Order Room Service

Parenting small children did not come easy for me.

As a hormonal, highly sensitive to the universe, I love me some quiet, Erin person, it was almost more than I could handle.  There were times I thought I'd check myself into a little room governed by psychiatrists, nurses, and lots of hand sanitizer but that never came to pass.  Believe me, there was this one day I tried.  But I wasn't needy sounding enough.  That's the thing about moms.  We know how to sound very put together when everything in us is falling apart.  Such a gift.

Before I go on, I have good news.  No, AMAZING news.  I made it.  Yes, my children still need me and I'm barely at the finish line but I made it through the hardest stay-at-home years of my life, raising my smalls.  Again, I wasn't sure I'd still be here to see the light at the end of this tunnel, but I'm here.  And you guys, it's the prettiest light I've ever seen.  It's worth it.

If you're wondering a few things, I'll try to pre-answer them for you:
Did I have postpartum depression?  Nope.  I took the survey, all checked out fine.  Was my husband deployed?  Yes, one time for 10 months.  Didn't I have any family nearby to help?  Nearby is a misnomer when you're talking Virginia mixing bowl and DC traffic.  Even those who tried to get to me got stuck in hours (4 hrs on a Saturday one day!) of traffic going one way.  Didn't I have any friends to talk to?  Tons.  Didn't any offer to help?  Yes, many did but I couldn't articulate what I needed myself.  And when I realized I needed help raising my children, I didn't know how to word that without sounding like I was 12.  People can drop in and lend a hand for a few hours but I knew I had to figure this out for the long haul.  Couldn't I hire people?  I did.  Sometimes it went well, other times not at all.  When you are already at your lowest point, hiring a babysitter feels as hard as building a car out of spoons.  Plus, all of your spoons are dirty.

You see, when you're someone like me you're very independent, stubborn head-strong, determined, and mostly positive.  You view yourself as capable and are bewildered that raising children is suddenly so hard.  How can little kids make you this depleted when you've gone to graduate school, got a teaching job, learned to SCUBA dive, and run a marathon all in the course of one year?  How is a nap schedule and Play-Doh kicking your ass after all of this?

Because it is, that's why.  Who cares about the details, it just is.

I know the details now.  Eight years later, I'm a scientist about the details.  I know that I need ridiculous amounts of quietude and space to feel normal.  I know that I cannot stomach sitting on a floor to play dolls but love kicking a soccer ball in the backyard for days.  I know I need music, not just lullabys.  I know I have to eat well or my brain goes haywire.  I know that structure, sleep, and removing myself from the noise of social media - especially the sensationalized news channels - is not optional for my psyche.  I know that I love to sing my babies to sleep in my arms when they're sick.  I'm a virtual expert on me, eight years later.

So, for anyone who's been confused as to why the job of raising young children is such a huge one.  Stop wondering.  You'll figure it out eventually.  Right now you have to survive.  Right now you have to get through it.  Right now your job is to do the hard work, cry sometimes, and laugh so much more.

Here's a quick guide that might help.  I'm calling it The Simple Guide to Living with Smalls.

1. Go to bed by 9pm.  Stop laughing, just do it.  Don't scroll Facebook.  It'll be there tomorrow.  And the same stories will burn on your timeline for days so you're not missing anything.    
2. Wake up before your children.  Yes, even the little effer  lovebug who gets up at 5:30 giggling in his crib just because he just can.
3. Sit upright in a chair drinking your favorite drink.  Not rum.  Trust me. 
4. Brush your teeth.  If you don't do this you will find a dry toothbrush next to your sink at 8pm, which incidentally, is the next time you get to think about yourself.  Floss, too.  Duh.  Always floss or else all the cute people in your life will stop wanting to kiss you.  You're welcome.
5. Get dressed while listening to music, NOT the TV.  Pick something uplifting that you like even if it's from the 80s.  Especially if it's from the 80s.  May I recommend this one?   Rock that tune in your grannie undies all around your room until you find the outfit you can feel comfortable in yet still maybe stop at the grocery store for emergency chocolate.  We've all been there.  Aisle 5.
6.  Make yourself a smoothie filled with all the veggies, fruit, and water you'll need for the next 6 hours.  This will be the best meal of your day.  The younger your children are, the more good sh*t you need to put in that smoothie.  P.S.  Spend the car payment and buy the Ninja Food System.  Add avocado to everything.
7. Make eye contact with your kid(s).  It's hard because those dishes, that laundry, those dogs, your hair, The Twitter...but look at them.  They're here because you worked hard to get them here.  They're here and they love you the most.
8. Answer their questions.  Even the one about babies.  My kids recently saw a cartoon of a woman getting ready to give birth and both of them couldn't figure out why her legs were up.  They couldn't imagine popping a baby out of her bellybutton that way.
9. Love your partner.  He/she's freaking tired too.  Like more tired than you.  Not really but what the hell does it matter?  It's not a Tired Competition.  Nobody gets a night at the Hilton with oversized body pillows as a prize if they win.  By the way, don't worry...you're totally more tired.
10. No seriously, love your partner.  This is worth repeating.  Text them funny texts.  Flirty ones.  Emoji ones.  Communicate throughout the day but about Date Night, not your jobs.  Your jobs both suck right now, talk about something fun.  Hug them when you see them at night.  Kiss too if you took my advice about flossing.  Thank them for running the bath, sorting the mail, making the appointment for the AC guy to come, not show up, come, and not show up again.  He/she is working two jobs at least, just like you.  But don't worry, you're still totally more tired.  Way.  If there is no partner and you're going this completely solo?  Please be extra kind to yourself and reward yourself with positive friends, exercise, and a healthy lifestyle that allows you little glimpses of what keeps you feeling like yourself.
11. Pamper yourself like you would your best friend.  You bring your bestie Gatorade when she's got the flu, right?  Well, you're worth it, too.  Stop and get yourself Airborne pills when your little snotbuckets cherubs bring home all the germs.  Paint your toes that funky robin egg blue.  That color looks cute on you.  Take your kid(s) to a store just for you and make them suck it up for 20 minutes while you enjoy your life.  They already enjoy theirs because you're an awesome mom, remember?  Buy that uplifting card you see... for yourself.  You need Maya Angelou quotes.  You need the pretty lady made of hemp seeds and butterfly magic that says Spirit Warrior.  Get them.  For yourself.  Then, buy the cup of coffee/tea/flavored water to enjoy on your drive home.  When the kid(s) fall asleep?  Drive around to get yourself another one.  You'd do it for your sisterfriend when she's sick, right?  Do it for you because parenting smalls is very much like being sick all the time.  You feel like crap while you're making everyone else forget you exist, see?  Same thing.
12. Play with your kid(s) as much as YOU want.  They just got here, they have no idea what's appropriate.  If that means 20 minutes a day, then rock that sistermom.  Seriously, do you remember your parents playing with you every waking second of the day?  I remember a whole lot of meandering aimlessly and happily in my neighborhood and in the woods behind our house.  Can't do that today, I realize, but my gawd, the children can still learn to entertain themselves safely within your decided parameters.  Plus, I tried playing with Abby all day long one time, not even getting up to get myself another cup of tea, and we were both in tears before 3pm.  Nobody was happy because nobody had a mom.  I became a 3 year old along with her and we both desperately needed a nap. 
13. Haha, here's the catch:  Play with your kid(s) without a technical distraction.  Yes, I know, I love my phone and my camera too.  So. Much.  But those two will still be here when they turn 18.  Our kid(s) won't.  This time of raising smalls feels like forever but it couldn't be more of a trick The days are long but the years are short.  By the time your kid(s) reaches school age, you will have more time to devote to your distractions.  And that's when you're going to need them.  Let your children be with you while they're little.  More importantly, let yourself be with them.  They're your memories too.
14. Give yourself a mid-day dance break.  Or several.  Freestyle is great but hip hop is better.  Because how precious is your little one trying to do the running man?   It's ok to bust out the camera too.  Fine, go get your phone.
15. Messes do not make you a horrible person.  They are a byproduct of all the fun in life.  Take out the paints!  Bring out the colored bubbles!  Be the master of a Play-Doh Universe!  If you just hived out reading this one then do it all outside.  But make the messes.  It's how your children learn to do things and how you learn to not do things for them.  
16. 
17. Clean up is for everyone.  Good heavens, please don't do what I did.  Please do not become the only person in your house who knows where everything goes.  Ask your kid(s) to help you put things away.  Ask them to sort laundry, then put away folded laundry, then help you do the laundry.  Your shoulder blades and your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend will thank you for it.  Anyone raising children and trying to keep a clean house is already insane.  They need help and your children won't know how to help if you don't make show them.  Pretty soon, it'll become a habit for all.  
18. Give yourself a Time Out.  I'm not talking an hour or two at Barnes & Noble on a Saturday.  Not even three hours with your friends for Happy Hour.  I'm talking two full beautiful wonderful so very necessary days of rest at a hotel when nobody can find you will need you.  You need nobody to need you for a couple of days.  If you don't do this, none of 1-17 will help you one bit.  Trust and believe, if you're like me at all, you need time to defrag and reconstitute yourself for the hard week of doing it solo ahead.  P.S.  Order room service.  Turn off the TV.  Bring a book you've been dying to read.                                          You guys, I was so tired in this pic.  I can remember this day.  Abby was sick with a upper respiratory stuff.  I threw her a B-Day party where many family members came.  Andy was deployed and I wouldn't ask anyone for help because I wanted everyone to know I had it all together.  
19. Stop yelling.  It's not them you're mad at.  You're mad because you're sad.  You're sad because you feel like a monster when you're this low, I get it.   So you yell because it feels like all you have left to gain control.  We all do it from time to time because you're so tired you just need everyone to do exactly as you say or you'll drop.   But do your guilty little self a favor and stop yelling at your kids.  You're a big girl, close your mouth or yell into a pillow if it has to go somewhere.  Kickboxing classes are good too, just a suggestion.  Personally, I prefer Tae Bo but that's because I'm 40.  Your kids don't understand how tired you are.  They're new on the scene of life and haven't been that tired yet.  Let them live that innocently for as long as they can.  You can handle this.  
20. Let go of guilt.  It isn't serving you at all.  It's depleting you even more of anything good living inside your tired bones.  We all make parenting mistakes.  We all expect too much.  We all think we have to be perfect at this.  We all think they should be able to wash their little bodies by now because your head pounds with the despair of knowing you're not going to sleep tonight...again.  Forgive yourself of your mistakes after your kids forgive you.  Because guess what?  They forgive you right away.  They love you the most.  Now, you need to love you half as much. 
21. Write down their sweet words.  Draw with them.  Wrestle on the floor.  Play the board games you like.  Who cares if all the marbles fly off the Hungry Hungry Hippo board?  We all know it's not about keeping our marbles.  It's way more fun when you let some of your marbles go.

There's a light, you guys and it's the prettiest light I've ever seen.  I'm here now and I've found my voice.  Please don't let yourself think it doesn't get better.  It does.  Yes, you'll miss them while teachers/administrators/their friends spend their days with them but you need this time apart.  You will find yourself again and the best news is that the old you is happy you're back.  She's so happy you didn't give up on her.  She's so happy she's singing so that others like her will hear her and know it really does get sweet again.  Do the hard work, know this season of your life does not last forever, and definitely order room service when you have no more left to give.  Having no more left to give is a sign you need to give to yourself.  Guilt-free.  You deserve it too, sisterfriend.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukyq9NWJM0c

Sunny Skies with a Few Rainshowers Possible

There's this friend I have back home..  She's my people.  We'll call her Vee. 

Vee's different from most women I know.  She says the F word.  So do I.  From the moment I met her, she seemed safe.  Like it was a waste of her time to know if my kids ate kale or wonder why I had on the same ratty cargo pants whenever we'd see each other. She asked questions about my life before kids like she knew that was the secret to owning my heart.  It is.  You can always tell if someone values their time with you if they ask you questions that show your guts when you answer.  

Vee's kind but not pushover schmaltzy.  She's crazy smart but not a bit precocious about it.  Vee's eyes tighten when she listens.  She's safe for me because I tend to over think a conversation before it even begins. Vee never lets me end a sentence in "but whatever," because she can tell whatever is important enough to solve.

I miss Vee.  It was a mean trick to play on a vagabond sap to rip me away from her accepting air a few short months after being surrounded by it.  We had so much more wine to go.  

But Vee doesn't wallow.  She is a strong working mom who has crafted a creatively-driven life for herself that I admire and aspire for myself.  Vee knows I'm sad to be new again but she urges me to fly.  She allows me tears to grieve but texts me pep talks on Fat Tuesday and names of venues I am not to miss if I care anything about my musical soul.  I do.  She figured as much.

Women are tricky.  I don't readily find many safe to walk next to, drink with, or borrow their dresses.  Bonding doesn't come around a lot because I'm a strange energy field repelling and attracting simultaneously.  Please do come in.  I'll be leaving soon.

The funny thing is Vee and I don't even know each other's middle name.  We are just as much strangers as we are sisterfriends.  Maybe that's the only way this thing works.  Give it your all but take an umbrella.

I miss Vee's air and the way I felt beautiful in it.

I'm so ugly all over again but I'm hoping it won't last long.

 

Refueling Station

I consider this tour in Louisiana our Refueling Tour.  And I am standing at the pump with the car off and windows down.

At this billet, Andy has predictable and stable hours.  He is not required to work weekends.  There is even some flexibility in his schedule that allows him to make important kid functions for the first time ever. Here, he can be an active husband, parent, and a Marine.  Whereas before, in all of our other tours, his work was so intensive that all of his time had been spoken for by the Marine Corps.  Not that different from many civilian jobs as I understand it.  I swear America does it the hard way.  We are a strong nation with wide shoulders because of it but it is definitely the hard way.

The kids are flourishing here.  Both love their schools, enjoy extra-curricular activities and have made good friends in the neighborhood to play with which is novel for them.  Before we were motoring to parks to get in a play date with friends before fighting an hour's drive through traffic back home.

While I haven't taken advantage of the Cajun music or food scene much, I am thriving here too.

With more support from Andy on the home front, my time is becoming less frenetic.  I no longer feel so anxious and alone.  Yes there are still uni-lateral decisions, solo trips the pediatrician's, and single parenting schleps to a parent-teacher conference (with an over-tired sibling in tow) but they have lost their weight.  My body is not heavy with the knowledge I must get up and do it all over again alone for months on end.  A new scaffolding exists.  A happy family hammock.

For the first time in several years, we are in place where we can all refuel.

I am filling up my tank that I depleted so much there were cracks in its foundation.  Large, scissoring, wicked cracks.  Nobody but me is responsible for dehydrating my tank so badly.  It was a case of good intentions, fractured exhaustion, and striving for an unrealistic standard I created myself.  Not one of my friends would've cared if they sat in a dusting of dog hair on my couch.  Every single one of them would've come over to make my kids dinner while I went upstairs to fall into a coma short sleep.

That tank might've lasted longer if I forced more naps and attended fewer volunteer opportunities; cared less about seeming strong than being rested.  That tank would've teetered above E if I would've been kinder to myself and let the clean laundry live in the baskets or serve the kids a curb-side IHOP dinner on Fridays. Nobody but me kept that bar up so damn high.    

Ah, but we all have the magic hindsight, don't we?

Luckily, that phase of our life has come and gone and the kids are growing up.  Now that Grayson is at school full time, he requires less direction from me during daytime hours.  He is largely self-sufficient with his morning own care and has become uber responsible about due dates and his homework at night.  We hope this trajectory continues and vaporizes into Abby's mind when it's her turn.

Abby is going to school every day too but only for 4 hours.  She is largely the reason I don't need a gym membership.  We never stop moving.  Abby is a one-person Cirque du Soleil, The Musical.  Because of her age, she leans heavily on me for her personal care and entertainment before and after school.  Most of the time I can hang and come up with fun things but there are minutes when I am 40 and must tap out.  That's when she is parked her in front of Curious George so I can detox from socializing (yes, socializing even with her wears me out.  "It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.")

Those detox minutes are precious.  They are standing at a quiet pump, refueling an empty tank leftover from gritty years in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.   Good years but lacking wisdom or grace.

My default detox is grabbing the camera and heading to the duck pond.  I turn, squat, lean, and bend to align myself with the sun to make a pretty glow.  Trying to capture what is only there for a momentary stretch. Nikon Yoga.  

Another creative tank is guitar.  While I still really suck at it and probably never will be able to play more than Jewel's Morning Song, practicing reminds me growth often comes from pain.  The strings physically hurt, my fingers stretch beyond their wildest dreams, and my voice struggles to climb around a harmony.   G chord Therapy.

Finally and maybe the most addictive tank has been advocating for death row animals.  Every free moment brings a chance to sign online and crosspost a sentient life that doesn't stand a chance without it.  Just by sharing, this pet will have up to thousands more people looking at it and becoming aware of its plight.  There can be no empathy without awareness.  The beauty of social networking is that it can be utilized for posting a pic of your Girls' Night Out martini and posting a pet in NYC to be seen across the globe in a matter of seconds...very crucial, life altering seconds.  To me, it's the best use of networking there is.  Dogmatic Truth.

Did my empty tank require a move to Louisiana?  No.  I could've done all of this back in our old place but something about starting over helped me do the same.

It's good to be filling back up the old me.  I've missed patience, a surplus of affection, and time to give myself.  Yes, myself.   When we are strung out and barely hanging by a thread, we don't stop.  The only reason we are still able to give to others is because we are leaching it from ourselves.  We deplete our own tank.  Our kids don't take it without our permission, our partners don't rob us blind in the dark, our parents and/or friends don't strip of energy until we let them.  We push ourselves, cover up fatigue, drag along a weary body that just wants to go to a spa for 60 million hours.

I don't know what it was for me:  this far away move, a death of a beloved one, a click of the psyche.  But I feel we all  get there eventually.  We land ourselves in a place - both figuratively and literally - that allows us to slow down, refocus and refuel.  A cracked foundation leads to erosion of the entire property.  And my property was beginning to recede into the ocean.

My tank isn't full yet and might not ever be but that's ok.  We live in the south now.  There is nobody hurrying me along.  I can sit here with the car off and the windows down for as long as it takes.

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

In many ways, living in Louisiana feels like being away at college.  There is this party feel in the air all the time.  Even a regular Tuesday.
 


Your best friends live right next door and down the street.  When you want to slip away from your responsible life for a minute, you shuffle to them in your slippers as they are waiting for you with your glass of white already in their hands.






Can't you just smell the patchouli?


Purple, green, and gold Mardi Gras colors frame every doorway in booming classy ribbon puffs.  Black and gold Saints regalia adorn most indoor archways.  The French influence is alive with Louisiana's cuisine, street names and the ever present fleur-de-lis pride on many walls.






Everyone invites you over for "the game."  And the appetizers are always shrimp.  When someone's grilling, it's a feast for a street and not just one family's dinner.
 
When we learned we were moving here, I was severely depressed  not thrilled.  I thought what's a northern family like us going to do in a southern town like New Orleans?
 




Have the time of their lives, that's what.






Man did I have a lot to learn about judgments.  I knew next to nothing about Louisiana other than how I needed to buy more tank tops and learn to love gumbo.






Since settling into our little niche north of the big city, the laid back energy of this town has inched its way into the soles of our feet.


Grayson is desperately trying on a southern accent by forcing himself to say, "y'all" when he normally uses "you guys."  The measured pause before and after are enough for us to lose it to the giggles but we try to honor his chameleon whenever possible.






Abby has quite naturally acclimated into a southern girl.  She often asks me to find her "hayah tahs" for her "hayah."  The girl's feet are forever the demise of our carpet as I cannot convince her to wear shoes.  Or pants.   If I do win out and get pants on those busy legs, she defies my parenting and smacks on the loudest skirt you've evah seehn over top.






Even Andy has become the family man of my dreams.  He always was but couldn't show it off when the Pentagon or Command & Staff had him tied up with their agenda.  It's the nature of the military beast.  You have a husband but they have a Marine.  They win.  You wait aggressively pining patiently praying he eventually gets a billet that does not own his time at home, too.  Including weekends.





-pause -Y'all -pause-, we got it.  They moved us here.





Louisiana has been so good for us and in return I have no choice but to love it hard, like the neurotic passionate northern girl I will always be.


*My blog is experiencing technical difficulties; not allowing its pilot to add pictures, space correctly, or make a mean paella.  Hope to get it sorted out soon.  Or else we'll all starve.  Creatively, emotionally, and figuratively.  Thanks for bearing with me.  Is it baring?  I never know.  (Ooohlala.)  I love you guys, y'all.

New Girl

I owe my children a huge apology.

For years I've asked them to, "Go play with Caleb," or "Share your umbrella with Kylie," when Caleb and Kylie were children we had just met at their new school or playground. 

"No."  They'd balk, "Pick me up." They'd request.  And my mama heart would go out to the rejected Kylie, not my own confused child who thought I'd hit my head and forgotten we did not actually know these people.

Now I am the one who needs to make new friends.  And it's really hard. 

"Mama, just go talk to her," my four year old purrs.  "Her phone is just like yours.  Purple!"  For a minute I consider this sound advice and almost make the attempt.

"Hmm." I balk.  "Need me to pick you up?" I request but Abby stands her ground. 

"MA-ma, just go," she tries again with a practiced amount of stern.

"I'm thirsty, let's get a drink."  Before she revisits her sweet pep-talk, we are dopping toward the water fountain like two puppies. 

Now I see how ridiculous we parents are for forcing friendships, even through the guise of being helpful. 

We're not really being helpful.  We're being worried.  Worried our kids won't have a buddy.  A network.  Someone with whom to text, "WTF, no more edamame chips left at TJs," when they're thirty.

When what we should do is stand back and let the kids find each other.  Even if it's not the friend we thought they'd pick for themselves.  Even at two years old, kids know who they like.

Sometimes I think we'd have more success at asking our children to throw a ball in a crowd and see who pops out.  "Play with zee first one zat moves, dahhlink.  Zat vill be a goot friend for you."

Or maybe we should get our children to stand next to every kid in the playground and see what happens.  Don't talk.  Don't fake smile.  Just stand there and vibe it out. Vibe out the whole merry-go-round if you need to, brother, one of those sniffly buggars will resonate.

How about asking them where they live.  How long they've been living in that house.  No, that's weird.  And most likely illegal. 

I know.  Take a lap around one, smile awkwardly without looking directly into their face, and hope they think you're really nice, have excellent taste in Gogurts, and want to check out your Princess tea party situation.  Yes.  That should have them lining up to book play dates by the dozens.

Whichever way you slice it, putting yourself out there to make a new friend is tough.  It feels unnatural.  Utterly uncomfortable.  Exasperatingly uncool.

There's a really nice mom in the neighborhood who stopped to return a piece of our mail that had accidentally landed in her mailbox. I was mowing my yard, looking a little something like this:

Sweaty with layer of sheen, tomato pink about the face, and in my best tie-dye. 

Yet there we were, two moms chit chatting in my driveway like it wasn't raining salty water from my nose. 

This mom is lovely.  I don't know what she thinks of me but she invited us to a play date the next day so my guess is she's ok with effusive smiling and pink and black workout tanks showing through. 

The truth is truth whether you're four or thirty-nine, you can't force friendships.  They simply sprout up from your grassy weed riddled yard when the time is right.

Spring

Spring always pisses me off.

Winter is such a welcome retreat for this hideaway girl who loves nothing more than snuggling up in blankets with a steaming mug of something needing more honey.

Spring is a mix of bloom, renewal, and dusting off.  Unicorns and rainbows.  Gag.  As the weather warms up, all this blue sky fills me up with dread to work harder, try something different, push forward. 

I like the old stuff.  Nothing was wrong with our old rhythm.

We're moving soon.

We have twelve weeks to get out of here and on to new dirt.  Without official orders we have only rumors about where that dirt is located.  Rumors of this variety are typically true but I'm waiting for orders before selling our furniture.     

This is when I begin the mourning.

Last time, about twelve weeks before leaving our sweet neighborhood in Pennsylvania, I took a long drive to say goodbye to our old lives.  What began as a quick ice cream run to Sheetz ended up thirty minutes of intense therapy.   There wasn't one mile of it I wanted to forget.  I can remember driving past the Tiny Tots where I stuck Grayson in for a couple of weeks.  He cried like I was never coming back even though I only left him there for two hours a week.  His devastated sobs silenced by the front glass door still haunts me.  He hated that place.  I hated that place.  Nothing about it should've make me nostalgic but there I was, heaving heavy sighs into my Half-Bakes Ben & Jerry's as I drove past it.  Suddenly every inch of it became holy. 

After circling my tiny 5 mile radius, I drove the gamut.  I mourned for the wooded trail I ran on with my friend Blythe.  I felt sad for abandoning Shopper's Food Warehouse, Dairy Queen, and our favorite Mexican place.   Next to New, my favorite consignment shop where Grayson and pregnant I spent several of our most tender moments shopping for precious things and new baby onesies held its own time capsule of happy.  I grieved leaving Black Dog Cafe, Ollie's Garden Center, and Phoenixville Hospital, where both of our babies were born.  Marni, Vinnie, Cara, Andy...these people and these places defined our lives in Pennsylvania.  We had sewn each memory tightly together over our four years there. 

 There's an Abby in my belly.

 

Not quite 2 yo Grayson with our neighbor and dear friend, Vin.

It was hard to leave.

Now four years later, I can tell I'm starting my "goodbye drive" here in Northern Virginia.  I see my eclectic neighborhood streets through the eyes of a short timer.  Everything is holy. The daily trip down the same roads to our children's schools makes my jaw ache.  That dip, this turn, slowing down for that cop who sits right there at the bottom of that hill..  It's all going to be someone else's place to fall in love with.  Our time together here is almost over.  The fence surrounding our house that has stood sturdy as a moat for years suddenly seems pale and droopy to me now instead of staunch and proud.  Everything is starting to take on the hue of a memory. 

I am beginning to memorize all the things I don't want to forget:  Our 86 year old neighbors Jack and Eddie Lou's Sunday best in their driveway every weekend.  Hotpants across the street (her name I think is Sharon) leaving her tired old pit bull's leash on a mailbox while she finishes her run.  Mr. Ives waving to us from his garage.  The bazillion soccer kicks and football tosses in our back yard.  A lifetime of living.

 

 Easter egg hunts. 

                               

Surviving a 10 month deployment alone with a 4 and a 2 year old.  

That lopey fox ducking across the street like an exotic cat.  Our reliable backyard cardinal always brilliant through the bush when I look.  Jenna, my soul sister who just gets me for no reason in the world other than serendipity, oh how I will miss our "runs" where I make her walk really fast just so I can kvetch about everything and still breathe.  My preschool mom friends, these women who I cannot think of leaving without puddling up, they who have lifted me up every single day of my Virginia life.  I was very needy a couple of years ago.  My own family who I don't get to see often enough but feel closer to just because of geography.  Trader Joe's, Doodlehopper, Tillie, our hiking trails, my favorite lady at the McDonald's drive-thru, the always patient Dr. Henrickson. 

Damn you spring and all your plans of work and change.

 

This girl was really hoping for a few more weeks of easy winter.

Impatience

Try as I might to be patient, I am losing my mind waiting for my husband to get orders for our next move...which is to happen in less than five months.

Gah!  The control freak in me is absolutely short circuiting.

Unlike our last move from Pennsylvania, we haven't so much as had one whisper about where we're headed. 

Since we have to be out of this house before the kids' school year ends, I'm beside myself with trying to figure out schools, neighborhoods, husband commute time, etceTargeta.  Which, you know, is impossible without the actual state of residence to build into the equation..  Unless you just research ALL of the possibilities (there are four real possibilities now - two close by and two very much a plane ride) like a moron.

Hi, I'm a moron.

A moron who is trying not to drive her husband into a frenzy..

Our conversations used to go:

Him:  "Hi Honey.  How was your day?"

Me:  "Good, Grayson didn't go to the nurse today and Abby only ate half of....sooooo have you talked to the monitor today?  Do you know where we're headed?"

Him:  "Good, my day was good too, thanks for asking.  Babe, I will tell you when I hear anything.  I haven't heard one word yet.  Nobody has."

Which is true.  Very few of his fellow Marines have gotten orders yet so there are a bazillion families just like mine in limbo land, ready to seduce that monitor man with homemade lasagna, Dunkin Donuts gift cards, or inappropriate shower scrubbing.

Alas, we cannot bother the system even if the system bothers us.  Which is does.  It reallllly reeeaaallly does at this juncture.

To make sure I appear much more patient and understanding than I am, our conversations now go like this:

Him: "Hi Honey.  How was your day?"

Robot Me: "Good.  My day was good.  How was your day?"

Him:  "Ok.  I still have 2million and 4 pages to read on the Navajo..."

[Me boring holes through his soul with my anxious pressing eyes.]

Him:  "...Navajo warriors who were..."

[Me boring holes through his soul with anxious pressing eyes and pursed lips.]

Him:  "...who were...NO.  I did not hear from the monitor today.  What should we make for dinner?"

So even in character of patience, I am impatient and getting more agitated by the day.  Grayson accidentally dropped a heavy box on my ankle the other night and I reamed out the entire room of innocents for "making things so difficult," and "not understanding how hard that weight was."  Little did I know at the time, it wasn't Grayson I was talking to.

I think I was reaming out the Marine Corps.

Me:  "Sorry, Honey.  Tell me about the Navajo warriors again...  This time, I promise to listen."

Rooted

I told my husband I'm not going.

We don't really know where the military will send us yet (Desert Monitor wasn't very telling) but we do know it's either really close or pretty damn far.

I once was totally fine with pretty damn far but now I'm getting older and quite stubborn.  It also seems the older I get the harder it is for me to push our lives deep into the earth to make roots, water those twisty curls, prune them every so often when they threaten to strangle the mother tree, and nurture each underground vine long enough to see them evolve into a colony all their own. Its own life sustaining village.

I can't move my entire village.  My mom, step dad, uncle, and brothers (two of the four) live an hour or less away.  My childhood home (pictured above) is still within reach, my grandparents' final resting place is 15 minutes away.  Our children's friends, schools, dance studios, pediatricians, specialists, and favorite fishing holes are here. Target and Pho51 and SweetFrog will never live without me.  My network of mommy friends who have been my scaffolding, a beacon of wine and Triple Sec, the raison d'laugh and cry live here. 

So, I'm not going.  WE are not going.

Our roots have begun to spread, tendril out and dig down into the sticky, tacky, good dirt.  From where new things grow and thrive. 
 
Really damn far will just have to make an offer to some other family that wants great food, Cajun music, and sweltering heat. 

Cause this family is just fine planted here.

And as We Wind on Down the Road

Sometimes I feel like we know what's ahead. Like all the planning we do will in fact result in something we planned to do. 

Sometimes I feel we don't know a damn thing about what's ahead.

Both are valid.  Both are scary.  Both are true.

While there is no way to plan for the unforseeables, it's great to have some things concrete.

We get to stay in D.C. area one more year.  There are mixed feelings in our family about what all this means but in short, it's a good thing.  A very good thing if you ask Grayson and Abby who don't remember living anywhere else.  They can't imagine a life without our neighbors, our hallways, our little spot here on this earth.

And sometimes neither can I.

Home Again?

We recently went back to our hold neighborhood and it took about three minutes to realize you really can't go home again once you left. Our house looked great, it wasn't that. Our old neighbors and friends were still friendly, it wasn't that either. It was mostly us. We all felt like spies on a secret mission, maintaining a low profile and trying to blend.

The kids were too little to remember anything about that house at all, which shouldn't have surprised me but it did. Hubs was pretty mechanical walking around the inside of our old house, getting it ready for the new tenants. Even I was shockingly not twisted in an emotional ball if yarn by revisiting our past while changing lightbulbs. I knew I was in there somewhere so I took a minute to stand in our empty living room. It was all there: contractions, Christmas trees, American Idol nights with Marni, picnics, 4th of July parties, blue and pink hydrangeas, Chinese take out, long walks to see the horses, fighting, making up, all of it. At that moment, I wanted it back. We lived (and at times I felt like I was dying) in that little living room. Our boy potty trained in those bathrooms. Our Sadie nested on the mulch piles under the prettiest sunsets I've ever seen. We brought both our babies home to that house and for me that alone will always make that home a little bit sacred.

But, as much as I might want to make it otherwise, life moves in one direction and one direction only: forward.

No telling what forward means for us and our family or even geographically where that will put us in a year. What we do know is that our "home" keeps changing every couple of years and we change right along with it. I suppose this is true of most people in this day and age. I'm not the same girl who couldn't locate her spatula in her own kitchen a couple years ago. My husband is not the same man who had a clear vision for his career path, un-muddied by other familial factors. Even Sadie is not the same manic pup who climbed people to greet them. We are all older, more experienced, and different.

In one way I am comforted by knowing we are all moving forward because I feel that is a natural way of transitioning through life phases. In another respect, though, I am sad to learn the place I called home in that storybook house is already just a memory.

Meeting the Neighbors

It's amazing what leaving the house can do for your mind, body, and sense of belonging.

Yesterday we went for a walk. Not a 5 minute jaunt to the park but a real honest walkin'-the-dog, walk. It started to rain the moment we set out but we went anyway because it was cool, smelled like wet leaves, and felt good. All of us got a little bit soaked but none of us cared. We met lots of new people and all of them were friendly, chatty, and a little bit eccentric. My cup of social tea. We met a middle aged lady with blue highlights. She had a fluffy dog with the presence of an over protective older sister. Sadie was impressed, however, and danced around her in a jitterbug.

We saw a nice older gentleman walking quickly. Fist in one hand, umbrella in the other. I've seem him walking every single day since we moved in and my curiosity has been getting the best of me. Is he single? Widowed? Getting a walk in after a Physics lecture at the local college? I have to know. As we crossed paths, he wore his usual flat expression and seemed like he was all business. Something in me told me otherwise so I smiled hard in his direction. To my sincere surprise and joy he smiled even wider back at us! He even paused a moment to take the five of us in. We all uttered clumsy hellos and kept going our separate ways. What a handsome fellow he was with that captivating grin. I can't wait to see him again.

We met a nice older couple who were holding hands as they walked. They stopped us to ask about Sadie. They thought she was "such a nice dog" and of course we think they're right on. She's the greatest with people she knows and people she soon will know; a lifetime of new- friend's inquiries. She's our very own personal Liz Taylor.

Then we met a mom whom I just may have to try to meet again. She had a toddler on her shoulders, reckless curly blond hair, and some ink as I recall. She looked down when she spoke to us but at the backs of our eyes when she listened. I am trying not to get my hopes up because she probably has plenty of friends but hopefully we'll run into each other again and we can let our children run around our backyards while chatting about things that matter and things that don't.

Oh, and funky gardens abound here. Serious eye candy pour moi.

All in all, it was a great walk and I'm so glad the rain came when it did.