Favorite Quote

Have I told you this is my favorite quote? I adopted it early, early on in my marriage. This is THE piece of advice I give out to new Army spouses.

So, so often friends whose husbands did the same or a similar job as mine but for different bosses would get home HOURS earlier than my own husband, or not have to go on this trip or that field exercise or that deployment. Or that OTHER deployment. And then turn around and go again... Or maybe they got to come home early from the deployment. Or they didn't have to leave her in the hospital 12 hours after she pushed out her first baby and was still on Magnesium from her undiagnosed Pre-Eclampsia to fly to California for work that was absolutely unnecessary. (DO NOT GET ME STARTED) Or maybe they didn't have to cancel their ding dang wedding because of an extended deployment. Yeah, that's a good example. They probably got to get married on the date they planned to.

But.

So, so often my own husband would get to come home earlier from this or that field exercise. Or just home for a hot meal and a shower before going out again - purely by nature of his position. My own husband made to the birth of every single one of our children. Though my husband has deployed several times - he has always come home.

Thank God.

That's what I tell wives when they complain about deployments or endless trips.

Someone begged for what you've got.

Someones husband never came home from that deployment.

Sure, it's hard when literally every single one of your friends has a partner IN HER HOME but you, but so far, he's always come home, and that needs to be enough.

You can NOT compare your journey as an Army spouse to someone else's. It's impossible to level the playing field. Someone always, always has had it worse than you. Someone always, always, is praying for what you've got. And frankly, someone always has it much easier, too.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

Georgia On My Mind

We moved here in March of 2015 and expected to maybe be here for 3 years if we were lucky. We expected to be moving this past summer, but we are still here, for at least/hopefully another year. By Army standards, we are all but permanent residents by this point. In this season, at this point in Erik's career, this is almost completely unheard of.

Allow me put this in perspective - I have had 2 sets of neighbors to the right and 3 to the left and 3 across. My sweet friend Chelsea and her family have lived in THREE states in the time we've lived in just this one. We are so, so lucky.

G started his educational career here with Pre-K, and will at least get to round out the 2nd grade here. ((For an Army kid - this is FANTASTIC.)) Again, we know how lucky we've been.

I told you all of that, to tell you this:

I ran out of checks the other day. RAN OUT. I haven't RUN OUT of checks since I was in college and no one took debit cards. We move so often, we have never, ever run out before.

I kind of couldn't believe it.

Gosh, we live a weird life.

No Roots

I started writing yesterdays blog in my head, so when I sat down to actually put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard?) I googled "quotes about roots" and everything was about permanency and storms causing deep roots and roots grounding you and it all just made me sad. I wanted something that tied the post about trees to my kids and I guess I just didn't think it through because roots ARE permanent and we aren't. I was hoping for quotes about metaphoric roots, or I don't even know what exactly, but suddenly I found myself teary eyed wondering if we're screwing up our kids because they'll never know where the hell they belong in the world. Oh metaphorically they'll know they belong where we are, but physically? Tangibly? Hawaii? Pennsylvania? Georgia? Oklahoma? Gah. For my little small town girl pea brain, it's almost too much. How could they NOT know the same 40 kids from kindergarten through senior year like I did? It seems so foreign to me.

No Roots, Alice Merton

I like standing still, boy that's just a wishful plan
Ask me where I come from, I'll say a different land
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night

I can't get the numbers, and play the guessing name

It's just the place that changes, the rest is still the same
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night

And a thousand times I've seen this road,
A thousand times

I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh

I've got no roots uh uh uh uh

Once There Was A Tree, And She Loved A Little Boy

When I started taking back to school photos with this tree (when G was in Pre-K!), I didn't realize the tree would grow right along with the babies I was raising inside the house it shares a lot with. Just as Grant's age and maturity has crept upon me, this tree has been quietly growing over the years that we've lived on Sunflower street. Weathering wind, rain, a hurricane, a few tropical storms, a tornado, hot, hot summers and even snow - right along with our family.

From a small seed, a mighty trunk may grow. - Aeschylus

Schrödinger's Donut

I wrote this last month but forgot to publish:

Yesterday morning I took my kids for donuts, because they asked me to.

I have to say no to so much all the time that during the summer, without school playing the monkey on our backs, I say yes to as much as I can. Stay up late watching a movie? Yes. Milkshakes for dinner? Yessir. Extra tablet time? Yep. A second Popsicle while they're outside running their hearts out? Yep. Buy ALL the books? YES! Donuts? Yep, go get in the car.

Here's what though.

This family DRIVES THROUGH. Piper was like 3 before she learned you could GO INSIDE EATING ESTABLISHMENTS. My kids is loud. My kids is noisy. My kids is too hard to keep control of while we wait. I am of the belief that people go out to eat to get away from children, I will not put my kids on them. So we drive through, unless it's lunch, then sometimes we go in. But real honestly, it has only been super recently that I would take all 3 in somewhere by myself. Two of them are just too much, and unfortunately, the third has to pay the price.

ANYWAY

We're pulling into the line at our friendly neighborhood Dunkin' (#nootherchoicesintown) and there's a mom getting her kid out. Then out pops another kid. Then another. Then I see her strapping another kid on her back. AND THEN THEY WENT INSIDE. I wanted to holler out "Get it, girl!!!" like I do when I see my friends out running, because like running, that was about to be a FEAT, but I decided she might think I was a jerk or something, so I didn't.

We get a few car lengths up in the line and my kids start fussing about this or that, and I said if they didn't stop, we'd go home. Obviously an empty threat as we were locked in, but the quieted down for a minute and started singing along to the VBS CD. (Sidenote: is anyone else going to die before next summers VBS for a new CD? Where do I get another Jesus Kids KidzBop-esque CD? Why is this the ONLY MUSIC ON THE PLANET THAT EXISTS TO MY CHILDREN??!?!?!??!?!?!?!) I pull up and order "May I please have a half dozen assorted frosted donuts with sprinkles?"

And then it happens. Fighting over who gets what color frosting.

"MOM! I said I wanted a pink one! YOU DIDN'T ORDER A PINK ONE!"

"Piperrrr..... I'm going to eat the pink one....."

"MOM! Gwant got the pink donut last time and now he's going to get it this time and I want the pink donut!!!!"

"MOM! Piper got half the pink one last time, I swear! And I don't even want the pink, I want the chocolate!"

"Too bad, Gwant, I'm going to eat the chocolate."

"MOM! I just called the chocolate one and now Piper said she's going to eat it! I called it! I called the chocolate!"

MOM! Gwant said he'd take the pink so that's why I said I'd take the chocolate! I really just want pink!!!"

"You guys. WE DO NOT EVEN HAVE THE DONUTS IN OUR HANDS YET TO KNOW WHAT COLORS ARE AVAILABLE TO CHOSE FROM. Stop fighting."

Y'all. It's like Schrodinger's Donut up in here. Until we open the box, do the donuts we want even exist? Are they there? Are they not? Are they pink? Are they chocolate? Are they both? Are they neither?

Does this exist? Do I? Do you? Is this chicken or fish?

I had to threaten children twice just to drive through. And that woman took her kids in. She even had more than me! God bless her.

More Feelings. More Failings.

Today I went to the kids school to do some work in the PTO office. As I was leaving, I saw Grant cross at the end of the hallway I was in and run outside for recess. I decided not to call to him, I didn't want to distract him or the teacher.

As I got to the end of the hall and turned left, I saw Piper standing in her class line waiting to go outside. She had yogurt on her face and what looked like marker on her Matilda Jane dress (NOT the one I had picked out for her today, which at the time seemed irritating because that meant today's dress would stay in the clothes sorter - LIKE THAT MATTERS.) and I waved to get her attention, but only her teacher saw me. And then she unloaded (I liken this to a drive-by) on me that Piper had been WILD today. This is not news to me, and I'm not mad at the teacher. Anyway, I got P's attention, told her hi, that I was there with PTO but her teacher and just said she was cray today and told her she needed to calm down if she wanted green. And then I said "Also, you need to wash you're face, you're a mess." AND I WALKED AWAY. In my defense, I thought the line was trying to move. When it didn't, I walked back and wiped her face for her.  And then I think I told her to calm down again? I don't even know.

You guys. I am simply missing the nurturing mother gene. If someone I love just walked up to me and told me what a fucking mess I am, IN FRONT OF MY CLASSMATES, and then walked away I'd be crushed.

Why did this not occur to me in the moment.

I remember Columbine.

I remember Virginia Tech.

I remember the tornado that took so many lives at Plaza Towers Elementary in Oklahoma.

After all of these incidents I vowed that I'd never send my children out into the world without a shower of love. If I could even find the courage to let them out into the world in the first place.

I remember the names of the children my friends and family have lost.

I remember all of those babies and their parents every time my kids hit a milestone. Especially Piper, as a high school friend lost her little one that should have been just Piper's age now.

I think of them, and I snatch my babies up for an extra hug and hide my tears.

But never when I'm in a hurry.

I'm gruff when I'm in a hurry.

Impatient.

Matter of fact.

And then when I get a moment to reflect, I kick myself thinking I can't believe I sent my kids out into the world with the memory of a tired, cranky, overwhelmed mom.

I have resolved, just now, in this moment to retrain my brain.

Grant deserved to know I was there, working, helping to make his school an even better place. And Piper deserved a hug. Because when she's wild, a hug, not the lecture is the answer.

I pray nothing happens to anyone before I get back to school to apologize.

Good thing there are like 175 more days of school for me to get this right.

T'was the Night Before School Starts

I thought for a moment this post would be a poem, but ain't nobody got time for that. Because at some point I FORGOT I HAVE TWO KIDS TO BUY SCHOOL SUPPLIES FOR AND DIDN'T BUY TWO OF EVERYTHING so I have to go out today and get more crayons and glue sticks. For school. WHICH STARTS TOMORROW. For which I have all the I can't evens.

I need to share with someone besides my poor husband that I am on the BIGGEST STRUGGLE BUS with school starting.

School is such a monkey on my back. I like to go do what I want when I want, and I just don't get to these 9 months of the year anymore. People talk about all our summer adventures - but it's out of necessity. School gets in the way of our fun.

And making lunches makes me want to die. Sure, I'd love to lovingly prepare a FOURTH meal of the day. Oh I can tell myself I'll prep one for myself and for Cubby, but I won't. Which means two separate lunch prep sessions. Which means four meals a day. Death.

Also, listen, I am not the best mom. I have seriously had conversations about how I relate to Betty Draper as a mother, so don't misunderstand - but I kind of hate the idea of this relative stranger spending all this time with my kids. When I think back and view this from a students perspective, I can remember feeling like I knew my teachers well - especially in HS and College, but now from a parents POV I feel like I know NOTHING about these folks who get 8 hours a day to steer my children into the future. It's so weird and frankly, alarming. (Please do not send me your home school suggestions, people.)

I went to the same school from K - 12, with the same +\- 45 kids, so we very often had the same teachers year after year. While my children have been lucky enough to live here for the last nearly 4 years (meaning G will have completed - at least - Pre-K through 2nd grade here -- and incredible blessing in our lifestyle) he still had no idea who his teacher was when I told him her name. And then was shy acting when he met her BECAUSE SHE'S A STRANGER.

This is so weird to me, people.

Also, I hate getting up early to rush them around to get their crap together. Because no matter how early we get up, there's always rushing.

And I hate the thought that Piper is going to spill her lunch tray/water/everything all over herself and get laughed at.

And I hate that Grant feels like he gets bullied - though I don't think he really does, he feels it and that's something.

AND I HATE READING LOGS.

And I hate not having quiet time with my big kids while Nash naps. Even if we're just laying on the couch watching a movie together.

BUT

I am grateful for these people who feel called to teach our Little's (because it sounds like HELL to me), and I am grateful that we live on an Army base and if anyone on staff had so much as a speeding ticket, I am sure they had to fill out a 5 page form about it and have their backgrounds re-checked.

And G has at least one friend in his class, sitting right in the adjacent desk.

And P has a few familiar faces in her class too; and from what I've heard, an infinitely patient teacher.

And this means I get to do whatever I want while Nash naps. So that's something.

And I hope they know, that even if their mother - perhaps, alarmingly - identifies with Betty Draper - she still loves them enough to cry sad tears when she drops them off for the first day of school each year because of all she's going to miss out on in those 8 hours a day.

The Face of Number 4,000

Listen, I want you to read part of an article that I recently came across. I cut and paste the political crap out of it because I don't believe it has a place in between paragraphs about a man who died for his country. If you want to read the whole thing you can here. 

Chris Hake was from my hometown in Oklahoma. He was a good person and a patriot. He died for our country on March 28, 2003, in Baghdad. It was Easter Sunday. He left behind a wife and son. He left a hole. Let us not forget him.

"... I want to tell you about number 4,000, because he has a name and he had a wonderful life to come.

His name is Christopher M. Hake. He was a U.S. Army Staff Sargent. More importantly, he was a husband to wife Kelli and a father to 1-year-old son, Gage.

He was from Enid, Oklahoma — and he was 26 years old.

We can’t say for sure that Hake was number 4,000 of our Iraq dead because Pvt. George Delgado, 21, of Palmdale, Calif., Pfc. Andrew J. Habsieger, 22, of Festus, Mo. and Spc. Jose A. Rubio Hernandez, 24, of Mission, Texas all died in a horrible blast earlier this week when, according to the Defense Department, “their vehicle encountered an improvised explosive” in Baghdad.

...

Hake, a graduate of the Oklahoma Bible Academy (OBA), who lived with his wife and infant son near Fort Stewart, GA, was described by grieving family members as a man devoted to his belief that he was helping the Iraqi people and, more than anything, the men with whom he served.

“He was 100 percent sure we should be there, and he talked of the love of the Iraqi people for him and his guys,” said his father, Peter Hake, who also said his son loved the men in his command. “He said they would die for each other, and they did,”

And he had made a quick decision to sign up. The boy described by his father as an “energetic, rambunctious kid” simply went to the military recruiter’s office after he graduated from high school and returned home having enlisted in the Army.

“He got out of high school and didn’t know what to do. I mentioned the service, and I was thinking the Air Force,” Pete Hake said. “He went down to see his recruiter that day and came home and told me he had joined the Army.”

The 26-year-old, who was on his second combat deployment to Iraq, was remembered by his former high school principal as respectful and quiet.

“We saw him go on after graduation in 2000 to show his true heart as a kid who is very devoted. He still had strong ties here at OBA,” said Principal Mark Shuck of the young man who graduated in 2000. “He was an all-American kid. He was ‘yes sir,’ ‘no sir’ and very respectful. I would use him as an example to other kids as they grow up. He always fit that mode very well.”

“He was quietly compassionate. He generally cared for people.”

Chris Hake had been married for just under three years and his father said going on the second tour of duty in Iraq was an enormously difficult choice — made all the more painful by having to leave his baby son.

“It literally tore his heart out to walk out on that boy,” said Peter Hake. “It made him wish he could be done with the war.”

As do the vast majority of Americans.

...

And near or on number 4,000, we should remember the face of Christopher M. Hake, who died at only 26 years old."

Blind Grandmas and Family Secrets

My aunt died very unexpectedly about 8 years ago. It was incredibly traumatic for everyone and I flew home from Hawaii right away for her service and to be with my family.

While I was at home, my Mima (and my mother's mother), told me to go to her bedroom drawer and grab a velvet pouch. So I gave it to her and she dumped the pouch full of rings into her hand and started feeling them to figure out which was which. My Mima was blind, by the way. She tells me that since I'm the oldest granddaughter, I get first pick of which of these I want to keep.

So she picks up one ring, a yellow gold band, and tells me that this was her father's ring. It was made from Leadville, Colorado gold, the town where he and her mother had settled after marrying, and that it was special because he had served as the sheriff of Leadville, Colorado.

Then she picked up another ring. I wish I could remember the story for that one.

Then she picked up another one. It looked like an engagement ring, to be honest. She told me that this was her mother's ring, but that she never wore it. It was from a man, known to my Mima as Uncle Something-or-Other. Her mother, "Granny Cane" is what we called her by the way, had carried it around in her purse for as long as my Mima could remember, and that the Uncle So-and-So had been around for all the family celebrations and holidays, but she knew that this man wasn't really an uncle.

I took that ring because I thought "There's a story here."

And I found out recently that there might be!

More on this soon.

Unfriended.

Despite the content of this post implying otherwise, I am not a person who keeps track of her FB friends count. I don't ever notice I've been unfriended until I think "I wonder what's up with so-and-so" and I search for their name only to find we aren't friends anymore. Though I do not usually ever unfriend people (the Army is much too small and I am far too voyeuristic), I do not harbor hard feelings about this - I know me, I know I'm a little much for some. I do harbor curious ones, though... I wonder what exactly was the impetus for the unfriending.

Did you just have enough of the potty training talk?
Was it the part where I bemoaned my extra-cushy life as a stay at home mom - the getting nothing done despite having all the time in the world?
The silly things my kids said?
Was it that time I mentioned that Jesus probably loves gay people too?
Was it that time I told you that brown people were people too?
Was it when I mentioned that there was a third political choice between a criminal and a bigot?
Was it that time I told you that while most Americans were at the mall, a small percentage of Americans were still being shot at in lands far from home?
The time I posted that if he builds that wall, I would teach my kids to tear it down?
Social commentary on the anti-vaccine movement?
Or maybe it was my over use of commas?
Sideline commentary?
Randomness?
The ENTIRE 2016 election cycle?

Yall. I see my flaws. But I seriously wouldn't unfriend someone for any of those reasons. Here are the reasons I have unfriended people:
They posted spoilers about The Walking Dead.
They ruined McDreamy's death.
They can't spell literally ANYTHING.
They are know-it-alls.
They only comment to be divisive and never to be uplifting.

Are you deeper than I? Am I just willing to overlook more because I'm so damn nosy? Do I just pick out random things about people to dwell on?

Yes.

#feelslikehome

It occurred to me recently that Erik and I have been married so long that we didn't get to have a wedding hashtag.

I wondered then, what might it have been.

#octoberthenaprilfinallyjuly For all those times the Army threw a wrench in, or downright wrecked our plans?

Could it be #freakingfinally which was the first phrase my sweet friend Katie said to me when we woke up on the morning of my wedding.

What about #plannedinthreeweeks for the amount of time we had to plan after Erik came home from Afghanistan.

I had a few other funny ones pop in my head as I was cooking dinner and thinking about this the other night. But ultimately I settled on #FinallyJorgensen or #feelslikehome, for the most obvious reasons.

Don't know what all the "finally"'s and "octoberthenaprilthenjuly" talk is all about?

Find out here, and here.

Things I've "Read" Lately

Let's just start by saying that I don't "read" things during this season. I listen to them on Audible. Erik says this is not the same, but he is very wrong. If you feel the way he does, just read words instead of listening to them. But seriously, there is something to be said for listening to a book being read BY THE PERSON WHO WROTE IT. They know those pages and the emotion and thoughts contained therein, far better than a random reader does. #AudibleFTW

Currently Reading:

Own The Day, Own Your Life by Aubrey Marcus - LOVING it. If I were a fitness fanatic, I'm pretty sure I'd be the female equivalent of this guy. So I guess that means he's abrasive. But I'm obviously fine with it. Tell it to me like it is, Aubrey! But not while my kids are nearby. #howmanytimescanhesayssexinonechapter

Recently Completed:

Robert's Rules, a Quickstart Guide by Clydebank Business. I joined the Spouses Club here on post and am suddenly the Parliamentarian. I am, as you might (not) be surprised to learn, nerdy enough to already have known RROO before this, the book was merely a refresher.

Beneath the Surface by Heidi Perks. This one was for book club. Ole Heidi likes to talk. But it was a good story once it started moving! Pretty safe to listen to while the children are around.

The Magnolia Story by Chip and Joanna Gaines. I like Fixer Upper and I like memoirs read by their author(s). Chip Gains kind of exhausts me and this story did not do anything to put me more in his corner. But they seem like fantastic parents and community leaders, and I enjoyed it overall!

Girl Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis. I wasn't super into this book. Everyone kept singing it's praises so I kept slogging through. Rachel seems awesome, I want to be her friend. But I wasn't moved until the last chapter. Then I was REALLY moved.

I'm actually kind of proud to have finished 6 books in the last couple of months. Maybe my brain will be less swiss cheese-y soon!

Army Wife Etiquette 101

Friends. Largely, I do not give a rats-ass about rank or how wives conduct themselves within the Army. My motto is generally "You do you, Boo Boo, and I'll decide if I want to be around that." But we need to talk about RSVP etiquette and other related matters that largely relate to the O wife. I am so tired of the inconsideration that I have been seeing within the spouse community that I could just scream. But that would be rude. (Is it less rude to dime people out on my blog? I'm not sure, but here we go.)

I'm going to assume for the purposes of this post that folks do NOT know what proper etiquette is so I'm going to enlighten them. There is no shame here now, I am NOT mad at anyone, but if you read this and then continue to act rudely, I will throw shade your direction. Because once you know, continuing to act this way is RUDE AF.

Here we go. Hold on to your hats.

Wait.

First, let me say, I hope you are attending your battalion coffees if they're offered. There is no reason not to. They are THE BEST part about Army life for spouses. I WOULD NOT DO THE ARMY, COULD NOT DO THE ARMY if it weren't for coffees. The friendships I have made through them are invaluable. The knowledge I have gained has been invaluable. Coffees are invaluable. Sure, the first few in a new place are awkward, but just swallow it and go. You'll be SO grateful.

Now then.

Now is the time to grab on to your hats. You're thinking hats. Listening hats. Comprehension hats. Whatever. Put it on and absorb this information.

1. If you receive any sort of invitation, you need to respond as soon as possible - whether the answer is yes or no. Why? Because it's polite. Should the host really need to reach out to every single person to determine their attendance? No. She's already doing all the work by hosting! But this is the only way to get an accurate headcount these days. Which is lame, because ain't nobody got time for that.

1A. This is evite specific because most groups use them now days. You need to respond to the Evite as soon as you know if you'll attend or not BECAUSE THE HOST CAN SEE IF YOU'VE READ THE EVITE AND JUST IGNORED IT. Big brother is watching you ignore your host. And it's... wait for it... RUDE. You don't need to respond the second you see it, but within a few days is preferred, and CERTAINLY before the reminder email goes out from Evite, because by then, homegirl has already gone to the grocery store.

2. If you say you're coming, please come. The host has added you to their headcount and bought food/drinks/paper goods/favors for you. In the case of a welcome or a farewell, the door fee that you have agreed to pay is now being counted on to put toward gifts. YOUR ATTENDANCE WAS REQUESTED, YOU SAID YOU'D GO, PEOPLE WANT TO SEE YOU.

3. Do NOT RSVP for someone else that wasn't on the guest list. There's a reason they weren't on it. Sometimes the guest of honor says she wants to cap the attendance at a certain number, or relegate invitees to specific groups. Sometimes Army protocol is a cruel mistress. Don't make it weird, yo.

So I'm sure you're thinking "Sheena... Where has this come from?"

Well.... I've been stewing for a few years TBH, but recently, a friend and I hosted a farewell for our husband's former battalion commanders wife (did you get all that?), as they were leaving command and Fort Stewart. It was NOT OUR JOB. Sometimes the Army has expectation of spouses, but in this case, this was not one currently put upon us. HOWEVER, we wanted to make sure it was done right and not drop it on the new senior spouses of the battalion the second they walked through the door, so we did it. Also, we LOVE the wife in question, so it was an honor to host for her.

Enter ALL THE RUDENESS. Someone who was unfamiliar with how these things work (invitation only...) arbitrarily invited her friend to come along. Okay, fine. Not exactly cool, but she wasn't a "usual" in the group, so I thought it might make her feel more comfortable to bring a friend. Then NEITHER of them came. Nor did 4 other people who RSVP'd yes - one who has a special diet which we planned for, and 2 others who were "maybe" up until 2 hours before the event was to start.
ONE of them reached out with an emergency and said she wasn't able to come. Because she was in the actual emergency room. And she has offered to pay her $10 door fee, which I declined because she was IN THE HOSPITAL.

Those people NOT coming cost my co-host and myself $80 in projected reimbursement and wasted food.

And this has happened to me before. When Erik was the XO of another battalion, it was my honor to throw a farewell for that commander's wife as well. People came that did not RSVP and then "forgot" cash to pay me for their food/gifts. They brought children to eat, that they didn't RSVP or pay for, regardless of the fact that the invitation clearly stated I would be paying the restaurant by the head. A few offered to paypal me, but no one ever did. These were spouses that "outranked" me, for the most part, so I am not just looking the way of young people here.

And in truth - it's not about the money. In both cases, I wanted to throw my friend a gorgeous farewell  to thank them for their service and mentorship, and was going to go over budget regardless to make sure they felt the weight of my appreciation for all that had done for the spouses of their respective battalions.

It's about the fact that if EIGHT people didn't show up to every event that senior military spouses have to host, they'd be washing money down the drain like it was dish soap. It's rude. It's a waste of resources. It's disrespectful. DON'T DO IT.

Here are the takeaways:

1. RSVP. Yes or no. No is not rude. Ignoring people is rude.
2. Come if you say you will. Reach out if you can't make it.

That's it.

Are these not lessons for life? Be respectful and do what you say you're going to.

The end.

Be (Y)Our Guest

My hilarious friend Karen is a blogger who blogs regularly. That doesn't seem like it should be a point of distinction, but as a blogger that can't get her blogging life together for more than a few months at a time, I can tell you: it's a feat, people. I'm guest blogging over there today, because she's even a regular blog updater when she's on vacation. Find me there, today, for some thoughts on surviving summer vacation with what little #momlife dignity you started out with. Thanks for having me, my friend!

PS- Here's a fun fact about Karen that I bet even she doesn't know. She, along with her husband Clay, was the first person Erik ever introduced me to as his wife almost 11 years ago. We were having dinner at Goodfellos in Sackets Harbor, NY (margherita pizza and bruschetta - do they even serve anything else?) I'll never forget thst special moment, after such a long wait! Can we please make #oldmilspousemafia a thing? :)

PPS- Also, can I get some super cool wife points for remembering that? It's possible that I scheduled a trip over our anniversary without even realizing it... Sorry honey! But seriously, you have perhaps been away for one or two... Or, now that I've counted, all but 3... 😉

Sweet Summertime

I'm not sure Summer is really the time to check in on here and think "I should start blogging again!" but here we are...

I forgot how much I loved summer vacation last year. Not only is it nice to have all the kids home at once (Nash is in heaven!) but I LOVE that our schedule is largely our own. No school or activities up in the way of my fun. Let's go to lunch! Let's play in the pool! Let's just stay in our damn pajamas all day so there are literally five fewer outfits in the wash!

Erik's job leaves him without much time off, and so did the last one, and the one before that. But I always had a baby so I was just trying to survive. Now my baby is a toddler and we've got a life to lead! So this year... I decided if Erik couldn't take time off, I'd take my kids on vacation by myself. Then I turned chicken and asked my mom to come too. If you haven't considered taking a Grandma on vacation, I'd encourage you to get on that. It's is almost like taking a second mom. Except for when you bring a Grandma, and you're the mom, and there's no dad, you have to do all the crap the dad usually does- like mule in all the luggage, and go down to pick up dinner while the kids are being bathed. And drive instead of sleep on the way.

I don't like the idea of leaving Erik home alone to toil, but my kids won't be willing travel companions forever. We don't have many summers before they're too cool, or have jobs, or whatever. I hate the feeling that I'm effectively saying "Hey, sorry you have to work to provide us this beatuful life instead of joining us on a vacation that you're also providing for us." But he swears he wants us to go and do; and I've asked around to some other husbands of stay-at-home-mom's and they all say the same. So we went and we did. All the way back to Orlando!

Sea World was SERIOUSLY a bust. It was so commercial. Everything cost extra - games, some rides, WATER. We paid for the meal plan because I thought "It's going to be 110* outside, $30 for adults and $20 for the kids (to eat every hour if we choose) will be paid for in the amount we'd have spent on water!" Except WATER WASN'T INCLUDED. It's a 158* outside, but you could only drink milk or pop. What the heck, Sea World?!

We hung around in Orlando for a few days after that. We had breakfast with the Minions, and lunch another day at the T-Rex Cafe. Our hotel had a water park, but we didn't even go because my kids were in love with the freedom of the (shallow) pool. I had the time to teach Piper the basics of swimming and Grant finally got the hang of it too! Nash just drive his car on the side, but that's fine. They had THE BEST time.

Before heading home we went to The Crayola Experience. I can not say enough about this. For $15 per person, we got hands on activities, free souvenirs, a show, we got to name our own crayons, and design our own artwork. We could have spent twice as long there.

And can I just say that the drivers in Orlando are quite patient and easy-going? They are. I was nervous to drive in a new city, but it was nothing!

When I was a kid, we went on a vacation every year. It was never anything super extravagant. My parents would just take whatever was in their tax return that year, and we used that. I can remember several trips to neighboring states for hotel stays and amusement park adventures, baseball games and outlet mall shopping. And then as we got older we ventured farther away. We never flew, but we might have driven for 2 days to get to where we were going - and if we were lucky, my mom took the middle seat out of the minivan and laid down a foam mattress so we could sleep (hey, it was the nineties). Seriously, half the fun was in the car ride. My sister and I never got along at home, but I can remember making up secret handshakes and reading aloud to her from Tom Sawyer on the way to Tennessee one year. I can remember my mom ALWAYS making us eat at Shoney's because they had an extensive menu and kids ate free. I can remember my dad always encouraging us to select books from whatever gift shop we were in.

I want all that for my kids.

And maybe a little more than the memories of this particular trip, I loved showing my children (and P, especially) that you don't need your husband with you to do stuff, and you can do things even when you're nervous or uneasy. I hope when they're grown they know I really tried to make their summers special like my own parents did!

Thoughts About Things

1. God Almighty, can we just be done with the cold-shoulder everything? And the no waist line dresses and tops?

2. Does everyone's child want to sleep in their slippers? I'll let you take a minute to guess which one of mine does.

3. My neighbor grows lemon basil and brings me a jar when she has an overabundance. If you don't have a neighbor like this you are missing out. She's awesome and lemon basil is the reason I was born.

4. For awhile I was driving all the way to Savannah (about an hour) to pick up groceries instead of having to go in and fight with the kids. Then they got a pickup spot about 30 minutes away. NOW MY REGULAR GROCERY STORE HAS THIS SERVICE. I show up, call them, give them my name, and they bring out my crap and load the car. If you aren't doing this, I highly encourage you to stop the madness and just do it. Put a movie on. Go to Starbucks on your way. IT'S LIKE A VACATION.

5. Are anyone elses kids EATING ALL THE THINGS during summer break? Lord have mercy on our bank account.

6. It's 4 o'clock and I need to wake up Nash or he'll never sleep tonight. But the house is so quiet when only two kids are awake. It doesn't even matter which two kids. Two is just infinitely easier than three.

7. I have been getting random emails from the lady named Elaine for a few years. For awhile I thought they were spam. Sometimes recipes, sometimes pictures of her eating ice cream with her grandkids. Once an ad for a toddler race car bed on Craig's List and a note with her asking if so-and-so might like this. My email address is sheena.lastname but her emails were being sent to sheenalastname with no dot, so I don't even know how they were coming to me. But they were. And when I received one that made me think that she whomever her Sheena was weren't on great terms, I decided she probably wasn't a Nigerian phishing scammer and it was the right thing to reach out. I responded to one of her emails and told her that I'm not sure who she was trying to reach, but I didn't think they were reaching their intended destination. It turns out I have a Canadian name twin. The universe makes me laugh sometimes.

8. Do people still not wear seat belts? I saw a sign today reminding people to "Click it or Ticket" and I wondered if people really need that reminder? If you AREN'T already wearing your seatbelt out of habit, please start. Also, don't smoke, either. Just in case the common sense police haven't made it out your way yet.

9. I really need to think of two more things. Oh! Here's one! Give your 4 year old an hour and your shop vac. She can work wonders on the traveling cesspool that is your mini van.

10. I was honored to be asked to guest blog for a friend while she's on vacation. It got blogging back in my head. Look for that coming soon!

Independence Day Musings

I am always emotional on the 4th of July. Hyper-aware of the price of freedom, perhaps. Today, I encourage you to find a quiet place, say a prayer for peace for those who've lost someone, for those left behind by someone who gave their all that we might be free. And then do it again on July 5th. And August 5th. And September 5th. They feel the loss each day. And we should feel gratitude each day.

Because every day is Memorial Day. And every day is Independence Day. And thank you will never be enough.

The Santa Secret

Listen people. We need to talk.

Twice now, unattended children have waltzed right up to my kids at the park and either attempted to or full-on spilled the beans about Santa to them.

One kid (literally) said to my barely 4 year old "Piper, do you still believe in Santa?" and I about jumped out of my skin and down his punky throat.

The last time, the kids were at the park with a sitter and a friend of my oldest (whose a few years older) asked if he knew about "The Santa Secret." Our sweet sitter covered things fast, especially well considering that she doesn't have kids of her own yet, and I haven't been questioned, but I know it's coming.

Can we all just collectively agree that when we share the truth with our children, we reinforce how  important is it that they don't overshare with other children? Is that too much? I realize that, in the grand scheme, especially given life on an Army Post, that this isn't a huge deal, but for a mama's heart, and a kiddos Christmas joy, it is. We get MAYBE eight Christmases full of magic before the truth comes out. Don't let your kiddos spoil it for someone elses. ESPECIALLY IF THAT SOMEONE ELSE IS ONLY FOUR FREAKING YEARS OLD.

Thanks.

Sibling Torment

Every morning I load ALL the kids up to take G to school because Erik isn't quite home from PT when it's time to go.

Every morning we drive up into the kiss-and-ride line (what does that mean, exactly?!) and the attendant opens the door and helps Grant out.

And every morning Piper hollers "HAVE A FUN LADY PARTY GWANT!" just as he's getting out of the car.

I don't know what it means or where it came from.

All I know is that it PISSES HIM OFF.

Every morning.

It's hysterical because she only does it to get his goat and he just hands it to her on a silver platter.

Every morning.

Just Another Day in Paradise

Ten years ago two little, married for 9 months, babies got on a plane and moved to Hawaii.

They lived in a hotel for a month without killing each other or accidentally getting pregnant.

They rented a huge house that was way bigger than they needed, but was often full of guests. (Interestingly, I just googled it to see if our asshole landlords still owned it - they don't - and the listing shows it to be 300sq feet smaller than the house we have now. That seems so painfully small.)

They figured out life past the newlywed/just-came-home-from-a-sixteen-month-deployment phase.

They left their windows open 363 days a year (save for 4th of July and New Years).

They learned to live on one income for awhile because no one in Hawaii wants to hire white girls.

One of us learned to cook...

They began to hate tourists and love driving in 5 lanes of traffic.

They walked through a second deployment together.

They traveled. Especially to Maui.

They fought.

They loved.

They grew up.

They became parents together in but an instant.

They went through another deployment.

The lived.

Oh, did they ever live.

They wished it wasn't so, but they moved away.

Our first picture as island dwellers!

It's hard to believe we were ever those babies. No bills. No kids. No nothing but each other and a dog.

We sure have come a long way.

I long for those days sometimes. Of solitude and napping on rainy days with the windows open. Of going to the beach with nothing but a book early on Saturday mornings. Of Sunday night dinners at a favorite Italian restaurant followed by coffees at Starbucks. Of impromptu weekend trips to Maui or the Big Island. But if I'm honest, these days are pretty great too.

After all, isn't every single day Just Another Day in Paradise when you're together?

                                         

The Next Phase

Here at Fort Stewart our "motto" is the Rock of the Marne.

We call the deployment train around here the Marne Express.

And the Marne Express does NOT slow down. Most do not get off of it until you leave. Sometimes if you're lucky you can tuck and roll as it pulls past the station, but it's sure as hell not slowing down for you.

Some units here have spent more time away from home than with their families over the last 3 years that we've been here. And while that's not uncommon for the Army, it's a lot less common than it used to be. We have been SO LUCKY that Erik has had jobs that have kept him home since we've been here, but we know it's a bullet we can only dodge for so long, and that's okay.

Because the homecoming is always worth it.

And as we speak, the old Marne Express is coming near to the station to let some folks off.

Yesterday, I picked a friend up from the mechanic she took her husbands car to to get serviced before he comes home.

A few days prior I noticed my other friends children all had fresh haircuts - because they're going to see their Daddy soon.

It's hard not feel so excited for them, but also remember how torturous those last few weeks and days are. They usually take longer than the entire rest of the deployment.

I think I'm almost as excited as my friends are!

Because the homecoming is always worth it.

This Is Us

I resisted jumping on the This is Us bandwagon for a season and a half. Everyone said you cry during every episode and I just ain't got time for that. BUT while I was visiting my best friends house last month, she turned it on and I was hooked within 15 minutes. I came home and have binged watched every episode (as much as one can with children and a husband at home that also want to use the TV/can't watch adult shows). I got all the way caught up last week. I was exhausted and my house was a wreck, but I'm all caught up.

And I have some thoughts. And maybe these are thoughts that someone has already blogged about because I'm obviously behind the times. But I have these thoughts none the less and there's no one here for me to talk to about them.

Just in case you are the only other person left in the world not watching this show, SPOILER ALERT. Stop reading now. Go watch the show and come back.

1. I will never look at my Crock-Pot the same. I am cooking in mine right now, but I was hesitant. I already had this hangup, by the way, but the Pearson's incident sure didn't do anything to make me less cray.
2. Also, NEVER GO BACK IN FOR THE DOG. Jesus H. It's House Fire 101. I love my dog, but damn.
3. I don't really think I like Kate. Homegirl needs therapy. Although, I admit that she endeared herself to me during the season finale of Season 2.
4. Or Kevin, really. Homeboy needs therapy for a different reason. Although, I admit that he endeared himself to me during the season finale of Season 2.
5. "Tobe" is exhausting. He and Chip Gaines are sucking all the oxygen out of the entire universe. THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Although, I admit, it made a little more sense after the season finale of Season 2.
6. I really can't decide if I like Jack and Rebecca or Roland and Beth more. I really, really love Jack and Rebecca's love. And I really, really love Roland and Beth's witty banter. I definitely think Erik and I are the most like Beth and Roland.
7. Why was Roland delivered at home? Was the mom already an addict? How was Roland not born addicted? Is it not coincidental that Tess was also delivered at home? Are these just things we aren't supposed to think of?
8. MIGUEL?! WHAT?! He was such a cruddy husband to Sherry/Sheryl/Shawna (or whatever her name is). I do not think Jack is looking down fondly on this marriage.
9. Nine deserves it's own paragraph.

It's it funny how Jack and Rebecca try SO hard to be good parents. Jack goes out of his way not to make his parents mistakes. Rebecca tries SO hard to make sure all the kid are loved the same - probably to a fault, but I think that speaks to how hard she tried. They are well-fed. They don't want for anything. They are so loved, and their parents are so involved. And they're fucked up anyway. Every last one of them. Jesus. I'm sure this is how real life is too.

Does that mean we're all just spinning our wheels here? Bless my heart.

Tornado Watch

I spent my first 23 years in Oklahoma, and probably all but six of those months were spent in a tornado watch. It was a way of life, not a thing to get worked up about.

But the second the alarm on my phone sounds a tornado watch in Georgia (where the like to blow the tornado sirens for nothing and fail to blow them for things that matter - like that time a tornado touched down 20 feet from my house...) you bet your sweet bippy I'm digging out the bike helmets and pulling my van into the garage. Gotta protect all my babies! ;)

And because #momlife, I also throw a can of Lysol wipes into the bathroom to clean it while we shelter in place.

Cold AF.

It has been bitterly cold here this week. I know, I know, I don't know from cold living here in South Georgia, I get it. But it has been cold for us, with a really biting wind. And spring soccer has already started, so that should indicate to you that we're supposed to be experiencing springtime weather, and not winter-ish (for Georgia) weather. Seriously, its colder today than any random day in November.

Anyway, it's been cold this week. And we were supposed to have soccer practice on Monday and I wondered if they'd cancel it. I even thought that if I had a small infant, I would have bowed out. I didn't really want to get out in the cold and I REALLY hate having to help everyone into their dadgum shin-guards, but I decided we were going to bundle up and get on out there. Because it's that or sit at home and sitting at home with three children is pretty hard in itself.

I had all this internal conversation with myself during lunch, and then around 2, the (dreaded) group texts for the soccer team starts buzzing with "Are we having practice? It's so cold and so windy!" and the coaches were all like "Yeah, the Youth Sports Office hasn't cancelled practices, so I'm planning to be there." And tons of parents were like "Nah, we're going to stay in. I don't want my kids face to get chapped by this wind." and "It's flu season, after all!" Okkkayyy. (Do people know how the flu is transmitted? Is that why it's been such a problem this year?!) But I stood my ground if I leave my kids with ANYTHING after I'm gone it's the idea that WE DO HARD THINGS. I said "We'll be there!"

(((Have I mentioned to you that somehow, someway, JESUS TOOK THE WHEEL OF MY LIFE AND BOTH MY KIDS HAVE SOCCER PRACTICES AT THE SAME TIME ON THE SAME DAY? Because that, my friends, is news worth sharing.)))

So the time came and I layered on the clothes, bundled everyone up in their least constricting jackets, and we set out on our walk to the soccer field.

(((Have I also mentioned that my VERY FAVORITE THING ABOUT LIVING ON AN ARMY POST IS WALKING EVERYWHERE?! I have a hate-hate relationship with car seats.)))

So we get there, the kids practice, Cubby and I shiver. And NOT ONE CHILD COMPLAINS. I was so ready with my speech about how in our family WE DO HARD THINGS and I didn't even get to bust it out.

Do they already know WE DO HARD THINGS? Have I driven the point home well enough already that I can just go ahead and check out of parenting? I admit to being pretty disappointed, but I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities to force my kids to do something they don't want to do by citing my little mantra.

Some Art

Grant has always been very artistic. In fact, I didn't realize how early he developed his skill until I had the following conversation with his Pre-K teacher a few years ago.

Miss Faye: Do you save all of Grant's artwork?
Sheena: No... I just can't keep everything.
Miss Fay: You should! He's fantastic!
Sheena: He is?
Miss Faye: Yes! Look at the pictures the other kids in class draw.
Sheena, looks at the chicken scratch barely resembling anything, while Grant has drawn an entire mountain-scape, with labels: Oh.

I just thought all kids were good artists until perfectionism and self-criticism took hold and they started to think too much. Turns out I was wrong.

Piper took a little longer to hone her artistic skill. If I'm being honest, home-girl still struggles to color inside the lines. But hey man, we all have our strengths. I'm not worried.

And then one day she drew this. She said it's all her little neighborhood friends, and I could have died. And they're all holding hands which is just about the sweetest thing ever.

Sometimes she makes me want to pull my hair out, and sometimes she's so presh I could squeal. I imagine this is what raising a daughter is like pretty much all the time.

Snack Time

Can we please discuss this please?

This is the snack my child was sent home from soccer practice with last weekend.

A) Are we doing this after practices now too?!
B) Is this a snack or a small meal?

Listen. I'm all about the Pinterest Mom life, but this is out of control. If this doesn't personify the over the top nature of parenting these days, I just don't know what does.

Buy some ding dang animal crackers and some Gatorade and call it good. Because that's all you're getting out of me. Sorry to disappoint.

Just kidding, I'm not. I've got three kids to send to college. I can't buy two soccer teams' worth of Uncrustables for soccer snacks twice a year.

HIMYM

Did you watch How I Met Your Mother?

Of course you did.

Do you remember the episode where Marshall and Lily have decided it's time to buy a house and they're scouring NYC for the best new area because they can't afford SoHo and NoHo and blah blah blah, and they come across a listing for a house in the up and coming neighborhood of DoWiSTrePla? So they go take a look at the house and while they're on the tour they notice the place smells absolutely terrible and they finally figure out that DoWiSTrePla means Down Wind from the Sewage Treatment Plant?

Yeah?

That's where I live, too.

Who Thought This Was A Good Idea

I'm just going to continue my trend of book reviewing, because I need shit to talk about on here for my two readers (Hi, Karen! Hi Jess!) and because I don't usually get to enjoy two books in a row, because I have serious issues. Seriously, I'm kinda nuts.

You probably know I listen to my books on Audible so I can listen in the car or while I cook (both of which compose exactly 92.6% of my life), but for someone who is a little cray like I am, this can sometimes pose a problem. Narration. If you talk too fast, too slow, too lispy, too Australian, too much like Bernadette on the Big Bang Theory, whatever, I just can't with you. I will return your book like a hot damn potato if I can't stand how you talk. Regardless of content. I want my credit back.

So finding a book with quality content AND quality narration is quite the feat.

Last year I got in to listening to memoirs. Well, first I got into books read by their author (which, in my most humble opinion, brings a whole new level of enjoyment to a book because you can hear it how the author meant for it to be heard) and then I asked myself which books would be best read by their own author, and the answer of course, was memoirs. So far, this plan has panned out quite nicely and I have learned about some things I ordinarily wouldn't have. Like Hollywood. And the Obama White House. And soon, the life and times of Rob Lowe. I'll be sure to let you know how that goes.

Recently I listened to Who Thought This Was a Good Idea?: And Other Questions You Should Have  Answers to When You Work in the White House by Alyssa Mastromonaco. (The number of times I had to reference her amazon page for the exact title and how to spell that name correctly is kind of embarrassing and kind of took the wind out of my writing sails if I'm being honest.)

The book was fantastic. I, obviously, am not a Democrat, so I was a little hesitant to dig into her book and then be disappointed by constant political commentary or attacks (like in Thanks, Obama), but seriously, the woman is HILARIOUS. I really want to be her friend. Anyone who can be forthcoming about an attack of IBS at Buckingham Palace deserves a cocktail.

This book gets the Double Yes! Funny content and an engaging, non-lispy narrator!

On Motherhood.

I try really hard not to yell at my kids. I did NOT want to be the cranky mother. I read all the books. I pinned all the pins.

Turns out kids make it really hard to be the mother you planned to be.

Turns out, kids are maniacs.

End of post.

Forty Five

When you ask Piper how old I am, her little lispy voice sounds like she's saying "forty free." God bless me, I try to correct her. In fact, no person has ever been more motivated in speech correction than I, each and every time she says her mommy is "forty free."

In a few short weeks, I'll be turning "forty four," which, God willing, will lead to "forty five." And "Forty Five" seems like the age by which I really need to have gotten my life together. I do not mind aging, or even being the oldest person in the room (which is happening more and more as Erik advances, if I'm being honest). I'm not sure how to act my age.

I still feel like I'm in my early-twenties, with maybe just a lot of life under my belt. I'm pretty sure I still dress like a college student. And I feel like our house still looks like a mish-mash of shit that we cobbled together from our parents basements when we moved out.

I was telling someone recently, that when I look back on "senior spouses" at unit events from my time as a baby Captain's wife, they all looked so beautiful and accessorized and clean. I do not feel like any of these things. I feel like a hot, frazzled, scraggly mess most of the time. I know that part of the difference is they didn't have very young kids at home, but I'm not sure how long I can ride that wave. I really don't want to be the conductor of the Hot Mess Express anymore.


Last week, I had my friend down the street give my hair a desperately needed trim; it's short enough to hold curl and look more put together again. I really feel like some highlights might be in order too. But alas, ain't nobody got time for that. Curls instead of a mom bun will work for now.

This week, I'm on a mission to revamp my closet. I've spent a little money on some new spring pieces and I'm going to do a really brutal purge of what I have left in my closet from my last one before they come. I'm done with "more is better." I've been working on that for years, but not in respect to my closet.

Then I think we're gong to move on to more intentional decor of the house. I'm tired of my eyes falling on things I don't "love."

When we first moved here I went through and "Kon Mari'd" our possessions (we lost 1,000 square feet moving into this house from our last, so something had to give) but the cheap skate in me didn't replace the things we "need" with things I love - and I can feel a difference. I'm not keeping things because they "work" anymore. And I'm going to apply this to my closet as well.

So here we go. My last few weeks as a "forty free" year old are going to be filled with organization and reflection on what truly brings me delight as I prepare for 34.

It will be a good year.

Wonder

I am constantly on the prowl for a good book to read but lately I have been struggling to find books that stick out to me. Am I the only person who feels like EVERYTHING in the fiction world is tired and repetitive?

Recently someone on my Facebook NewsFeed posted that her sister-in-law was starting an online book club and was looking for participants. This rang.my.bell. I joined ASAP.

The first book was Wonder, by R.J. Palacio and I am not ashamed to admit that I was NOT excited.

If we're real life friends, you've heard me say and discuss online when asking for book recs, that I don't want ANYTHING Holocaust-y, anything where a kid gets hurt or killed, or any kind of martial discord or Sophie's Choice shit. (You see now why I struggle to find books to read...) Wonder seemed to fall into the category of a kid getting hurt - not physically, of course, or that I knew of, but I knew the basic premise and I didn't want any part of it.

HOWEVER, you may NOT know that I am absolutely a buckler to peer pressure. Or maybe it was just my super guilty conscience. But I didn't want to seem like a jerk by punking out on the first book of the club, so I added it to my Audible list and started off on my journey.

I won't give you a synopsis here because now that the movie is out, pretty much everyone knows the basic premise of the book.

But I WILL tell you...

I loved it. I laughed. I cried. I learned how to be a better mom. And I remembered what it was like to be a kid that was a little bit damaged but so much more than that.

Get your hands on this book!

#353

I have published 352 entries on this blog. I have such a love/hate relationship with it. I can't be funny or insightful on command anymore, it would seem. I need a plan for what I'm gong to talk about next or the blog itself is just another ball I'm trying to juggle but keeps getting dropped. Unless my house needs cleaned, like now, in which case it's easy to come up with crap to write about. Like this:

Recently some friends and I got together for a Fiesta Dinner in observance of National Margarita Day. One of our friends' mothers was in town and joined us for dinner after folding 10 loads of laundry at the friends house because Grandma's are cool like that). She had raised 5 kids (4 girls and a boy) and we were laughing about what a chaotic scene the whole thing was - 10 kids, 4 moms, 1 dad and a Grandma. Someone pointed out what a hot mess everything was and the Grandma laughed.

I said "Oh God, please don't tell us now that we're going to miss this."

She said, "Don't worry, you aren't."

HAH!

Thoughts on the Best of Friendships

Last week I made a whirlwind trip to VA to visit my best friend and her family, including two new babies that I haven't gotten my hands on since they were born in November! And those sweet babies, though fabulous, were not the highlight of my trip.

If you don't already have one, you have got to get yourself a friend with whom you have so much to talk about that you get a sore throat 24 hours in to the visit. And you should leave visits with this friend exhausted from staying up so late talking, ridiculously full from eating and drinking so much, and a heart full of the kind of love and affirmation a close friend can provide.

A spouse that accepts you warts and all is one thing. A friend that can poke gentile fun at those warts is another. Because they have them too.

I am so grateful to have come upon this kind of friendship. Each visit is a renewal. From which I need a juice cleanse. ;)

Thoughts on Army Wives

I do not usually chose to refer to myself as an Army Wife. It seems artificial to define myself by what my husband chose to do with his life way before I was even a part of it, and I'm pretty sure we've discussed this before so I'll let that lay. HOWEVER, this is not a "team" that I don't want to be on. I do. Some of the toughest women I know are on this team and I'm proud to be associated with them. But we need to discuss something that is running rampant among us.

Comparison.

Between jobs. Deployments. Hours logged at work each week.

Right now, there are many Soldiers from our post deployed to Afghanistan. They've been gone for several months and are, mercifully, on the downhill slide.

Recently, another brigade from here deployed to Korea. There is so much infighting on Facebook groups and in hushed circles about how this really isn't a deployment because they're not going to a war zone. Alright, I get it, and in recent years, I might have agreed. But the Army is quite different now than it once was, and perhaps so am I. Also, it is, by definition, a deployment. And while I think we can all agree that Afghanistan is more dangerous than Korea, does it really matter when a child is crying itself to sleep because it misses it's mom or dad? I think not.

The need to compare, to make ones circumstances worse than that of their peers seems to be a disease afflicting my fellow military spouses, and I am exhausted by it. Every single one of us has had to grit our teeth and endure far more than we ever could have imagined. I don't understand the inability to respect that. To celebrate the power we wield.

My friend Karen recently posted on her blog about the day that the Army told us to hold her beer and watch this. The day that our Soldiers, who were supposed to come home from a very deadly 12 month deployment in mere days, were extended by 4 more months. It ruined all my plans. I was forced to cancel our wedding. It was that day that I learned the Army was the boss. She has remained so.

But they all came home eventually. And that day was probably the best day of my entire life. Sorry to my children.

I learned that lesson again, though with much less surprise, when after delivering my first child, my husband left us in the hospital for a month long trip where he wouldn't even be able to call home.

But he was there for the delivery, and thank God, my mom was able to cover down for him on the home front. I can't even imagine having a baby without my husband. I rain praise down on any woman I have known who has had to.

And several months later when EVERY SINGLE ONE of my friends' husbands came home early from a deployment thanks to a force cap in Afghanistan, except mine, who had been requested to stay and finish out the full year, I learned it again. It was probably the most alienated and alone I have felt in all of my time as the spouse of a Soldier.

But he came home safely, for a third time. So many didn't. My husband didn't DIE. HE CAME HOME. How can one wring a complaint out of that?

And I learned it once again that time that was 3 months pregnant, sick as a dog, and receiving a 2,800 square feet of house load into an 1,800 square foot house with my 1 and 4 year-olds stuffed into an already rickety pack-and-play ALL DAY LONG so they didn't bolt while the movers unloaded ALL THE THINGS while my husband was already at work. On day 2 at a new post.

But I unpacked a box at a time, had the means to buy a new pack-and-play and eventually got over the all-day-sickness associated with my pregnancies. And had a fantastic baby, with my husband again, in attendance.

And I have probably learned this lesson a hundred other times that I can't even recall now because to me, they're simply part of life.

The memories of all the times over that first deployment that I closed my eyes and prayed desperately for his safety have carried me through the last decade. I can assure you, America, that exactly ZERO things seem as bad as wondering if a person you love is dead or alive. And no breath is deeper than when you find they've made the casualty notification and it wasn't at your house. Nor is any ensuing guilt more raw. Maybe I just lucked out in learning the lesson early on: Someone always has it worse. Yeah. I had to cancel my wedding. So what? We got married eventually. But some pretty important guests were missing.

In every friend group, in every Bunco club, on every deployed spouses Facebook page, some people  always seem to have it especially bad. And someone always has it worse. And those who have had it the worst would probably remind us that whatever we're pissed about in this moment is trivial to the feeling of seeing the Casualty Notification Officer show up on their front porch.

Words I Hate (In No Particular Order)

Hubby, hubs, hubster, any derivative thereof.
Preggo
Salve
Fester
Crispy - but mostly because I don't like the sound of my own voice saying it.

There you have it America. For posterities sake.

The Days Run Together

So listen.

I don't know what it is I do all day, but I keep myself pretty busy.

Erik will come home from work and ask what I did.

And you know what?

I don't have any damn idea.

I fed kids breakfast.
I packed at least one, sometimes two lunches.
I mainlined some coffee.
I dropped off Kid 1 at school and drove home.
Fed kids a snack.
Fed kids lunch.
Dropped off Kid 2 at school and drove home.
I changed Kid 3 and put him in bed.
-- the 2 hours between the above errand and the below errand are always kind of a blurred line between productivity and laziness, guilt or accomplishment --
I woke up Kid 3 and took him to go pick up Kids 1&2.
I fed kids.
I then took kids to the park or ballet or whatever errands or extra curriculars we have that week.
I fed kids.
I bathed kids.
I put kids in bed.
I collapsed on the couch.

I went to college guys. You know what I learned there that helps me here. Time management. Because nothing I learned there can help with the insane way kids are doing math now.

W
T
F

This girl.

Can We Talk For a Minute About Donald Trump?

Yeah, I don't want to either.

I want to want to. I'm fatigued.

So here's this instead:

When we were at Disney a few weeks ago (which I should post about but I'm not going to) my Garmin activity tracker fell off when I scooped Nash up and carried his tantruming behind down the sidewalk since he wouldn't hold my hand. I WAS SO PISSED I WASN'T GOING TO GET SOME AWESOME BADGES FOR ALL THE STEPS I'D TAKE OVER THE COURSE OF OUR TRIP. Did I mention it happened on Day 1? Also it was my watch, so that was also super lame. Anyway, when I came home, a friend offered me her FitBit Charge 2+HR which I love so much more. It vibrates at me when I haven't moved enough (the Garmin chirped and there's enough damn noise going on here that I never heard it.) ANYWAY, literally as I was typing the Trump thing it vibrated and said "Feed me 209 more steps this hour" and I swear to God, I stood up, walked down stairs and fed myself a string cheese. Then I marched in place as I ate it. Goal achieved while consuming a snack. This is a lifestyle I can get behind.

Communion

When it came time for communion at the church I attended for the first 20+ years of my life, there were men who'd pass the plates around from pew to pew. We'd take the bread as it was passed and wait and take the cup together. I am assuming this was because it was a pretty big church given the size of my town and waiting for everyone to go up to the front would have taken eons.

I was seriously about 29 years old before I went to a church that regularly had you come up front for communion. And the church we attend now does it this way as well. We go up front, get the cup and the bread and go back to our seats in a wildly disorganized fashion, and wait there to partake together.

But last Sunday was different. I'm not sure if it's because there's a new head chaplain or the especially brutal flu season, but we were passed the plates by ushers this week.

Now I have attended this church for nearly 3 years. I KNOW that we take the bread and the cup together.

But when I was handed that communion plate on Sunday, I took that cracker and stuffed it in my face as quickly as possible as the usher waited with the plate of cups. Just like I did ever Sunday from my 9th until my 23rd year. I sat trying to hide my crunching and giggling to myself as I was supposed to be praying, and then decided to own it when everyone broke the bread and I just sat there.

It seemed to funny to me that of all the things I'm sure my parents would have liked to think I reverted back to from my decidedly Christian upbringing, the only thing that is really an automatic reaction is consuming the body of Christ as quickly as possible so I can keep the juice train flowing.

Also, I just realized how creepy it is to write "consuming the body of Christ."

Tribe, Part 2.

I wrote recently about my fantastic group of friends here.

Now I'm writing about the saying goodbye.

As always happens, "the Army goes rolling along," and so must we. But it's happening in spades to our little friend group. Half of us are leaving and taking half the children in our little village. I have never seen such a mass exodus from one group at one time, but I'm sure it's not really uncommon. Especially now that the Army is trying to move everyone during the same 2 spans each year, instead of all willy-nilly all the time.

Up until recently, we too thought we would be on our way out the door this summer, which I felt would somehow help soften the blow for my children. Moving = New Adventure. 

Staying with no friend? Haven't come up with a tag for that.

Let it be said, however, that while most families at similar points in their service member's career are moving every year or two, we are very lucky to be here for another year, bringing us to almost 4.5 years in one place. What a treat for an Army kid to be at the same school for the first 3 years of his education!

Having been here for what seems like ages (our neighbors all around have us have turned over at least once, sometimes twice) I have been able to show my kids that once old friends move out, new friends move in. This has worked well for casual friends. I'm not sure how to broach this with friends that we see every day. Maybe it helps that they see friends come and go often in class. I don't know. I don't even know how to wrap this up cleverly.

I picked this, my kids didn't. I love this adventure. I hope my kids do too, because that's the only way the juice is worth the squeeze.

Now accepting tips and book recommendations.

My Tribe

I have a fantastic little tribe here at Fort Stewart. Several moms on our half of the street get together almost daily at the park for the kids to play and the moms to chat (and sometimes drink, because life). It's an interesting adult dynamic, because I can't think of any other friend in recent years that has known so much about the daily minutiae of my life as these ladies (aside from my husband). Seriously, the last time I had something like this I LIVED with the person (college roommate - nothing salacious!) (((In fact, one of the things I hate the most about having a long distance BFF is that I don't know the little things that go on in hers or her families life. But I digress.)))

Anyway, they know pretty much everything.

Which of my kids is a Wildling.
Which of my kids poops 7x a day.
Which of their kids swear they're going to marry one of my kids.
They can tell when one of my kids has had a bad day.
They feed them from their kitchens without hesitation. Knowing (and buying!) the snacks each kids mom finds appropriate.
They check on us continually if someone is sick.
They pick them up.
They drop them off.
They take them in.
They bring them home.
And I do the same.
I know which of their kids are bad sleepers and can tell when they've had a bad night.
I know when someone needs a dinner delivery because though she's fed her children, she's left herself with their PB&J sandwich crusts.
I trust these women to parent my kids almost exactly the way I myself would (sometimes better!)
We celebrate EVERY birthday together.
We celebrate every everything together.
They are my village.
They are my children's village.

Their kids run the same age gamut as my kids, and each one has it's own little bestie within the group.
Most of the girls are a little older than Piper, but she just thinks they're all SO awesome and squeals with excitement when someone offers a hand-me-down. And is always suggesting we give her hand-me-downs to the next youngest girl in the group, with the same sparkling eyes she had when she received them.
ALL of the kids stop and listen when G asks for their attention. One day he corralled ALL 11 other kids into a circle and passed out Popsicles. The moms wouldn't even be able to garner that kind of cooperation. (That kid is so charismatic, I wish he'd realize it.)
And every single "Driveway Kid" as we call them, calls Nash his nickname - Cubby. Which warms my heart like no other. Everyone loves little Cubby.

We have such a special group.

And we're breaking up. Because Army Life.

More another day. Because Mom Life.

Jaunarys

Judging from my blog entry history, it seems I try to get my life together every January. For the last ten or so years. My gosh that's hard to believe. I remember a few years ago - maybe it was 2014 - that I told myself I'd blog 3x a week and then have it professionally printed at the end of the year. I think I did okay for awhile.

But alas here I am again, thinking about how I have got to preserve these days that are passing at both a snails pace and faster than I can comprehend. That's probably why they say "The days are long, but the years are short." It's kind of mind-blowing how true that is. Because these days are painfully long sometimes, but the years seem to fly by before we know it.

My father-in-law told me once that the reason time goes faster when you're an adult vice when you're a child is that for an adult, ever year is a lesser part of the greater whole. Basically, years aren't worth as much to adults as they are to kids. Kinda like the pay differential between men and women. We're all doing the same thing, but somehow it's considered different. Okay, or not. Don't send me letters.

Anyway. These kids lives are passing quickly. My life is FLYING. I need to hold on. I need to remember. 

I need to blog more.

(((Also, don't think I didn't notice that it took until February this year to decide I'm going to get my blogging life back together. Hahaha! I'm already dropping the ball!!!)))