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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!