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.