Writing is hard

Writing for some people is very easy, my husband fits into this category.  He actually would like to write his own novels or even ghost write an autobiography for someone important in the future.  He can sit down and type away for minutes and it results in this almost poetic story.  That was just an email announcing his football pool has started or something else trivial.  It's disgusting really.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy reading whatever it is he writes, but the ease at which he is able to do it, sickens me.

Writing is easy for some people.  I am not one of those people.  For those of you who are Grammar Police, back off!  I'm trying!  I use spell check and when it yells at me for passive tense, I try my best to fix it.  However, the other day I got so confused between passive voice and past tense that my husband had to edit my last post.  He blathered something about the difference between passive voice and past tense, then he mumbled something about not using conjunctions either.  (Ha!  I used one there, didn't I?) Ugh!  I do what I always do, I asked him for help.  Help means "please rewrite this stupid thing, because the words are blurring together for me?!" 

The truth is, my entire life I have always had help writing papers or reports.  I'm not talking about people who pay someone to write it for them, or they just copy it off the web.  I have never and never will use plagiarism.  I had help from my parents.

In the beginning I would actually put effort and a little hope in a paper I wrote.  Then I would have my parents review it, in order to receive their praise and admiration.  What would be returned to me, would be this paper with so many marks on it, it looked like the ink smeared or someone used it as a tourniquet, if I was lucky enough to get the red pen.  My hopes dashed, I would fix the mistakes and go on my way.  Later, I think it began to be apparent to my parents that there was no hope in my writing skills.

They tried the whole "make an outline, then write from your outline" method.  I just couldn't grasp the whole Introduction, Body and Conclusion part of book reports or research papers.  During college it became blindingly clear that there was no hope for me.  I would submit a paper to my parents for review, then get back an entirely different paper, full of remarks and wording fixes.  It got rather depressing.

Fortunately I chose a science major so, writing papers wasn't a huge deal, because no one else could write well either.  We left that up to the English, History and Journalism majors.

 Fast forward a few years, my daughter is in kindergarten.  She is learning to write sentences and paragraphs.  She does it with such ease and enjoyment, I start to feel happy that she will take after her father.  Then I realize that I'm learning with her.  Yes it took a kindergarten teacher to begin this process.

"Every story needs a great beginning (introduction), you have to get people to be interested in what you are writing.  Then, you need to include sentences about your topic that are descriptive and fun (body), so people will continue to read.  Last, you need to have a great ending (conclusion) so people will know that you are done writing."  The quotation marks are real, my 5 year old daughter said this to me one day during her writing homework.

So here is a salute to my parents and to my husband:  Thank you for passing on your genetics to our daughter, she will be the one who finally teaches me how to write!  

I am NOT a Navy Wife...okay, yes I am.

Before I had children, I was uncomfortable being labeled a "Navy Wife."  I'm not sure why it bothered me so much. Maybe it was because I'm introverted, I don't like groups or because I didn't like being instantly labeled before people met me.

During my husband's ROTC years, I was that career driven person who was independent, blah, blah. After he graduated, we move from the college ROTC Navy atmosphere to the "real" Navy in Norfolk, VA. He was previously enlisted before he picked up a Navy scholarship, so he knew what to expect.  I had no idea what I was in for, so I went along in my own lovely reality for awhile. 

The first time I set foot in a Military Treatment Facility (MTF), I was unprepared to say the least.  Filling out the forms were what shocked me the most.  I remember sitting there asking Military Dad what "spouse #" meant.  I thought they had found I was born in Utah and they were asking about the whole Mormon polygamy thing.  I was about to start yelling about being profiled, when he informed me on how most military marriages don't last and people tend to remarry a few times (3 was a spouse # option).  Being told in a document that my new marital bliss was doomed to fail was an awakening. 

Weeks went by and I did my best to deal with this situation.  Then Military Dad got the news he would be deploying for 6 months with only 3 months notice.  During those 3 months he worked 16 hour days (6 or 7 days a week) or was underway (out to sea for a few days) while they got the ship ready.  I'm an only child, so I was able to find a daily routine and keep myself sane.  This daily routine saved me during the actual deployment.  I was also very fortunate to have been working, so I was able to make a few wonderful and very supportive friends before he had to deploy.

I was also pregnant with Princess during this first deployment.  His command did their best to get him home for her birth, by sending him to a school in Rhode Island.  However, Princess would not be rushed, she came 6 days later, and by that time, he was stateside, but hundreds of miles away.

Deployment #2 came 6 months later.  At the end of that deployment, he transferred to a new ship that was just getting ready to leave, so Deployment #3 followed shortly afterwards. All in all, he made 3 deployments in less than 2 years.

The supportive friends I made, were also military families, and they all moved during Deployment #2 to their new duty stations.  That was the toughest one.  I was all alone in a strange state with no support system and a 6 month old little girl.  So deployment #3 resulted in me quitting my job and moving back home with my parents to get help raise Princess.

Seven months later, Princess and I moved back to Virginia when his ship returned. Shortly afterwards, we found out that Deployment #4 was looming.  Fortunately shore duty was close enough that he didn't have to go on that one.

Now, 4 years later,  we are nearing the end of our shore duty time and that sea duty experience is always in the back of my mind.  However, now I have 2 children who have to experience this.  Princess will know what's going on, but I'm not sure how she'll deal with it.  She was young enough that she probably doesn't remember the first times he had to leave.  Little Dude has had Daddy home his entire life, so I'm honestly scared to think about how he'll react.  Just for a second, a split second, I start to think how I'd react and the tears well up.  Then that feeling of having to take care of someone other than myself automatically kicks in and both that split second and the tears are gloriously gone.

This is when I realize with pride, that yes, I'm a Navy Wife.  We do what we have to, in order to keep the family functioning and healthy, including the deployed spouse and their extended family. This job requires you to become a "single" parent:  paying the bills, buying groceries, fixing the water heater, etc.  The job also requires you to maintain a certain decorum and not slap/yell at someone who cannot comprehend what you're going through when they say "Wow, I'd love it if my husband/wife left for a few months!"  (I beg everyone, please don't say this EVER to a military spouse, it is truly a thin thread we hang on to that holds us together.)

Now, I'm very happy to be labeled and put in the Navy Wife category.  It's definitely one of the craziest group of people I'd belong to!  (No seriously, it's a group of crazy people-who else would repeatedly do this crap with a smile?)  It takes a group of special people to become and stay military spouses.  A military spouse has to put their careers and other things on hold because the military job comes first.  They have a job with very large risks and very little reward, other than what we can create for ourselves.  It also takes a very special service member to appreciate what their spouse is doing for them while they are thousands of miles away doing their job.

So when you thank that service member, please take the time to also thank their spouses for their hard jobs too!

Our Super Secret Squirrel Code Names

My husband began blogging before I did, so I will use his code names for us in my future posts.

My daughter, Princess, will be turning 6 in a few months and is definitely a princess.  Our hope for a tomboy has been annihilated several times with her.  She loves to go outside and play, she even gets so completely dirty, I honestly have no idea how she does it.  It's what she goes outside to play in that we know we are in trouble.  Skirts, dresses, tights, ballet slippers, costume jewelry, etc. 

If she isn't dressed up to the nines, then she is playing "teacher" in the house.  She sets up chairs and stuffed animals (sometimes her little brother) and will read to them all day.  She even yells at them for talking during class or not sitting correctly. 

My son, Little Dude, recently turned 3 and he is definitely all boy.  He makes me very appreciative that my daughter is a princess as a balancing mechanism.  If there is anything to climb, jump off of or destroy within a mile radius, he has already done it...twice.  When he gets caught, he has this smile that will get him out of trouble every time.  Later in life, I think it will actually get him into trouble too! 

He is called Little Dude due to the fact that he has always been little.  We were worried for several years because he just wouldn't cooperate with the growth and weight charts.  We finally realized that he just has this energy level that will not allow him to put on any fat.  This little guy actually has muscle mass on his arms!  I believe that he is just stubborn enough, that he allows his body to grow when he decides it's a good idea. 

My husband's name is Military Dad, because he is a LT in the US Navy, and well...because he's a father.  His code name is pretty simple.

My name on his blog for me is CinC House. The CinC (pronounced sync) stands for Commander in Chief, and obviously outranks him. I'm obviously not THE Commander in Chief, so for clarification purposes we added the House designation. It's actually more of a fun way to say I'm the bossy one.

I am currently a stay-at-home mom. I did work during the first year with Princess, but we found that it was sadly cheaper for me to stay at home than work & pay for daycare. Now, I'm finding I like it. I come from a career family, meaning both of my parents worked. They did not have a choice to stay home as I do, so I grew up with that mindset.

Now picture yourself with this mindset, then marry a military person, where you are required to move every 2-4 years, while having your spouse gone for 2/3 of that time. For those of you who don't know, it wreaks havoc on everything. So I decided it was easier to screw the career; I have a full-time job being a mom AND keeping myself sane (mostly).

Morning sickness

Before any of those friends and family who know me get excited or nervous, no I'm not preggo.  My post yesterday about dry heaving brought back fond memories of dealing with morning sickness.  It wasn't funny then, but now that I look back, I'd laugh at a pregnant lady hoarking over the nearest trash can as her children stare at her in horror.  Don't get me wrong, I feel nothing but absolute empathy for this poor woman.  However, having gone through it twice, sometimes you just need to laugh at some of the absurd crap a woman's body has to deal with.
 
While being pregnant with my daughter, we had the joy of living in a house with 1 (ONE!!!) bathroom.  While this house was roomy and alright for a married couple, 2 cats and a dog, the bathroom seemed to be a last minute addition to the house.  This is a horrible idea. If at all possible at least one bathroom in the house should be designated entirely to a pregnant woman.  So now I had to figure out how to run into this closet-sized room, duck below the sink and come up to hit the toilet.  Later on, when I was rather round in shape, I had to enter the bathroom through the one side of the shower, slide the doors across, and get out the other side before I could use the toilet.  I wish I had pictures, that's how awful it was.

If you haven't heard or know already, pregnant women get this über sense of smell.  It probably dates back to caveman time when we had to smell predators or something.  Now it helps us identify someone that used the restroom hours ago, dirty diapers while they're happening, rotten food before opening the fridge, body odor on people who actually bathe, things like that.  Also, you get one (several if you're lucky cursed) trigger scent that has you immediately holding your mouth shut while you waddle quickly to the nearest vomit receptacle, only to dry heave for 10 minutes.

After I had my babygirl, I felt all that was worth it, so we decided to have another.  With my son, the day I found out I was preggo, I was hoarking.  It wasn't fair!  With "Princess" I had a few months of "yay, we're pregnant" before and a few months of "oh god, there's no more room, stop punching my bladder" to enjoy being pregnant.  Not with "Little Dude." 
This happened to also be the momentous occasion we decided to potty train Princess.  It took her a little while longer than it normal, because I think she was horrified by the process. 

"Mommy, I went poopy in the potty!"  "Princess, that is awesome, what a good job!"  Then I would lean over to help her clean up and then mommy would have to shove her aside to hoark.  She would just stare at me, then we would have to start all over the next day, because she was done with that!

Being in the Navy, we had moved a few times since the one bathroom house.  We now had a two bathroom establishment, fancy!  It was wonderful, until a Tropical Storm hit Virginia and flooded the complex's sewage tanks, which backed up into our ground floor bathtubs.

Horrible Fond memories aside, I can't help but feel pain when I see a green faced pregnant woman running around trying to figure out what to do.  However, in a few years, when the preggo hormones diminish, she can probably begin to laugh at it all.  If not, a few more years and some therapy should help, it did wonders for me!  :)

Being a Vegetarian...Sort of

A couple of years ago I gave up eating red meat due to future health problems.  Yes, I said future.  Both of my parents have high cholesterol.  My father is able to take medication, exercise and eat reasonably healthy and keep it under control.  My mother, on the other hand, cannot take medication due to the fact that it destroys her liver.  So exercise, weight control and eating right, is now her life.  Seeing that I tend to take after my mother in looks and health, I gave up red meat and began my crusade to eat better.  Hindsight, I could have just eaten leaner cuts of meat, but prime rib doesn't fall into that category. 

My husband, bless his soul, gave it up with me.  Being that he was born and raised in North Dakota, I figured this would be similar to banned Geneva Convention torture.  He had bigger issues cutting down sugar, than the red meat.  I, on the other hand, would salivate when we drove by a Carl's Jr or Burger King, where you could smell the flame broiled goodness.  I still salivate when I see a commercial for prime rib...until recently. 

So obviously, going years without red meat, your body does in fact get used to it.  When I say this, I mean all that stuff you hear about vegetarians getting physically ill when eating meat...yep, it's true.  About a year ago, my daughter ate spaghetti at a friend's house.  Within an hour my daughter was violating the bathroom. 

About a month ago we met some dear friends at a Mediterranean restaurant, on a vacation to Utah.  In my defense, the only Moussaka I've ever had has always, (let me repeat, ALWAYS) been vegetarian.  So, about halfway through this awesome dish, I realize there are small crumbles of darkness.  Discussion ensues, yes they are in fact lamb or beef crumbles.  After safely returning to our hotel within a short amount of time, my body evacuated the beef crumbles.  So now, the commercials on TV that I used to enjoy, or perusing the meat section, now has me dry heaving.  It's sad really.

I thought this would complicate meal time in our house, but it's actually made it slightly easier.  My daughter has never been a fan of meat....or cheese (another story), and my son is a picky eater, he'll eat anything but only on his terms.  The only issue is that my husband wants to support me and do this with me; however, he is in the Navy.  You're wondering what the two have to do with each other?  Imagine yourself on a ship for 6 months at a time (or longer) and imagine a limited range of meals if you aren't vegetarian.  So now you have 6 months of salad bar, peanut butter and jelly (if you get care packages), maybe some cereal, etc.  So for now, the kids and the hubby eat meat (pork/chicken), while I nibble on my rabbit food.

Where to Begin?

So where do I even begin?  I guess I can blame my husband, first off.  That always seems the sensible thing to do.  At work, my husband was "volunteered" to maintain the company's blog, mainly because he was the youngest.  After we had a good laugh at his expense, he actually started doing well with the blog and began his very own blog.  http://militarydadblog.com/ (Yes, I will pimp my husband out....well, his blog at least).  He writes very well, and if you get nothing out of my blogs, his are always entertaining. 

So, anyway he has been increasingly persistent in trying to get me to blog.  Well, I finally broke down and created a blog.  I apologize in advance that I do not write well.  I don't even really enjoy talking to new people.  Customer service jobs were not fun for me, but I could fake it better than people who actually enjoy talking to people.  I am an introvert and I'm fine with it. 

So now you know that I don't enjoy talking to new people, it makes me uncomfortable...I'm shy.  What do I write about?  My husband instructs me I should tell you about myself, so here we go.

I'm 30 something years old, married and have two wonderful children.  I have a Bachelor's in Animal Sciences and I love photography.  Sometimes those two fields are actually related when it comes to trying to get a family photo.  I married a Naval Officer, so I'm a military wife, which I now believe know is one of the hardest jobs in the world. 

So here is my blog:  I will post random thoughts about my love for photography, trying to be a good mother without losing my insanity (all the time), being a military wife and how it isn't very glamorous, but has its own rewards, and finally how I try to be a good person everyday.

Hopefully your eyes haven't glazed over and you may have even enjoyed reading my post!  If you have any questions about photography, military wifedom or just me in general, please send me an email.