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.