Somewhere out there . . . .

I admit it, I am a sucker for Christmas.  Every year I hear The Christmas Shoe I find myself crying alone in my car in the parking lot at my office.  Television commercials are enough to drive me over the edge.  I find myself chopping onions to excuse the tears brought on by Folder's Commercials.  I am not safe from from my own Christmas induced emotional idiocy anywhere.

 I have, on numerous occasions, tried to explain "happy tears" to E.  She has, on numerous occasions, advised me that a) I am confused and b) i should try laughing.  Good advice little grasshopper, good advice.

As usual, my little one is wise beyond her years.  This Christmas I didn't look for joy until our family was back together again.  I found it, right there in Santa's workshop and in the wonder I saw in my little girls eyes and the hope I saw in by husband's smile.  You see, this Christmas is bitter sweet.  It marks the first time we have been together as a family for a long long time.  However, I am reminded that next Christmas, we will be thousands of miles apart, wishing on the same christmas star.  Again, my little grasshopper reminds me of the things that I already know to be true.  "No matter when Daddy is, he is always in our heart and we are always in his."    Our house will always be full of love and joy because of the voices inside it and the constant presence in our heart of the voices that desperately want to be there."  No one is ever truly gone from as long as we love them and keep them there in our minds and in our hearts.

back in the saddle again

First, an update.  The deployment plans have changed.  Take my advice, focus on the silver lining.

Worry not, this is what we have prepared for - what we all have prepared for.  Step one, basic training.  Davin was gone from January to March and I talked to him five times for less than five minutes each time.  I read the letters that were sent to me for sentiment alone, the details were not important - I found myself scanning the letters for "I love you", "I am okay", "I miss you."  It was only after he was home I was able to stomach the detail of what he went through.  This prepared me for the times where I may not know where he is our what he is doing.  It helped me to build trust in the army, in our relationship, and in myself.

WE.  That is the most important part.  A few years ago, we made a decision together, as a family, to join the army.  I was incredibly resistant at first.  I distinctly remember saying, "but you have a family."  Davin replied, "so do most soldiers.  i want to do it for you and for emma.  i want to fight to protect and defend you and every other family.  i need to do this."  I have to admit, from the time I've known him, he has wanted to be in the military.  I always assumed that it was a desire to actually become maverick - now I realize it is about something bigger.

Don't get me wrong, I frequently don't understand the army or how it works.  I get very frustrated at some of the oddities of it all.  But, very subtly, in the best way they can, I have been prepared for what lies ahead.  I know not every soldier or soldier's family has, but hopefully we will move towards it.  In the same way, hopefully we will be supported when he is home safe to us.

The official bedtime countdown . . .

Whether your spouse is gone for months, weeks, or just a few days - when you have little ones at home, it is difficult to say the least.  I've learned over time to have a routine, and I've more recently learned to stick to it.

Art Project Mondays - we make at least one art project, usually to send Daddy.  Sometimes we have a plan, sometimes we jackson pollick it.  I remind them constantly that when they become famous artists they better tell Oprah who made them.

Tuesdays - We make "the jumping thing".  Let me break it down, we take every pillow, blanket, cushion, or other soft thing in the house and pile it in front of the couch - put on a little music and they go insane.  I have to admit, they prefer lady gaga to jump to.  I have many a video of E shaking her bootie  singing La La Lilly Ba Shake that Lilly Ba.

Wednesday - Grocery Shopping.  The girls get to pick and "make" dinner with me.  They have started greeting me at the door at Trader Joe's with suckers to avoid the noise - seriously - no joke.

Thursday - Both girls sleep in bed with me.  It seems like an awful idea, and took quite a bit of training to get them to A) Stay in Bed B) Sleep

Angelina's Friday -  if we don't have visitors, we order take out from Angelina's Kitchen!  So amazingly delicious.  E figures out if someone is visiting that weekend by asking what is for dinner.  Angelina's means it is a girls weekend, "actual" "home cooked food" means company!  Note the quotes around home cooked food and actual.

Saturday - We start the day with a long bath.  I have them nearly convinced it is swimming in a little pool - O buys it, I'm pretty sure E just humors me.  We end the day with a campout on the living room floor.  We go to bed "late" and fall asleep watching movies.  This has taken some perfecting to keep them both in the room with me - I usually have to hold O down.  There is also a complicated system of barricades.

Sunday - church and the library.  We usually have to get ice cream too - there is an ice cream parlor right outside the library - genius marketing - the library costs me a superman ice cream cone and a dish of lady bug a week.

This routine helps them know what is coming and helps me very silently track the passing of time.    For longer times I plan rewards for all of us.  At one month we bake a cake and I get a pair of shoes.  At two months we go someplace very special and I get a pedicure etc.  We celebrate two things, making it through and being one week, month, months closer to Daddy..

In the past few weeks we have been so busy we've lost our routine.  E took an opportunity to remind me last week that "we used to have a pattern, kind of like polka dots, but not really."  We are now on an E declared "home-cation" where we are back to our routine until the further notice.

So now we count the minutes, the hours, the days, until we are, in the words of E, "A family all together and not so far apart. . . "

Top 10 . . .

Top Ten Quotes of the Last few weeks from the pookies . . .

10.  O:  "Daddy, Home.  Daddy, Home.  Daddy, Home."

 9.   O:  "Uh oh, hot poop."
 8.   E:   "Mommy, when you don't get it right the first time, you can't just quit." (I was driving)

 7.   E:   "We're at Walmart, where are the fudgeballs?" (I got lost - see above quote and nearly dropped the F-bomb.  I covered it up with fudgeballs.  She is ALWAYS listening."

 6.   PaPa: "O, who is your boyfriend?"  O: "pat-rick"

 5.   E:   "Mommy, are these frickin noodles?"  (two months ago I told her to eat her fricken noodles)
 4.   E:   "Mommy I'll give you two choices, you can give me gummies or candy."  (I usually give her two choices - one good and one awful to persuade her into making the choice I want her to.)

 3.   E:  "Mommy, the doughnuts are right over there.  Jadyn likes doughnuts.  If she wanted to eat those doughnuts at Mema's house, I would eat them to because I am her friend."

 2.  E:   "Mommy, thats the last zuzu pet baby.  It is all alone without a Mommy.  We have to take it home to Daisy - she can be her Mommy."

 1.  E:   "Ever since you had THAT baby, I only get one arm."

Still alive . . .

Between D being home and adjusting to D not being home, I haven't had the time or to be quite honest the energy to keep up!  I received my usual, "are you alive" calls this week and realized it was time to come out of my self inflicted emotional hibernation.   I tend to disappear into a world of comfort . . . of bagels, diet coke, gilmore girls, and snuggles.  I do this partly because these are my favorite things and your favorite things develop from  your past and who you are.  It seems like this is pushing it, but I'll break it down.

Bagels:  My Dad loves bagels.  Some of my best memories of being a little girl involved bagels with my Dad at the breakfast table.  We still have them when he comes up to visit.  Anytime I see a bagel it makes me think of my Dad and makes me feel safe.  His favorite is cinnamon sugar - so is Emma's . . .

Diet Coke:  Most of my high school and college memories involve diet coke.  Whether it was late nights in a friend's attic talking about first loves over chicken stuff.  Late afternoons with chips with lime discussing the issues that shaped a lot of what I believe.  Or early morning studying and learning how to spend time by myself and be happy.

Gilmore Girls:  Most people don't know this, but this a show I watched with my Mom in highschool.  On tuesday nights in college I always called my Mom after gilmore girls.  It is something that we have shared, even when we were mad at each other.  Even when we weren't seeing eye to eye.

You can read it as over analyzing, but if you look at your comfort routines, I bet you find the same things . . .

Behold the Power of Girlfriends (serious, just this once)

I think the number one issue in my life right now as a military wife and mother, and who are we kidding, a wife and mother in general is finding balance between nurturing my own identity and nurturing my children’s identity. 

In the pre-marriage, pre-commitment, pre-kid phase our partners are typically initially attracted to us because of our interests, our talents, or zest for life.  We are passionate about similar issues.  We enjoy the same the same things.  We stay up all night talking and our sex life isn’t something that we have to work at.   Then at some point you find yourself at Target on a Saturday morning  in your husband’s sweats and on old fleece (because post baby your yoga pants aren’t as forgiving as they used to be) trying to remember if you brushed your teeth . . .  and you realize you are starting to lose yourself in your own life.  Take solace in the fact that, whether we admit it or not, we’ve all been there.

I feel it all the time, and for a long time was scared to say a word about.  My whole life I have been taught about the awesome responsibility, but also great privilege of motherhood.  You are told about the feeling when you first hold your baby and the connection you feel.  You are told about all of the wonderful milestones your children will accomplish and the sense of accomplishment you will both feel.  You aren’t told about the days and nights when you feel like you just can’t take it, in fact you feel weak for even thinking it, let alone discussing it.  You aren’t told about sacrificing a piece of you as a mother – it is an invisible battle scar that we all share. 

Behold the power of girlfriends.  I credit my girlfriends for keeping me sane – for forcing me to make time for me – for nurturing who I am.  In large ways and smaller ways, they support me as a mother, as a wife, and most importantly as a person.  They say it takes the village to raise the child – but it really takes the village to raise the mother.  There is no training course - we aren’t born knowing what to do.  We learn by trial and error and we learn through the relationships that we form with one another.

This is not to say that my husband does not support me.  He is my best friend, the peas to my carrots, my biggest supporter, and my number one fan and I am the same for him.  My world is a richer and better place because of him. 

There is just also something to be said about the power of girlfriends.

I have been a delinquent blogger . . .

So much to say, so little time.  I had great hopes for my blog.  Clearly everyone would notice and appreciate my wit and charm.  This would allow me to get followers.  The followers would allow me to post adds.  The adds would obviously attract Oprah who would promptly put me on her show.  I therefor could quite my job, and be E & O's full time wrangler.  Only one problem, in order to get this far, I actually need to take the time to write it.  

I could put every Mommy excuse in the book down here: E tried to put O in the dryer (true story), O tried to flush E's pants down the toilet causing the great flood of 2010(also true), our fish, tuna, made a valiant effort in the path of Nemo to get back to the ocean (also, freakishly true), but I am going to be straight up honest - the fall line up has started.  This is something we have been training for, for two straight weeks.  I have E & O convinced Glee is "their show".   We got dressed up in costumes and rock out to every single song.  I encourage all of you out there to share in the sweet sweet joy of network (provided it is appropriate) tv with your child.  

This might be a good time for a little self disclosure.  My children watch television.  They eat high fructose corn syrup.  The eat many foods that come in nugget form or on a stick.  Our fish, tuna (his beloved mate helper tragically died a year ago in november), is a genetically engineered glow in dark goldfish from petco that is apparently outlawed in some countries (I swear we didn't know when we bought it.)  Both of my children have either accidentally or on purpose partaken in the sweet nectar of the Gods that is diet coke.  I feel much better now that I have confessed.  I'm also pretty sure I have some organic strawberries in the fridge - couldn't hurt.  All this aside, I am a good Mom and I try really, really hard to be one. 

The point to the rambling.  Have you ever noticed how much mothers judge each other?  It is unbelievable.  And also (at the risk of sounding like a hipocrite) have you ever observed the mothers around you.  Today I was out with a girlfriend and her kids in our local library parking lot where the city had gathered all kinds of different trucks for the kids to climb in.  The streets were packed with children in their adorable fall outfits.  There was also a sea of northface down jackets, high heeled shoes, starbucks, and the dreaded blackberry.  I label the latter three the attention taker awayers.  I watched more kids fall or wander off because their parents were to busy sipping their no doubt organic soy nonfat decaff no whip latte and updating their twitter feed to notice their kid.  Even if they wanted to, their footwear would have proven  a hazard.  These were the same people who skipped ahead of all the other families in line, or were to busy to notice their child doing the same.  I left feeling pretty awesome about myself.  I got home and was watching E & O play.  They both play interrupt their play to check their fake cell phones.  E absolutely pretends she has a pager on (she has, on occasion, taken it off her hip and said, "you have got to be kidding me - these people".  I have to admit, I felt pretty horrible. What message am I sending to them about what is important.  But then later, I saw E comfort O when she fell / dove off the couch by singing a song my husband sings to both of them, kissing it, getting her a band aid and a popsicle, and getting her mr. bear (the most beloved and disgusting of all bears).  Moments like that make you realize you are a good parent.  We are all (with few exceptions) good parents.  You know who our biggest critic is?  Ourselves.  Instead of focusing on the bad in the world, in other parents, and in yourself - take a minute to watch the true goodness in your children or your nieces and nephews and remember - it came from you.  That being said, they learned to pour bath oil on the floor and turn it into a slip and slide while I am in the shower, from their father. 

One of the most difficult parts about being a military wife is understanding and respecting your husband.  But lets be honest, sometimes it is okay to let them have it.

Right now my husband is at a 5 ½ month training about 1500 miles away from home.  I absolutely 100% support and respect what he is doing about 90% of the time.  The other 10 % of the time, which is usually occupied at whatever hole in the wall bar he and his “buddies” can find to watch the game, is a different story. 

On a normal day, receiving a phone call from my clearly intoxicated husband where he is absolutely making me the butt of the joke on speakerphone wouldn’t upset me.  However, even my halo looses its shine.

Last week, E & O took it upon themselves to make “snowflakes” out of Cheese Its.  There was Cheese It dust everywhere in my living room.  So, I get out the vacuum cleaner to clean it up.  Anyone who has read any of my posts will know that the vacuum cleaner and carpet cleaner are my sworn enemies.  Well, this time, no mold spewed out of it, however it made my house smell like ear wax.  Google to the rescue, or maybe not . . . Apparently if you put cinnamon or coffee grounds in your vacuum, it clears up the smell.  Or your house smells like ear waxy coffee grounds – not pleasant.    To top it off, E swears that something is “on fire” and locks herself in the bathroom.  So I am now covered in cheese it in my ear wax and coffee scented home trying to instruct my toddler how to unlock the door, quite unsuccessfully might I add.

Ring.  Ring.  (Loud noise in the background)  My husband talking way to loud:  “Hey Baby, are Sundays important at our house?”  My reply: a litany of expletives sure to make any hardened criminal blush.  It was at this moment I realized I was on speaker phone.  Whoops.  My husband: “I love you the most.”  My reply: “Enjoy your Daddy vacation.” Click.  In retrospect a little harsh.  And don’t worry once my tantrum was over I called back, apologized, and reminded him of my love for him and all he does. 

I have officially hit my limit and am ready to blow.  It is now past bedtime and E and O have become their alter egos Evil O and Demon E.  They will not leave me alone, not even for a minute.  I very calmly explain that Mommy needs a time out and head to the time out corner, the most dreaded of all corners.  THEY FOLLOW ME THERE.  Okay, I’ll try the bathroom.  Two tiny little pig tailed heads peak through the door.  E: “Are you going pee pee or poo poo?”  And here comes the Mommy Temper Tantrum.  “You need to leave me alone for five minutes, I am not your peanut butter bitch (I spelled it, don’t worry) [This is a long story for another time].  Tears from the girls.  Stomping up the stairs after gaiting it off from me.  E yells, “I don’t lub it when you make me sad.”

That night we again all slept peacefully in my bed after a long conversation about how much we love each other and reassurance from Emma that “Sometimes you make me mad, Sometimes you make me sad, but no matter what you say or do, I will always love you.” (a line from one of our favorite stories)

Moral of the story, we all need a time out here and there.

Confession

The absolute best part about being a parent are the moments you get to be a kid again.  The even better part comes when your spouse gets to play too.  It is like regressing to a calvin and hobbs for a brief moment in time . . .

This leads me to a small confession I would like to make.  I, on occasion, have persuaded my children to think something is awesome so that I have an excuse to do it .

This weekend I convinced them to be excited about the Wizard of Oz exhibit and the Children's Museum.  E couldn't wait to see the dinosaur - apparently in her version the witch gets eaten by a dinosaur.

A few important points:

A) They have never seen this movie, nor will they for some time.
B) Upon reflection this movie is moderately terrifying (flying monkeys, melting witches, dancing midgets in  capri pants . . . )

I was like a kid in a candy shop - I think I might have actually squealed when I saw THE ruby slippers.  We went to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry's farm.  We rode the witch's bike with toto in the basket.  We were swept away to munchkinland and got to see INSIDE the houses of the munchkins (one of my lifelong dreams).  We skipped down the yellow brick road.  We met the Scarecrow, the Tinman, and the Lion.  We went to see the wizard. We explored the witches castle.  And we clicked our sparkly pink shoes and said "there is no place like home"  (E said this falling asleep on the way home).

I was shocked at the parents sitting on the sidelines - reading a book, playing on their iphones, talking on their cell phones.

My point, I do have one here, is this.  Own the little girl or little boy inside of you.  Let it come alive when you get a chance.  You will be a better parent and a better person for it.  Your kids are only little once - enjoy their childhood with them and re-live yours.  Get off your iphone!  Put down the book!  Facebook, Email, Twitter can wait.   Play with your kids.  Share your memories and build new ones.

E and the Tinkerbell Underpants

Everyone believes their child is the cutest, smartest, most talented child in the world.  I firmly believe my three year old and one year old are tied for the "most spirited".  I am attempting, for at least the third time, potty training.  This absolutely 110% is psychological warfare in our household.  Our family and friends have nearly been alienated by all of the pee pee poo poo potty talk.  I armed myself with positive reinforcement tools, ridiculous articles on how to train of off google, and enough diet coke to last through nuclear winter.
The first half of the day was perfect.  We set our little timer, went to the potty every hour, earned our rewards, signed off our chart.  It was actually kind of fun.  Then E decided she didn't like her tinkerbell underpants and wanted the brown haired fairy - so she peed, right there in the entry way - took off her underpants, handed them to me and asked me for "the brown haired underpants."  The combination of the truly disturbing nature of her verbage - the fact that she peed on the floor to get new underpants floored me. This went on for the rest of the afternoon, about every hour, just before our pee pee timer went off .  She just didn't like that fairy on her butt.  Why would you want any fairy on your butt - the fact that there are cartoon underpants at all is kind of alarming. What kind of long term effect would there be if I told her she can't pee pee or poo poo in her underpants because it will get pee pee and poo poo on the whatever characted I paid an extra two bucks to be on her underpants?  Can you tell I am about to lose it over the potty training.
We keep going, day by day.  She mad it through the museum with no accidents all day.  Got home and was up to her same tricks again . . . . oh how I love that little girl.

Mommy, I puked in the red bowl

Day 3.  

It starts like a bad scene out of stand by me - peanut butter taco and mandarin orange toddler puke.  This causes chain reaction puke.  E then proceeds to dissect what she sees spewed (pun intended) on the floor.  We run up to the bathroom and the girls go straight into the tub - we turn on the jets and black chunks come flying out . . . 

(side note: any tub with jets needs to be cleaned once a month with either specialized cleaner or with 2 tsps of dishwasher detergent and a sprinkle of bleach).  

So we switch bathtubs and put on jammies.  O goes to bed, E comes downstairs with me as she is "scared the puke will eat her."  We clean the bathtub and get out the carpet cleaner.  Black chunks of mold in the bag of water that my charming husband forgot to empty last time he cleaned with it.  We clean the vacuum cleaner.  Emma sees the black stuff and says "I told you the puke would get us"  

(this is very remnant of the time she pooped in the bathtub.  She tried to run away from it, creating a whirlpool effect on the pool which "chased" her, she started screaming, "the poo is chasing me."  .  She didn't take a bath for a week after)

We cleaned the carpeting and E went to bed.  That charming husband of mine called and said "how is your night."  Heres a hint, if your wife is home alone with two toddlers and she sounds like she may need an exorcism by how she says hello, if you don't want to be slain by her rhetoric, don't cheerily ask how her night is after you've described your "awesome" pick up soccer game in sunny AZ.  

Its 2:00 am now and I hear, "Mommy, I don't feel so . . .  " and barf.  There goes E.  I went in to get her to the toilet and she greets me with a pillow full of puke and says "don't worry Mommy, I puked on the pillow."  On cue O wakes up and projectile vomits over the side of her crib.  I'm pretty sure she smiled when she did it, and by the glint of the moonlight it looked an awful lot like pea soup.  We head downstairs with every blanket and towel we own an created two vomit proof snuggle nests each equipped with their very own toddler sized barf bucket.

This would be a good time to point out that through persuasion and claims that "dora is on vacation" E has started to watch Charlie and Lola religiously.  I will take a mildly obnoxious british accent any day over poorly phrased spanglish or an inexplicable bald, common sense challenged, mutant child .  Even if Calliou is just  a kid who's four, I want to punch him.  This change has caused 1) me to top googling: does anyone else hate Calliou / What exact language is dora speaking? and 2) E to occasionally speak in a British accent. 

So I sit, in the dark between two puke proof snuggle nests, alternately holding back their blonde and red hair while they puke like frat boys.   When I had finally reached my limit and was about to have a full blown mommy meltdown, E looks at me and in the sweetest British accent says, "mommy, I puked on the red bowl."  


Moments like that stick with you.  They remind me of why I do it day in and day out.  Even though they were both pukey, I kissed their little lipies and spent the night snuggling them by the dim light of charlie and lola.  

Dream weaver.

Day 1, I took on the lawn. 

I am a strong, capable, independent women.  I am able to handle conflict and stress.  I am apparently unable to water the lawn.   I watered the front no problem.  Placed the sprinkler perfectly - nice even water - beautiful.  Then I went to the back and realized that I needed to carefully place two sprinklers to hit the entire area.  Again, I am a strong individual with the ability reason - I can handle this.  I place the first sprinkler, not realizing (until I am being assaulted) that it actually needs to be pounded into the ground and it not joke attacks me like a bat out of hell.  It was spraying me everywhere and literally bouncing around the yard as I ran in the opposite direction.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you imagine what the soundtrack would be to a scene in your life?  I didn't have to wonder as I was given the sweet sweet serenade of  "oooh dream weaver I believe you can get my through the night."  At first I thought for sure I was hallucinating.  Then I decided I was being haunted by a ghost with horrible taste in music and a sense of humor to match.  I then look over to see my neighbor being clearly amused by my plight.  In his defense, he very sweetly asked if I needed help, but not before he asked if my shower was broken.  To which I internally replied, "shut it dreamweaver" and externally replied, "nope" and did my best smile and wave.

My humiliation continued when I went in to wallow in my defeat with a side of captain crunch and check on my toddler.  She was still awake and had apparently snuck to the guest room to also share in the sideshow.  She accused me of "playing in the sprinkler without her."  Then when I was calmly explaining I was the victim of a run by sprinkling, she smelled my breath and said, "have you been eating crunch berries?"  I got cereal breathlalized by my toddler and berated by an inanimate object and a Gary White fan in the same day.  Oh Day 2 how I long for you.

A little Backstory: I live with my husband, who I have been married to for 3.5 years and our two precious little girls, E & O.  I work full time as a nurse and my husband is an officer in the Army National Guard.  We are a military family - and a new one at that.

Why we are here?: Our story is a unique one.  As long as I have known my husband he has wanted to be in the Army, but it never panned out.  We spent our college years about, reconnected, and were instantly in love. We married eight months later and welcomed our first baby girl three months later.  We talked on and off over the next year or so about his future in the military.  He wanted to fight for the things he believed in.  He wanted to back what he spoke about with action.  We made the decision as a family for him to join the national guard.  Two weeks later we found out little O was on the way.  He left in January for basic training she arrived in February and he came home in March.  The rest, is history.

Where exactly are we?: Today he left for five months of training in Arizona.  We are here at the home house, loving him more than ever.  

This is our story.  It is insight into our lives and into the lives of so many military families.  It is also a story filled with humor and warmth.  There are stories of the smoke signal that told the world E was on her way, or the inevitably challenging relationship any new bride faces with her in-laws, and of course, as always, E & O are the stars of the endearing little show.  Once I find a segway, I will unload a list of stories that sometimes I can't believe.