Love, Laugh, Toaster Bath?

Please take this as a grain of salt or a brick of it, but either way, I need to word vomit while I’m waiting for myself to come rescue myself from myself. 

Over the last week, I had a rude ass trifecta of sickness, perimenopause, and big financial decisions with a combo pack of antibiotics, steroids, and a major case of the whines. It is day 7 and I only have 25% of the energy required to be who others need/expect me to be. I’m told to sit and rest. My brain doesn’t understand this concept. For whatever reason, my brain hears “you are sick, you should sit and rest” and it goes into attack mode with my mental health in it’s sites. 

The thoughts are intrusive at the best and a shade of dark humor that I dare not share at their worst. 

“Did you hear that sigh? That’s because you aren’t doing x,y,z and someone else is angry because they have to pick up your slack.” “You know if you would take better care of your self, this wouldn’t happen.” “You can’t still possibly feel bad, you’re just being lazy now” “it’s been 36 hours, get over it, you’ve got things to do”. 

Psychiatrist and I agree it’s probably this rude ass trifecta and we’re going to touch base in two weeks to see how things are going. Therapist and I meet on Thursday to try and EMDR some of this out of me. I immediately envisioned a bat, she did not correct me. 

Today, I started writing down my feelings as they came in. It neither helped nor hindered, but added more questions for the version of myself that I’m waiting on to rescue me from myself. 

My thoughts range from the expenses of my daily existence to the consequences of my laziness to how to monetize hobbies to feeling stagnant to being lonely to knowing the vibe is off to missing myself to wanting to run away to feeling unmoored to untrusting. On repeat. At 500mph. Anxiety is the meanest bitch. 

It also made me realize that while these thoughts are negative and awful, I’m not close to a toaster bath. I still have lots of logic (sure, we’ll go with logic…maybe pragmatism?) when it comes to that: 1. We’re down to only Matt’s toaster 2. Everyone just figured out how to use Matt’s toaster because it’s fancy. 3. Toasters are weirdly expensive to replace. 

Instagram helps distract the brain just enough for me to get some actual rest. Shout out to Overheard at Disney sang by gospel choir, all things sheepish, and mic’d up toddlers for the win. Facebook simply fuels the negative. I’m sure that’s a deep dive that someone should do. I’m too old for TikTok when I feel fine, so I can’t imagine trying it when I’m feeling puny. Xanax helps the most but I trade it for feeling like I’m hiding in a pill, which is ironic given the meds I’m on to keep me from feeling like this. Walking helps, when I have the energy. I would love to be able to read but that’s a level of focus that I can’t quite get to yet. Tangled on Disney is a saving force as usual. 

Anyways, I’m sharing all of this not for sympathy or a welfare check, but because sometimes I need to say the quiet part out loud. Sometimes, things are just shitty in a non-competitive way. Sometimes it’s “I see your shit over there and it looks like a lot and I’ve got shit over here too and it feels like a lot too”.  

Cold Churches Warmed My Heart

 Ok so bear with me while I discuss religion without any references because I need to get this out of my brain more than I need to cross reference it for a large audience that won’t see it. 

I was raised in Protestant churches and consequently believed that a big issue with the Catholic Church was their expenses on ornate details. Basically, my brain construed that in the Catholic Church you tithed so they could dip something else in gold leaf. I associated the grandiosity with showing off, which went against the teachings of Christ according to my understanding of religion. 

As I’ve aged, the Catholic Church has intrigued me: the hierarchy, the Papal guidance, the quiet behind the scenes community work, the scandals, the traditions, etc. 

I have struggled with finding a church here that didn’t feel like a live concert experience. I’ve struggled finding a church that isn’t manipulating God’s word to meet the wants of the congregation. I’ve struggled to find a church that wasn’t a theme park environment. While, I’ve felt comfortable in those churches with their lights and screens and seating for 4,000, I’ve never felt at ease. 

Last week, I toured three different Catholic cathedrals in Spain, observing some of the most beautiful craftsmanship and architecture I’ve ever laid eyes on. I saw million dollar art collections carefully stored in churches. I saw gorgeous monuments of the depiction of Christ. I saw artistry that cannot be replicated in the modern world. I saw more gold/gold leaf  than anyone ever needed to see in the history of the world. 

And every time, I was freezing cold. 

After days of internal conflict, I finally realized that I rather liked the cold. While I stood in freezing cold cathedrals in Madrid, Segovia, and Toledo, I felt at ease. Even amongst all that gold/gold leaf. 

Instead of “modernizing” their cathedrals with heat, screens, concert level lighting systems, and/or coffee bars, they told their parishioners to wear a jacket to Mass. Instead of keeping their ornate artwork and architecture to themselves, they said “sure, come in, please make a donation, and don’t disturb services”. Instead of needing to keep up with the Joneses, they said “here we are, here we will always be”.

My old soul was renewed and my interest in the Catholic Church stays strong…

Honey, I Shrunk the Value of The Children’s Mental Health

For the first 9-12 years of their lives, I directly/indirectly prioritized what was best for Army over what was best for my kiddos. 

Yah, that is a harsh judgement of myself. 

But it’s how I feel nonetheless. 

As I’ve watched them come into their own, I’m grateful that they value their own mental health and prioritize it. 

I’m just now figuring out the value of mine. 

It’s easy to judge myself for the decisions I made in the middle of things. 

It’s easy to remember the times that I was angry at them for not fitting the Officer’s Kid cookie cutter expectations. 

It’s easy to remember the times I was so anxious at events that I couldn’t help them process their emotions because I was too busy hiding from mine. 

It’s easy to remember the times where I signed them up for activities that all their peers did, not necessarily the activities they were interested in doing. 

It’s easy to remember how exhausting it was trying to wrangle a toddler for hours before a public event because our lives were “hurry up and wait”. 

It’s easy to remember how desperately I wanted to fit in, and by extension, them. 

After some unpacking, I’ve realized that I was insane. 

Army is a beast. 

And I have big feels about her that I’m working through, obviously. I’m probably going to be writing more about stuff like this too.

But first, I wanted to acknowledge the work that my quirky kids put into themselves—working through their stressful beginnings and middles to become these amazing humans. 

And I also want to acknowledge that while being a military family is revered, it’s not always revered by those living it or those who have lived it. 

And that’s ok. 

Sometimes a Treatment Plan is Overwhelmingly Cute

Everyone meet Apollo. He’s Hillary Mae’s love, the light of her life, her daily serotonin booster. And while I do not feel I need to justify adding another animal to our zoo to the world, I’ve been granted permission to discuss what led us to Apollo in an effort to maybe give guidance to any other teenagers out there who are passengers on the Struggle Bus like Mae. 

Sometimes God gives you a kid that doesn’t quite fit the mold of what society dictates. Sometimes that kid is an old soul, strong-willed, impulsive, who’d rather be immersed in books than in trends in a little bitty body. Sometimes, life moves you around enough and it’s never really quite an issue that your kid doesn’t act like her peers. Sometimes though life gets you settled down in one location for more than just a year or so, just in time to add hormones. 

Sometimes that kid starts being short-fused and belligerent more often than not, but she always comes back around and apologizes. Sometimes that kid starts having missing assignments and complains about not being able to focus. Sometimes that kid asks to change up her ADHD meds because she feels like they’re not working any more. So you meet with regular doc, change things up, and continue forward, noticing minor differences but not being able to differentiate between what’s ADHD and what’s hormones. 

Sometimes that kid’s dad goes on a work trip for a couple of months and it brings back deployment fear that no one expected, so she starts seeing a therapist who notes that she’s struggling with depression. So you make sure that she’s getting enough rest, eating well, exercising, doing self-care and meet with regular doc to add a depression medication and you think things are going better: kid reports feeling a little better, no complaints from teachers, still struggling with focus a bit but you wonder how much of that is baseline ADHD, hormones, and society’s desperate need to be distracted all of the time. 

Sometimes you take that kid on a Spring Break adventure with her siblings to the ocean and you discover 20 minutes into the flight that she cannot handle the constant noise from that planes make and then while staying oceanside you discover that unless she’s toes in the water, she’s overwhelmed by the roaring of the waves as well. You also notice that the kid is sleeping a lot and generally unhappy, but you wonder how much of that is recovery from the overwhelmedness and growing teenager. 

Sometimes a global pandemic strikes and that kid is forced to stay at home, do online school and you finally actually see how much she is struggling with focus, insomnia, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes the universe creates the perfect situation and her therapist can do a full neuropsychological and academic evaluation wherein you both learn her ADHD meds are not working at all, her depression is worse than imagined, anxiety is running amuck, a sensory issue is probably in play and she meets the criteria for a Bipolar Type 2 diagnosis. 

Sometimes you bring on a well-recommended local psychiatrist to help manage medication changes. Sometimes the new psychiatrist does not take any insurance, but you are willing to pay out of pocket to get medication situated because kid is doing worse now. Sometimes the new psychiatrist only does video appointments, but kid and you are wiling to do whatever it takes to help her. Sometimes the new psychiatrist reads over records and immediately dismisses the potential Bipolar diagnosis much to the kid’s irritation. Sometimes the new psychiatrist wants to stop all ADHD meds and increase depression meds for two weeks, then add a new depression med and lower the old depression med for two weeks, then do genetic testing to see how her genes react to medications and/or produce mood altering chemicals, then stop old depression med completely and increase new depression med and add non-stimulant ADHD med for two weeks, and then 8 weeks later when the kid yells at her that nothing is working, the psychiatrist adds a mood stabilizer and kid’s shows a bit of improvement. 

Sometimes though that bit of improvement isn’t enough for you though because the kid talks about death more often than not. Because the kid cries about how much she misses reading. Because the kid who wanted to go back to school all summer to be around other humans decided to do online school because she didn’t feel her meds were working enough. Because the kid who loved school is now no longer doing any school work and failing most of her classes. Because the kid who is strong and independent to a fault is losing her ability to function. Because the kid cries that she is beyond fixing, that she’ll be stuck like this forever. 

Sometimes you sit down and decide that instead of waiting and hoping she doesn’t get any worse, you have to find a solution. Sometimes that leads you to Children’s Health in Dallas and to their Day Treatment Program for kids just like your kid: passengers on the Struggle Bus. So you pitch the idea to the kid’s psychologist who is 125% on board because she too sees kid losing ability to function and because the program is family-education orientated. And you pitch it to psychiatrist who also is on board but warns it’ll take months to get in. So you reach out to Children’s Intake Coordinator who is the most helpful human on the planet and she informs you of the responsibilities from not only the kid, from you, what your insurance will/won’t cover, how school factors into everything, and that kid can start in two weeks. So you then pitch it to kid who flips back and forth everyday between excited to finally feeling like she’s going to make progress and being terrified of discussing feelings with a group of peers.

Sometimes for 5 weeks you drive 1 hour each way, twice a day, in rush hour traffic to take kid to a life-saving Day Treatment program, wherein she learns she’s not stuck like this forever, she develops an effective coping plan for her anxiety, gets medication adjusted which allows her to function and laugh again, successfully communicates with her teachers/504 Counselor/Assistant Principal about school work and develops a return to in-person learning plan. She also learns that she is very self-aware for 15 years old, she enjoys working with med students that rotate through Children’s (a part of UT Southwestern Medical School) and asks to keep her psychiatric care with Children’s instead of local psychiatrist. She also remembers that she is incredibly strong and finds her courage again.

Sometimes, 3 days before kid is discharged from program, you have a friend who posts a picture of the cutest tiniest orange kitten that is looking for a home. So you ask kid’s team at Children’s what they think about getting her a kitten and they all agree it would be a positive force for her. And you beat down the cat-loathing husband until he finally caves. 

And sometimes when you show the kid a picture of her new tiny kitten, she promptly names him Apollo because “he looks like all the light”. 

Another One Gets in the Boat

Watching your kids learn about the realities of life is both exhausting and encouraging.

Mike and I have always been up front with kiddos about Mike’s TBI: we’ve talked at length about the repercussions of getting your brain rattled around too often and not resting afterwards. They are all keenly aware of the immediate dangers of multiple concussions.

I am not a prop

Today, for the first time in a very long time if not ever, I became a prop.

My Composition 2 professor assigned an argumentative essay and while discussing possible topics after class last week, I made reference to experiences with VA Land and she inquired about my service. I explained that The Husband was the one in the service with two destination vacations and all the fun that goes along with that. 

That was Wednesday.

In class today, we discussed a Definition Essay and that it's essentially discussing a word with a simple Webster's dictionary definition, but a very complex world definition, such as love, family, etc. 

Simple enough. The professor explained that we would be brainstorming a word at the end of the class and then doing a paper on it the next class period. 

Then she called me specifically to come up and write down phrases on the board as the class brainstormed them. 

It struck me as odd.

Until she gave the word: Freedom.

I took a breath, recognized my position as a prop and waited for the inevitable...

And the inevitable arrived about halfway through the brainstorming. 

"So how many of you would be willing to go to war for your freedom? Anyone? No? Well, Greta's husband did...where again did he serve and how has that affected you all?"

Here is where I will tell you that obviously, I don't have any problem discussing going to war, the ramifications, and whatnot. I will tell you that I gladly discuss these things because I desperately want to normalize them in conversations. I will tell you that I enjoy educating people about our military experiences because you can't create the desperately needed thorough conversations about military life without education. 

But.

I am not a prop.

"Well, so first your question about who'd be willing to fight for freedom is a moot point in this classroom because all of the individuals in this classroom are of the age to join the military barring any health issues, but here they sit while the people who are willing to fight are fighting. And I mean no disrespect, the great thing about freedom is that you have that choice. My husband joined before 9/11. We expected to live all over the world and experience a different kind of lifestyle. We did not expect war, not to say he wouldn't have joined after 9/11, but we have a different perspective on that. But yes, he served all over the world, but he deployed to Iraq for 14 months and Afghanistan for 9 months. He spent several months in Iraq kicking in doors, blowing stuff up and getting blown up, feeding his adrenaline loving body. Consequently, he aged his body faster than his actual age so while he's 40, his body thinks it's roughly 65-ish. He can't remember our kids birthdays. He has magnificent coping mechanisms in place for any and all challenges he faces. He has figured out how to be a high functioning human being who is very successful at whatever he attempts. He enjoys a challenge. He, like Louie (side note we're reading Unbroken), feels the need to keep his brain sharp. We facilitate him as a family so that we can function as a family. We have real long term concerns that shape our perception of the world. We experienced long term trauma that shaped our perception of the world. Our kids spent the first 10 years of their lives moving every 2 years. They are amazing humans who do not know what the sound of popping bubble wrap is because it sounds like small arms fire. The Husband spent roughly 2 years fighting two different wars, but those 2 years have impacts that are way more far-reaching than anyone can possibly guess at this point."

"Thank you so much for sharing that perspective and information with the class."

"and please tell your husband, thank you for his service". 

I have never really understood the issue people have had with that phrase until today.

Even Vines Have Roots

I appreciate the sentiment that military kids are like dandelions, vines, or whatever the "hardy plant that blooms wherever it is planted" reference that people are using as of today. And for many military kids, that sentiment is very true.

But it wasn't for mine.

And I had no idea until we parted ways with Army.

Turns out, my kids are trees.

Fundamentally, trees are meant to grow and flourish in *one* spot. When you plant a tree, you account for the potential size of the tree and you plant it where it has the proper space to grow. You make sure the soil/drainage is appropriate for the tree. And you watch it over the years develop into a hardy, strong force of nature that will eventually provide shade to the weary, shelter to those in need and a visual indicator of the ever changing seasons of life.

Prior to parting ways with Army, we'd find ourselves planting our "trees" wherever Army sent us, and our "trees" would have to acclimate to their new "soil". And it felt like as soon as they started to bloom and grow, Army would say it was time to dig them up, and transplant them to new "soil". And start the whole process all over again.    

My kids needed a well established root system to bloom and thrive.

Their growth rate with roots has been incredible. They've developed into these completely different trees as they've had the opportunity to grow and thrive in one location. They've come into their own personalities and interests as they've enjoyed our new found stability. They've learned to manage long-term relationships face to face every day. They've discovered that friendships ebb and flow when there isn't an impending move on either side. They're learning who they are without the hinderance of  their parent's employer dictating their life.

And yes, their time without a root system taught them to be resilient, gave them experiences that very few kids have also had, and they lived with all different kinds of cultures.

A recent blog post referred to military kids as being vines who are far reaching, not in need of roots.

But even vines have roots.

6 years ago today, The Husband was officially done with Army.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to finally relax.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to figure out how to live with each other.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to recognize the impact that Army had on us.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to process the impact that Army had on all of us.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to figure out who we really are without Army.

It has taken 6 years for all of us to discover that we are who we can be.

6 years.

I'm so glad we had our time with Army.

But with every year that passes, I'm more relieved we parted ways with Army.

Heels, Pearls, Yoga Pants, & Cheesy Puffballs

Hubs enlisted in the Army when we were babies and from the beginning as a spouse, I was taught that Officer's wives *just knew*: if you had a question they had an answer. They were well versed in everything Army, they knew how everything worked, by seemingly instinct. 4 years later I found myself as an Officers wife, not having a clue what to do and with kids in tow. *gasp* I wasn't a Military Academy wife, I wasn't an Officer's daughter, I attended one coffee when hubs was at LT school when I flew out to visit wherein we discussed the responsibility but no one actually said 'here's the handbook, welcome!'. Yet, all of a sudden, it felt like all eyes were on me and my family and I had no instincts. I bought every book I could find on how to be an Army wife and an Officer wife. Half of them were written in the late 50's and everything was black and white. The other half of them were written in the last 10 years and everything was grey. I tried to wing it the best way I could but always felt like I wasn't quite doing what was expected of me. I joined clubs, I attended services, I volunteered, I army wife'd the crap out of life. But I never felt like I was doing it quite right. 

Control, Panic & an AMAZING Retreat

We spent the last week at a family retreat, reconnecting with ourselves and our family unit and attempting to connect with other similar humans. I originally thought it would be a beneficial, therapeutic event for The Husband more than anyone, but I'm left wondering if I needed it more than he did? Don't get me wrong, WE took away many helpful tools that WE are using to help better US and OUR family. But holy crap, this was an eye opening experience about me for me.

Remember???

This weekend, we spent a few hours at a family event for The Husband's parents. It was a nice, casual event attended by people we hadn't seen in at least 15 years. There was lots of "Oh, you remember so & so, don't you?"

Nope, people, he doesn't.

It was really the first time since TBI became part of our vocabulary that we were in an environment where people repeatedly said "don't you remember me, So&So, etc?" to The Husband.

It was an interesting experience.

Especially because The Husband's favorite response was "Nope, sure don't." And then awkward silence.

Gifts Are Rarely Wrapped Items

We spent last weekend in Kansas celebrating my Grandpa's 80th birthday. It was a fantastic weekend (minus the part where I suffered from heat exhaustion and missed the party I'd spent 5 months helping plan) and I can't wait to do it again next year (again minus the sickness piece...for the love of God when hosting a party in Western Kansas in July, do so inside...). I'd forgotten how much I love spending time with the people who knew you before: before you moved everywhere, before you became "mom", before you became "wife", before you became "you". My favorite thing about my family is that they grow with you. They don't have this little version of you that they don't let go of: you won't always be a toddler to them, they remember when you were a toddler but it doesn't define you. In all of the hubbub of the weekend, I was given an amazing gift...

Thing 2 was playing the dirt as we were finishing up pictures like she does and I was walking past her just as my mom's uncle was also walking past her. I stopped to correct her, realized she was done with her pictures and that I didn't really have a reason for her to not get dirty, as she does so well. And so I opened my mouth, said her name, mumbled something about dirt, and then shut my mouth. My Great Uncle laughed and I explained how she's my Pig Pen child; if there is dirt, she will be in it. He laughed and then changed his face, lowered his tone and said with a serious face: "My mother was the same way. She was always out there in the dirt and loving it. She reminds me of her." And then he smiled and I was thankful that I had sunglasses on so he couldn't see the tears welling up. Because I'm a softy at heart.

My Great-Grandma Johnson was an amazing woman. She stood all of 4 feet tall (I'm sure she was at least 5 feet tall, but I'm not convinced). She had 4 children, 3 sons and a daughter who tragically died shortly after birth because of a heart defect. She lived with her in-laws on a farm in western Kansas. The woman deserved a medal for that--her in-laws were not the greatest of people. My Great Grandparents sold the farm and moved into town after my Great Grandfather had a heart attack and for as long as I can remember they lived in a little house in Lewis, KS. She painted amazing landscapes. She wrote poetry. She baked pies. Her and my Great Grandfather travelled to Colorado every year. The older she got the more her head shook just a tad and we for years attributed it to the raising of boys who pushed each other out of hay lofts and to their children who were also just as crazy. I remember she was always happy and she always loved us for us, even when we threw the rolls across the room at my Great Grandfather's funeral family meal. She was always strong and steady.

But what I remember most is that they hosted Thanksgiving for many many years in that little house. I can remember there being what I thought at the time was 100 people crammed into what felt like a 10ft x 10ft box (some years that number may have been more accurate than not, but I'm pretty sure it was more like 30 people in 1,000 sq feet...), but no one had a bad time. Everyone laughed and joked. The women were in the kitchen, well as many women as could fit in the kitchen were in the kitchen, Great Grandpa Johnson was in his chair in the living room and the men and children were everywhere else. She would call everyone to the table and there was always inappropriate humor, to include her discussing the whole Lorraine Bobbit incident while carving the turkey, explaining how that would never work in her house because she didn't have a sharp enough knife to the hysterical laughter of everyone. She was the originator of who we are today....

So to be told that my daughter reminds anyone of my Great-Grandma is a fantastic gift that I'll cherish forever.

Great Grandma Johnson in the garden at the farm during the early 60's?

He Sleeps

For 8 years, The Husband didn't sleep. Army dictated his sleeping schedule and it turns out Army doesn't need that much sleep. The Army Husband slept 3-4 hours over 2-3 days. He saw no need in sleeping more than that and neither did Army.

Fact: sleep IS important.

The Docs discussed his the lack of sleep during the last few months of Army. They said things like "You should sleep more. You should have a sleep routine. You should get at least 6-8 hours of rest every night. Sleep is vital to your recovery. Sleep is crucial for cognitive function. Sleep is crucial for brain injury recovery. Sleep is required for psychological recovery. You must sleep." Army said things like "See that desert: go out there for days on end, observe both day and night missions, run night fire exercises, try and train the unprepared, and if you have time after all of that, you might be able to close your eyes in your HMMWV, but watch out for the coyotes that like to sleep with you." And then there were the few days that Army said "Eww you stink, go home, shower, sleep, come back out in 2 days", The Husband spent those nights with our friend, Wadio (aka Radio aka Small Torture Device For Light Sleepers Like Me) on the night stand listening to everything that was going on in the desert, so that if there was a problem, he could be consulted.

Army doesn't really appreciate sleep the way The Husband's brain needed it to.

But Civilian Land, oh Civilian Land, it does appreciate sleep. And so we hoped The Husband would treasure it as well.

Except He didn't.

He didn't treasure it on sleeping medications (two different ones--who can't sleep on Ambien?!?! The Husband.), he didn't treasure it on medications that weren't considered sleeping medications but were supposed to help his mind to chill out enough to sleep (not at all...), he didn't treasure it even after learning he has sleep apnea and got a CPAP to help (at that point he was just pretty pissed about being "tethered" to his side of the bed while I enjoyed having half of the bed ALL TO MYSELF...).

But a few months ago, he started sleeping.

I wish I could say what it was. I don't know exactly. It's not a medication (or maybe it is?). It's not a change in environment (or maybe it was?). It's not a change in stress level (or maybe it is?). It's not a psychological change (or maybe it was?). I'm honestly not sure.

But one Saturday a few months ago, I woke up, the sun was shining and The Husband was snoring. Then the next day, he was snoring after I was as well. He didn't know why he was suddenly sleeping in either, he didn't remember being up during the night but he wasn't sure. Around that same time, we got the new FitBit thingie and as an added bonus it tracks sleep!

Turns out, The Husband sleeps these days.

He still has rough nights, but they're more uncommon than common these days. He's napping less. He's alert and functional ALL DAY LONG, which I have mixed feelings about with all these kids home for the Summer...so much noise in my house.

It's been 3 years since The Husband said goodbye to Army dictating his sleep schedule, and finally, he sleeps.

Now if we could only get that 10 year old to treasure sleep too.

My Baby Turned 6 Today

My baby turned 6 today. My baby. I'm now the proud (and terrified) parent of a 6 year old, a 10 year old and a 13 year old. I no longer have that young kid. I no longer have that little baby faced kiddo. I have a full on First Grader. No more days of watching her try to frantically communicate with us but not know any words. Today she has words that I'm fairly certain she shouldn't have: "That's a totally amazing fantastic shoe!". I no longer have a toddler who giggles and toddles as she tightly holds my hand while we walk wherever. Don't get me wrong, I still have a child that says "I'm tired of walking, can I have up?", but now it's just not as cute. There are no more babies at my house.

Yesterday, I stood in the baby department of BabiesRUs, trying to find an umbrella stroller for her to push her babies around her, as per her request. I started in the toy department and was disappointed when A) all the strollers said from 2+ on the ages (what about the bigger kids???) and B) when they wanted $26 for that flimsy Graco plastic stroller when a metal umbrella real-live stroller was $15. So I'm standing in the baby department gawking over all of the options available to moms: swings that move 24 different ways, because back/forth/side-to-side isn't enough?, bouncers that "exercise their brains"..umm, what?, and strollers in every shape, color, size you could possibly want.

2.5 years with the 99%

Today I read a blog posted on a "news" site titled something about the call no mom wants to receive. Attention grabber. After reading the blog I found myself thinking "seriously? a broken leg? an easily recovered from broken leg...that's what all your "I just sat beside myself with guilt because he was hurt and I was 600 miles away." "We're making it through it" blah blah blah."

Her kid broke his leg skiing and she was 600 miles away and it took her MONTHS to be able to write about it.

Seriously.

Another reminder I'm not like 99%. Right, Wrong or Indifferent.

We're Not the Same

The Husband and I are coming up on 14 years of marriage this year. This year is also the same year that I have known him for at least half of his life. That's a long time these days. I was recently visiting with a friend about the repercussions of deployments and whatnot, and she said to me "He's not the same person you married". And I immediately thought "well, no, thankfully."

When we got married I was 19 years old. The Husband was 23. He was leaving for the Army in 2 weeks and I had no idea what our life looked like. We hadn't discussed how many kids we would have, we'd discussed having kids, but not the amount. We hadn't had a home together. We were still in that "I'll say/do whatever you want to hear/do because I don't want to rock the boat" phase. We had vague ideas of what our life would look like, but nothing set in stone--no set expectations. No ideas of what we would be like in 5, 10, or 20 years. I'm so glad we had no idea what we were getting into.

I firmly believe that people HAVE to grow and change. They have to bloom. The person I was at 18 is not the person I was at 24 or at 33. Because I grew. I changed. I gained self-confidence. I lost the need to be defined by whatever everyone else thought my role should be. The Husband is not the same person I married 14 years ago. He's been through a lot of life changing events. He's gained self-worth. He's lost the need to prove himself to those who question him. We've been through a lot of life changing events. We've changed. We're not the same people that got married 14 years ago. We've grown together.

We've had 3 children, we've had deployments, we've had reintegrations, we've had moves, we've had Memorial Services, we've had fights, we've had laughter, we've had soul crushing defeats, and we've had life rejuvenating wins. We've had all of this together and independently. We've changed together and independently.

And I think that's the root of marriage--it isn't finding your soul mate for that brief window in your life, it's finding your partner for the rest of your life. It's finding the person that you can say this is who I am today, but I don't know who I'm going to be in 5 years--wanna find out with me? It's not finding the person you can't live without, it's finding the person you want to ride the life rollercoaster with. It's finding the person who will let you grow into whatever God has decided you need to be, because he's growing as well and you're standing there with him as he grows.

It's finding the person who will encourage you, because you've encouraged him.

It's give and take. Sometimes one of us gives more and sometimes one of us takes more. Marriage isn't a balance--it's a partnership. It's understanding that today I may go batshit crazy and need you to take the kids or to let me just cry. It's understanding that sometimes he will go batshit and needs to hide in his quiet place while I take the kids. But more importantly, it's that we both recognize that batshit happens and we let each other work through it how we need to.

It's give and take. It's patience and understanding. It's endurance. It's compassion. It's exhausting. It's inviting. It's comfort. It's insanity. It's ever changing. It's a living thing that requires care.

It's never stagnant. It's never routine. It's never boring. It's always changing.

Thank God.

About that "Veteran Friendly Employer" thing...

Known fact: Veterans are hard workers. Veterans are accustomed to working long hours until the mission is complete. Pay is appreciated and earned but that's not the main focus. The main focus is getting the job done. They're Worker Bees.

About Me

I love the cutesy little box over on the right that has a few short sentences about me. Like I should be able to sum up what I want the internets to know about me in just a few short sentences. If I only wanted the internets to know a few short sentences about me, I wouldn't be blogging. I feel like those who chose to blog, chose to put their stuff out there for the internets to view, ALL of their stuff. So here's the real "About Me":

I'm an over-sharer. I do not have the patience to slowly make friends, to do the little "oh do I call her or does she call me, its been a week and I haven't heard from her, do I call?" dance. I didn't date well before I got married, I don't date well to make friends. I'm gonna talk too much, share too much, way too soon. That's just how I roll. Life is way too short to slowly put your toes in the friendship pool. The flip side is yah, sometimes I think I've made a great friend(s) when it turns out I haven't or I didn't play their game right or they weren't ever into me. Oh well. After I get over the initial butt hurt, (because seriously people there's always butt hurt when someone doesn't chose you and those of you who are going "no, I never feel that way" have never really been rejected by someone so either you've never put yourself out there or you're surrounded by yes men...), I acknowledge that things happen for a reason and move my happy butt on.

I have a handful of friends and I'm okay with that. I've always only ever had a handful of friends. I was never a social butterfly. My friends have always been a wide variety of personalities, even though there are a few of them. I think that friendship shouldn't take work; you should be able to pick up where you left off even if it's been months since you talked last. I'm lazy. I don't need friendships that require maintenance. I have so many other things in life that require maintenance (kids, The Husband, dogs, aquarium...crap need to change that water, backyard, car, house, and so on...), that I need my friends to be mellow and not high maintenance.

I suck at small talk. I can only ask you about the weather and your cat so many times before I just don't know what else to say. And after years of moving around all of the time and finding myself in "meet the new people" situations over and over again, I've learned I'm an introvert. Meeting new people and reaching out to new people and putting myself out there, stresses me out. I would much rather just hang out at home with my book and my quiet and avoid all of that stress. But I do so love conversing with others (see shares too much above) who speak in complete sentences that don't start and end with 'MOM!!!". So I'm still working on finding a stress free way of handling that.

I believe that Military Personnel, First Responders, and Teachers should be the highest paid jobs, most sought after jobs in the nation. I believe anyone willing to risk their life to save mine should be considered a celebrity. And current "celebrities" should be paid what an E2 with no dependents living on base is currently paid. I also believe that teachers should earn some type of bonus based on an end of the year evaluation completed outside of school by their students and their students' parents. I believe that state testing should happen twice a year: at the beginning as a bench mark, and at the end as a "oh hey, we kind of need to work on that" and the teachers of the grade should be the only ones involved in the creating of the test; no administrators, no state board of something fishy, but just the teachers who know the potential of children are endless when they feel safe and cared for.

I have no firm opinions about anything that the news tells me what I should have opinions about because I don't have any faith in any media outlets. I don't have much faith in my government. I don't have much faith in the billionaires and the random government handouts and medical insurance. I'm neither strictly Republican or staunchly Democrat at this point. I'm neither harsh conservative or freeloading liberal. I have faith in God and hard work, so there's that.

I'm a firm believer in things happen for a reason. Good reasons, bad things, bad reasons, good things. They all happen because God's got a plan for us. More often than not it's never the plan we had for us. I was going to go to college, travel the world, get married no earlier than 25, buy a house, get a dog, have a kid no earlier than 28. I attempted college, got married at 19, had first baby a month after 21st birthday, in a foreign country, bought a house while preggo with third and final kiddo, who I had one month before my 29th birthday. The Husband was going to make Army a 30 year career...10 years later, we were running for the hills (and our sanity). God puts us where He needs us, when He needs us to be there. Truly understanding that is the biggest test of my faith.

I enjoy a routine, but can't handle a schedule. I need the flexibility to take a Mental Health Day (classier way to say a lazy day). I get nervous when I have to commit to someone else's schedule. To-Do Lists make me freak out. I love organizing things, but then I just pile stuff up until the pile falls over and then I put it all away in my neatly organized stuff that's sat unused for the last 6 months. I have no fewer than 6 alarms set on my phone to remind me of when to wake up, when to get the kids from school, when to get the kids from school on early days, and when to give them medication but I only really use the wake up alarm. See also OCPD.

I've accepted I will never be in fashion, skinny, PTA President, up to date on current political events, understand those current political events, a scholar of everything, or anything else society seems to think that I need to be. I'm a jeans, tshirt and converse type girl. I got my first grown up real leather purse a few days ago and my first impression: it smells like Macy's. Because you know Macy's is where they sell real leather adult purses. I'm slowly learning how to drink alcohol that isn't masked with a fruit and/or comes in a beer bottle. I'll probably still be working on this for many years to come with my lightweightedness when it comes to alcohol. But I'm okay with that. I'm okay with learning this at home, and declining alcohol while I'm out. I'm okay with being the designated driver, always have been.

My kids come first and I will never apologize for that. I will spoil them with things that they don't need. I will provide them with things they do need. I will shield them from the craziness that is the internets for as long as humanly possible (we've already established a No FB until 18 rule--legal ramifications being the justification that's currently working). I will take a Mental Health Day to escape them every once in a while, not every weekend. I will never wear headphones while I'm with them. I have a very short amount of time to be engaged with them, to answer their questions, to learn their fears, to share my fears (to include bridges over large bodies of water & jumping spiders), to make them feel safe and secure. I will be sarcastic with them. I will try to survive them every day of my life. I will fail some days. I will love them always, even when I don't like them much. I believe that the largest legacy I will leave are my children. I will have days where I contemplate putting them on the curb and I will complain about that them because I've earned the right to.

I love my husband with a fierce and irritating passion. That saying about being friends before you date/marry, is true. But you should really loathe your spouse before you date. It adds a whole new dimension to your marriage. I have known The Husband for almost 18 years. I loathed him those first 2 years. Loathed. I loathed him for the potential he had that he chose to squander. I loathed him for the person he was choosing to be instead of the person he could be. I loathed him. But 2 years later, I had more patience with him and he had more maturity. And 2 years later, we were married, living in a foreign country, having a baby, figuring it out as we went. We work as a team. He's better at some things than I am, I'm better at others. But we work as a team. And when he starts slacking on something, I call him on it because I'm confident in us. And when I start slacking on something, he says nothing because he's afraid of me. Ha! No, he calls me on it. More delicately than I call him on stuff, but still there's a discussion had. :) No one person can be in charge in a marriage and just because the wife chooses to stay home doesn't mean she's a pushover or in charge of everything. We work as a team.

My house is surface clean most often. As long as you don't crawl around on the kitchen floors in white pants, you'll be fine. My house is comfortable. You are always welcome in my house, but if you get here after 7pm, I'll be in my pjs. I'm good with that. I'm not an amazing hostess; I'm a "here let me show you where I got this cup from so next time you're here you can help yourself, because I'll forget to" hostess. I won't ever serve BBQ on fine wedding china, mainly because I don't have fine wedding china, but also because I'm a beer in bottles and paper plate kind of person. Because I hate cleaning. :)

I lost my faith for the last few years. There's nothing like thinking life is gonna go one way and then having that door slammed in your face, and then another door and another door and another door, before you realize that your plan is not working and will not ever work. And it made me question everything and try to control anything and everything that I could control. It gave me OCPD. Obsessive Controlling Planning Disorder. Not a real live disorder, but what I've decided to call my desperate need to plan out every little thing, my desperate need to research everything. When things don't go as I planned, I have a freak out and start planning more--like I've got any control over everything. So, I've spent the last few years pretty bruised and broken trying to figure out how I can fix me, instead of just letting God guide me. So, yah I'm working on letting go and letting God. I believe that God hasn't changed anything over the last thousands of years, so "new" churches don't make a whole lot of sense to me. Also, having a Starbucks on site doesn't make me closer to Jesus. Coffee makes me closer to human, but not closer to Jesus. I believe that the biggest thing I can do for others as a follower of God is to love them--right, wrong, or indifferent, my job is to just love.

I like to go grocery shopping in the early morning with all the retirees/old people because they move slower than the headphones in, hurried/rushed, frantically searching 20 minutes before supper crowd. Therefore, they're a tad more understanding about my 4 year old's desperate need to push the cart/randomly bounce around the aisles. They think she's cute and don't attempt to run her over with their cart while scowling at me.

I have no current aspirations to go back to college to get a real degree and join the workforce. With the current going rate of student loans, combined with the fact that I've got 3 kids to help get through college (mind you, not paying for their college, but helping them buy Ramen), and that I'll be 20 years older than most of my competition, I haven't found a career that's worth all of that insanity that I'd love more than my current career. However, I do have my retirement "job" already lined up: the parking lot cart driver at VA/Military Hospitals. Volunteers make the world go around. My favorite "jobs" have always been volunteer jobs and sometimes no amount of college degrees make you competent at those "jobs".

My kids have chores to earns screen time on the weekend. This qualifies me for Mean Mom of the Year. I'm good with that. I've found that there are more and more kids with a sense of entitlement and lack of responsibility/accountability these days and I'd like to not contribute to that. I don't want my kids asking future employers how long before they get their work cell phone and expense account before they even have been offered the job.

So yah, that pretty much sums up me, in a lot more than 3 cutesy sentences.

Things I've Learned During 2013 Summer Road Trip Insanity (So Far....)

1. Taking The Husband on a road trip must be preparation for taking 3 teenagers on a road trip.

2. Stopping every 1.5 hours for randomness makes me super cranky.

3. Trying to do 18 hours of driving in one day makes me lose it...at the 13 hour mark...in the middle of New Mexico.

4. The fish travels better than anyone.

5. God gives you humor when you need it, especially on I-70 just outside Salina, KS (billboard quoting  
   "The Lord's eyes see all" verse next to Adult SuperStore)

Teacher Appreciation Week

This week is Teacher Appreciation at the kiddos school. There's a cute little theme for every day with a class gift being given at the end of the week. This year's Teacher Appreciation Week took a whole new turn yesterday courtesy of a tornado 1,300 miles away. Two elementary schools suffered a direct hit and rescue crews are still desperately searching the rubble for survivors. And as they search, stories of teachers throwing themselves over students to protect them are coming to light. Stories of teachers calming students. Stories of teachers praying over their students. Stories of teachers doing so much more than teaching.

Teachers threw themselves over their your kids to protect them from 200 mph winds and debris. 

They put themselves between children and a force of nature that no one can even begin to fathom.

They did this because our children are their children. 

They did this while earning a very meager paycheck. They did this while trying to meet the needs of 20-30 children with a budget that supports maybe 5-10 students. They did this while government officials tell them how kids score on a set of tests is the most important part of their job. 

They did this because while they are responsible for teaching our kiddos Math, English, Science, Social Studies and so on and so forth, they feel a responsibility to keep our children safe. One teacher responded to a mom's thank you with "Just doing my job" and I immediately thought, no. No where in your job description does it say "will put your life in danger to protect 20-30 small lives". Teachers are amazingly strong people and one of the most taken for granted professions in my opinion.

Don't get me wrong, there are some super sucky teachers in the world, but in our experience, my kiddos have been fortunate enough to have teachers that love them. They love them for the things that drive me crazy and they love them for things that I don't see--like when Thing 1 finally grasps reading comprehension and when Thing 2 was able to break down what The Great Depression was for her class (courtesy of an American Girl book) reading group.

Somehow flowers and a Thank You card seem like such a minuscule gift to a person who would give their life for the life of your child.

Oh, Those Joneses....

There are so many things society tells us we should worry about as a parent in today's world: getting the best education, the best experiences, having well mannered, well rounded children who are honest and ethically grounded, that need to speak more than one language, have a firm grasp on how to serve to their family, friends, community, country, and world, all while participating in at least 3 activities a week. Essentially, society is telling our children "go, go, go, keep striving, be better than The Joneses, keep reaching for the stars!"

Which is all well and good, but what about enjoying life?

What about enjoying what you have instead of worrying about what you don't have?

Why are we all struggling so much to keep up with The Joneses of the rest of the world?

We have some family history that involves a member of extended family who is always trying to be bigger, better, richer, smarter, etc than anyone around them. There's no experience that's uniquely yours, their story is always better than yours, bigger than yours, or somehow they made your story possible. Consequently, they're never satisfied with anything that they have been blessed with. They strive and strive and strive for one thing and as soon as they get it, they're on to the next thing. I think people originally thought that this behavior would get better with age, but it's actually gotten worse. And it's just exhausting to watch this person continue to behave in this manner with total disregard of how it may/may not be affecting those around them.

But it's a great teaching lesson for the kiddos.

The older we've gotten the more we've learned that The Joneses of the World will always be out there. We've come so far from where we were 20 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 3 seconds ago, but there will always be someone who's farther than we are, based on society's measuring stick and they usually got there in half the time. Currently, we live in an environment of people who waited until they were
"financially secure" or "experienced the world" before they had children and settled in the suburbs. They take worldly vacations, they donate multiple $1000 items to school fundraisers, they own million dollar home and 3 cars, their kids have no concept of cheap macaroni and cheese. It's a surreal environment. But at no point, have we felt like we needed to keep up with them. Sure, I feel like a child picking up children at the school in the afternoons (most of the people I thought were grandparents picking up kiddos are actually the parents of kiddos), but I wouldn't change our life for a second. I don't envy their life, I'm grateful for ours.

I want the kiddos to learn that while they're constantly striving for their next big goal, that they should also be enjoying the life they have. God blesses them every day with something as simple as air and it's so important to me that they get that. I want them to know that having the coolest xyz, or having the most xyz, or the biggest xyz isn't what life is about.

It's not about The Joneses.

It's about the little moments that add up to the big moments. It's about working to live, but not living to work. It's about being compassionate. It's about having faith. It's about being grateful. It's about being honest with others and more importantly, yourself. It's about the simple things.

So while they're reaching for the stars, I desperately hope they look around and enjoy the view of the world at their finger tips.