Before

Before the Big Flu of 2011 took my legs out from under me (see below), I took the kids to a local petting zoo.














(No legs llama.)


It couldn't have been a prettier day. Lower 60s, sunny enough for squinting, and just ridiculously lovely outside.














Abby charged right in with the feeding of the goats (sheep?).
She would've stuck her little hand in there even if there was a fire breathing two headed purple hela monster on the other side, I think.














Thank goodness they were neither fire breathing, two-headed, nor purple.














Although one did scream at us like he meant every word. Whatever infraction we were committing, it was evidently inconceivable in the goat world (Sheep world? I give up.) because this little brown baby let his displeasure known until we backed far away toward the outside exit sign.














Outside wasn't so bad, what with more hungry critters.
Big bro was not to be outdone by his fearless little sis.















And of course we already knew I couldn't keep my grubby little paws out of the mix either.















We were all about feeding these billies.














Some of us were quite proud of it, in fact.














My little cowboy wannabe was certainly getting in touch with his natural side.















Thanks for your patience, Ladies. Even you, little pissed off Brown One.















A few steps outside, Abby decides to take a powder up and away from us.




















But she comes right back so we were okay.







































And of course there were the obligatory kids-sitting-on-animal-statue-so-Mommy-can-have-a cute-new-Facebook-picture series




















Which produced more silliness than profiles but who could care with smiles like those?














We didn't stick around too long to watch these guys. Alligators (crocodiles? I really should've paid more attention in kindergarten.) creep all of us out so we hit the stage for a quick number instead.




























Here is where I was seen doing The Dougie in public. Badly. Moving on to Abby's impersonation of an ostrich. Or was it an ostrich impersonation of an Abby? Not quite sure.


























































Whatever. They were both spot on. An hour or so into the trip, we spotted this little monkey.














And he spotted us right the hell back.




















Abby gravitated toward this little nonworking merry-go-round immediately.















And had to try sitting on each animal before we could move on toward the bathrooms for a potty break.














Which was digitally documented too, of course.














(I think I'll do this jungle theme in our next house.)














Minus the overflowing disgusto wastepaper basket and repulsive staph infection galore floor. P.S. Could Abby be more tired?














Snack time!




















Someone perked up for Teddy Grahams and Mommy's Sun Chips.














Ten minutes before closing time, last call for goat alcohol!




















And Abby returns to her one true love for one last hurrah as well.















No wonder this is what I saw behind me for the entire ride home. It was a very good day. One I can now look back on and thank the flu for knocking me to my keister on Sunday, not Saturday.














The End.
C'est tout.
Peace.
Adioche.
I'm going to bed.
You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.
Or you can.
I should be back for posting more regularly now and since the kids no longer love me, I mean nap, I am taking an hour each day to visit with my bloggities because I've missed you. I've really missed you. Goodnight, you guys. And for the love of God and billy goats, stay away from local petting zoo bathrooms. Or at least bathe in sani-wipes if you must.

No Sympathy

On Sunday, I got the flu.














It did this to me for 5 days.
(I checked myself into the ER on Night Two believing full hog I had to have contracted West Nile somewhere in my son's preschool. Maybe the water fountains? The elevator button? I don't know but that little devil was hiding somewhere and pounced on me like a bloodthirsty tick on a coon hound. PS: There is a funny ER story I will share with you resulting in me going to my nurse's wedding. Not really but I totally know where she's getting hitched and I'm considering crashing it because now I'm dying to see her dress.)














That's me "smiling." Grayson said, "Say Ice cream sundae pizza Sue," to get me to smile for the camera and I almost threw up on my pillow.




















But I had a pretty sweet nursemaid with one dread lock who had a terrific bedside manner.














And the other orderly with a very pale face fed his sister Pop Tarts for two days while also bringing me Cheeze Its and a cupcake on his very own Spiderman plate. All that special TLC (and the fact that Nammy grew wings and flew down here in an impressive record breaking three hours to care for me and the children didn't hurt either. God bless The Nammy. She has a heart of gold and let's all pray an immune system made of machine guns.)














All that care paid off, though, because here I am....sitting up and able to eat more than Ritz crackers and Gatorade! In fact, doubt Ritz crackers or Gatorade will show up on the grocery list for years to come. And probably not Twizzlers either. Lord, what was I thinking with the Twizzlers?

Thanks for sticking by me and my blog but I would feel remiss to exclude one important factor in this whole ordeal that would not allow me to accept or deserve your sympathies.

I did not get a flu shot this winter.

And yes. I learned a valuable lesson.

Next year, I will the poster child for flu shots and probably volunteering at my local CVS to hand them out to the "too busy, I'll do it later" Moms who inconvenience a large tribe of people by becoming so sick and flat busted for about seven days.

There's even a new butt dent in my mattress.

But it's a smaller butt dent than when I was preggers so that's good news, right?

Happy Friday you guys. May the weekend be filled with health and wellness for us all.

Flat on my back sick, hope to update in a day or two. Thanks for stopping in.

Found

I found her.

I found the other mom who proclaims to be a playdate hater too.

I knew this day would come.

I found her playing with her little boy when we stopped at the park today (I should've known she'd be at a park). She stopped to ask me where I take our lab to the vet (Unbelievable...we just got back from the animal hospital, saw a new vet who is super sweet and looks a lot like Roberto from Bachelor, she'll thank me later) because her lab is neurotic and has skin issues. (I should've known she had a lab and possibly a neurotic itchy mess of one at that.)

We talked while my children bayed at me like hungry wolves to leave, play, give them sunglasses, candy, chocolate milk, and I'm pretty sure I heard Abby say money.

She never once stopped to judge me with her eyes as I explained to my wolf children about being polite and not tugging mommy's arm off with their teeth.

She even had a cool laid back edgy vibe that always makes me envision an interesting life of questionable content and great literature before she had kids. And I spied a little silver hoop earring up high on her ear that shows me she still has a voice. (I should've known she'd be pierced.)

At one point in talking with her I reached over and hugged her on the shoulders like we've been chummy for more than 12 minutes. I know, I probably have a restraining order awaiting postal delivery but still.

I found her and I hope to see her again at the park with our neurotic labs and our mutual disdain for organized children's gatherings. (Maybe she even eats raw cookie dough.)

In My Daughter's Eyes

I am headless.

TF?

Internet Chalkboard

I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.
I will not blog instead of run on the treadmill.


There. That should guilt me into at least 20 minutes on that conveyor belt of pain.

See you tomorrow!

Hiding

Has anyone seen Abby?

Sadie Sense

The only time I'm not rushing is when I pet Sadie. For some reason she has the magic to make me slow down, press my face against hers to take in that sweetly dirty fur, and be wholly occupied with nothing else. I am happy in that moment. She is so happy that she yawns, stretches and walks away to eliminate the closeness I have created with a species who needs forward motion instead of overbearing people love and face smooching.

It's no secret that moms are busy. But in all my busyness as a mom I've been trying to slow down my thoughts. Let my body make lunch, wash sticky hands, open the mail, and sweep the most recent village of crumbs off the kitchen floor simultaneously, but my mind? I want her remember what it was like before multi-tasking became her only way of life. Before Rockville Pike became the autobahn.

So I took Sadie for a walk today without the kids. My ninjas had the children and were trying to get them down for naps so I figured lots of shows were being watched (my kids are masterful at stalling) or they were sleeping and I could guiltlessly take my time walking Sadie.

We went to the park and I kept track of my thoughts. They were all over the map. Stuttering even. Power bill - ack...we're out of checks, I forgot to find them in the house. Grayson's fever still up - call doctor or let medicine work for another day? New Wacky Walker leash probably will live longer than I will...what kind of horrible twisted thought is that ya big downer? Oh look, crocuses! And so on.

I forced those thoughts to sort themselves out a little. Money - outstanding bills all on office table. Relax. Health - children are built for survival. Grayson has an ear infection, not bubonic plague. Relax. Mortality - take a hike, I didn't need you then and I don't need you now. Five Senses - Oh look, crocuses!

Then I moved forward with Sadie as we both walked with purpose. She sniffed the underside of a leaf pile. Then got really interested in something heckling her from inside the grass. I just watched her do her dog thing. It was quiet for a few seconds when my thoughts tried to barge back in, those effers. I managed to hold them at bay by touching a spiky red leaf and plucking it off its branch of neighboring green leaves. I wonder if you had much longer to go before you fell off, I'm sorry I just ended you. And look at those little spines, what in the world are you so afraid will eat you to have been born with all this protection? Deer, I bet it's deer because nothing else can really reach you up this high. Ahhh, that's more like it, brain. You go with your single thought self.

I let the leaf helicopter down to an early grave when Sadie yanked me toward the bridge. She loves to check out the ducks in the water. There weren't any around so I let her go. I followed her upturned tail and watched as she capsized stones and piles of leaves with her nose. This dog was in sensory heaven. I took notes.

Smell: Fresh amber bark of a tree recently chopped up into round sections. Mix between Miller Lite and Home Depot
Hear: Water bubbling white over itself to get down the stream as fast as it could. Reminded me of first dates.
See and hear: Three young men pitching baseball in the field. One's voice was very much the coach - authoritative and serious even though they all looked to be the same age.
Oh look, the ducks! The shiny green neck of the mallard wiggled as he scooched himself onto the bank, away from the rushing water. The no nonsense bill swung right to stare at Sadie when he heard her feet gallop over the wooden bridge. "I won't let her see you, don't worry," I tell the duck with my eyes but Sadie had bigger fish to fry. She had locked on to to a squirrel that dared her to leave the edge of the wooden bridge. A brief delivery of mayhem ensued before the criminal squirrel shot up a tall tree and Sadie's back legs planted themselves against the getaway vehicle. She barked out a warning, a lie really, that she would surely tear its guts out next time it showed its ugly maw 'round this town. Sadie has never gotten a squirrel in all the eight years of being with us. She's practically vegan.

See? She makes us all forget about thinking too much. She's magic that way, I tell ya.

Called Out on the Carpet

The other day my son ran over to me practically breathless and beside himself. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Come see, I have to show you, come see now, I have to show you. You're going to be SO surprised. You're going to freak out, come see now!" Of course I one hundred percent believed he was about to lead me to a leaning tower of coffee mugs or a sink filled with shaving cream and red hots (again). But no. This time, I really was surprised. I really was going to freak out. I really didn't love it.






















"It's YOU, Mommy!" Smiles. Smiles. Hopping. Smiles.

"It's...................... me?" It was like looking into a mirror.

"It's YOU! Aren't you surprised? See...here are your arms, your legs, your nose holes, your eyes..."

"And my hair?" I say pointing to the rug where half a French beret was teetering on my bald nugget head. Ooooh la la madame.

"Yes!" he decides to throw me a bone, "and these are your legs but... I forgot your feet."

"Nice Bud. You got me. You really captured my essence. Especially the hair. That is me in a nutshell. Well done!" Seriously, especially the hair.

"But I forgot your feet." He looked absolutely crestfallen.

"Ah, whaddaya need feet for when you're a shapely baked potato? Feet are overrated. Those stick legs will do the job just fine." Definitely generous in the leg department, there is that.

"Okay Mommy. I'm sorry I forgot your feet." Really? Are we not going to discuss the portly beige elephant in the room?

"No way, I LOVE not having feet. I won't have to worry about putting my shoes on the shoe rack ALL day!" Take the high road, Mom. He's only a child. He's not your husband.

Two high fives and one great bear hug later and I really am quite psyched to be the Lady in the Carpet wearing a few nose holes, Picasso eyes, and shopping in the elastic waist department.

Sh*t. At least the round blob of lard in a pool of Jello shots is smiling. I am a happy little porker, aren't I?

Rainy Sunday

Grayson's sick. Fever of a 103.2 without Tylenol. Hovering around 100.5 with. Abby's not far behind him showing signs of not feeling awesome. N&P are here for the weekend (let the angels rejoice!) so although the kids are feeling punk, they are happy and warm in the wings of their grandparents.

I'm still momming and being nurse-maid but doing it in the background after stealing short respites for myself. Haven't done the things I should be: working out, buying clothes that can't also double as pjs, uploading/deleting pictures. Been mostly listening to old recordings (circa millennium) and dreaming of things I once loved like singing, live music, and Lord help me if I can't name one more thing it's been that long. Small children have a way of pressing the pause button on you for a few years...but only for a few.

I crashed out on the couch, not on purpose, for two full hours yesterday afternoon. Nam said she practically checked for a pulse, there was zero motion from under the blanket. The blanket may have been still but my mind was racing. You know the dreams you have when you're little? Indiana Jones dreams - snake pits, crossing beams, volcanic ash? That's where I was while my body rested. HayZeus it's hard to catch some rest when you're amped up and neurotic. Maybe the rain will calm my uncalmables. It always does.

How was your weekend?

Deployments are Weird

Deployments are weird. They have a way of forcing you into a time tunnel. Like time is trapped inside a shallow vessel, swirling around your head in a whirlwind instead of neatly pushing forward and away from you. Does that make sense? Moments in time seem to touch one another more often than they do before the deployment. Before, moments were stacked and organized and my mind could retrieve a memory by going backward for it. Now, to retrieve a memory it seems to get it from above, below, or from the side willy nilly...memories encircle now instead of make a road beneath and beyond.

Here's an example. This picture here was taken two hours before my husband was off to the airport for parts unmentionable. I remember everything about that day. It was sunny but cool. The breeze made the foliage dance and shush together like tap dancers wearing paper shoes. We all needed sunglasses and nobody had them. I was extra terrified Abby was going to run like Forrest Gump into the pond water and never come out. Two very nice strangers (neighbors, we later learned) took this picture knowing it was going to be an important memory. And it is. But it sashays around me and feels both very recent and very long ago; like it happened two weeks ago and 2 years ago all at the same time...I cannot retrieve the exact memory from the correct amount of time ago. I can remember my voice cracking as I told the couple photographing us that my husband was off in a few hours for the airport. It was the first time I broke. Before then, my emotions were hermetically sealed. I didn't cry once until 5 minutes before he had to go. Watching him say goodbye to our kids was so hard it still makes my chest cave in a little bit. Then we said goodbye to each other, had a good cry about it, then dried up. And man did I do a good job of that.

I can honestly say I haven't gotten emotional that much since he left. And when I did it was always because I was tired, worn out and had said something I wish I hadn't to our children. You know, gotten too grumpy and verbal about it. Since the last episode of tears I had with our son, I've completely sucked it all in and have steeled myself in a full body cast of armor. Nothing coming in, nothing going out. Just doing my job, laying low and getting things accomplished.

Great plan. Except for one thing.

I miss him.

It feels like an eternity that he's been away even though I can open up his closet and still smell his aftershave. It feels like I've forever been the one doing it all and remembering to buy stamps. It feels like I've always been the one making too big a deal out of dinner, organization, and cleanliness when just yesterday I was making fun of my husband for prioritizing those very same things. The day he left feels like yesterday yet I can't remember what it's like to have him at home. It's a very weird sensation and one I've struggled with a little bit until I realized this time tunnel has been a coping mechanism for me. If I keep all the memories of him and our life together moving around me in a shallow vortex of air then he's never very far for very long. A memory surfaces and he's not that gone anymore. And then he is.

Mostly, I am no longer a steel Roman. My armor is starting to chink.

I miss him in real time, not tunnel time.

I was walking with the kids and dog last night. The sky was turning dark but when I looked up between the black trees and deepening blue I could feel the warmth of his hand on mine like so many nights we've walked together, behind our little family, holding hands to keep them in. Strange that a color could evoke such a strong feeling but it did. That color blue - somewhere between river rock and oilspill- brought me right back to the way his hand found mine, laced into it perfectly, and then rested. And I missed him so much I had to look away from my kids who were racing Sadie on the sidewalk. I missed him being there with us, with me, for us, for me and I was tired of pretending I am so tough.

I am not so tough and I'm tired of pretending.

Deployments are weird. They play mind-games on people who have the strength to get along but not the heart to do without.

These Daffodils

I bought these daffodils to give away
Then kept them for my home
A selfish act, to hold them close,
not sharing when I should.















But all would not be sitting long
Vased up for eternity
This little yellow-haired girl climbed so high
to see what she could see








































In due time, these daffodils
held together in her small fist
She loosened one to give to me...





















...look what I could have missed?

















Happy March 1st.
Buy some flowers.
And then keep them.

Screw You Keurig

Turns out coffee is very addictive, you guys. Not just a demure little habit to buy into because it looks super cute with a fringe scarf. It's pretty dangerous stuff. More insidious than Orbit gum and puppies even. It's actually really hard to stop. For me, I realized I had to stop. The day my Keurig machine froze up and I literally considered finding a babysitter at that moment so I could run out to replace the damn thing was when I knew I had larger fish to fry in my sad pond of hazelnut creamer than even I thought. Then there was the time I gave a full bodied girl scream when the UPS man rang my doorbell at 2pm....during a playdate. Yeah, that was another clue that I was a tad bit edgy. Edgy as a barbed wire fence on an electric slingshot. Mama needs less crack in her crockpot or someone is going to lose an eye during bath time.

Not one to relish the weaning process (two nursed babies and deflated tatas later - oh the memories) I chose to go cold turkey from all coffee on Friday. Let me tell you how glad you are you were not invited to that party. So much noise in my head my neighbors probably wondered when they should bust through the door with wooden crosses and police back up. The headache began at preschool pick-up. "I'm caffeine-free today," I shyly wince to a lady staring at me while I massage my temples like I'm caffeine-free and Amy Winehouse.

One hour later I get the kids home and diapered up for what I pray will be some miracle napping and I do it all with my eyes completely closed. Because any ray of light is an act of pure and vial hatred to my eyeballs and connecting neurons. Even my children's sweet laughter quickly becomes vacuum cleaner high carpet cycle to my ear canals and Abby's girly high pitched voice makes me hurry so fast to the underside of my own covers that I completely neglect to tuck her in. From my bedroom, I talk her through it with a loud whisper and lots of "Mommy is so proud of her big girl," until I can hear her switch on her own lullaby music since I forgot that too.

I had found my new low. And we were about to spoon.

While my blankets protect me from the sun and the sounds, nothing can protect my body from searching for the drug it always has and coming up empty. Frankly, it was more than a little pissed off about the whole setup. The process continues: search and no rescue, search and no rescue until my stomach churns with sickness and my skin prickles with chills and desperation. No coffee in those veins since Thursday night and someone is about to pay.

And pay I do with one wicked slamming headache and a residual up-chuck as my stomach attempts to gut itself in an effort to find more coffee beans.

Some time during this hell ride through self rehab, my children show up begging for something to eat. "I'm hungeeeee," says the little one.
"Abby's reaaaaaaaaalllly hungry," echoes the bigger one.
"We neeed snack," redemands Two.
"Grayson, please go get..." I say so hushed I'm quite sure I'm asleep, "please go get some Goldfish crackers and feed them to Abby. Mommy can't get up right now."

And they disappear down the hall and hopefully to the kitchen pantry. I wouldn't know because I pass out.

60 MINUTES LATER the kids are snuggled up next to me watching TV. Abby is on my left. She has a chocolate mustache. Grayson is flinging around one of my favorite bracelets with the arm of his Spiderman action hero on my right. My children have done God knows what for over an hour without me.

All because I believed kicking coffee in one day was going to be a walk in the park. I sincerely believed it was as simple as changing face soap. I knew my skin would itch or I would even break out for a day or so but overall a painless ordeal.

Not. Even. In. The. Slightest.

Next to my husband's deployment, this goes down as the second biggest Suckfest ever.

But. BUT???

It's almost over. I'm eating extra strength Tylenol like it's wheat germ and Kit Kats like they might have medicinal qualities richer than their point 7 grams of caffeine too. At least I haven't revved up that evil Keurig in 48 hours. And if I do? You can bet the farm it's going to be decaf tea because I never want to smell another medium dark roasted organically blended cinnamon infused with caramel or chocolate undertones coffee bean in this house ever again.

My throbbing head will remember what this anarchy feels like loooonnnngg after the memory of the last Chai latte K cup fades away.

Holy Wednesday Batman

Wow. Today was just one of those days that left me feeling stupid by the end of it. You know that jostled about and banged up feeling you sometimes (all the time) get at night? Well today I tapped out twice - once at 2pm and then again at 4pm and still the day stomped on my ribcage until I snorted for air.

Yes, there are lots of things happening and happening all at once (pardon the vague) but none of it is entirely insurmountable. Just stuff we'll figure out, get through, get past. You know, stuff that feels big and scary at first but loses its venom a few weeks later.

But today? I am an old tattered, shredded, gnawed on, wrinkly, chewed up bag of bacon strips left in the middle of the kitchen floor.




















(Yes, Sadie still infiltrates the pantry when we leave her at home.)

I think the real issue here is why do I still buy the bacon strips?

GPS

"The GPS says take a left at the blue mailbox."





















"K, we're here already. President's Day, no traffic."

Coconuts

With my Ninjas (Nam, Pop) and very good friend, Marni, in town this weekend, I had a chance to be child-free. And you know what? I didn't forget how to do it. Oh, at first I stuttered. I ran around shoving clean clothes into drawers because my kids were otherwise loved and entertained (read: not in me bum). Then, I even gutted my closet in the name of finding something cute to wear. Marni just patiently waited for the latte to soften its grip while she silently held kitchen bags open for donate-able items.

Finally, we spritzed ourselves with hair gloss, then perfume and were on our way to Old Town, Alexandria. Haven't been there in years and let me say it has not lost its charm in the least. Would've preferred a little less crazy wind and a lot more loose knit jacket but I only have my vanity to blame for the latter. Black anorak Alaskan gear just didn't feel right for a day on cobblestone. I'm not sure blue lips was the answer either.

First stop was lunch. We went to Ireland. Or a little Irish pub that served crab cakes and bacon burgers, same difference. We intensely hashed over problems already hashed over on the car ride down. She let me over analyze my child rearing and I let her order a condiment-free, "on the side" meal so not even the salt granules rubbed shoulders. She and Grayson have that in common. We giggled about the underclassmen perpetuating the Irish bar stereotype. There was one who had Heath Ledger hair and an Italian profile. Another reminded us both of the B characters in Good Will Hunting who probably had one pint too many by noon. He had some volume going and his friends were already lifting their chins in that subconscious push to hush their boy.

Check please! Next stop, off to shop. There was a consignment shop where I tried on two dresses and bought two dresses - score! There was a pet store where I fell in love with a blaze orange Wacky Walker dogleash that is pretty much a bungee cord with a clip. Right. A big day-glo orange bungee cord dogleash and I had to have it (by the way...a-MAY-zing!). Next we walked through a fancy schmancy childrens' boutique where Marni fell in love with a darling bohemian girl (Abby) outfit that cost more than two bungee cords plus consignment dresses combined. I attempted to talk her out of buying anything as I fawned over ridiculously expensive leather plush owl bookends. My credibility took a hit but we both managed to leave without spending a dime. A few doors down, there was a cool Byzantine store that had the most colorful and alluring flatware I'd ever seen. Beautiful bowls, pretty plates, and sexy serving dishes galore but the store owner began stalking Marn the moment we walked in. She held her own. She always does. Sexy dishes or not, I wasn't giving Sir Creepsalot my cash.

Then there was Bittersweet: the cupcake store. It was really a cafe of sorts but for two girls with no agenda and a love of all things excessively frosted we only saw cake. I got the kids a pink one and a peanut butter/chocolate one. Then I got myself a vanilla looking one with coconut sprinkled on top. I don't even like coconut. That's how freaking good that cupcake looked. Here's what was left 49 seconds after Marni left me alone in the car with it while she innocently went into the drugstore for a drink.















I have no shame. And P.S. coconut was the boss of that cupcake.

Finally, we stole off into a coffeehause and managed to create our own Scene One Act Two of: Married Girls Gone Old Towne. Marni had a (pretend) monologue with a gritty looking musician type pouring skim milk into his black roast. Things weren't going well so she ended it with him in front of the register and he (pretendly) stormed out the door to cry in his Morrissey CD. Then I ponied up to the cashier next to my (pretend) first date (who just so happened to - in real life - resemble my husband....how pathetically loyal am I?). Things did go (pretendishly) well and we made another date for the following Sunday. Same coffeehause. We both liked their French roast and laid back atmosphere. End (Pretend) Scene.

All in all, I had myself one fabulously carefree weekend with my girl, Marni. I'm just happy to have spent time remembering what it's like to be someone else's goofy half. Who else, other than her, would walk in silence with me for a block or two, suddenly stop in the middle of a street and yell, "It's banana, chocolate AND cream cheese!" as my thought bubble is saying "I can't WAIT to try out this new dogleash on Sadie!"

We are simple. We are hungry. We are girlfriends. Spending the weekend with her was just icing on my excessively frosted cake.

I Don't Know How They Do It

When the kids were sick and waking up every two hours in the night for weeks on end, I was a single parent with a deployed spouse.

When the dog got chunky because I couldn't figure out how to boil spaghetti, fold laundry, and walk her all at the same time, I was a sorry dog owner with a deployed spouse.

When I declined invitations to dinner, weekend playdates or impromptu gatherings because I hadn't one more ounce of giddy in my up to spare, I was Survival Mode wife of a deployed spouse.

When the kids and I had to squint to brush our teeth at night because I hadn't gotten around to replacing burnt out light bulbs, I was a lackluster House Manager with a deployed spouse.

When we made smoothies out of rotting fruit and ice chips because I hadn't been to the grocery store yet, I was a resourceful menu planner with a deployed spouse.

When I got to email, Skype, talk with my husband almost daily I was a lonesome bride missing her deployed spouse.

When I didn't hear from him for four days while watching the news about the political climate in areas he was expected to be traveling, I was no longer just a so-and-so whatever with a deployed spouse.

I became a Marine Wife today. It became real. I became anxious. We became involved.

Today my mind is not here doling out sippy cups and dog food (kids, dog respectively). My heart is not reading Biscuit Goes to School before bed. I am half here in my world of normal and half there on his foreign land of civil unrest.

And the last four days not hearing from him and not really knowing where he was or how he was doing? Not even close to what other military spouses go through. What I experienced for four days is only the smallest tenth of a percentage of what other spouses must feel when their loved one is incommunicado, in "the fight," or on a secret mission somewhere undisclosed for months and months on end.

I can honestly say I cannot imagine what they must go through on a daily basis.

I can also say with certainty that I never want to feel how that felt again.

We are all in this crazy messy politically ugly deployment together and as of today, I will never forget the people who go through the scary parts filled with the kind of worry and fear that preoccupies your heart and makes the air go narrow in your chest for an entire year. You are the heroes to me and if the anxiety I was feeling this week was anything close to how you feel every single day, then I will gladly babysit your children, walk your dog or make you baked ziti to put in your freezer. You deserve more than half a heart to work with while you maintain some semblance of calm for yourself and your family. The least I can do is call myself out on not providing my thanks for all you feel, deal with and sacrifice more often than I do. Thank you and may yours come home to you soon.

Backhanded Compliment

Sometimes it's not about what you did right.

Sometimes it's about what you did not do wrong.

Today I celebrate all the things I did not do wrong over the last few days:

• did not choose to surrender Sadie to PetSmart(after coming home to find trail of rainbow dogprints all over the entire house. Think Dennis the Menace and mud but with four feet and finger paint.)
  
• did not choose to auction off daughter on Ebay (after she woke me up three times last night because she was a) sooo thirsty b) not tired anymore c) wondering where her pig was)
• did not cry when I missed my husband's Valentine's Day phone call by three minutes
• did not show up late to a dinner date with my Otter
• did not throw a tantrum about children giving up afternoon naps
• did not give up my own free time as a result
  
• did not just ask what that horrible noise was because the non nappers are entertaining themselves during newly instituted "leave Mommy the @*& alone time"
• did not teach anyone new bad words this week (a personal lofty goal)
  
• did not go down the shoe aisle today in Target
• did not stop by McD's or Starbucks on the way home for a venti cup of steamy foamy empty calories
• did not put the laundry away yet (because the basket works as well as their dresser)
• did not crush the huge cardboard box for recycling (because it makes an awesome Bat cave)
• did not forget to clean Snapper's tank
  
• did not forget Sadie's Heartguard and Frontline
• did not go to Panera Bread more than once this week
• did not stay up until 2am dorking around online or watching TV
  
• did not teach anyone how to read, tie their shoe, use the potty, or write their name BUT....
  
• did not have to take anyone to the pharmacy, doctor or Emergency Room so all in all it's been a banner week of parenting if I don't forget what I did not do.
  

Stand

Sorry for all the crickets since our last meeting. I've decided to omit the two part posts from now on because apparently I avoid finishing them like it's my job. I'm quite dedicated to my job, aren't I? I should also probably never take up knitting. We'd have a truckload of pewter colored O rings around here. Somewhere a little yarn city of English Purl trucks needs me.

To wrap up the FB Philosophies post, I will say that I loved these quotes:

"Times of advancement are preceded by times of disorder. Success comes to those who can weather the storm."

"We must free ourselves of the hope that the seas will ever rest - we must learn to sail in high winds."

because I find them both very relevant and timely. For months I've been bullying through the days and sometimes entire weeks just to reach the Promised Land of Peace. Then, when we run aground on a little calm, I see it never lasts for more time than it takes to find the restroom. After so many months of bumping heavily into one another like drunken manatees instead of sweetly gliding together like seagulls in the wind, I can only assume we have hit the stormy part of life. Stormy as in active "weather" approaching and "weather" of course being Abigail and Grayson. Add to that our daily grind, socks that fit deprivation, and my inability to eat whilst sitting down and we're all about surviving in the high winds of change.

Which brings me to my next post within a post - Stand

During dinner my kids will sit for about 4 minutes and 20 seconds. Then they stand. Sometimes Grayson rocks his body back and forth like a scarecrow on meth. Most of the time Abby stands straight up in her chair wobbling on her blue booster seat like any second will result in a cool ER story to tell her future boyfriends. This has baffled me. I keep asking them to sit down. They do but like a turkey thermometer, they pop right back up seconds later. They don't play with stuff. They don't even really stop eating. They just want to stand.

Aha.

Right. You got it before even finishing that paragraph. Wonder why it took me so long to catch on. They are doing what I do. I do not sit down while they eat dinner. I lean near the sink to refill mac'n'cheese, chip away at dishes, or de-skin an apple for preschool lunch. All the while standing during dinner. Modeling the behavior of not sitting has worked. They are quick studies and astute observers. Being excellent students has not been easy for them as their Headmaster constantly forces them to their seats for the first few agonizing minutes. Those minutes are long, sweaty and rebellious until they can free themselves and stand like the proper little mimes they are. A plus kiddos. F minus to you, Headmaster.

Next up, modeling alone time and independent play. Oh yeah. I'm already looking forward to writing those lesson plans. And tonight? I will sit during dinner, eat what is on the menu, and probably confuse the poor little schoolmates entirely.

Facebook Philosophies

One of the many reasons I love Facebook is that you get to learn more about the people you never knew that well in high school. Since we've established I spent more time hiding from social circles than being in them, it will come as no surprise to you that I knew few people really well. Facebook is beginning to change that.

I love to read what my friends are saying to each other. It's the voyeur in me but probably why everyone loves this networking site so much too; it's the fun part. Also, there are a few friends I have really grown to admire and look up to even though I didn't know them well 20 years ago (seriously, how has it been two decades ago?!). And even now, I almost never comment on their wall or get in contact with them at all. There's a fine line between high school esteem and real world self image. They have both matured yet both have developed a few wrinkles and bad habits of their own. Regardless, I wanted to share something with you that has really resonated with me lately. It's a quote taken from a FB friend. She is not only gorgeous on the outside but she is all lady on the inside too. She often posts inspiring famous quotes as her status updates. These alone are fun to read but the best part is that one of our mutual FB friends always responds with a similar famous quote. He is witty, scary smart, and sometimes a little salty but almost always responds in kind. Here is one of their recent famous quote exchanges.

Her: "Times of advancement are preceded by times of disorder. Success comes to those who can weather the storm."

Him: "We must free ourselves of the hope that the seas will ever rest - we must learn to sail in high winds."



And here's another one just to show off their public tete-a-tete relationship:

Her: "The question isn't whether you are or afraid or not, it's what you do with that fear."

Him: "Yeah, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil, for I am the meanest son of a bitch in the valley." - Joel Rosenberg
stolen, ahem... borrowed, from a web site - sorry, was too good not to share... :-)

I love and look forward to these philosophical chats and will expound further on the first one when I can devote more thought. Right now I'm only half here because Abby is dining on crackers and pear slices alone in the kitchen; patiently awaiting parental supervision. With that, I hope later this afternoon- post preschool pick-up and nap drop-off I can revisit this post and explain why I love the first couple of quotes so much. At least, let's hope there's a nap drop-off. There should be if what Grayson told me first this morning is true (click on toolbar tab above on He Said/She Said if you're curious.) Till then, Happy Friday you guys!

Bird Nests

Someone's weaned herself completely from bah-poos. In its stead she has one trillion tiny little hair nests from absent-mindedly curling and twirling her hair. Detangler is her little black dress. Goodbye bottles. Hello Cher hair.

Sucret Diversion

Remember Sucrets? The throat lozenges? In that crafty little metal box where your grandmother stored stamps after all the lozenges were gone? Do they still make those? I must find out.

So yeah, I'm stalling. Not finishing Part Two of last post has been bothering me but apparently not enough to sit my hind end down and complete the task. And that should be okay but no. I agonize over the unimportant, obsess over the wee, and cannot move past anything in general. So, because I'm feeling a little unresolved about the whole thing, here's some bullets to tie a nice red bow on Nature is a Mother - Day Two.

• Power stayed off for about19 hrs - all night and almost into the next evening
  
• It did get cold but not see-your-breath-we-will-die-without-peanut-butter cold
• Sleeping bags came in handy for all; mostly Sadie
  
• Pop MacGyvered a heat source (and more importantly hot tea) with our Coleman camping stove in the a.m.

• Toasted a piece of bread over Coleman stove with meat fork just for effect. Don't think anybody ate it
• Know I spelled MacGyver wrong
• Never learned that "effect vs. affect" rule either
  
• Dug up wet soggy slurpy snow with anvil - I mean shovel (old, solid & heavy as sin dipped in iron)
  
• Promptly made reservations the next afternoon @ local hotel that takes dogs, shivering Betta fish, and harried parents more for continental breakfast and fresh linen than life saving measures
  
• Joined neighbor-friends in their living room for great food, cheese (listed separately...suspicious of its current status as food), of course vino, great company, and warmth from their fireplace *Must add she let me wear her warm woolen socks for 2 hrs. because mine were soaked. Odd thing to return when all done so we're like bloodsisters now or something fantastic I'm sure
  
• Celebrated when power came back on @ 3pm. Thawed Perdue chicken would live to see crock pot afterall
  
• Did not have to break down dining room table set for firewood either
  
• Gloomily canceled reservation for hotel room with much of my own disappointed reservation
• Had compulsory response to entire event and bought, unloaded (and stacked haphazardly) 100 pieces of wood like we suddenly live on a ranch in Oklahoma and not the suburbs of Virginia
  

• Bought large kerosene heater because in retrospect, Damn it was cold!
  
• Had large propane bottle refilled because... hot dogs!
  
• Bought and thought I could carry 2 Duraflame boxes weighing in at one elephant and one point five large pregnant peacock(s)
  
• Went on one hour long sojourn for kerosene
• Got my latent Girl Scout badge for readiness
  

So yeah. It was a long couple of days and let me tell you how tired me and my personal ninjas were after it was all said and done. If we lived in the Wild West, we would've climbed into our teepees and had a good long smoke about it. But instead, Pop crocked dinner. Nam won the hearts of two small children and I hauled more wood in one day than my husband can make a dirty joke about in a lifetime. Or maybe. Or probably I'm wrong. He's got a lot of wood jokes, you guys.

Thanks for reading. You suffered through so here's a pic of something cute:



















(I'm their mother, of course I think they're cute.)


Something funny:













(I'm her mother, of course I think she's funny.)

Something peanut butter:














(I'm a mother, those are not my spoons.)