It Died

Yup! My cutting of the infamous rubber tree plant is officially dead. Ummm...not sure what this says about me and my ability to care for other living objects, but it is probably not good.

Grandma Fran's Birthday

Today is my glorious mother's birthday. My sister and I have planned a perfect night in; Scrabble, Velvet Chicken, Vaughn Monroe, and some chatting by the fire.

In honor of mom's birthday, Cole decided to write a special poem. I think it sums her up rather nicely:

For My Grandma
by Cole Wilson

Roses are Pink
Violets are Red
But everything is Grandma

The End

Oops there goes another.....

My grandmother had a green thumb that may even put Mr. Green Jeans and Liberty Hyde Bailey, Jr. to shame. She was the type of gardener that would scout the local stores for the sickly sad little plants whose prices had been slashed for a quick sale. Lovingly and patiently she would nurse them into healthy and huge oxygen producers.

One of her largest success stories came in the form of a rubber tree plant, more like a sprig, that was purchased on sale from K-mart. It was the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of rubber tree plants. She was able to take the little plant from a sparse twig to a tree that strained to escape the confines of her cathedral ceilings.

Over the years, my grandmother would give visiting family members and friends clippings from this prodigious plant. It was one of the only ways that she could keep the beast contained and she loved "passing it on". There are cuttings spattered across this coast from Florida to New Jersey.

My mother now has the largest surviving sprig of The Rubber Tree plant. Last night, Trey and I helped to re-locate the plant inside as the first of the winter frosts was set to descend upon Virginia Beach. Moving the tree takes two adults on the bottom, with the help of some well placed furniture movers, and a third adult positioned at the top of the plant to help coax the branches through the doorways. Now that we have the process down to a science, we can get the monster moved in under 10 minutes.

The Rubber Tree has become an odd tradition in our life. When we call mom, we usually ask about how the tree is faring. Does it seem happy in its new location? Has it been set a kilter by the wind? Clearly, this tree and its well-being intermingles with our happy memories of my grandmother.

Yesterday, my mother thoughtfully cut me a new sprig off the tree so that I could plant it here at our new place so I could have my own reminder of my grandmother at my own home. She carefully placed it in a bucket of water to root. She gently reminded me to remember to put it in the car before I left.

I forgot it...

Another Departure

I love you.
I'll be back soon.
The deep sound of footsteps disrupt a dark day's start.
A kiss.
shallow silence

Awake again.
I'll take care of you.
I gaze at an image of a pasted face.
Which mask today?
simple survival

Come back.
I'll never leave.
Happiness may once again mingle with reality.
I remember who I am
with you

Life is Beautiful

I am officially an adult child of divorce.

My absence from the world of blogging has been in large part due to the fact that my parents have decided to divorce after 37 years of marriage. I have no words to describe the bevy of emotions that I have been through recently. I have had to completely reorganize my own understanding of my identity and sense of self. I am sure that later blog entries will serve as a sort of therapy for some of the unresolved feelings. But, today, it struck me that it is high time to get back to the things I value in life.

Mostly, I value life. I want to enjoy this life I have been given, and recording the daily musings of my little life makes me feel happy. During my blog sabbatical, I took to writing in my bedside journal....it seemed less public and more appropriate for some of the things that were pouring forth from my heart and soul. This small act of 'journaling' is something that I have not done since I was pregnant with my first goon, and I found that I truly missed the intimate act of recording my thoughts with ink and paper. I can retrace my state of mind not only in the meaning of the words but in the handwriting, the strokes, the pressure to paper, and sometimes the occasional water mark. It has become a lost Art.

Here is to a new beginning. One that I promise to approach with honesty and a truer sense of self.

Pickles on the Porch

It's official. We are now Old Beach residents down here in the heart Virginia Beach.

We have moved in, and unpacked almost every box. Quite an undertaking, but we were motivated by sheer need to establish some sense of permanence for the goons.

Every sentimental piece of furniture we owned was damaged in some way in the move process. So what...no biggie. We are together for the meantime. All the material items that we did fine without for two months now seem superfluous. None of it is really important. Home is not made by the pictures on the wall and/or the seating arrangement in your living room. It is the memories, rituals and traditions that make your home a home.

Funny, with all the boxes unpacked and most of the pictures up on the walls I didn't feel like I was really home until I cracked open MY first jar of home-made icebox pickles (Uncle Elbert's recipe). Truth be known, I have had already had my fair share this summer albeit at my mom's house...so, they weren't really mine.

I enjoyed an entire mason jar of these perfect pickles while sitting on the back porch under the crepe myrtle tree.

I didn't feel the compulsive need to move or get something done. I only shifted ever so slightly every few minutes to catch the best whiff of the tangy saltiness in the ocean air.

Home sweet simple home.

I am crawling out of moving mayhem!

First, I want to apologize to all of my friends that have been so patiently waiting for me to reappear on the surface of the Earth. Most of you know that when the going gets tough for me, instead of reaching out to my friends for love and support I go into, "hunker down, get tough, and solve the problem" mode.

The simple and so called well planned move that I had meticulously mapped out for our transfer from Jacksonville to Virginia Beach hit the fan. The house that we had originally planned to move into (and signed a 2 year lease for) was un-safe for living conditions when we arrived. Needless to say, we broke the lease (with the moving truck en route), hired a lawyer and dickered with our less than human would-be-landlord. For about a week, Trey and I worked through our lawyer to recover, what is to us, a good deal of money all while trying to figure out how long me, the dog, Cole and Jack were going to live with my parents (who have been the most incredibly accommodating parents in the world). ((PS - I had to do this with only 3 days of supplies packed from our household goods as I had planned a door-to-door move. I should be committed1!!))

In addition, I had to buy a completely new wardrobe for our trip to England (which was incredible...more on the fun, camaraderie, insane amounts of booze, and patriotic partnerships on a future post). I know. It should have been wonderful. I love to shop. However, I hate to shop when I HAVE to find things for SPECIFIC events. (Megan, I couldn't stop thinking of you during these days!)

Okay, last part of the pity party...when we got home from England. I arrived to 3 exhausted grandparents and a dog with a chin three times it's original size. Yes, I know it is hard to believe, but my damn dog was sick again and required medical attention AND our home rented out to a nice family back in J-ville had lost air conditioning. Was this karma or Murphy's Law? Am still not sure...

This is all occurring as Trey is living out of the BOQ in Jacksonville while I am trying to find a new place to live.

Reading back through this, I realize that my tone may be misconstrued to some. I am completely aware that I am extremely lucky. We have food in our mouths and a nice roof over our heads, and we have love ones close to us to help us out in this "not really that bad" of times...and we are together. But it makes me think, "what would I have done if this happened when we were moving somewhere else other than our home base?". "Could I do this on my own if needed?". I went through a mini nervous breakdown during these events, would I truly have what it takes in me to make sure I stay strong when the going gets a little tough.

I have learned that a fun jar for kids is the best thing around. I have become seriously less attached to all of those material things in my life that I once thought I couldn't be without. My family is wonderful and I love them with all my heart, but MY family doesn't work without Trey. No matter how much help I had from the myriad of wonderful friends and family here at the beach, it never fit back into place until Trey was physically back with Cole, Jack and myself.

I am really scared. I have to make this family work without Trey. He can't be with us all the time..it's the nature of the Navy. And, this will be different from how he couldn't always be with us during his residency/intern training. If possible, it is even a bit more out of my control.

My heart, tears and love go out to all of my mom friends that are doing it alone now (Lucia, Emily P.), and those that have done it alone in the past (Kristen, Chenoa, Lucinda, Miste, my mother, my grandmother), and to those that know that they will have to do it again in the future. You all have my utmost respect not only for you as women, but for your family's center strength. Don't leave me when I finally pay my dues. (However, I am looking forward to not having to shave my legs for any length of time that I so choose.)

In conclusion, we are still living with my parents with an expected move in date to our new rental (a home that is exactly 2.5 blocks from the oceanfront- so please come visit us) on August 1st. Trey graduated from residency and joined us here on July 1st, and now we are trying to give our kids some sense of routine and consistency together. In the end, I can say that everything happens for a reason and someone out there thought there were some life lessons I needed to learn before we set about our new journey here in Virginia.

Well, I am listening...and learning...

PS: I will be sending out new contact information some time this week. I miss you guys that kept checking the blog for updates and sending me little "where are you" notes. Please know that I am getting back on track and you can count on a little-Nisha love coming to a theater near you sometime real soon.

Did you know Satan lives at Chuck'e'Cheese's?

Tis the season of birthday parties.

Tonight we had a birthday party to attend which was being held at the scariest place on earth-----Chuck E. Cheese's.

I hate, hate, hate this place. (My mother taught me that you should never use this word when discussing a person or persons, but I think it is okay in this case as we are discussing a giant hip-hop mouse.)

I even hated this place when I was a kid. I got massive stomach cramps when we went there back in the days when I was a curtain climber, and I got stomach cramps tonight as an 'oh-so' worldly adult. I hated that grown adults became the root of evil as they let thier bully kids push in front of the younger ones to get on the rides or monopolize a given game. Of course, goon number one loves this place so he was completely oblivious to the nausea his mother was experiencing.

First off, the entrance into this joint is chained off and manned by some sweaty and not all-there teenager who is stamping the arms of the people that are looking to come in to spend thier hard earned cash on crap. What I find interesting is that the purpose of the stamping is to insure that the children and adults of a said group are all stamped with the same number so that no adult can leave with a child that is not of thier own group (i.e. we are trying to prevent child abduction crimes on the hallowed groud of Mr. Chuck E Cheese).

Well, as one astute parent pointed out to me over a sugary drink that I am sure is spiked with Ritalin, the teenager at the intake point can get a bit confused when the consumers start entering the establishment in droves. She noted that her child was stamped with the number that matched the adult standing in front of her which was not her child's guardian but was a school acquaintance, so she decided not to throw a fit. Good thing because I am sure her logic would have jolted this teenager back into a reality with which he surely couldn't cope.

So, we move on to the interior of hell. It contains an assortment of games and rides that target both children and adults. These games require special mouse/Satan tokens.

We were in luck as I had a number of tokens left over from our last visit two years ago. We had these tokens because the last time we were here we left in a mad panic because the joint had filled up quickly with the kid equivalent of the scum of the earth.

Cole and I had a bag full of tokens and I was determined to use them all so that we did not have any reason to visit this place again. (I learned at the end of our visit that there is no way to shake all the tokens because upon leaving Chuck E. Cheese there is a paid employee whose sole purpose is to place one last token into the hand of our innocent children so they can try and convince thier parents that they have to return to try thier fate.)

Anyway, given my efficient personality (with a tinge of bootlegger/gambling blood in me), I immediately scouted out the games that would give us the most bang (tickets) for our buck (stupid Satan tokens). You see, Chuck E. Cheese's gives thier patrons these precious tickets when you excel at or play a given game. These tickets can be used to buy incredible and momentously fun items (all made in China) from thier store before you exit through the chain monintored by the imbecile. And guess what? It only takes 4,000,000,000,000 tickets to buy a whistle. What a deal?!!!?

I decided the best place for me to covertly use up tokens was the Monopoly game (kind of ironic isn't it...see paragraph two).

Cole decided that he was really into the 'Deal or No Deal' game. (Give me a break!!!...of course Cole loved this game. Numbers, boxes opening to reveal more numbers, and hot chicks in low cut dresses.)

So, we comprimised. Cole played a few games of 'Deal or No Deal' with no real big ticket wins, and then I headed off to Monopoly. Cole could have cared less that I was using tokens out of my seemingly endless bag, so he headed for the play gym that is mounted into the ceiling of the establishment. (I actually imagined one of the many children that were obviously past the age limit for this play gym causing the ceiling to collapse upon the diners below. See...Satan was influencing my thoughts.)

I plugged my token into the game...waited...and pressed the button so the light would stop in the most adventageous spot.

I really didn't care.

Which is why I hit the frickin' jackpot.

Yes, I WON!!! I won big. Tickets, those useless tickets, came pouring out of the machine. I am talking about hundreds of tickets. Why, oh why couldn't I have been at the Beau Rivage!

People stopped and stared. My win enticed other patrons to play this big payoff game. Other mothers stopped and stared while thier children looked on with envy because I was holding a gold mine and the tickets kept coming.

I couldn't wait to show Cole.

Cole jumped out of the gym, looked at me and said:

"Yeah...that's nice. Ummm. Can I go ride the monster truck and then take another turn on the Deal game."

What the ....

Needless to say, we left with a whistle that Cole was not as proud of as I would have liked.

And...did you know...that people actually eat from the salad bar at Chuck E. Cheese. I am sorry, but if that isn't proof that Satan lives there than I don't know what it is!!!!

What I won't miss....

Okay! I love the middle ground of almost any discussion. So, yesterday I thought about those things I will miss once we leave our current homestead, and today I will highlight those things to which I can't wait to wave good-bye.

One word.

ROADKILL.

Here in Florida there seems to be more roadkill than all the other places I have lived combined. I don't think that my issues are just wrapped up in the quantity of the roadkill, but also with the variety of the roadkill. Well, I am here to report that the most disgusting and horribly traumatizing roadkill of all the varietal is that of the armadillo. By the way, Florida is not lacking in armadillos which equals to abundant car targets.

There is something about seeing that cracked shell that brings on the shivers. Not only do I shudder to look at the remains, but I also can't help of thinking of the time of impact. You know the drivers of the cars that hit these animals MUST hear a distinctive noise as they pass over these armored victims. Based on my scientific count of armadillo roadkill, the sound probably haunts at least 60 million drivers.

I also won't miss my oldest goon re-living the mornings roadkill count with the other boys at school who seem equally fascinated with the gore.

PS: Don't you dare write me a nasty post about the picture..and humane rights for animals. I love animals. I just don't love them dead.

Soaking it all in

Now that we are in the process of leaving the sunny state of Florida, I find myself looking out at the scenery that surrounds us with more appreciative eyes. Even when I was a little girl moving on to the next duty station, I would find one special thing to commit to my sensory memory that I could later always associate with that particular geographic area.

In northern Virginia, it was the smell, colors and sounds of the dry fall leaves that had quietly drifted to the forest ground behind our small home. In North Carolina, it is the strong sea grass that seems to dance and sway in the wind that rolls off the water. In Hawaii, it was the Plumeria flower. I will always remember the way they made our front yard smell in the spring when they opened their silky soft white and yellow petals. The sap from those said flowers will also stick in my memory...literally and figuratively. In Va Beach, the spring azaleas paint almost every suburban street with a pretty palette of colors. The colors of the azaleas are almost as predictable as the brown mucky mess they leave once the flowers fall to the ground a few weeks later. In the blue ridge mountains of North Carolina, it will forever be the memory of the wind; the smell was so clean and pure and the lullaby sounds it made as it whistled through every hollow and ridge sang me soundly to sleep every night I wasn't up writing another blessed essay.

From Jacksonville, I will commit to memory the dignified beauty and graceful elegance of the Spanish moss. It drips from all the most majestic trees as if its presence on their branches signifies a special type of worthiness.

I love its wispiness. I love how it falls over everything like a puffy gray icing. I love how it conjures pictures of ladies in big hats sipping mint iced tea while lazily rocking away on a big wraparound porch.

Watching it sway in the small breezes brings on phrases like: "Dadgumit!", "Lawsy and Mercy Me!", "Ya'll", "Bless your lil' ole heart", and "He's as worthless as tits on a boarhog" (this last one is from the vernacular of Chuck Herndon to which I will devote a future blog entry.)

Good Times

Last night our neighbors threw a going away party for our family and another on our street that are moving out of the area this summer. It was lovely...

The children playing out in the street under the stars believeing that the adults are none the wiser as they sneak up to steal more cookies from the dessert table.

The adults sat in thier circle chatting about life's events while laughing and comiserating about life's challenges.

I am not sure if we will ever live in such a family friendly atmosphere again and this makes me sad.

I never seem to appreciate the place where we live until we find ourselves packing up to leave. I really need to work on this.

Anyway...to wax poetic a bit:

The other family re-locating this summer was not able to attend last night as they needed to return to Missouri to attend to family business that comes from the passing of a loved one. I missed them at our little gathering.

As I sat taking a brief glimpse at the strikingly clear almost summer night, I was taken in by the brightness of the stars which made me think of the Native American belief that our loved ones' souls leave this earth to inhabit the sky and stars.

It is comforting to think of your loved ones always there looking down on you in the form of a star. It certainly makes wishes upon stars a little more meaningful.

Recently, we have been surrounded by a myriad of friends that are struggling with family illnesses and family loss. We have spent many nights discussing/praying/thinking about and for these friends to find the strength and peace they need.

Human suffering is universal and touches us all at some time or another. It seems to me, it is what we do for one another during those times that can really make the difference in our world and helps me to get closer to an answer to the age old question: Are we basically good or evil? I believe in the good.

What I hope to take away from all of this is that we need each other not just in the bad times but also in the good times, and I will try and enjoy the good times as they happen.

Spackle

A pause in my day's activities brought me to this oh so momentous question (prepare yourself it is earth shattering): How the heck did spackle get its name?

Is it a verb? Is it a combination of words made up from the ingredients contained within said spackle? Has its name developed over time or was it patented under the given name "spackle"? Just wonderin'.

Summer Magic Weaving Through the Willows

I had a wonderful date tonight. My wonderful date was with a tall, dark, and thoughtful male. He is sensitive and strong and extremely clever. Can you guess? No, not Boomer. My date was with my dimpled goon, Cole.

Trey was on call, so Cole and I planned to stay up late together and watch a movie. We got Jack to bed complete with a night-time serenade from Cole. I am not sure what the song was but it resembled the melody of the "Mexican Hat Dance". Whatever...it worked. Jack was happy and quiet in his room, so Cole and I set out to find our movie.

Cole and I decided to watch a movie that was a favorite of mine when me and my sister were little girls: 'Summer Magic' starring Haley Mills and Burl Ives. My sister and I were Haley Mills wannabees. We pink and purple puffy heart loved the old timey, fun loving, music filled movies in which she found her niche: The Parent Trap (the original not the one with the pre-tormented young Lindsay Lohan), In Search of the Castaways, Moonspinners, Summer Magic, That Darn Cat. Anyway you cut it, we thought Haley Mills was the bees' knees.

Yes, we were brainwashed...by my mother. She too used to love Haley Mills, so in addition to making us watch horribly cheesey AMC movies like The Enchanted Cottage we were exposed at a young age to the small collection of movies starring Haley Mills. We used to sing her songs in full regalia in front of our extended family members. I even believe there was some intricate choreography involved (Bris, correct me if I am wrong... and if I am wrong, I know you will have no problem in setting me straight).

Anyway, I was so excited that I was going to get to share my very girly movie with my goon. I don't get to do these things that often, so I jumped at the chance to have a little estrogen influenced bonding. Well, he sat through the first 20 minutes pretty well and then looked at me puzzled and said, "Mommy, you didn't tell me that this was another olden day movie. Can I get my Legos?". So, Cole built Lego houses and I watched my movie. This particular movie sends me back to summer nights in Hawaii when my sister and I used to curl up on on the mama-san chairs, sing the songs at the top of our lungs, and munch on beef jerky and oriental crackers.
It wasn't the same without my sister.

As I sat missing my sister, I started to look forward to the relationship that I can see developing between my boys. They are finally starting to truly play and enjoy each other. I pray that they find the same type of love and friendship that I have with my sister because they too will move every two to four years, and they too will find solace with those transitions in each other.

I am so excited that at the end of my upcoming transition from Florida to Virginia will find me home with my titta.

All Pau!

PS: Mom did you realize that Dorothy Maguire is in both The Enchanted Cottage and Summer Magic? Weird!

Two Wheelin'

Goon number one has recently expressed an interest in riding his bike without the training wheels. We were so excited that he wanted to take on this milestone that we planned Trey's day off this week around our expedition to teach Cole how to ride a 'big boy bike'.

Knowing our son as we do and taking into account our own high stress personalities, we wanted to make sure that everything was as low pressure as possible to help procure a more successful outcome. So, we went out and got some pizza and a six pack of beer (for the adults not the children), packed the car up with a blanket and a cooler, and headed out to the local soccer field to practice with out training wheels. We decided grass although harder to pedal upon would be softer to fall upon, and the soccer field although more public than our little cul-de-sac less traumatic than biting the dust in front of all the curious neighborhood kiddos.

Well, we didn't even drink a beer because Cole was off and pedaling on his own on his first try. My goon is a 'big boy bike' natural! Maybe the next Lance Armstrong...or maybe not, but here is a picture montage of Cole's success.

Old Fashioned Picnicking


READY!




SET!



GOOOOO!



Oh, sweet success!



When can I get one of those!!!!!!?????



We are going to try on the pavement tomorrow....only after we get him in a helmet and long pants...and some football pads...OR, better yet, body armor.

My Head Hurts

I have never had a tension headache before today. I have had migraines, and I have had your regular old run of the mill headaches but not a tension headache. You feel a tension headache start to build like when you have your hair back too tight in a ponytail or when your sunglasses have made a permanent indentation behind your ears, but these don't just go away when you let down your hair or rip off your sunglasses.

My tension headache is a result of taking Cole to his latest eye appointment. As many of you know, my son has amblyoplia and strabismus. This requires us to visit the pediatric opthamologist every 2 to 3 months, and have since he was 4 months old. Cole is doing great...vision improving...doing well wearing his patch...my tension headache was purely due to Jack. Jack came along with us to this appointment. I thought I could handle the seemingly endless wait in the less than toy outfitted waiting room. I thought I could keep Jack's attention during the actual eye exam so that Cole could concentrate. I was soooooooooooooooooo wrong.

Let's sum up the afternoon with this one story from the myriad of stories that arose from our visit today:

Jack stole another child's walker. Not his toy walker. His walker that he needs to help him walk around due to a physical disability. The craziness comes not in the fact that my son stole someone else's durable medical equipment but in the plotting of my 2 year old to get the walker.

The walker's owner was approx. 8 years old, and was enthralled with Jack's collection of cars. Jack took them over to the boy and made fast friends. The boy abandoned his walker and sat down with Jack to talk, and play, and laugh. It warmed my heart.

Once Jack had him on his hook, Jack dropped all the cars and started oogling the walker from the corner of his eye. The boy was totally enthralled with the opening and closing of the doors on the perfect minature replicas. This is when Jack seized the moment. He jumped up quicker than greased lightning, and hijacked the walker. Not only did he start running at mach speed, but he started screaming like a caveman who had made his first kill.

I was right there watching the whole thing which is why Jack did not get too far with the said walker (which I am sure cost as much as our second car). Why did he not get that far? We ARE talking about Jack..the child that makes you loose weight just watching him run.

Well he stopped because I purposely tripped my own son...at which point every parent in the waiting room simultaneously sucked in their breath. I am lucky that Jack picked himself up from the tile floor and shouted with hands over his head touchdown style, "I okay...Yes, I okay."

I have to sign off now because goon number two just pooped in the bathtub and goon number one is screaming like a civil service siren.

Calgon take me away!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our first sleepover!!!

Okay, so tonight goon number one is having his first sleep over. It is his buddy from school. They both lost the same tooth on the same day, so they are pretty sure they are meant to be friends now. Ahhhhh, the simplicity of it all makes me sigh.

It is only 7:50pm and I am already dragging butt. I have made chocolate chip cookies, faces with spaghetti, had a pillow fight, picked up a room completely booby trapped with small cars, stopped goon number two from beating up overnight guest, made homemade popcorn, made a fort, and stood on my head and spit wooden nickles.

I am pretty sure that the boys will not fall asleep until ten and I am ready for bed now. What was I thinking? Torture comes in the name of sleep overs. Forget water boarding, forget toothpicks beneath fingernails...instead put someone in a room with kids expecting Ringling and Barnum to show up for their first sleepover.

Good night.

Military Misunderstandings

Yesterday night my neighborhood held an impromptu block party. We are lucky enough to live on a cul-de-sac with many kids, so many summer evenings all the kids on our street run around together until the moon comes up and the misquitoes become unbearable (even for a 6 year old).

Most nights we have our little block parties I am happy to attend with my pot luck contribution in hand. Last night Trey was on call, so I was going stag and had a few more than usual trepidations about the event. I knew I couldn't bow out because the goons would definitely know that all the kids were out running around together roasting marshmellows and would ask why we weren't part of the fun. As do many parents in the same situation, it is sometimes just easier to do it than face the questions of the children. It means I have to come too close to the truth.

Something like: "Mommy doesn't want to go because she doesn't feel like screwing on her smile and having idle chatter with a bunch of ladies that look at me with pity because my husband it not with me...again. And for that matter, I don't want to get locked in a conversation with someone about how I am fine. I chose the life of a military wife. I love moving around (minus the logistics of it all). I love my husband, and most days I go to bed thanking God for ALL our blessings. I am not kibitzing with a bunch of gossipy women I barely know. Plus, if we stay home they would think we were being anti-social and I can't even lie about being out because they would see the car in the driveway. Damn-it!"

I find it odd that many women that I have come into contact with, that are not themselves married into the military life, have some real issues with those of us that are, and I believe they maintain many mis-conceptions about this life. Yes, it can sometimes be hard. Whose life isn't at times? I don't want your pity and I don't deserve a medal. I definitley don't want you thinking I sacrificed everything for my husband with any resentment. We have made choices throughout our life together. We are a team. A team that fights together to make our family work...just like everyone else. I get tired of women saying, "tsk tsk...I just don't know how you do it...you are a rock."

Trust me. I am no rock. I have my meltdowns, but not with women I barely know that have no understanding what so ever for the life I have chosen. I call other military wife friends and talk for hours on the phone about how on Earth am I going to make it until dinner time. At the times I need the support, I know where to find it and it is usually with other women with whom you do not have to explain the basics of life. Just like everyone, I scream and cry into my pillow on those days I can't deal with the whining for one more second by myself, where I need a conversation that does not revolve around cars or poopy diapers, where I want to throw on a suit and head out to conquer the world.

I have done the suit thing. It was an experience I will not forget but need not repeat. When I left the suit job to move to our first duty station after medical school, my mentor, an incredible young woman with a shrewd business mind, cocked her head at me and said, "Are you sure this is what you want? You have such a future ahead of you. I don't think I could give it all up." I felt like I was getting marriage counseling in my cubicle.

I belive in women's rights and equal rights for women. This should never go away...options are essential. However, support to those women who choose to take up more traditional roles is just as esssential. I was ready to be a mother. I saw my future in my family. I didn't think a cubicle in the rat race was 'everything'. And niether role I have played completely defines me.

Okay...so, I obviously still haven't truly gotten over the lack of female support I recieved when I left the work force. But, I am completely astounded when other stay at home mothers look at me with the same sort of misconceptions, pity and false accolades that I recieved from females in Fendi I left behind in the rat race of DC. What gives?

Some things should never be done in the supermarket

I hate going grocery shopping. I know some people love it, but I would rather stay at home and clean the goons' nasty toilet which is to say I really really hate grocery shopping.

What I hate even more than grocery shopping at the regular local grocer is shopping at the military commissary on payday. I know. Why would a sane woman do such a thing?...But, we really needed some of the basics and I knew I would save some money if I just sucked it up and went to brave the commissary jungle.

Knowing it was payday, I armed myself with baby wipes and a handful of lollipops to keep Jack quiet and to keep him from grabbing items off the shelf or, even better, from grabbing other shoppers (he takes personal delight in scaring the heck out of little old retirees). The wipes are to wipe everything that he comes in contact with, and the lollipops are to keep him from screaming like a banshee to hear his voice echo.

Well, even though I had mentally pshyched myself up for the haul, and even though Jack was in a better than usual shopping mood...we did not stay long. This is because as soon as I walked into the commissary I noticed a middle aged gentleman standing close to the apples messing with his hands. I walked closer not only because I needed some apples, but because I wanted to see what he was up to. (I think I was a spy in my other life.)

I will tell you what he was up to...he was up to an act that should be left to only the bathroom and then only over the commode or a trashcan. Yes....Yes...HE WAS CLIPPING HIS FINGERNAILS!!!!!!!

Why on earth did he think then was the time for this personal grooming act? Did he say to himself, "Oh Gee, look at those delicious red apples..and oh...before I choose my produce from the pile I need to take care of those hangnails."

I came home with my grocery load and proceeded to go through everything with a fine tooth comb to make sure that there were not any stray articles in my food. As I say this, I realize that there are things grosser than fingernails that are in some of our food items, but I would prefer to concentrate on the moon shaped clippings that I actually saw fly in the air and land in the cushy little apple holders...because thanks to a friend who recently gave me Micheal Pollan's newest book to read I can't seem to worry enough about my food and what I am feeding my family. Oh god, add it to my list of worries.

Crabfests - a lesson in nudes and deadmen's fingers

In an earlier post I had mentioned my excitement about heading back home to Virginia Beach and our annual Crabfests at Hondo's Hacienda (that would be my parent's home). My move back home has sparked many memories, and has probably unrealistically idealized many of these memories.

I am not sure when the actual Crabfests started, but I have a vivid memory of when I was seven sitting outside on the porch with family members young and old as the flies buzzed mercilessly around every ones head while we picked, sucked on and savored the special creation that is steamed Chesapeake Bay blue crabs.

Beer or bourbon out of plastic cups for the blueheads, and wine out of the box for the parents (it was the 80's so the whole wine out of a box thing was still a novelty...and one, that I would like to point out, seems to be coming back thanks to Target), bowls of bay seasoning, newspapers piled on picnic tables so high that everyone was covered in black newsprint up to their elbows, bamboo skewers, a smell that lingered for days after the festivities, and ,of course, Uncle Elbert's perverted crab crackers.

These crackers were in the shape of ladies legs so you had to shove a crab claw all the way up to her nether-regions to crack them suckers open - at age 60 he laughed at them at age 70 he loved them. At any age, we all thought it was slightly off color to see an old man sucking the meat off these less than wholesome crab crackers. On Crabfest days, neither the crackers nor his air-conditioned hat(a old straw brimmed sun hat with the top cut off) were far from Uncle Elbert. They were as predictable and oddly comforting as the Crabfest's themselves have come to be.


I would love to know where those things have gone.

As the family has aged, the number of invitees at the annual Crabfest has increased. However not all of our invitees return for the following year because there are some strict rules (and if you don't follow them you will be ridiculed for the entire length of your stay at the crab pickin'):

-YOU MUST PICK YOUR OWN CRAB. You cannot sit next to someone more adept at picking and less afraid of the innards that you only to mooch off their crab bounty.
-You can't park yourself at a table and eat the small amount of meat that has surreptitiously dropped off the end of another picker's skewer.
-You cannot stand over a picker and shout, "This is so gross!" or "EWWWW!".
-You cannot declare that you are a 'claw-man' and like nothing but the claw meat in the hopes that you can do less work to get more yield. You have to eat the entire crab...minus the "mustard".
-You cannot eat your crab meat with tartar sauce or cocktail sauce. These are for wimps and hide the true flavor of the crab.
- You CAN eat hush puppies (or shut-up puppies) with crabs. The more the better.
- You must become familiar with crab lingo: Sallies vs. Jimmies, thumb to forefinger measurement, mustard eaters, deadman's fingers, chicken-necker etc...
- You must get messy and stinky!
- You cannot be my friend if you refuse to pick a crab. PERIOD! THE END!

I know this last statement may come as a shock, but I have invested much time and thought into the declaration. I have come to know myself well enough that if you are too prissy to pick a crab, that most likely you and I won't get along. The only acceptable excuse is an actual allergy to crab or having no fingers.

If you turn up your nose to a smell as natural to the Chesapeake Bay as cheese steaks are to Philly and hot dogs are to Coney Island than you are a sot. It's not to say that we couldn't be good neighbors or acquaintances, but not true friends.

I especially like the girl that unknowingly comes to the Crabfest in their cutest sundress or summer frock and still bellies on up to the picnic table with a claw cracker in one hand and a skewer in the other. These type of pickers will probably be my closest friends...because a true sign of my lady friend is one that can get stinky and messy and still look good while appearing not to give a hoot what they look like or smell like.

....and smell you will...for days after.

AND I LOVE IT!!!!!

Quote of the Day

I don't know why the funniest things seem to happen at church, but they do...

Cole: (while making the sign of the cross) "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Carrot!"

Fashion Fiesta

Big Mama is having a fashion fiesta and everyone is invited! I regularly stalk her blog (it is my secret pleasure). I especially enjoy her favorite things section to see what kind of affordable goodies she has listed for us mommies who may wonder if their sense of fashion is a sense that went stagnant,with a list of sundry other things, during pregnancy. Although this is not what is really on my mind today, I thought it looked like fun and who doesn't enjoy a contest?

So here goes...my uniform. (Please note all items are machine washable. A complete necessity with two boys and a black dog.)

I thought this was a great idea where I could make a plug for some of my most favorite tee shirts ever, ever, ever. They are comfy, they are cool, they are made in the USA, and they are the right length for covering up my 'never going to go away no matter how many sit-ups I do' bulge (order one size up). They are the best AND I cannot sing their praises enough AND you get a work of art to wear to distinguish you from the other lemmings. Order some...today...I love Michael and Maggie's story...


I can't wear my tee shirts without out one of my favorite skirts. These help you feel like you are in an icy, okay maybe not icy, air conditioned home instead of humping up to the grocery store with a 2 and 5 year old in the 90% humidity. Old Navy's best buy if you ask me (@$14.50)...and one of American Apparel's few items that look like it doesn't belong at a rave (is that what they are calling them these days?).



Shorts just seem to be getting shorter or are long enough to call capris...at least on me...have I mentioned I was short?

I have started to make my own jewelry because so much fashion jewelry seems to be made with silver instead of gold. No one gave my husband the memo that you should not mix your metals...so I have a gold engagement/wedding ring (which I love), but it leaves me at Micheals' buying "how to make jewelry books" so that I can have what I want and not spend a fortune.
Here are some recent examples...I know you all will be blown away by my talent. Don't be too impressesed because you too could do this with a bit of elastic, beads, and twenty minutes by yourself to string the dern thingies. Honest! Really!
I am an amateur and oh so lucky if they don't fall off my neck into a million tiny pieces while making the daily drop off at pre-school. Now that would be one helluva choking hazard.


I love my j.crew jeans (because they fit us short people with the long waists..did I mention I was short??) with my very loved anthropologie belt topped off with a pair of flip flops.

I have too many flip flops, but I am here to report that Reefs are the best for comfort and wear. I just bought a limited edition pair of Reefs. I had no idea what made them a limited edition. All I knew is that they were brown and pink; a color combination for which I am a complete sucker. Well, when I got home I realized that as a bonus these Reefs had a bottle opener built into the bottom for those romantic nights at the beach when you just want to pop open a 40...what the heck is with that.

At last count I had a collection of 25 pairs of flip flops that recently was reduced to 22 pairs because my best friend insisted that we clean out my closet...so I will be scouting through other participants fiesta blogs for some ides. But below are some of my favorite pairs...What, flip flops don't go with everything???



Lastly, I couldn't make it through the summer without my slip on Chuck's. He doesn't make these anymore, and, as you can see, I could really do with another pair. Anyone have any ideas?



PS: As one may be able to tell by some of the colorful footprints left on the soles of my shoes, I have genetically inheirited my father's odiferous feet. Thanks Pop!

Crazy Fun!

We have had a whirlwind of a week. Much fun was to be had with Aunt Megs visiting from Michigan: starfish finding, major sunburns, library adventures, bargains shopping, closet cleaning, and much gluttony involving food and beverage. Amazingly, in the midst of her visit and complete chaos we were able to rent out the house to a family coming into the residency program here AND they want the option to buy. It is funny how everything happens at once.

Now we will continue to head down the familiar path of re-location....but this time back home to Virginia Beach!!!! Here I come crabfest 2008.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Discipline

I am still working on what works best for me when it comes to disciplining my children. I have tried many different approaches and I have yet to find one that works like a charm because I don't think one magic charm exists. It is equally difficult to find one that meshes well with my personality. I realize that different approaches are needed to fit different situations as well as different children. As the child grows so does the need and the spectrum of the discipline, however consistency does seem to be the key.

My son Cole continues to baffle me when it comes to figuring out his "currency". We have tried stickers. We have tried a good behavior jar. We have tried time outs. We have tried grounding. He is a strong willed child to say the least, and he knows how to push my buttons. My friend Chenoa and I laugh about our eldest children whom are very much alike. It is so nice to have a friend I can honestly speak with about my feelings regarding how difficult I have found it to be parenting a child that is very much like myself. She doesn't judge, she doesn't pity, and she truly doesn't compare her successes/failures with mine. She has her own which she shares with me just as openly. And neither of us has to explain to the other that regardless of all the difficulties, we love our children more than life itself. Part of our biggest problem is wrapped up in the desire to be the best for our children. Anyway, thank you my friend for being part of the architectual planning commitee in helping to shape and build the wondrous and complicated 'cathedral' that is Cole.

So today's discipline conundrum came about at church. Well sort of...Today I was in charge of the church's nursery. Just me...no one else. This is because I can't say no, and because I am a huge SUCKER. The regular, and trained professional, was away on a religious ed. weekend with the teenagers that also sometimes help out in the nursery. I had no back up. Trey is on call, so I was flying solo...again. I cannot begin to accurately describe my anxiety this morning. So, my back up was Cole. He promised to help me out and provide a good example to the younger children. Well...

All things considered, the morning was a success, but Cole disappointed me. He was just completely single minded about not listening at the expense of his own desire to run like a rooster without a head through the nursery leading the rest of the crazy boys (of which there were 6) like the Pied Piper. He had a blast, but he knows better. I want him to have fun and be a kid, but he needs to listen. No running inside. The end. Just him and Jack running in a confined space together sets my heart racing. They are not the most coordinated of children, and both seem to have feet the size of flippers that account for frequent falls and trips. Jack alone looks like scarface because of a recent run in with a tree at the park. Trees don't even run.

Cole is currently in his room writing 20 times: I will listen to my Mom.
I figure today was a good day to try the nuns' approach to discipline. It is my new blend of discipline and time management: work on a meaningful punishment while improving penmanship. Maybe this tactic will stick around for awhile...at least until I am dealt a new hand of cards.

It takes 3 hours and 22 minutes for a 5 year old to self directedly write out a simple sentence 20 times at the end of which they may look like this:

Epiphanies: The End

I promise this is the end of the weekend recount, but it really was very poignant.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

After church, I went out on the patio to read. It was really too nice of a day to not be outside. In the midst of a chapter of my book entitled "Corn Sex" my bestest friend in the whole world, Megs, called. I know, 'bestest' sounds so childish, so pre-teen, so ridiculous, but I have known my true friend since we were all of those very things and ,in some ways, still are. She called to tell me she is coming to visit. She who hates to travel and hates planes even more is travelling from Michigan to see little ole' me. (I am pretending that the our nice weather and the fact she has Seasonal Anxiety Disorder has nothing to do with it.) She's coming!!!!! I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders and I immediately got a shot of energy because I was overjoyed knowing that she would be here in a week. Seven short days. She even built a day into her vacation to allow me to be grumpy that she is leaving (a problem I have but a needed safety mechanism so that I can deal with saying goodbye to those that I love.)

Epiphany #5: I need her, and I am okay with admitting this....I need her because I love being a girl. I love having a good girlfriend that knows you so well that even when you are trying to hide your inner thoughts they are there for her to read like frequently followed directions. It is imperative that I have girlie time doing pedicures, talking about the latest crazy fashion fads that we would never be caught dead in, drinking gin and tonics, re-living old memories, and discussing the similarities in the new memories. I need good and true women in my life...they help to revitalize me. They help to show me the way gracefully.

For those of you who love beautiful photography please visit Megan's Etsy store here which showcases some of her work. We have some gorgeous pics of hers in our home, and they are quite stunning. Her work showcases the best of Virginia, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and her new home of Michigan. I am so proud of her and her talent. Here's to a wonderful week together. (I already got the Bombay!)


Final and Most Profound of Weekend Epiphanies: On Monday, after a weekend of togetherness, Trey pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, "I don't know how you do it, the boys suck the life out of me." Thank you, thank you, thank you. This gift of recognition and acknowledgement was the best I have ever received.

Epiphanies: Part Two

So, the weekend continued. So did my learning experiences.

Saturday we all went to our neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt. After the actual hunt was over, Cole, Jack and I danced to the great tunes coming from the loudspeakers out on the field. Now when I say danced, I mean really danced. No swaying in time to the music. This was full fledged all parts of our body in motion dancing to the music. On the ground, arms above our heads, running in circles type dancing. Trey watched and smiled at us as we boogied on down. I am happy to report that our dancing attracted many curious looks, but I didn't care. Wait! Stop! Yes, let me repeat...I didn't care who was looking or what they thought about me or my kids.

Later that night, I sat in bed wondering why at that moment in time did I shed all of my issues in regards to being 'out of place'. I am not sure I ever came to a good answer, but I knew that I liked how it made me feel and it was a heck of a lot better than worrying the day away analyzing why we got some funny stares.

It felt liberating to just let the music flow and have primitive-type fun letting our bodies react to the rhythm. Bravo to myself!!! Or so I thought.

Sunday morning came and we donned the requisite Easter regalia: Madras. We looked fairly ridiculous, but again it was too much fun to care. We arrived at church extremely early as Easter is a notorious holiday that if you aren't there early you will be standing. Standing is not an option with the two goons. As it was, there was no church nursery this week so Jack was going to have to sit through mass with us...do you understand the pain involved in an hour of mass with a 2 year old and a 5year old? And, oh yeah, by the way, our priest in Irish....so, mass is more like 1.5hours. Lovely, but long with a toddler.

We found a seat situated at the very end of a pew in the very back of the church: good escape capabilities. It seems that other families with children around the ages of ours also thought that it would be a good idea to sit together so that if a large din suddenly arose from our part of the church, it would be more difficult to pinpoint the small offender.

The processional music started and the church filled with song. My oldest goon included. However, he took it one step further. He picked up a hymnal, opened it wide and held it up to the sky while singing and swaying in a very charismatic fashion. You would have thought that he was part of the priest's procession.

The older boys next to him started laughing and pointing...and you know what I did...me the person from the day before who was also jamming to the proverbial groove...the person who had spent the night before revelling in our lightness of heart and innocence ...I became utterly embarrassed.

Epiphany #3: I have a lot of growing up to do.

Cole is teaching me to not care what other people think. He does this everyday because he truly doesn't care. He is his own person. I know that I will appreciate this when he is a teenager and refuses to jump off the blasted bridge where all his friends are taking swan dives. Now, I worry entirely too much about his acceptance by his peers. This is my issue. I don't want my issues to affect my children.

Cole told me later: "I know you and daddy love me. I don't worry so much about anyone else."

Profound lesson for a mother to learn from her five year old.

Epiphany #4: There are some chores that will never get done no matter how long I let them go thinking Trey may do it because he can obviously see it needs to be done: unload the dishwasher, take out the trash (it is amazing what we both fit into one bag this weekend because we both hate this job), put new toilet paper on the holder (I believe this ultimately ends up falling on us women b/c we require it more often).

Quote of the Day

This conversation took place on the way home from school between Cole and Ella. Ella lives on our street and we carpool with her everyday. Cole and Ella's relationship alternates between best buddies and sibling type tiffs. It can be very trying on the driver's patience.

While flipping through the most recent auto trader, Cole and Ella were deciding which cars they would have when they grew-up and got married:

Cole: Well, you are the lady and I am the husband...so, we will need three cars.
Ella: Okay, but mine has to be pink.
Cole: Are you sure? Pink or purple..I thought purple was your most favorite color.
Ella: Oh yeh..purple.
Cole: Okay, then you can have this Honda minivan, and I can have the Ford pickup truck.
Ella: Oh cool, the kids can stand in the back of the truck.
Cole: And, we can have this car as our date car.
Ella: Okay. The kids can't stand in that car.
Cole: How many kids are we going to have?
Ella: Hmmm...I think like five.
Cole: We have to get a limo.

Epiphanies: Part One

I love this word. I am not ashamed to admit I have them all the time. As I age, I realize I don't know anything, and if I am receptive every day holds a possible learning experience.

I am not sure how to start or phrase what I really want to say about my weekend. I will try very hard to maintain some readability in this entry, but I am sure that it will develop into a stream of consciousness type of recounting of the weekend.

Firstly, Trey had a 96 hour liberty awarded to him for receiving an excellent score on his Physical Readiness Test. He was off this past Friday through Monday which is practically unheard of around these parts. It was a weekend where we had nothing planned, so we were able to truly relax and enjoy the bright spring weather.

Leading up to this leave time, I was quite skeptical about the effort put into achieving the leave versus the end reward. I really had to bite my lip each time Trey would come home from a 13 hour work day only to walk right back out the door with his running shoes on ready to hit the pavement. I resented I was doing bath time by myself again so he could go out and improve his cardiac health. I pouted, I hen pecked, and I basically was just plain pissy (as my dad loves to call it). Trey pushed through my moodiness, and ,what I am trying to say is...I am quite glad there are times when my husband knows I am being irrationally ridiculous because our whole family benefited from the weekend together.

We all gained new perspectives from one another, and we all found some time to re-connect. Thank you Trey for making that time happen.

So, Friday was our 10th wedding anniversary. The babysitter arrived at 6pm and we headed out to Biscotti's, one of our absolute all time favorite restaurants. Delicious food, a private but fun atmosphere, and incredible desserts have called us back to this eatery time and time again. As we headed down the road at an incredible speed because our gas foot seems to know that the faster we go the more time we have alone, Trey identified an unfamiliar noise coming from the right front wheel well of his Dad's generously loaned/semi-leased sports car. Needless to say, any noise coming from this car sets Trey into a tail spin.

He was immediately preoccupied with "the noise", a noise I couldn't hear, and one from which I could not divert his attention. I started to become seriously annoyed. I couldn't believe this was how the evening was starting out. My lips turned into a thin line, my eyebrows arched clear up to my hairline, and I crossed my arms with major "pissiness" across my body.

He finally pulled over to a doctor's office close to our home explaining that he needed to check out the engine and make sure that everything was copacetic. He parked and calmly got out of the car. He walked around to my side, opened the door, and got down on one knee. I said in my most haughty of voices, "Trey, the engine is in the back of the car! What are you doing...??". He just smiled while I continued to be a first class know-it-all. "Don't you think I am making a valid point? You are in the wrong place!", I reiterated.

Only then did I notice the box.

He opened it, and in it nestled in velvet was the most beautiful and most perfect re-engagement ring. He had it crafted to duplicate a ring we had seen years before. A type of ring that looks like it should belong on a different person's finger. A ring I can never deserve. I was speechless.

I burst into tears as he asked me if I would marry him again. I cried and cried, not only because he had recaptured his original proposal to me 12 years ago so well (on the side of the road at a random spot because he was too excited to wait until he got somewhere significant), but because I was so ashamed of my behavior.

It epitomized my issues around control and my inability to live in the moment without any expectations. I need to let go. No one benefits from the tight leash I keep on everything. Appreciate the little things as they happen and not after the fact. It is fine if everything else seems to be less than perfect. It actually may be fun.

Epiphany #1 of the weekend....I need to tone down the bitchiness.
Epiphany #2 of the weekend...Trey has a song for every moment. At the time he proposed, the car CD player was blaring Pink Floyd's "Shine on you Crazy Diamond". Crazy is right.

Love the Eggs...Hate the Bunny.

Today was our neighborhood's annual Easter Egg Scramble. Egg Hunts have come a long way from the actual hunt. Now they rope off a large square, throw a bunch eggs into the middle, and shout "Go!" to the kids waiting around the perimeter of the square biting their fingers, screaming, and kicking to get in to grab some precious eggs. It definitely cuts down the drama of seeing those tearful kids that never found many hidden eggs while some eagle-eyed kid walked by with a basket brimming with goodies.

Anyway, both the boys loved running for the eggs. Each goon fell into a predictable behavior pattern. Cole triple checked his age group's square after the hunt was over just "to make sure that one wasn't left behind". Jack picked up and shared just as many eggs as went into his basket...while his father quietly urged him to chuck them across the field. (And I wonder where some of my issues come from...)

The funniest moment was when the giant bunny came up to my family for pictures. Cole seems to have known from birth that there is a person inside the costume and so the giant and colorful bunnies never bothered him. He saunters right on up, poses, high fives the rabbit/impostor, gets the required family picture and then happily leaves. However, Jack didn't want anything to do with this crazy looking polka-dot bow tie wearing thing that waves but doesn't talk. As the bunny knelt down to try and make Jack feel more comfortable, Jack stuck both of his sticky dirty hands right in the bunny's air hole. Needless to say, the bunny felt a bit molested, but graciously posed for a picture with Jack. Both the bunny and Jack kept their eyes on me the whole time just to make sure I wasn't going anywhere. I was able to snap some shots, and now I have an Easter photo with Jack, the bunny, and some random buxom blond chick because Jack chose to stand as far from the bunny as possible.





At the end of the hunt, all the bunnies were hanging around (there were 3 to accommodate all the family photos) just talking some good old bunny talk. Jack thought this was a good time to make up with his bunny. He kept inching closer to get a better look while the bunnies where occupied amongst themselves. He would get close enough to grab a fluffy white tale and then run like heck in the opposite direction. It was great!

This is a genetic trait. I hated the dressed up Easter Bunny when I was a child too. My parents still have a Polaroid with a very suspicious me sitting on some stranger's lap who was wearing a giant bunny head that of which you could look into the mouth and see the entire face of the person within. It really warped my views on the big ginormous bunny that comes to your house to leave you a basket full of eggs.

PS: I hate these plastic eggs. They seem to multiply every year just like little rabbits.

LCDR Wilson Takes Oath...Again.

I couldn't be more proud of my hubby! Yesterday he pinned on his other leaf...now he officially looks like a tree from the neck up.

I was truly inspired by the oath of office that each individual is asked to repeat when moving to the next rank. An oath is not something my husband takes lightly, and every word he repeated reverberated down to the core of his being.

I am so proud that my husband works so diligently to protect and defend those that work or have worked so hard to protect us and our freedoms.

THE OATH (with some artistic interpretations)

I, [the husband of Weasel and the father of the two goons], do solemnly swear, (or affirm,) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation (however, I cannot speak for my wife) or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. (So help me God.)

Quote of the Day

Cole: Mom, I had such a rough day at school!
Me: Why is that?
Cole: All the kids wouldn't share with me!!!
Me: Hmmmm...really!
Cole: Well, just Peyton. He wouldn't give me the book I wanted.
Me: Did he have it first?
Cole: Yeh!
Me: So...what happened?

Cole:
"Nothing except that he had the book that I always like and he should know that it is actually my favorite and he has to give it to me when I even look at him. Plus..he can't even read."

PS: Neither can Cole.

Painting in Progress

Okay Mom....here it is in it's infancy. Manahawkin, Lucy in Margate, Flying Dutchman in the background...still have a good deal to do...especially on the house...but...viola.

Happy Birthday to Jack...

Jack turned two, and we spent the day eating nothing but sugar laden food: powdered donuts, fruit snacks, banana pudding, cupcakes...and then some yummy Mellow Mushroom pizza. In honor of the Mellow Mushroon and our recent Dark Star Orchestra concert, I made tye-die inspired cupcakes. They were yummy!

We love you Jack!

St. Patrick's Day History

Okay! So here goes...as a person with a concentration in Irish Women's Literature...I would like to point out the following:

The Irish Flag has three stripes

1.) Green representing the Catholics
2.) White representing a hope of peace
3.) Orange representing the Protestants

My Irish Catholic side of the family (I am the product of a mixed marriage- Baptist father and Catholic Mother) used to joke that on St. Patty's Day if you didn't wear green you got a pinch, but if you wore orange you got punched. Well, we are eons away from the boys of Curry Head sitting on the curb in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Thank God!

But, on St. Patrick's day...a day honoring a Catholic saint, I thought some of the Protestants out there may want to know they have thier own color. So wear the color most appropriate to your beliefs OR EVEN BETTER wear all the colors of the Irish flag OR the image of the Irish flag itself as a true statement of peace, love and understanding.

I truly hope for peace between the North and the South of the Emerald Isle. We understand terrorism from our encounter of 9/11. The Irish and British have been living it for years.

Time Flies

Jack turns two tomorrow and I realize that my baby is no longer a baby. Today, Cole proudly showed me his first loose tooth. At the end of the week, Trey and I will celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary and our 17th year together. I guess what I am trying to illustrate is that time moves on whether we want it to or not, and it moves so much more quickly than I ever thought possible.

To me, time presents a difficult struggle. On one hand, I am overjoyed at the new things that each tomorrow brings, and I am constantly looking toward the future. On the other hand, I find myself brooding on whether I have made the most out of each yesterday. Recalling the details of distant memories is becoming more difficult, and I disregard the details of recent yesterdays to try and make room for getting through today.

So, today I just sat down and thought about taking time to "smell the roses" and spending more of my time imprinting the everyday memories. It is one lesson I hope that I can teach my children so they will enjoy every day, look forward to every tomorrow, and remember each yesterday with fondness instead of regret.

Forget the fact that the passing of time makes itself most obviously evident when I look in the mirror each day. Holy gray hair, Batman!

Children's Poet Laureate

I didn't know. I had no idea. We have a National Children's Poet Laureate: Jack Prelutsky. We checked out his most recent book, The Wizard, from the library last week and finally got around to reading it last night. We loved it. The illustrations were phenomenal, and the subject and prose was thought provoking for not only my child but for the adults within earshot of our nightly beatnik session.

The front of the book has one of those beautiful gold round stickers slapped on the front. You know the one, the one that every poet would love to have grace the front of thier own work. When I examined the words on the sticker it was announcing the author as the first ever National Children's Poet Laureate. What a wonderful idea!!!

It is a two year term, so his term is up in late 2008. I think I may submit my homage to Dr. Suess to see if I stand a chance.

Here is the link to more info on the poetry foundation.

Quote of the Day

"Dear God, Thank you for Jesus dying for us on the cross for us because now Easter is coming and I get to use my new camo Easter basket....oh yeah...and thank you for my family." - Cole

It's Not East Being Green

We are in the midst of preparing for yet another move.

This will be the seventh move in ten years of marriage.

Statistically, we have lived 1.4 years in each location; it usually takes me this much time to get our house exactly how I want it and to finally make real connections with good friends...and then we are heading out. My mother tells me it is a good way to never get sick of friends.

I love to move, but I hate the preparation that culminates prior to the physical move. So, here we are, again, in the middle of sorting, donating, recycling (responsibly), and storing.

We are not true 'greenies', but we try and do what we can when it comes to using only what we need and responsibly re-using and disposing of the things left over. Preparing for my move has made me feel a bit like Kermit. I have been hit with a number of road blocks in my quest to be more earth friendly.

Recent Roadblocks:

1.) Our local grocery store collects empty egg cartons and meat/produce foam trays. As the recycling number on the bottom of these acceptable foam receptacles matched the bottom of some of our to-go meal containers, I naturally thought that recycling them with the grocer would be a smart option. (By the way, the amount of packaging that goes into the restaurant's to-go services is astounding!) Well, the bagger at Publix informed me that they don't take "my type of foam". When I smiled and said, "but these are the same material, why would you not take these?". He just grunted and said, "cause we just don't". Hmmm...I politely stacked up my large bag of containers and walked out thinking should I take the word of the bagger or go check with a manager, but at that very same time my littlest goon started screaming for "Juice and my Night-Night". So, the decision was made for me and the foam trays went out with our regular trash.
2.) Trey changes his own oil and saves the old oil in large containers so that we can take them to the hazardous waste dump for recycling or proper disposal. Did you know that there is a daily limit for the amount of oil you can bring to our local hazardous waste station? It is a rather puny amount. If I figure the math right, I would have to make 12 daily consecutive trips to complete my oil drop offs. Seems like a ridiculous amount of gas to waste to stay within this limit. I wonder what the reason is for the limit. Is it a daily capacity issue? Again, whatever the reason, I find myself wiping off my brow and my puzzled expression.
3.) Goodwill is picky! I understand they do not want some one's old undergarments or holey socks, but I was appalled when they told me the large inflatable bounce castle/baby pool/slide was not an item them wanted. I had power washed this off, deflated it down to a size that would fit nicely in a Rubbermaid plastic container (of which I was also willing to donate). All of this only to be told that they could not accept large inflatable items. Are they worried they are going to be stuck with a large supply of life rafts or something? It's a pool...in Florida...what the heck!
4.) Packing peanuts have to be immaculately clean to be returned to a UPS center for re-use. Not one dog hair better be amongst those little horrors or they will be rejected for re-use. Needless to say...I will NEVER pass the clean peanut test.
5.) Last week our entire week's worth of household recyclables was left on the curb by the recycling pick-up team. Each blue bin was attacked by neon green stickers that declared our recyclables not fit for removal. I meticulously clean out, sort, and break down our recyclables. The only reason I can think of that we were rejected is b/c we sometimes don't sort the plastics from the glass...but, I have noticed that they go in the same slot on the dern truck...so, what gives. I was depressed to throw all the recyclables in the trash for the week.


Both Kermit and I are not going to give up the green fight, but I needed an outlet to release some recycling frustration so that I can concentrate on cleaning the egg noodle casserole from last night off the blinds. My littlest goon has quite a good arm and did not care for my quickly whipped up meal.

The bag from above is from www.delight.com.
They have some really neat things: the sun jar is my favorite, and what a good idea to make some produce bags.