day of Buffy

2007-10-31T11:14:00.001-07:00

I've never been a big fan of Halloween. It just isn't my favorite holiday.

As a kid, I loved dressing up and I loved eating candy, but I didn't really like to Trick-or-Treat. I felt shy knocking on doors and my parents were uneasy about the whole idea. My father was a police officer and tended to go overboard when it came to safety. But he also knew that Halloween was his busiest night of the year.

I think my parents passed on their Halloween stress to me.

A military base is probably the safest place in the world to Trick-or-Treat, as evidenced by the hundreds of kids I get knocking on my door every Halloween. But, well, as I've said before, children scare me. And children in costume scare me even more.

So I was glad when our family was given an alternate holiday to celebrate on October 31st.

Today is the Day of Buffy! Buffy the Wonder Puppy turns three-years-old today.

Buffy knows that this day is all about her. She poos on your efforts to beg neighbors and strangers for candy. She looks cute and gets treats every day. She smirks at your pitiful attempts to dress in costumes. She knows that the proper attire for a fall evening is long, white fur accented with orange bows.

Her children sing Happy Birthday to her first thing in the morning on October 31st. They know what's important in life. They bring her extra treats and brand new toys. They even custom designed a new bowl to hold her fine cuisine and imported bottled water.

And when her mommy finds her "presents" on the playroom carpet on October 31st she spends an extra long time paying attention to her. Her words sound something like, "Just because it is your birthday doesn't mean you can poop wherever you like!" But Buffy doesn't care.

She knows that today is all about her.

Just in Time for Halloween

2007-10-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

I'm not the kind of person who believes in the supernatural, superstitions or astrology. Except that I kind of do.

I've lived in two houses that were supposedly haunted. The people who lived in one house before us actually moved out just because of the ghosts they spotted. But I never saw a thing.

A couple of summers ago in our family house on Cape Cod, I kept seeing weird shadows out of the corner of my eye around the foot of the stairs. I never mentioned a thing but since then at least four different people have mentioned seeing weird shadows and human forms in the exact same place. It's creepy, but I'm insistent that if I don't believe in ghosts, I'll never see a ghost.

That's the way it works. Right?

And as for superstitions, well, I know that the Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in 86 years because my son wore his little Red Sox shirt on every game day. He broke Babe Ruth's curse single-handedly. Or so I like to think.

This time around I'm wearing my Red Sox hat every game day. Except I forgot it today. If my Red Sox lose tonight it will be proof positive that what my family wears affects baseball games played a thousand miles away. Right?

And yes, I read my horoscope every day. The logical part of my brain can't imagine how the alignment of the stars when you were born can affect your personality and course of your life. But I can't help but notice that I fit every description of a Taurus I have ever read. And my daughter is a classic Cancer. And my son a perfect Sagittarius. (My husband is an enigma.)

Just today I was reminded of how eerily true horoscopes can be.

Last week I was reaching in my purse when my hand seemed to cease up. Both hands have felt sort of numb and painful for a while, but I figured if I ignored it, it would go away. That's how it works. Right?

The pain has gotten worse and worse and I know I need to see a doctor, but I've been avoiding and postponing it.

Today my horoscope said, "Your latest health concern should be addressed, either with a change in your routine or visit to a professional. Take care of yourself!"

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Since when did the writers at Astrology.com start sounding like my mother?

But a couple of days ago my horoscope said, "You have a great deal of sex appeal." As far as I'm concerned, that is undeniable proof right there that it is all bunk.

So I'll keep ignoring that ghost by the stairs and I'll keep postponing that trip to the doctor. But I will go find my Red Sox hat.

Some things are too important to be left to chance.

Can you afford to spare a square?

2007-10-25T22:32:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I spent $70 on a pack of toilet paper.

How is that possible? "Was this magic toilet paper?" you might ask. "Capable of cleaning the toilet on its way down? Capable of sanitizing with barley a swipe? Capable of multiplying on its own so I never have to buy toilet paper again?"

Well, no. No. No. And, no but I wish! Because I seem to have this mental block when it comes to buying toilet paper. No matter how often I am in Target (everyday, sometimes twice!) I can never seem to remember to pick up toilet paper.

So yesterday morning our need for toilet paper became dire. I dropped the kids off at school and ran into Target.

But just as I walked through the door into shopping paradise my cell phone rang. It was my best friend, whom I haven't been able to talk with much lately, so I pushed my red cart around the store and chatted.

Yes, I am one of those people.

As I walked and talked I realized, "Oh, the kids could use some new jeans." And then I realized, "Oh, the boy could use some writing paper." And then I realized, "Oh, the girl lost her scissors."

By the time I was done realizing things, I had seventy bucks worth of stuff in my red cart.

I said goodbye to my friend and went through the checkout. Dang, but I couldn't believe how quickly seventy dollars went through my fingers. I was still shaking my head and resolving to be more frugal as I loaded my purchases into the van and drove home.

When I was unloading the van at home it hit me. I had forgotten the toilet paper!

I ran to the BX to pick some up.

All told, adding in the cost of gas and the cost to my sanity that had to be the most expensive 4 pack of Quilted Northern ever bought!

Next time I might as well put a stack of dollar bills by the toilet.

The Day Mommy Cried

2007-10-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

I'm eagerly awaiting the delivery of my kids' school pictures this year. The proofs actually looked pretty good. Maybe this year's pictures can go on the mantel.

Last year's pictures were a total bust.

My daughter was to have her second grade pictures taken early on a September, Monday morning. She had been bugging me for a couple of weeks to get her hair cut. But I hadn't had the time or extra cash to take her to our stylist.

So on that Sunday afternoon, she took matters into her own hands.

She didn't just snip a few stray locks here and there. She cut hair off to her hairline randomly all over her head.

Half of her bangs? Gone.

Half of the long hair in back that we'd been trying to grow since she was a straggly-haired toddler? Gone.

Mommy's sanity? Gone.

I was getting them ready to take them out for a treat that evening when I suddenly noticed that something looked a bit off. She must have realized while she was cutting that things hadn't gone well because she hid the cut hair and never said anything to me about it.

She had bad timing. My husband was away then and my daughter and I had been struggling to get along. She had been pulling stunts and driving me crazy for weeks This little episode sent me over the edge.

I cried that day.

I went into the bathroom, shut the door, and sobbed my heart out.

I cried for the loss of her hair. I remember feeling so bad for her when she was little because she never had enough hair for all the cute styles and bows that her friends had. We had really been working at growing her hair out. And then to have her butcher it? I was sad.

But I cried more for the fact that my daughter was acting out and being so secretive. I felt like our relationship was crumbling right before my eyes. Who was this child? And what did she do with my sweet, little girl?

My kids still refer to that day as the day that mommy cried. It may be the only time they've ever really seen me cry. I think it was shocking to them that they could effect my emotions that way. I felt horrible about the whole thing.

I couldn't get her an appointment with our stylist until the next Thursday. But I think having to go to school like that for a few days may have taught her a lesson. Our stylist was our savior. She turned my daughter's masterpiece into an adorable little bob.

For which my daughter still get compliments. She was a star at school that Friday. Teachers and students even came by her classroom just to see her new haircut. For months, everywhere we went, people would comment on it.

That sort of ruined the life lesson I had hoped she was learning. But she did look really cute.

Now she has decided that she wants to grow her hair out again. She wants to be able to wear ponytails and braids like her friends.

And I'm actually a little sad. That will teach me to cry in the bathroom.

I knew that someday I would look back and find the humor in the story of her cutting her own hair. But I never expected to look back and be grateful for her daring!

Maybe I'll be able to talk her back into the bob.

Rolling on the River Tee Tee

2007-10-23T08:04:00.000-07:00

Let's face it. We all know that the life of a mom is very poop and pee centric. From the first day we change our newborn's diaper in the hospital, we are responsible for our family's poop and pee henceforth.

I've had times when I've felt like my life was awash in a river of pee. I'm still recovering from those days when my three-year-old was struggling through potty training and her infant brother was filling diapers. And then while my husband was deployed and my son was potty training, we got a puppy. That was just masochistic on my part.

But lately those poop and pee days have made a resurgence.

For one thing, my son is struggling to stay dry at night. I change his sheets at least twice most nights. The dog (AKA Buffy the Wonder Puppy) has also had a relapse and seems to think it is her duty to pee and poop on every rug we own. Multiple times.

And so what do I do while we're struggle through these poop and pee-soaked times?

I decide to take the ten day All Bran challenge. Speaking of masochistic...

I guess when it rains it pours. Or something like that.

Like Herding Cats

2007-10-22T13:27:00.000-07:00

When I tell people that I'm not good with children, they always laugh at me. But I mean it.

Oh, sure, I can handle my own kids, but when it comes to other people's children, I am at a complete loss. Which is why when I told my friend that I would be helping out in my son's Kindergarten class today, he actually laughed at me.

He laughed at me!

The truth is that I am scared of children. I really am. You just never know what they are going to say or do. They're kind of like animals that way.

I'm always afraid that like dogs, children can sense my fear. I'm scared that some day they are going to realize that there are twenty of them and only one of me. I may have the superior intellect, but they have mob mentality. They could subdue me if they just realized that all of my power and authority is an illusion.

And if they don't try to overthrow me, they could do something worse. They could smother me in hugs and affection.

I actually Oprah hugged a child today!

You know what that is, don't you? It's when Oprah thwarts a would-be hugger by grabbing their outstretched hands and sort of shaking them.

I don't know why I did it. A four-foot-tall sweetie in a hair bow came at me for a hug and I panicked. This is what I get for being raised in New England. My people don't hug.

I was terrorized going into that classroom today, but I must admit that the time flew by and I actually had fun.

I was just as shocked as anyone.

Clearly my son's teacher and our school's staff have that program running like a well-oiled, exceptionally caring machine. Throwing a complete rookie like me into the gears barely created a hiccup.

I'll even go on record and state that I'd be happy to help out in the classroom again.

This time I'll practice my hugging technique before I go in. That Oprah hug exposes too much of my soft underbelly.

Of Boys and Men

2007-10-18T20:40:00.000-07:00

I was complaining to my friend tonight that nothing ever seems to go my husband's way. He works so hard for every thing he has. Nothing has ever come easily to him. I feel like if he didn't have bad luck he'd have no luck at all.

And my friend answered, "He's had the best luck of all. He got to marry you."

I had to laugh at that. I don't think living with me is all that easy.

My friend continued, "Come on, it's true. He got to marry you and you gave him two great kids. One of which is a son."

"Do you really think that makes a difference?" I had to ask. In these modern times, do men really still crave sons to carry on their name?

I don't think any decent man would admit it if it were true. But I wonder.

When I was pregnant the first time we were desperate to find out if I was carrying a boy or a girl. My husband was convinced we were having a boy, but the baby never cooperated during ultrasounds.

We even paid cash to a clinic in town for an ultrasound just to find out the gender of our baby.

The technician was scanning and talking and just casually mentioned, "It's a girl." She kept right on talking like she hadn't said something completely momentous.

I glanced up at my husband and found his face frozen in complete and utter shock. He looked like he was going to be sick. I found it completely adorable. He was so scared about fathering a daughter.

Of course he's my daughter's favorite and she's a total daddy's girl.

When we were pregnant with my second, the ultrasound technician discovered the sex of the baby before she called my husband into the room.

I knew what she was going to say. I had seen it clearly in the ultrasound. So I was watching my husband when she made the announcement. "It's a boy."

And my husband's smile lit up like I had never seen before or since.

He had sworn that he didn't care what we had. He thought two daughters might be the death of him, but we were stopping at two kids no matter what we got.

I wonder if his joy was mostly because we were going to have one of each (the stereotypical perfect family) or because he was going to have a son. Maybe both?

For my part, I really wanted one of each. I honestly didn't care which came first, but once I had a daughter, I really wanted to have a son.

What do you think? Do women really want daughters? Do men really want sons?

I think that no matter what you have, you can't even imagine having anything else.

Flowers from the Desert

2007-10-17T22:08:00.001-07:00

My husband got some unfortunate career-related news today.

It's always hard to get disappointing news. It must be even harder to get it when you are deployed far from home. It must be especially hard not to be selected for something that you wanted so bad.

I'm not really sure how he feels because I haven't talked to him at all since he forwarded me the e-mail.

But I did get his flowers.

Yes, he got bad news but he took the time to get online and send me flowers.

It's incredibly sweet. He's incredibly sweet. But I can never win an argument again.

Just picture it...

"For the tenth time, would you please take out the trash!"

"Hey, back off. I sent you flowers from Iraq!"

Yup, I'm doomed.

He'll bounce back from this news just like he bounces back from everything. We always just sort of figure that it must not have been meant to be. We're a team and our team can make it through anything.

I love my husband so much. I hate to see him disappointed. If only making him feel better were as easy as sending flowers.

Confessions of a Soccer Mom

2007-10-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

I never, ever intended to be a soccer mom.

I swear.

I think my first mistake was buying the mini van. Oh sure, I had all kinds of rationalizations. But the truth is I was starting out on a long and slippery slope.

The next thing I knew, my daughter was four-years-old. She needed exercise. We needed something to do to get out of the house. Soccer was just sort of...there.

I think soccer is one of the few teams sports that very little kids can manage.

In that first season the very dear coaches had to hold her hand on the field. She spent more time crying because she was hot and watching the ball go by than anything else. But she loved it. She loved dressing up in her cute little uniform and being with the other kids.

The next year, Daddy decided to take a turn coaching. Oh, was that a mistake. We have learned now, when you coach a team, it is always your kid who is the hardest to coach. There were more tears. But she wouldn't hear of quitting.

But the next year, she was finally old enough to play on an all-girls team. Her coach was great and he really started to teach them about the game.

By second grade, she was on a team with all of her friends from school. And that's when I shed my sweet, little sideline mom veil and because the monster that I am today.

I guess it's because her friends' parents are my friends. Because they know me, I don't feel so shy. And so I end up standing on the sidelines screaming, "RUN!!!" like my child is about to be engulfed by flames or eaten by a monster.

I suppose I've gotten worse and worse because my daughter actually seems to respond to my hysterics. If Daddy cheers at all, it makes her weepy and upset. But when I yell my head off, she actually gets aggressive. She really does run.

That kid who held her coach's hand that whole first season has turned into a decent little soccer player. And I've turned into a nut.

Yet, my daughter begged me to coach a softball team next season. We'll see if we can get through a season without any tears. (Would you like to place bets? The odds are way stacked!)

Hopefully I won't have any nutso parent's in the bleachers yelling their heads off. Don't you just hate people like that?

The Magic Number 13

2007-10-13T22:42:00.000-07:00

All day long I was thinking that there was something I was supposed to remember about this day. Doesn't October 13 mean something to me? For the life of me, I just couldn't remember what it was.

Then I realized that I missed a mess of birthdays. My brother, my mother, and my daughter's godmother all have birthdays in early October. At least my brother and his family took my mom with them to Disney so I kind of had an excuse for putting off those calls.

But that isn't it. There must be something else.

The number thirteen has always been good to us. My daughter was born on the thirteenth of July. My husband proposed on the thirteenth of November.

Ah! That's it. My husband and I had our very first date on Friday, October 13, 1989.

Eighteen years ago today.

Looking back I have to say that I was quite a catch. What? I was. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was a bit of a looker. Too bad I had to ruin the effect of good genes with plaid pants and gravity-defying hair.

Ah, those were the days.

But my husband is another story. Unlike me, he grew into his looks over time. He is more handsome now than he ever could have hoped to have been at seventeen.

He had a mullet for goodness sake.

You can read all about how my mom set us up by clicking HERE.

I can barely believe that it has been eighteen years since we ate Oreos and watched Rainman at his mom's house. If I stop and add up how many of those years were spent far apart it might make me sick.

But we are lucky to have had many more good years than bad. We can still have just as much fun as we did back when we were teenagers. And we can do it with better hair.

*Hang with me until November 13 and I'll tell you the story of how my husband proposed to me. It's best to tell that story when he's out of the country anyway.

Danger on the Web

2007-10-12T22:29:00.000-07:00

eBay is a dangerous, dangerous place.

It is so easy to get caught up in the passion of the moment and bid way too high on something you don't really need. That's how my husband ended up getting an ice skate sharpener for Christmas last year. Some guy managed to outbid me by a penny and then there was no way I was going to let him win.

But eBay can be a great resource too. Which makes it hard to just quit cold turkey.

Online auctions are a great place for a mom who couldn't sew a seam to save her life to find perfect costumes for plays, programs and Halloween. Luckily there are these saintly folks out there sewing up a storm of angel costumes and pioneer costumes and they can be mine for the right price.

I just got the cutest pioneer dress in the mail for my daughter's field trip on Friday. Yay eBay.

But no matter how hard I tried to buy that one thing and then pull out, eBay just had to pull me back in. And now we are the proud owners of a pitching machine, a new camera, two broken cameras "for parts", and one used softball bat.

So my thirty dollar pioneer dress find ended up costing me about a grand in impulse buys.

This weekend I think I might go on a scavenger hunt. I'm going to call it the, "Find One Thousand Bucks Worth of Stuff I Can Sell On eBay So My Husband Doesn't Kick My Butt Hunt".

It has a certain ring, doesn't it?

Reality Check

2007-10-11T19:22:00.000-07:00

Today I had just a little taste of what it must be like to really be a war wife.

Most mornings, I get up about five minutes before the kids to read my e-mail. My husband almost always sends me one during the night. This morning I had no e-mail, but that isn't so out of the ordinary.

Still, when I got home from dropping the kids off at school, I checked my e-mail again. There was still no news from my husband, but I couldn't help but notice a news headline on the sign in page.

"Two dead in attack on Baghdad base."

Normally, when my husband is deployed I avoid any media coverage of anything. Even the most realistic and stoic of us can let our imaginations run amok when our loved one is far away and in danger. But I couldn't help but click on that link today.

And yes, there was a mortar or rocket attack on my husband's base. Two people were killed and forty were injured.

While I know that there are thousands of people on that base and the chances of him being hurt or killed are next to nothing, I still couldn't help imagining...what if?

The thought of him not coming back to us is unimaginable. Strangely, the thought of him being wounded is even harder to imagine. I hate to admit it, but I spent the rest of my morning sitting in front of the computer refreshing my e-mail over and over again, waiting for word.

When he finally called me around noon, I didn't feel relief. I felt stupid. I felt silly. I felt embarrassed.

"We are at war, you know," he told me.

I know, but when you're a military wife you spend years telling yourself that your husband is safe because he flies a safe aircraft and he's good at his job. You tell yourself he's safe because he's not really near any action. You tell yourself he's safe because he has to be. No other option is acceptable.

And when you realize that he's not as safe as you like to imagine, it hits hard.

But I only overreacted for a few hours on a beautiful October morning. I know too many wives and mothers who have had to deal with their husband's being injured. I have a friend who has attended at least four funerals for her husband's fallen soldiers.

I have not yet met a wife or mother who had to receive the flag off of her husband's or son's casket. But I know that there are too many of them. And there are husbands and fathers and children and family and friends.

I can pretend all I want that my husband is just as safe over there as he would be here at home. But it's not really true.

I think it helps me to have that reality check.

Penance

2007-10-09T21:30:00.001-07:00

I am one of those moms that you've hated. I am. I'll admit it.

I was one of those moms whose babies always slept through the night.

I tried not to brag back then. I swear. But when you're a brand new mom and all your kid does is eat, sleep, and poop anyway you tend to judge yourself on those criteria. Sleep was the only thing my kids had going for them. And they did it well.

But as they say, payback is a...well...it's not fun.

Recently, my son has been struggling with some sleep issues. My wonderful doctor helped me come up with a plan that may help ease him though these struggles. Except my wonderful doctor's plan isn't so wonderful for me.

I have to get up every two to three hours and check on him for the next three weeks.

It's like having a newborn again!

And my conviction not to have any more children has been reconfirmed.

I forgot how it feels to be so darned tired all the time. If I can still remember how to form words in three weeks time, I'll let you know how it goes.

World's Collide

2007-10-07T20:14:00.000-07:00

I often feel like I'm living my life in three separate worlds.

First, I am a military wife. I live on base and have my military friends. I have all of the challenges and rewards of being a part of the United States military.

Then I an a mother. A large chunk of my life revolves around the kids' school. I have friends whose kids are in classes with my kids. I work on volunteer projects. I have a whole social life that is influenced by the events at school.

Then I am a women, a writer, and a friend. I have a whole group of friends who have never interacted in my other two worlds. They are fellow writers, old college friends, and friends I've made through mutual connections. And they all live far away.

I love the life I lead in all three of these worlds and I love to see them come together. I love having military wife friends who are also fellow school moms.

But sometimes when my world's collide, it can be a bit disconcerting.

My very best friend isn't a military wife or a mom. He's a single man living in New York City. Our lives are very different yet we have a great deal in common.

I know that people are always curious about my friend. I know that it isn't common for a happily married woman to have a best male friend. But I think my mom explains it best when she tells people, "Oh, they're like sisters really."

And my best friend and my husband have a good relationship. In fact, a few years ago when my friend was laid off from his job, it was my husband who suggested he live in our summer house for a few months until he could get back on his feet. This past spring when my friend landed back in the hospital after complications from major surgery, it was my husband who insisted I jump on a plane to sit by his bedside.

My friend became a part of our family without any of us even realizing it was happening. My kids now call him Uncle Patrick. In our darkest times and our lightest times, we're all there for each other.

This weekend, my best friend came to visit.

It was so great to see him. It has become tradition for him to visit us right in the middle of my husband's deployments. It gives me a break and some fun. My husband suggested that I invite Patrick for Revel weekend so he could help me volunteer at our school's booth and see the kids play with the Suzuki Strings.

I don't know why I was nervous about him meeting my school friends.

It's dumb really. Patrick is a great guy. I wouldn't be friends with him if he wasn't. And I know my friends from school are wonderful. Of course they would like him.

I guess maybe it is just weird to see two parts of your life come together. When your worlds collide, you wait for a crash. But there was nothing but smooth sailing. Of course.

Our visit was way too short. The kids cried when we dropped Patrick off at the airport, though they are glad to have their own bedrooms back. And the dog is quite put out that her one true love has left her yet again. But I had a blast.

It's funny, though, how having my friend here has made me miss my husband all the more. I wasn't expecting that.

Maybe it is because he is the only one who knows and loves me as I live in all three of my worlds.

Revel In It

2007-10-05T23:55:00.000-07:00

For the last couple of years I was one of the people responsible for our school's food booths at the Red River Revel.

Being our school's Revel Chair is a pretty big responsibility. Not only to we operate two food booths for eight days, supervise and coordinate a couple hundred volunteers and manage thousands of dollars in supplies, but the booths are a major fund raiser for our school. Our school which we really love and has become our extended family. The last thing in the world I would ever want to do is fail as a Revel Chair.

So the stress level was pretty high.

But this year, I've passed it on! Woo hoo!

I feel a little bad that one of the people I've passed it on to is a dear friend, but still. Woo hoo!

Okay, yes, on many levels it was an extremely tiring job, but I'm still glad to have done it. The truth is that working on this project helped me to make a lot of friends. Oh sure, I still can't pass a billboard for the Revel without that old stressful feeling causing my shoulders to inch up to my ears, but a had fun volunteering at the booths this week.

Of course I never want to eat another corn dog as long as a live, but hey. Corn dogs aren't exactly good for me anyway.

Thinking over the last two years, I've realized just how many wonderful friendships I have made. There is a part of me that feels like putting myself out there and volunteering was the impetus for a lot of those friendships. For someone as shy as me, that is an important lesson to learn.

The Red River Revel is a wonderful local event. I'm grateful to have had a small part in it. And I'm thankful that our school ahas had another successful fund raiser under the direction of some truly fabulous people.

Reaching Out

2007-10-02T21:40:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever watched Sex and the City in our pre-TiVo days, because my husband did not enjoy it. But with him far away and the syndicated versions of the show airing about twenty times a day, I've caught a few episodes here and there.

Now the words, "I couldn't help but ask..." and "I couldn't help but wonder..." are stuck on replay in my mind for the foreseeable future.

I was actually a little ashamed when a Sex and the City quote popped into my head today. Isn't quoting television shows a pre-teen pastime? But Mr. Big's voice projected into my brain today.

There was an episode where Big breaks up with his famous girlfriend and drives out to see Carrie at Aidan's country cabin. After getting in a muddy fistfight and being called "middle aged" by an incredulous Carrie, Big and Aidan bond just a little bit.

Big complains to Aidan about how hard it is to communicate with his celebrity girlfriend. He says something like, "You see, she can always get me, but I can't reach her." He says it over and over.

Boy, do I understand.

In the past few days I've missed my deployed husband's phone calls by mere moments multiple times.

I've come running out of the bathroom to grab up the phone and only hear a disheartening dial tone. So I started carrying my cell phone with me at all times. The next day I fumbled to pull my ringing phone out of my purse only to miss his call by the slightest of margins. So I started carrying my cell phone in my pocket at all times.

This morning while on a field trip with my son, I missed my husband's call yet again because my phone was on silent and it took me a moment to realize it was ringing.

He can always get me, but I can't reach him.

When I miss his call there is no calling him back. I never know if he'll call again in a week, a day, or a minute.

The few times that I have cried during this deployment have been when I miss his calls. I sit for a moment or two staring at the screen on my cell phone telling me I've missed hearing his voice and I feel hopeless.

Yesterday my daughter and I were in my bedroom when my cell phone rang. I ran to grab it off my desk but I had missed yet another call. But this one didn't display one of the strange numbers that appears when my husband calls. This call had come from "Home".

I only had to listen to the voice mail for a second to realize what had happened. I could hear my son's faint voice echoed in my phone, talking to himself.

While us girls were upstairs working on a project, my son had tried to use his new phone dialing skills to call his father.

He came up to my room and asked, 'Can we please call Daddy?" I tried to explain why we couldn't but he didn't really understand. "Please?" he begged.

I guess I'm not the only one dreadfully missing the sound of my husband's voice right now. And I'm not the only one who is frustrated.

He can always get me, but I can't reach him.

Life Among the Living

2007-10-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

I watch a lot of Lifetime TV for Women.

Don't judge me.

I like to watch the syndicated sitcoms while I'm folding clothes, cleaning up, and eating bon bons.

Lately, Lifetime has been hyping their returning show Lisa Williams: Life Among the Dead. Lisa is a medium who talks to the dead. I've never seen the show and I really don't want to.

I don't believe much in the supernatural. But even if the ability to talk to the dead was a scientific fact, I'm still not sure I'd ever want to visit with a medium.

Here's the thing. Relationships are living, breathing, evolving things. In the course of life with someone you love you may say thousands, or even millions of things to them. Some of them you may want to take back. But because each person in the relationship, and the relationship itself is forever growing, words can come to mean different things between you.

Then that person you love is dead. Gone. I can understand the attraction of wanting to talk to them one more time. I really can. But to converse with your loved one through another would mean that those words, their meanings and emotions, would forever be fixed in time. I know that I would not want my last words with the person I love to be filtered through another.

Unless my loved one has hidden a fortune in the floorboards, I'd rather our relationship, our love, our connection and my memories stand on their own.

I guess we all need to remember to live in the moment, loving as hard and as well as we can so that when we've lost someone, we know we've already said everything we ever could.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

2007-09-28T22:19:00.000-07:00

Today I did something that I haven't done in a long time. I spent one on one time with my daughter. And it was a blast.

My son's best friend invited him to sleep over tonight. This is my son's first sleepover and to be honest, it couldn't have come at a better time. I am so thankful to our friends for extending the invitation. They are the kind of people I trust implicitly.

Right now my son lives in a world of females. Even the dog is a prissy girl. I think some independent time at his best friend's house with his best friend's family is exactly what he needs. I am very happy for him.

But my daughter? Well, not so much. She has wanted to sleep over a friend's house for years but we've just never gotten around to setting anything up. She's been telling everyone about how her brother is going on his first sleepover and, "He's three years younger than me!"

But I knew that once I picked her up from school (especially at the third grade car pool stop with her friends instead of the Kindergarten car pool stop with her baby brother) that she'd see the advantages of being one little brother short.

First we were able to go to her violin lesson with out her little brother tagging along. Then we headed to Arts on Fire and painted a dog dish as a birthday present for Buffy. Then we had dinner at The Boardwalk. And on a whim, we decided to go to a movie.

We saw The Game Plan starring The Rock. There is some marketing genius out there who realized the best way to get moms to bring their kids to a movie was to put a hot guy in it. (We'll also be seeing Enchanted with Patrick Dempsey this Thanksgiving!)

But this movie was all about fatherhood. I didn't think much about it when I bought the tickets, but by the half way point we both had tears in our eyes. My daughter cried through the whole second half of the movie. She's been doing so well during this deployment that sometimes I forget just how hard it must be on her. She is a sensitive child and a Daddy's girl.

Maybe her mom is a little sensitive too.

All in all, it was wonderful to spend some mother/daughter time with my very special little girl. She's growing up so fast, but she's growing up so well. I couldn't be more proud of her if I tried.

Reapply

2007-09-27T19:09:00.000-07:00

I was just telling some friends this weekend that the longer my husband has been deployed, the more easily annoyed I have become.

But these last few days have proven to me that I'm starting to lose my other faculties too. The longer he has been away, the more scatterbrained I have become.

For example, I go into the bathroom and put on deodorant. I come out, walk around aimlessly for a moment, and then think, oh, I need to put on deodorant. And back to the bathroom I go.

I still have a little over three months before he comes home. If I don't pull it together soon I might be showing up for meetings in my bathrobe and curlers.

But at least I'll smell good.

Great Moments in Parenting, Part 1

2007-09-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

We all have them. We all have those moments when we wonder how we were ever allowed to be parents at all.

When my daughter was in Kindergarten, my husband was deployed and my son was just getting the hang of potty training. One afternoon during my daughter's soccer game, my son had to use the bathroom. As most of us know, when a two-year-old says they have to use the bathroom, you run to the nearest toilet.

It was about that time that I had finally convinced my son to stand up to pee. He was proud of his new found skill, but I was in a rush.

He finished and leaned forward to flush without pulling up his pants. He slipped and was falling forward when, like any good parent, I grabbed him to keep him upright.

Except I overcompensated and overbalanced him. And I sent him head first into the toilet.

Yes, I gave my kid a swirly.

But it gets worse! Not only did his face get submerged, on the way down he knocked his cheek against the porcelain and ended up with a nasty gash. From the inside of a public toilet!

I did the best I could to clean him up, but I still had to walk back to all the other parents at the soccer game with a wet and bleeding child.

I'm still waiting for my mother of the year award to show up for that one.