Pride

This morning started out like any other morning. Getting the kids ready for school and then driving Little Dude to preschool. On the way there we were discussing how much we haven't done for Christmas this year. 

Normally we decorate the tree and put up decorations around the house. Normally we make a chain that counts down the days until Christmas. 

Not this year. 

Why?

We have a kitten in the house. Loki became a part of our family in October. He is a furry little ball of energy, packed with some Siamese attitude. He rolls around on the floor with our 4 year old Rat Terrier like they are siblings. He has firmly entrenched himself in this family. 

The only exception being our 10 year old cat, Chu. (She has a Fu Man Chu white marking on her face, Chu sounded feminine). She is starting to not hiss at him after 2 months...slowly, but surely she may accept him.

When a kitten comes into your house, there is really nothing that is off limits to them. On that note, we completely forgot about Christmas decorations and the tree. 

He loves to climb the tree. He loves to chew on the light-bulbs. He loves to lay on the branches in the middle of the tree. (All that fluffing I did to the branches....erased, but only in the middle.)

Our plan was to put the tree out to give him a few days to get used to it. After a couple of days we would put decorations on. In other words, we would decorate the tree after he stopped playing in the tree. 

Since this is evidently not going to happen, we decided to make destructible ornaments. The kids and I made salt flour decorations and plan on decorating them this week. If they break, it won't bother us as much as losing those ornaments that are loaded with memories. 

SO back to the car and the discussion about ornaments...

Princess is silent for awhile. I assume she is getting depressed about everything we haven't done. I couldn't be more wrong. She starts this conversation:

P - Mom, what are cats afraid of?

M - (due to the conversation switch, I was momentarily stumped) Depends on the cat, I guess.

P - What are Siamese afraid of?

M - It isn't the type of cat. Some cats are afraid of dogs, but Loki isn't. It really depends on the cat. Loki isn't afraid of much.

P - He's afraid of Chu.

M - Yes, he is afraid of Chu. 

P - Can we paint the ornaments to look like Chu?

M - (this is her tying the whole conversation together, but I get lost) Um....that might be a little more detail than I was planning on. 

P - If we make the tree look like Chu, or have Chu faces all over, won't Loki be afraid of the tree?

M - (me laughing out loud, because my daughter is a freaking genius) Princess that is a wonderful idea!

Little Dude - Can't we just print out pictures of Chu and still paint the ornaments?

At this point, I am so proud of my kids! Not only did they come up with a wonderful plan for the cat to leave the tree alone, but they have a very sick sense of humor. I love it. I am so proud at this point, that I'm not even going to inform them on how animals can't see 2D images very well, so Loki won't be able to see the image of Chu.

If we actually do decorate our tree with Chu images, I will have to post a picture later. Some will think of this as a weird tribute to a cat with serious attitude. We will know that it is in fact a way for my kids to scare the crap out of the kitten, in order to salvage some Christmas decorations! I love my kids!

Decisions, decisions

I guess I'm continuing on with the craziness from yesterday. It may have opened a door that will increase my level (insert whimper here). I have a tough decision to make in the near future and I guess I would like some suggestions or help!

At the end of December our family is going to go visit some of our "besties" in DC. Yeah, yeah, December in DC does not excite me, since I am firmly entrenched as a Southern California girl. Also, my husband asked for ideas from people on his Facebook site as to where we should go for our 10 year anniversary. I threatened people who left remarks about Northern or (in general) COLD states for vacation destinations. Therefore, we are going to DC in the middle of winter, yay.

To make it even more exciting, I sprained 3 ligaments in my ankle in October by stepping off of a chair. Yes, stepping down. There may have been a small pile of cords on the floor, that I may or may not have stepped on successfully. To hear Little Dude explain my situation to doctors, I was viciously attacked my a 30 foot cord monster and broke my leg. Unfortunately, his story is incorrect. I stepped off the chair and landed wrong on my left ankle. It did hurt badly enough to warrant an ER trip; I thought I broke something. X rays and torture aside, I was advised to use crutches and stay off my foot.

A month goes by and I ditch the crutches and convince myself that I'm fine. (For those wondering, yes this did include me trying to walk my 2-3 miles a day. I was unsuccessful).

After my follow-up appointment with another doctor the conversation about not using crutches didn't end well for me. Now I'm in a walking boot, which I admit is much easier on the armpits and knees. However it is really making warm toes and the thought of buying new shoes, difficult. I was due for new running shoes, but they have been put on hold since my alignment is off, so-to-speak.

Here is part of my dilemma. I'm going to travel to a cold place with a walking boot. There will likely be rain, snow, or some ungodly mixture of both. How do I keep my poor Southern California toes warm AND dry?

Next issue is, my husband and I plan on celebrating our 10 year anniversary, so I assume there will be nice clothing worn. I can't wear heels because then my boot would be unbalanced. I can't wear heels without the walking boot either, because that is some awful amount of pain. (I tried it for a wedding in October - it ended with me wearing sensible flats.) My question is, do I pack both shoes or just the right-sided ones?

Serious answers please! My husband mentioned something about having more packing space. He also mentioned something about me taking it easy so I wouldn't need to USE the boot. (That last comment made it seem like we haven't been married for 10 years, however he knows me better than most.)

I would love suggestions! You may even offer unhelpful, but ultimately funny ones; my husband will appreciate the humor.

Levels of Crazy

During most dinners that involve wine, our conversations either get deep or funny.
I really can't remember how it started, but I do remember the embarrassing points of the last one. Therefore, I thought I would share.

It all started with me saying, "I'm not THAT crazy!'"

My husband (Military Dad) responded by saying: How do you define THAT crazy?
Me: There are levels.
MD: How many levels?
Me: 5
MD: (Silence)
Me: (Silence)

MD: So, is this an arbitrary number or did you take your time and consider this?
Me: (Silence)
MD: (Silence)

Me: Arbitrary?
MD: So is 1 crazy or is 5?
Me: Level 1 is fun at a party.
MD: You've thought this out. I'm intrigued, please continue.
Me:
Level 1 - Fun at a party, but nothing really "wrong" with your mind
Level 2 - You have some OCDs but they don't control your life
Level 3  -Your OCDs may require medication, but otherwise you are functional.
Level 4 - You need medication on a daily basis to function
Level 5 - You are hospitalized

MD: Wow, so....what level are you?
Me: 2.3
MD: Two Point Three?
Me: Yes, 2.3. I have some OCDs that don't control my life, but some days they can interfere.
MD: Wow, I would have put you at a 1.
Me: You're so sweet!

MD: What level am I?
Me: 1.8
MD: How am I a 1.8? I'm not fun at a party!
Me: (After considering that this is the only thing he has a problem with, I go with it.) You make fun of yourself.
MD: Yes, but that's not fun at a party level.
Me: I have an apron hidden in the cupboard that has a hairy chested man behind a sheep with an tongue ring that proves otherwise. (This was given to him as a result of Military Dad making fun of himself. His friends thought it would be a blast to give him a sheep fornication apron.)
MD: So....next conversation....

(After reflecting on this conversation I'm thinking that I may need to downgrade my level a little.)

MD: ?
Me: You want to ask, how did I come up with this scale?
MD:  A little
Me: I wanted to establish a set of guidelines where I knew I was okay and what point I needed to seek help.

For my friends out there, please don't ask me what level you are. Yes, I have assigned everyone levels, but that's a part of my problem, not yours. That's where the 0.3 comes in on my crazy scale.

Animal Observations

As I sit here, I am currently listening to my cat clean up a mess she made. I am blessed with a cat who eats so fast, her stomach actually forces it back out. Kind of, "Wow, that's a lot of food all at once. Why don't we try that again in slow motion."

So after binging, then hoarking her kibble, she is now methodically eating it again. I've gotten over many things that would make a normal person squeamish, however I'm still a sympathetic puker.  Yes, even with animals. Only when I was pregnant did I actually throw up. Now I just dry heave a little; things are looking up!

Not that all this isn't disgusting enough, she has now re-eaten her fill and left the area. Cue dog...yep, here she comes, right on time.

There is no more methodical eating, just one big disgusting, bile-raising, slurp. Quick. Efficient. Done. (Insert dry heave)

This raises a couple, thought provoking questions.

1. Why won't the damn cat slow down? Seriously, almost every night we go through this binge, hoark, eat routine. Yuck! (Yes, we've tried feeding her less, but more often. We've even put obstacles in her food dish - doesn't seem to slow her down at all.)

2a. Why does the cat eat her own puke?

It's disgusting on so many levels. When humans hoark, we usually figure out that something went wrong between the eating and the digesting posts. After we finally quit reversing natural physiology, we go lie down somewhere to wallow in self-pity.

2b. This is somewhat the same question. Why do dogs eat nasty stuff? Trash, tissue paper, diapers, anything rotting, the list goes on.

They have super noses, so they should be able to figure out, by smell alone, that they are about to eat something normally considered inedible. Unless their super noses can pick up on subtle nuances that we can't?!

Most days I'm happy when I can actually smell or taste the things I'm supposed to taste when drinking wine. I always thought having a nose capable of picking up the things a dog can smell would be extremely helpful; now I'm not so sure. Anything that may lead me down the road to eating my own puke doesn't seem like a good thing...and that's just a cat's nose. A dog's nose would evidently make someone else's vomit a delicacy. No thank you.

The H Word

I've decided I'm going to do it, I'm going to dedicate an entire blog post to one awful, horrendous word. This word is actually so awful that it is up there with the number one word I hate to hear: "moist." Ugh, I hate hearing that word, though not as much as the one this post will be about. I'm also not going to use it in this post, so unless you have kids, you may not get it. If you have kids, don't be ashamed, you really aren't alone in this!

If you have children, it doesn't matter how many, you deal with this word on a rather consistent basis. You also think you are the only one that suffers, but then when it finally gets to where you think you are dying, you make that embarrassing doctor's appointment. You are so ashamed you whisper your affliction on the phone to the receptionist.

When it is finally time for your appointment, you walk in, head hung in shame because you feel diseased in a way. When the nurse calls your name, you have hit your low point and you question whether you can just walk out and not deal with it for another few weeks. You decide you have to deal with it sooner or later so you walk past the waiting room door so the nurse can take your vitals.

Once you reach the inner sanctum, the nurse turns to you and begins the embarrassing questions part: how long, how bad, etc. You answer in a hushed shame. Then something weird happens, you are transported to a different world, (if you have a female nurse that has kids). The nurse begins to tell you how awful she had them and how often she gets them.....wah?

Then the doctor comes in and explains how she gets them all the time too....wah? I have a wonderful doctor who likes to explain in details, so at a point I become uncomfortable again, but I do find comfort that I'm not the only one.

What I come to find out, is that once you have a child, this becomes rather a regular problem. No one speaks of it, so everyone thinks they are the only one. My issue is WHY? Why does this happen all of a sudden after having a kid?

My first thought was because everything gets stretched, torn, and all sorts of awful things that are considered "natural." However, I had two cesareans, so on the stretching/tearing aspect, I got off pretty easy, so that rules that out for some people.

It can't be hormones, because I think after your first child (definitely after your second), your hormones stop saying, "Hey! Let's have kids!" Now they are saying, "Sleep woman!" or if your husband gives you that look, "Don't even think about it buddy!"

So WHY?!

I came to the realization yesterday, that I think it is mostly time. Yes, that wonderful concept that as a mother, you don't really have any left, or to yourself. If you are a stay-home mom, your world is compressed into timed segments of where and when your kids have to be, homework, dinner, baths and bedtime. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I think my kids get more showers/baths than I do, in a given week. (When my husband isn't deployed, I come out ahead, or at least even, with the kids.) If you have a career, your time is compressed into spending the few hours left during the week into homework, dinner and bedtime.

Also, for some strange reason, when a dad goes to the bathroom, he is LEFT ALONE. What the...? Why?

The kids can be on a different floor than I am; they could even be sleeping or watching a movie. It's like they have this switch, "hey, mom went into the bathroom, let's go check on her." I don't even have to be using the restroom, I could be cleaning it (ha ha!) and they come find me.

Even if you lock and barricade the door, they find away to bother you. Constant knocking, or the ever-creepy fingers-under-the-door trick, when you just want a minute of peace. So unlike a dad who gets 20-30 minutes of peace (they can read chapter books!), moms get: strange conversations/questions, knocking, fingers under the door (or objects), barging in (forgot to lock the door), crying, kids fighting, stuff breaking, etc...

I tried to "bother" the kids while they go to the bathroom, hoping to teach them respect and privacy...that didn't go well. They actually enjoyed the company, I think. Therefore, I think I may start a new bathroom policy when Military Dad comes home. For every minute, I'm bothered in the bathroom, the kids will be required to bother him in the bathroom! Either, MD will help enforce a "don't bother mom" code, or I won't be the only person in the house with the H word.

BEST SALAD EVER!!!

I know the title probably doesn't bring a lot of flash to this post, but I seriously ate the best salad of my life yesterday. My kids even ate most of it, which was completely surprising.

If you've been keeping up with my sporadic posts, my family participates in a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). We get a weekly shipment of fruits, veggies or herbs that are fresh and organic. Yes, I get a lot of Swiss chard that I still don't have a clue how to use (most of it ends up in my vegetable broth recipe). However, most of the time I get the best strawberries, huge avocados, spinach that tastes SO much better than the store kind, and last week I got a huge bundle of basil!

The only issue we have had with joining a CSA is what do I do with this stuff when I get home? The fruit, snap peas or grape tomatoes barely make it home from pick-up, so that leaves lettuce and other veggies/herbs. Yes, salads and veggie sides are a huge part of the week's menu, but fortunately that is changing.

Every year, our CSA (JR Organics) has farm tours complete with customer appreciation lunches. While it was great to visit the farm with the kids, I do have an Animal Science degree and I've spent A LOT of time on farms. I was more interested in the customer appreciation lunch. I wanted them to show me how they can feed over 100 people AND create various things out of their CSA products. They did not let me down; I even bought their recipe book on the way out.

While we were walking around the farm, a booth caught my eye, well, mostly the kids were dragging me towards it because it had free smoothie samples. While the kids were trying to negotiate more samples I was finding out, this couple formed this company to help educate people on how to prepare healthy, in-season foods. They offer a recipe subscription service in which you are sent 5 recipes each week that use in-season ingredients.

I know, I know, why would I pay someone to send me recipes when I can just look them up myself? Go ahead....look them up. Try spending the 2 minutes I do - to open up my email and save them to my computer for later use - to find 5 healthy recipes using in-season ingredients that are also cheap to make.

I call this being efficient, not lazy. I have better things to do with my time than get hungrier searching the Internet for breakfast/lunch/dinner/dessert ideas. I also forgot to mention, they include a shopping list with their recipes, so you could plan your meals for the week this way too!

ANYWAY...I haven't been using their recipes as regularly as I like because sometimes the CSA sends different ingredients depending on crop success. However, I started planning weekly meals for the last couple of weeks and we've been very happy getting out of the meal rut we were in.

Last night I made one of their recipes, called "Peach Basil Salad." As I was preparing it, I was already imagining Little Dude protesting dinner, so I made salmon with it. Both kids ate the salad and actually thanked me for dinner!

Today for lunch I made them PB&J sandwiches and tried to eat what little was left of the Peach Basil Salad. Let's just say, I had to share and ended up making myself a PB&J too. It's amazing how one meal can make or break everything. Before this salad, the kids weren't real excited about salads, because we eat them A LOT. However, now that we know we can add all sorts of interesting things to make it different and exciting, the kids are questioning the recipes on the menu and helping me plan a little.

I figured due to the success of this one little salad, I would give a shout out to "Cooking with CSA!"

I decided I wasn't busy enough!

When my Military Dad returns from his second set of school deployments I will truly convert from shore duty to sea duty. This brings forward a whole mess of new issues. We are used to Military Dad being home and working decent hours, so it will be difficult to switch to long hours, working weekends, short under-ways and finally, deployments. Fortunately that is several months off due to the training involved in this new class of ships my husband is touring. (For all those mothers out there who have gamers for sons/daughters....be careful saying anything like, "There is no future in playing these games!", they can now drive a navy ship with a joystick and a roller ball!)

Seriously though, this adds quite a bit of stress to our family and I don't deal well with stress. The stress over the last 7 months while he was in Rhode Island led to: two rooms being painted, carpeted stairs being converted into bamboo flooring, drip irrigation sprinkler system conversion, vegetable gardens made and used, lawn removed and turned into drought resistant garden, 2 ceiling fans installed which involved running electricity and shop lights being installed in the garage. I'm probably forgetting a few things, but as you can tell, I can't sit down and relax when I'm stressed. The busier I am, the better I cope with not having Military Dad around the house. The upside, I am smashing our home improvement list to pieces, so there isn't much left. The downside, now that Military Dad will be home occasionally, he seems to think that he would enjoy being involved in a project or two. I figured I had to either get medicated or find another outlet.

I found another outlet.

Let me first explain a few things about myself so you better understand why this was a dramatic decision. I am not what people would commonly refer to as a social person. If you've read my husbands posts, I have severe problems ordering from Papa John's or Sonic.

It's not that I am physically unable, I just prefer not to talk to people. I absolutely hate talking to people on the phone. I can't see their faces so I can't read their emotions. I am very happy sitting somewhere listening and watching other people, no, not the creepy way! I just like watching people and their emotions. Supposedly when you speak to another person, there is this synapse in your brain that completes normal thoughts and answers questions correctly. I don't seem to have that connection, or at least it has faulty wiring.

Therefore, I was completely happy being antisocial and letting my husband do all the social networking and friend making. Yes, it's lonely in my corner, but when I make a friend, they're keepers in my world!

So you get that I'm antisocial. Now let me explain how almost every job I've worked dealt with customer service in some fashion. If you haven't worked in customer service then you haven't experienced life. It isn't always bad, but it definitely isn't always great. After my last job, I decided I was never going to work in customer service again.

Now that I've been a stay-home mom for 6 straight years, with no real desire to get a job, I am now working in the direct-selling field. I am a person who can't order delivery from a pizza place, unless I can do it online. I am a person who cannot for the life of me ask for a Medium, Diet Limeade from Sonic without seriously confusing the poor employee stuck taking my order. I am also a person who swore off customer service for life.

A friend of mine introduced me to an awesome product and I fell in love with both, the product and the company. I am now going on 1 1/2 months working as an Independent Consultant for Jamberry Nails. No, I'm not going to plug my product here, because I still want this blog to be my way to voice my opinions and work out issues I have.

If you're interested, I have a host of social networking addresses I will post at the bottom of this post. Military Dad has become my Social Networking Consultant and he is helping me with this endeavor. I have his complete support whether I make money or just buy nail wraps. He's definitely pretty awesome in my book!

I think Military Dad also sees this experience as some type of therapy for me. In my short 1 1/2 months I have already hosted a party in a person's house, which involved speaking in front of 5-6 potential customers. I forgot to mention that I don't do public speaking either. For some reason, I am willing to go outside my comfort zone with this company/product, so I think it's a great thing for me. (I'm even thinking about creating a video for my site that explains the product - I am a BEHIND the camera person, so this is still a work-in-progress).

I think MD's long term goal,is for me to actually call a pizza delivery company to order a pizza. Right now I either make him do it or I make myself carsick while I try to order online on my phone, while he's driving! My goal was just to have something else to do while he was away other than house projects. If you are interested in my new job my links are listed below. Thanks for reading!

Tumblr:  http://www.tumblr.com/blog/classwithflash
Twitter: @classwithflash
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/ClassWithSomeFlash
Email:  classwithflash@gmail.com
Order here:  classwithflash.jamberrynails.net

What it means to be a military wife

As I sit here. I realize what a different person I became. I never thought I would ever have to raise two kids by myself. I never thought I would be a stay-home mother. I thought I would have a career earning six figures...I had high hopes, mostly unrealistic.

All that changed when I said "I do" to my best friend and soul mate. I've heard of other military families where the spouse is happy when the service member leaves; my heart breaks each time. I'm not sure if it's just our weird little family, but when he leaves we actually feel as if we are missing something vital.

Military Dad has been home for almost a month, so we've had a wonderful time getting to know him again after being apart for 7 months. Tomorrow he gets on a plane and doesn't come back for 41 days. He has actually lived in Rhode Island just as long as he has lived in our new house!

So here I am writing a blog while my kids are making counting chains with Military Dad and I think to myself, "I am a really strong woman!"

I am not defined by my career, I am actually defined by not having a job. I am a Navy wife and I'm proud of it. I have no other option than to be proud. So I apologize in advance, the next series of statements may cause some to tear up. I need to get some stuff off my chest...I've had a margarita, (a grande) so I feel like sharing.

What it means to me to be a Navy wife:
Holding it together as you watch your husband break down as he packs his things.
Holding it together while you watch your husband get depressed about his job and withdraw from the family.
Holding it together as your kids ask, "why does Daddy have to leave, he just got back?"
Holding it together as you pack your husband's things, because it breaks his heart having to leave his family again.
Holding it together as you hug, kiss and read your kids stories at night and tell them, "Daddy will be home soon."
Holding it together when people ask where your husband is?
Trying your best to hold it together and smile (or not strangle them) at the person who says, "I can't believe my husband is gone for a week and I don't know how to function."
Holding it together as you avoid talking to anyone about deployments, because you are on the brink of breaking down into tears...and not the cute kind either.
Holding it together as you do that last load of laundry with his clothes in it, because you realize he really isn't here.


41 more days. Counting them down already.

Breakfast conversation

This morning after much arguing the kids finally settled on cereal for breakfast. Princess wanted me to create pancakes, waffles or french toast. Little Dude wanted cereal. You can see who runs this household.

Normally the kids choose MY healthy cereals (Grape Nuts/Wheat Chex) to eat for breakfast instead of the Honey Nut O's or Frosted Shredded variety. This morning they found my box of rice cereal that I use mainly for rice crispy treats. Rice cereal really has no nutrition value at all, in my opinion, so I use it for cooking (bread crumbs/desserts).

When I poured the milk on the cereal, both kids froze; no talking or moving. I had to stop and look around, to make sure something wasn't wrong! Once I realized this was the first time they heard the "snap, crackle, pop" of this cereal, I laughed and explained it was "talking" to them.

Me: "What is your cereal saying?"

Both kids in stereo: "Eat me!"

After I stopped laughing they asked me why it was making that sound. I pointed out the air pockets and explained it was the air pockets filling with milk (bubbles popping).

After the explanation they began eating as if I said the magic words that made this strange cereal, safe to eat.

Deep Thought Gone Wrong

This started out being a short Deep Thought post, however it brought back memories I had long repressed. Due to the thoughts being so horrific, I feel the need to discuss them.

Does anyone else feel like they witnessed something obscene, when you see a guy running (towards you)...in short, shorts? (Higher than mid-thigh, for reference.)

I understand marathon runners needing shorter shorts due to chafing and comfort. I'm just saying I understand, but I don't like the visual effects that are part of it. 

That's where the post started, now I will bring you into a memory of a trip I took with my parents several years ago.

My parents and I took a two week vacation to Greece sometime after I graduated college. Since I love mythology and Greek/Roman architecture this was a dream vacation for me. On the mainland we toured Athens for a few days, before heading to one of the islands. Once we got to the island of Naxos, I tried my best to enjoy the beautiful beaches.

If you have been to European destinations, you realize they are much more relaxed with body image than the US. I'm not talking about just the lack of shaving on the ladies, either. On the beaches, there was nudity, plain and simple. This excited many of the guys in our group, until they realized that the "acceptable age range for nudity" group was either working or going to classes. Being the person I am, I felt that it was now my job, no, it was my duty, to point out any nakedness. I was only trying to ensure they enjoyed their trip too!

We would tour the island and usually stop for lunch at or near the beaches. I could spot nakedness from yards away, yes...I'm a pervert. I would casually mention, "full frontal, 2 o'clock" causing most of the guys in the group to stop and stare. The fun part was (for me) watching the guys take in the nudity....of a very large and hairy woman....or man! Bwah ha ha! The BEST part:  I did this for a week straight, several times daily, and they ALWAYS looked. ALWAYS!

An incident occurred where I was attacked by a sea urchin (I'll tell that story another time) and lost most of my gusto for this wonderful game. On one of the last few days, we took a tour of the island and ended up on a very secluded beach for lunch. I blame the pain in my foot for my momentary loss of intelligence. My dad mentions to me that a fit guy is running down the beach, towards us. I'm thinking Baywatch, what I got was the reason for several recurring nightmares and probably several therapy sessions.




There WAS a very fit guy running down the beach...



he was older.....



like 80.....



and he was running....



naked....



full-on, not a scrap of clothing covering his manly bits.....



as they (the manly bits) tossed themselves to and fro....



running....



towards me!



Needless to say, my father laughed for a long time. He probably still has a chuckle now and then at my expense. Yes, I probably deserved it. Did it teach me a lesson? Hell no, I'm just looking for a way to get even. However, since every time I see a guy running towards me, I have crystal clear and detailed flashbacks, I'm pretty sure there is no chance of payback on this one.

Sprinkler Hell

This is day three of trying to work on a set of sprinklers in my front yard. So you get an accurate picture, this section of front yard is about 40 square feet. Considering the other section, it's small. I am going to change this section from grass into drought tolerant plants.

There is a Raindrip product out there that states you can just outfit your current sprinkler system into drip irrigation...don't even think about it, it doesn't work. Changing your sprinklers to drip irrigation pretty much requires an overhaul, so the easy option will not work. Trust me, I tried it. Granted, I learned a LOT about sprinkler systems that I otherwise wouldn't.

I had some parts leftover from that conversion system and tried them out. They attempt to block the water coming out of the sprinkler head. Essentially you remove the guts and install a plastic device that prevents the water from coming out. What they fail to mention is, this doesn't work on normal water pressure sprinklers. You have to put a pressure regulator at the beginning of the line, then it should work.

Day One
Installed sprinkler plugs, watched water slowly seep out of sprinklers. Figured out it was still less water coming out than when I "turned off" the sprinkler at the head...I hate the Orbit brand, by the way. Found out there was a"new" sprinkler that was covered by 4 inches of grass and dirt. Swore a lot.

Day Two
Decided I was actually going to go ahead with my plan on the drought tolerant garden, in order to save money every month on the water bill. (I live in California. Once the actual gold rush was over, they decided to make water more valuable than gold.)

I dug up what I thought would be the beginning sprinkler head in the system. An hour later, of digging up cement-like dirt, I found out that it was NOT the beginning sprinkler. I also found out that it didn't seem to be connected to the other sprinklers...at least in a way that would make sense.

I dug up the next sprinkler in line, thinking this would be the one! It wasn't, and it seemed to be going towards the sprinkler that didn't seem connected to the others?! I swore a bit. I decided that maybe it connected to the third sprinkler and started digging the pipe up. Another hour later, the pipe turned AWAY from the third sprinkler.

At this point I got out my pipe cutters and fixed both sprinkler heads forever, they are capped off underground. Dirt is filled back in. Only two more sprinklers to go!

Day Three
Began digging up the fourth sprinkler (and the random sprinkler that is attached to the flower garden; don't ask, I have no idea), because it is close to another garden and a sidewalk. It's location seems the most likely to be the source of water. Ha ha ha....

Fortunately this dirt was nice and soft, once you got around/through the tree roots. I discovered that there was a small leak in the pipe and we were personally responsible for watering this awful tree. (My neighbors keep trying to kill the thing, but evidently I was watering it. Oops.)

I was so excited to finally dig out the pipes feeding the sprinklers!

When I dug down to the pipes and discovered not only were they not the inlet, both were leading away from any other attached sprinkler, I actually sat down and cried.

I started digging along the line in hopes of finding the inlet. After about two hours, I found where the pipes turned...one went toward the other random pipes and the other was a T junction. So now I have at least 4 pipes that somehow have to attach to an inlet source, and each other, but don't...yet.

However, now that I'm away from the leaking pipe, the dirt has turned back into cement consistency and I have run out of energy/muscle power. Since I am an optimist, I keep telling myself that I'll find the inlet in the next foot of dirt. (I'm wrong a lot - but only when it comes to my optimism.) I tried to get the kids to help, but I think after they witnessed me sit down and cry, they seem to think they should stay far away from this project. (Even the 8 year old neighbor girl, after looking at the pipes, told me, "Those don't look right.")

In response to my optimism being continually smashed by the sprinklers at this house I've decided that my following thoughts are justified. 

I have just reserved a special spot in hell for the sprinkler installer, who previously worked on my home. (He will share company with the person who used so many carpet staples when they installed the carpet padding.)

Every time this person needs to go somewhere, he has to dig up cement-like dirt in order to find the pipes. Once he finds the pipes, he can only travel in the direction that the pipes lead. At some point, he should be able to figure out what is a straight line and an acceptable way to lay pipe.

As for the carpet stapler guy....every time he needs to take a step, he has to remove the carpet staples from his shoes. At some point, he should figure out that 100 staples per square inch is overkill.

Now I need to go finish digging up my lawn. I can't leave the holes in the yard. The HOA would probably not like it, and some idiot would step in and break something. Wish me luck!

Happy Father's Day!

I've noticed in the blogging world that you get all these ideas of things to post about, you write them out and then you notice that your post is going off in another direction. Usually you stop, save that post, then write a completely different post that reflects your mood. Evidently I do this a lot because I have tons of saved drafts.
I started the following post several months ago, but I felt today was definitely an appropriate day as far as publishing.

I have had a horrible morning.

As soon as I saw the drastically flattened tire, I knew it needed air. So I waited the 30 minutes for our air compressor to fill and fixed the problem. 

After dropping Little Dude off late to school and coming home, I noticed it was going flat again. 

The flat tire has a screw poked through the tire and I can hear the air leaking around it. 

I realized that it obviously has a leak that was pretty dangerous to drive. I knew how to change the tire so I could drive somewhere safely to repair the tire.

This single flat tire now becomes four brand new tires because the others needed to be replaced.

I also broke my favorite pair of cheap sunglasses and my beloved tiger zoo cup exploded at the tire dealer.

I just spent more money than I had budgeted for this month, my sunglasses are crooked and I am still smiling. 

No, I haven't started drinking the wine...yet.

I'm happy because of something that happened many years ago, that enabled me to deal with this situation. 

My dad took the time to teach me some general car maintenance. He taught me how to jump start a car, change a tire, the oil, air filter, fuses and even spark plugs.

Yes, I have AAA, but sometimes it's just quicker/easier to fix the problem yourself.

I wanted to send a big THANK YOU out to all the dad's (or even the guys that are filling father roles) that take the time to teach their kids important day-to-day things, especially when it comes to cars. Today's cars are basically a computer running an engine, so even changing the oil can be a complicated task. (Don't even ask me about the Prius!)

I also want to personally thank my dad for teaching me "guy" things. I wasn't always grateful during these teaching sessions, but after "growing up" and having my own kids, I am extremely grateful now. I'm especially grateful for all the household repair/woodworking lessons.

I can paint whole rooms, wallpaper (I won't, but I can do it), fix electrical issues, install ceiling fans with no existing light fixtures, fix sprinklers and pipes, build my own garden beds, and the list goes on. For the last seven months, while my husband is in school in Rhode Island, I have been able to maintain and upgrade our house, due to the lessons I received from my dad.

Thank you dad! Happy Father's Day!

My kids remind me of a Petri dish

I have been fighting off being sick for a couple of days now. After a horrible night's sleep, losing my voice and a fever I am finally throwing in the towel. This means I don't have to go to work tomorrow, yay! I get to call in sick!

Wait...my job is being a mom. I don't get to skip a day. I don't get to call in sick. If Military Dad were here, I could at least get a nap or slip into my Nyquil induced coma. However, we still have over a month before we get him back.

Our nearest family member is 10 hours away. Yes, we have friends that can help. However with me being sick, it's possible that my kids have my cooties, and there is one thing you don't want to pass on to another family.

Cooties seem like an innocent word; cute almost. Cooties are actually bad, sadistic little things that mutate into the things that nightmares are made of. (Yes, I have an imagination.)

When I was younger, my dad and I would blame my mom for bringing all sorts of nasty germs home. She worked in the banking industry...you don't even want to know where your money has ever been, trust me!

My mom would come home sick with a simple cold, however it seemed that simple cooties in her body would mutate into deadly viruses. Her cold would last 2 days at most, the deadly virus she would pass on to my dad and me would leave us in agony for weeks!

Growing up, I imagined the insides of my mom were more like a Petri dish, just waiting for cooties to multiply into something horrible. (The TV series Fringe - that cold virus episode, yep, now you're getting close.) However after having kids of my own, I figured out that she was like a Petri dish, but only because of her job. (You thought I was going to say that she wasn't!)

Her job made her come in contact with all sorts of nasty stuff on a daily basis. The only time it was worse was when she worked for a bank, INSIDE a hospital. Fortunately I didn't live at home then and I think my dad traveled a lot, so major catastrophes were averted.

I recently figured out the secret to the germ/cootie mutation issue. It isn't necessarily the person, it's their environment. For example: in my house, I am a stay at home mom, so in my daily errands I come in contact with a lot of different people, my children, on the other hand, are in school.

Pay attention because here's the secret: the person that is exposed to the nastier germs will be the "carrier," ALWAYS. The other people's germs get a smack down and are told to conform or die...so they conform. Then the germs get along so well, they get married and have baby cooties.

The "carrier" is exposed to this stuff daily, so they create an immunity. The carrier then brings it home and sheds germs, left and right, to the poor victims that live with them. Little Dude is in preschool and Princess is in elementary, so I'm pretty sure they are equally both carriers due to their environments.

The issue is:  due to their individual immunities, they get/give colds from/to each other. What they both give to me is comparable to a typhoon of germs. I have no immunity for this onslaught! My poor cooties just keel over and die, they don't even conform!

While Little Dude has a stuffy nose, I get a stuffy/runny nose, chills and a fever. While Princess has itchy eyes and sneezing, I get a cough, sore throat and head aches.

Once Military Dad comes home I will definitely get more help in order to fight off the invasion. Yes, he will bring his own germs into the mix, however no one can ever hope to battle school cooties and win. Therefore, Military Dad's primary duty when he gets home is to take a more active role in sharing the incoming germs. Then I can hope to survive the common cold instead of the plague.

Deep Thought for 6/7/13

If you followed my last "Deep Thought" post, you know that I am trying out random thoughts on my victims readers.

Here is today's deep thought:

Whenever you use someone else's restroom and their toilet paper is wrong (under/over, not brand), do you fix it, or suffer through?

Deep Thought for 6/11/13

I find it amazing that my dog can understand the different alarms on my phone. I use my phone for my daily alarms, so each alarm has a different sound so I instantly know which alarm is going off.

The first alarm in the morning is the "wake up and eat breakfast" alarm. Both dogs jump up and run downstairs for this alarm. If I hit snooze they slowly walk back upstairs and stare at me at the end of the bed.

The second alarm is the "go in the crate" alarm, because the people are leaving the house. 

The third alarm is the "TIME TO GO FOR A WALK" alarm. This alarm instantly means the dogs go running towards the leashes. If we are slow on the uptake, they will run from us to the leashes repeatedly, until we catch on.

I have conditioned my dogs in true Pavlovian style, therefore I should get an award. Granted, I think they (the award presenters) would expect the dogs to listen to my commands, such as "sit," "lie down," and "STOP EATING THE TISSUE BOXES!!!"

The dogs understand what these electronic noises mean and they react correctly. However, when a noise emits from their rear end, the world actually stops. Our bigger dog, Maggie, is absolutely amazed that her butt makes noises occasionally. She will get up and stare at her rear end, I guess she's waiting to see if more noises will come out. After awhile she will go back to sitting or lying down, but she will look back every few minutes, just in case. Our rat (terrier) dog, Gracie, has actually growled a few times when this happens, or she will jump up and run away from where the noise happened.

This makes me think: you know they have to feel it about to happen, they must feel it happening, why can't they associate that noise with the butt vibrations? It is truly baffling. 

Deep Thought for 6/6/13

If you followed my last "Deep Thought" post, you know that I am trying out random thoughts on my victims readers.

Here is today's deep thought:

Maybe it's just my OCD talking, but whenever you notice someone's lawn has been aerated do you ever think it would be funny to replace the divets?

My war with birds...continues

So in my struggles with the winged species, I have somehow moved from small and pretty birds (mainly doves, for some reason), to larger, almost terrifying birds.

I really thought I was doing so well. At our new house we have a canyon with trees behind our backyard. We get all sorts of wildlife traveling through: birds (even owls and hawks), possums, raccoons, rabbits and coyotes. We even get teens that like to play tag with BB guns. I enjoy seeing the wildlife, (not including the teens) it makes me feel closer to nature, even though we are smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

In the spring I thought my peaceful period with doves had reached its end. A pair built their nest in one of the trees directly behind our house. However, the cease fire seems to be holding steady. They visit my yard occasionally to use the bird bath, otherwise they leave me alone. It's actually kind if nice having a few doves enjoy me in some capacity.

Now summer is approaching, which means days are getting longer. What this means to people with kids, is that morning starts earlier and bedtime is so far away. On those wonderful days when you realize that it's 6:30 AM and the kids are still asleep, YOU GET MORE SLEEP!!!

I am very much a person who enjoys sleeping in AND taking naps. I have even taken measures to ensure the cat won't wake me up early.

For about three weeks now I have been harassed in various ways by a few birds (or possibly a flock). Since these birds have a reputation, I have tried very hard to either ignore the issue or passively deal with them.

Every other morning one of them will fly to the roof and peck at the metal cover over our chimney. When you're outside, it's annoying and you start thinking about whether they're causing damage. However my kids on the inside of the house seem to think there is now a monster, either in the wall (if they're upstairs) or in the fireplace. They will come running outside, either screaming or crying depending on the child, about how there is someone in the house. Of course these are the moments when you forget about the damn bird and go off to find the bat...or laugh at with your kids.

Those are the times when everyone is awake so it isn't too bad. However, between 4:30 and 5:30 in the morning is very, very different. I'm not sure why this time seems important to these specific birds, but it is. These birds act like your worst stereotypical neighbors, you know, the ones that fight and scream all the time at each other. 

On the weekdays, these birds will sit outside the tree directly behind our house, or my neighbor's, and squawk at each other for about twenty minutes. Then they either figure out who won the argument and fly off, or fly off to continue it anywhere else. If they're married birds, then they flew off to have it elsewhere.

On the weekends, they do start the argument a little later in the morning, however now they are messing with precious sleep-in time. I will get out of bed and shut the balcony doors and put a pillow over my head. This is the passive method and it works for now. When it starts getting warmer, I may take my neighbor's stance and go more aggressive. She has an air rifle. She also doesn't take kindly to the squawking. She doesn't hit the birds directly, just aims in the their general direction, but lower. It works very well...but some mornings she's either already up or she's waiting for me to take a more helpful position in this battle.

I mentioned earlier that these birds were larger and had a reputation. They are crows, of the huge variety. One of these birds is about the size of my rat terrier, but a hell of a lot smarter. Unlike doves which are the symbol for peace, crows are associated with things like harbingers of death, soul carriers, tricky gods and what not. I've seen movies and read books, I know.

I also realize that even if they don't deal with death, mortality and souls, these are amazingly smart creatures. I can't remember where I read or heard these things, but I bet Google would help with those interested. Either way, crows are extremely smart, they have great memory, they adapt very well, they use tools and they seem to communicate on a higher level than other birds.

Crows are thought to recognize people's faces and remember their actions. So if one person gives them food versus another person going out with say, an air rifle, they can remember your face and action, even if you aren't where they met you. In other words, if I was nice to them in my backyard and then went to a park where they happened to be, they would remember me. Creepy huh?! So I don't think getting an air rifle would be a good thing...I've seen the movie "Birds."

I've read about several experiments involving crows and the use of tools. I know they can figure out which sticks to use to reach the food; they've even used sticks to reach longer sticks to get to the food, or bend wires if it's needed. There was also the fable or story about a crow wanting water from a pitcher. The water was too low, so the crow used rocks to displace the water until he could drink it. (They did that experiment somewhere and the crows sailed through without any guidance.) Read: if these same experiments were conducted on people, some would either fail and/or get beaten by the crow in a timed situation. 

I'm thinking in the case of the crows, the white flag of surrender is appropriate here. If these crows can remember my face and any action I took against them, I don't need anymore trouble with birds. Especially since they are known to talk to other crows and let them know that they need to hate me too. Not to mention, the crow pecking at my chimney cover, is probably eating termites or ants. It probably thinks it is doing me a favor since I don't shoot at it early in the morning. 

I think I'd make a good criminal...if I didn't have morals.

Horrible title I know, but it's true. I can spot victims of potential crimes from a mile away:

The woman who leaves, not only her purse in the cart as she walks away, but her purse is wide open with her wallet ready to be grabbed.

The people who leave their car running, while they "run" into the store real quick (Note to those that do that with children....you should be arrested for endangerment, no questions. Go ahead and ask me what happened to the child that got left in a car at a gas station in St. Louis, go ahead, I still have nightmares.)


For some reason, I see these situations and turn them into possibilities for criminal actions. I've tried helping people by suggesting they at least close their purse or lock their doors, but then I get looks as though I'm the criminal. Whatever, to each their own stupidity, I guess.

I have discovered in my own home that I am a criminal. It was horrible at first, my moral angel sitting on my shoulder was telling me that it was wrong and I was going to get caught. The OCD devil thing on my other shoulder was listing the positives in the situation in alphabetical order. Sometimes my guilt, brought on by my moral angel, was just too much and I would create places for me to store these items. That was a year ago.

Now that I have almost finished through a year of first grade and preschool projects, my OCD devil has won outright. Now the two of us actually get a thrill from a successful plot.

What am I talking about? Those with kids, are familiar with the war we fight everyday, unless you are a pack rat or hoarder. This fight is against unnecessary things: broken crayons, broken toys, puzzles with pieces missing, random artwork (no, not every little piece of scrap paper they doodle on is special, sorry) or clothes they've grown out of. No, I don't throw it all away, I do give the clothes and usable toys to charities. On occasion, my kids will actually pick out a few things to donate....once a year, just before Christmas.

With toys and clothes I have a three step process. First they just sit on a shelf in their closets for a month or two. If they don't take them out, and either wear them or play with the toy in question, in then goes into the garage. If it makes it successfully into the garage and it's whereabouts aren't questioned, off it goes to charity. Clothes and toys are easy, I've got those down to a science.

Crayons, broken toys and classwork are an entirely different story. These involve a slight of hand that would make any pick pocket jealous. If you fail at this and the child sees you, you are in for crying and/or screaming, plus days of guilt.

We honestly have about 500 crayons, about 100 of them are broken into pieces. Yes, there are those that are crafty, that turn them into disks or whatever in their ovens. I honestly think these people just don't have the will power or the ability to throw the crayons away, and have found another outlet. Suck it up people!

As far as artwork and classwork, if my daughter writes a story or takes her time and draws a picture, I do save those. Same with my son, as far as pictures goes, he's not into writing just yet. However, if it is just regular, daily classwork, then yes, it gets tossed. When my son literally scribbles on paper and hands it to me, so he can scribble on the next paper, yes, those too get tossed.

The problem I have is, I think the pack rate gene skips a generation, because like my mother, my kids will go through the trash can to make sure I haven't thrown anything away.
I accidentally threw away one check when I was younger and my mom went nuts. I'm pretty sure when I visit, she still checks the trash, just in case. Fortunately my kids aren't at that level, but if they throw something away and happen to look down, I usually get the "why did you throw away this?" Ugh!

For those of you that need help with this slight of hand ability, the key is quantity. I will pile their non-important stuff in an area close to the trash can, this makes it seem as though I'm keeping every little thing. Then you wait until the high junk mail day comes, you know what I mean, that one day you get all sorts of random ads in the mail. Anyway, you go through it and make sure you pile those things on top of the non-important pile. Then you slide all that into the waste basket. The junk mail on top disguises what is underneath, and there is usually so much that the quantity isn't questioned. Either that, or you throw it away as you take the trash out to the bin, but you better be good at slight of hand, otherwise you are in for it.

Crayons and toys are trickier, because they usually make a thud in the trash can, no matter how full the stupid thing is. That small noise will bring the kids running as if there is a fire, be cautious. Piles by the non-important stuff seems to work too. The key here is quantity also, however the fewer the better in this case.

If you manage to think about these things when the kids are at school, then you have a huge safety net and your success rate should be really good. However, I can never remember until they get home, so I have to be sneaky.

In another post I can share how to eat snacks without your kids finding out. If you have a walk-in pantry, then you are golden. Otherwise, I will share how to get into the chocolate chips without crinkling the bag.

Good luck!

Joys of Motherhood

Do you ever have those feelings of complete panic? You are in a place, it doesn't matter if you are surrounded by people, or completely alone, you have this horrible anxiety creep in.

Imagine this if you will...

You are walking. You are not in a hurry, you may have a destination in mind, or a goal. Maybe you are on your way to the kitchen, or picking up various socks placed around the house. Perhaps your mind is blissfully blank for a small moment that day, or like normal, it is blazing with all the things you have NOT accomplished today, but were due yesterday. Either way, what's on your mind is brought to a screeching halt by one thing.

This one thing is about the only thing that can bring ANY mother to a screeching halt. At this point it is only vaguely present, just barely touching on the outskirts of having to deal with the situation. You know it's coming, it's only a question on how much time you have left. Now the process of deciding how to react to a situation, that hasn't even occurred yet, is rapidly screaming through your head.

You happen to be in the middle of a room, do you walk forward and sit down, in order to better contimplate the oncoming situation, or do you stand there, grit your teeth and endure it with muscle tension unknown to women without children?

You only have seconds to decide....


It doesn't really matter though. Whatever option you decide, will evidently lead to embarrassment and the possibility of a small wardrobe change.

For those of you who aren't aware of what I'm referring to, it is truly the arch enemy of the mom. The nemesis. The kryptonite. Alright you get it.

It is the sneeze.

Yes, sneezing can bring a mother, quite literally, to her knees. This isn't due to pain, or even embarrassment for those people with weird sneezes. This is due to the possibility that you will wet yourself.

Yes, you read correctly.

This is something all childbirth books leave out, conveniently. Yes, childbirth and having a child is one of the most...memorable, experiences you will ever endure go through. Those stupid books make it seem like those 7 months of morning sickness are enjoyable. The heart burn, where you can actually feel and taste the acid creeping up your esophagus, is just a small stomach issue. They don't even mention the agonizing pain of when the kid's head finally "drops into the birthing canal". Then, boom, you have a baby, so the book ends.

There are TONS of books on raising kids and how to deal with illnesses, feedings and what not. There are no books on what the hell happens to your body AFTER the baby comes out. (Most of these are books written by comedians or TV personalities, but no, you know, scientific ones.)

I understand the whole watermelon/lemon thing. I understand that some bones have shifted into their NEW and not-so-IMPROVED positions. I want to know why I can no longer sneeze without fearing I will wet myself! I can even argue that I had two cesareans, so mine isn't as stretched out or whatever happens!

Don't even come at me with those kegel exercises, either! Even after a dramatic commitment, that I have shown no other exercise, I still have to sit down to sneeze! It also seems that my pre-baby bladder has yet to return! Then again, maybe the pre-baby bladder is a way to deal with the sneezing. If you think about it, you are always taking bathroom breaks. So I guess it's always a good thing when you are already in the optimum position for sneezing. 

It wasn't until AFTER I became a mother that people offered up all this advice on how best to deal with sneezing, coughing, heavy bouts of laughter, you get the idea. I will also add that now I understand why women who have had children, now look at trampolines as a new torture device. This includes those small trampolines for aerobic exercise, yeah right!

I started thinking that maybe I should write a book on what happens to your body AFTER the bundle of joy appears. The more I thought about it though, my experiences may lead to a direct decrease in babies being born. Now that I am a mother (of two) I would go through it again in a heartbeat to get the kids I have now. However, if I would have read about my experience BEFORE I thought about having a child....it may have taken a bit more convincing!

My Hero

This morning on the radio, it was announced that the station was having a contest for military kids. It's a collaboration between National University and Star 94.1 to nominate military kids as unsung heroes. I am by far, not a contest person. I think I understand odds and winning too much to have any fun. It doesn't end with contests either. Once someone gave me $20 to play the slots in a casino. I used $2, sensed that I wasn't going to get any type of return on this and kept the $18, to give back to my friend. (They weren't amused.)

For some reason this contest actually got my attention. As I sat in the car with my daughter before school, I realized why this contest intrigued me. My daughter, is my hero. I sat there and recalled her 7 years of life, while she played Sudoku, with a concentration I've never seen. As a child, she has been through more changes than me AND her father had been through in our childhood, combined!

As of right now, my parents have lived in three different cities. Military Dad lived in a VERY small town in North Dakota (well, it was small before the oil boom), until he went to boot camp. Princess has lived in 6 different cities already!

Through all these changes and Military Dad's various Navy-related travel destinations, she is still this strong, calm individual. It absolutely amazes me how resilient she is.

Yes, I actually entered a contest! Since I wasn't able to write a book about Princess, I had to greatly sum up my feelings on her. (I changed the names for my blog)


My daughter has been this military family's hero ever since she was born. I personally believe she tried her hardest to delay her birth until her Dad could get home from his deployment. She missed his return home by 1 week, already 2 weeks past her due date. Technically, it was closer to 10, so I rounded up for the sake of story-telling.

During the first 3 years of her life, her daddy was able to be home for maybe 7 months (not all at once, either), due to deployments and various underways.

After a wonderful shore tour and the addition of a younger brother, we are heading back to the "normalcy" of sea duty.  During the past 7 months, while Daddy has been away, she has been our rock. 

Amazingly, she remembers a little bit about him being gone when she was younger. When asked about her father, she always says, "He's in the Navy, so he's protecting our country. I miss him bunches, but he'll be home soon!" She somehow finds ways to help out a few kids in her class that have a parent deployed too!

Princess' biggest project right now is helping her younger brother cope with Daddy being gone for the first time in his life. Poor Little Dude is the only boy right now in a family of girls, even our pets are all girls. Princess does her best to pull him through this difficult time, while maintaining the fierce rivalry of siblings. 

Princess is our source of calm. She is our hug distribution center. She is also our dose of sanity in the crazy that is being part of a military family.

Princess is proof that sometimes the best things in life come in small, child-sized packages. She is definitely THIS military family's hero.

It does not matter whether we win the contest at all. I already have the best prize possible!

Jokes, it's all about the gas.

I figure with all the thirty minute sessions of torture Disney programs I endure with my children, I am entitled to watch shows I enjoy, while my children suffer through them. I think they still come out ahead, because I watch programs that are appropriate for the kids to watch. Appropriate might be a strong word, because it implies that kids should watch the program, however most programs today have language or "adult situations" that kids probably shouldn't be exposed to at a young age. Then again, I saw a group of people take a 4-6 year old to that Rob Zombie horror flick, so by their parenting standards, I am June freaking Cleaver. 

I watch programs on the Cooking or Food channel, (or one of the other five networks they have now) plus shows like Modern Family, Big Bang Theory and well, that's about it. I found Animaniacs on the Hub being run at 10 at night, so the DVR snags those up. I pretend that the show is for the kids, but I think I get more enjoyment out of the humor than the kids. Granted when fart or burp jokes are part of the skits, my kids will laugh uncontrollably, and the fart or burp isn't even the truly funny part.

This baffles me. Why is it that burps or farts (mostly farts) are hilarious to kids and to be honest, most adults? I remember when I was younger and that song about who farted, left me and my mother in tears from laughter. Why?

In my opinion it's because everyone does it, but for some reason when you get caught, it's embarrassing. Mostly because when it accidentally happens, you are in a place or situation that farting would not be appropriate, even frowned upon (if people weren't currently laughing at you). Even if you manage not to get caught with the sound, your body seems to know ahead of time that it needs smell so you don't get away with this natural occurrence.

So you sit there, in the few seconds after you got away with the quiet, hoping beyond all hope that it doesn't smell. Then someone downwind wrinkles their nose, and then you know. Your body then in an act of defiance makes your face or ears turn red and you start to sweat, because it's only seconds before someone points the finger at you, for that noxious gas now filling the board/classroom.

It's funny because you have been there, we have all endured this at one time or another, especially if Taco Bell is in your diet. It's funny, just because this one time...it wasn't you. You get to share in someone else's misery.


After sitting down with Little Dude and subjecting him to Good Eats with Alton Brown, all it took was one episode to make him a fan. If you have seen the episode concerning yeast, then you are aware of his yeast sock puppets. These sock puppets eat sugar then proceed to burp all over the place. This display shows the science in why/how bread rises.

Little Dude and I were watching an episode about muffins, when he brought up making English muffins which use yeast. Alton recalls his yeast episode with one sock puppet and gives him some sugar. Knowing that Little Dude hadn't seen the bread episode I knew this would make him laugh. The yeast sock puppet eats the sugar and then does the signature burp, while Alton is explaining the science behind the gas. This is when the episode takes a turn I didn't see coming.

The sock puppet, after burping, twists his little sock body, tilts to the side and farts. (It makes you wonder if they rehearsed with the sock puppet in order to best represent a tubular body lifting its butt cheek to fart.) I thought Little Dude was going to pass out, from laughing. He was literally laughing so hard his face would get a little blue before taking that all important breath in. I was of no use, because I too was laughing. The fact that the sock body lifted it's theoretical butt cheek was hilarious.

Once again, we've all done it, (yes, everyone has even lifted a cheek at one time or another) so there isn't any real reason to be ashamed. However, until we can get everyone else to stop laughing, and your body to stop acting in complete defiance of keeping gas expulsion a secret, it will always be embarrassing.

Even with all my thoughts about why it's funny, there are sometimes when the question of "who cares?" comes to mind. I now have an episode that I can recall at a moment's notice, in order to make me and my kids laugh. There are some days when you just need to laugh, because it truly is the best medicine. Even if that medicine is laughing at a sock puppet farting.

Deep Thought For 5/19/13

We should start charging by the calorie in fast food restaurants.

You really want to upsize that fry (300 extra calories)? Lovely, that'll be $3.00.

It may shut down Rhode Island due to their love of Dunkin Donuts, but it may improve nutrition awareness in the fattest countries in the world.

Duct tape isn't for EVERYTHING

I am absolutely amazed at the many ways people use duct tape. Wallets, pen flowers, various crafts, entire prom dresses, oh and taping things together, of course. Interestingly enough, I heard that you aren't actually supposed to use it on duct work, it's flammable or something.

Every time I see a new craft idea or something mentioning duct tape I recall something that happened many years ago. I think I have finally gotten to the point where I can laugh at myself, but I still cringe every single time I recall this event.


I just started dating my now husband, Military Dad, and we were invited to a wedding. My best friend from college was getting married and she wanted me to be a bridesmaid. Fortunately she has a level head and did not turn into those horror story bridezilla creatures. She even picked a wonderful bridesmaid dress that complimented everyone's color and size! Too good to be true, you are saying, but no really, she was an awesome bride!

After getting the dress altered and home, we discovered there was actually something wrong with the dress. How to wear a bra became a serious issue. Emails and phone calls were exchanged, discussing what might work and what didn't work. We all tried different types of bras, because of what we had lying around.

It was a halter-style dress, but not exactly. The halter top was just weird enough, you couldn't get away with wearing a halter-style bra. The open back of the dress was also curved weird so you couldn't wear a backless bra. Only one of the bridesmaids wasn't full figured, so she had no worries and went sans bra. So we did what normal people do...we put it off until the day before the wedding.

The day before had us trying those weird glue on cups, which didn't work. We even tried going sans bra, however once you are used to having the girls out on display, it gets kind of depressing to see them flatten and basically disappear. So that was not an option.

An idea was tossed into the mix about using duct tape. Evidently they had seen it on a show where models use all sorts of weird stuff to do their job. (Evidently, if you have puffy eyes from crying or lack of sleep, hemorrhoid cream will lessen the swelling. They didn't mention this, but I felt that I should point out, that I would make sure that was an unopened, virgin tube of butt cream, before I put it anywhere near my face!)

We went back and forth on this idea for awhile. Day of the wedding and we still haven't gotten anywhere in the boulder-holder department. While we were getting our hair beautified and what not, a bridesmaid walks in with duct tape and says, "Well, ladies?"

I should interrupt and mention, we were completely, horribly sober at this point.

Into the bathroom the three of us went. One girl cut strips of duct tape. One girl held her boobs into the optimum lift and separation position. The other poor girl slapped those strips of tape on. Then we switched.

Three out of four bridesmaids had the perkiest boobs ever! It was awesome, I was thinking of doing this daily. Hell, the cost of a roll of duct tape and the many applications I could get, per roll, is way cheaper than one decent bra!

Now we are all beautified and ready to get our bride hitched. We all walk out of the air conditioning and into the 95 degree, humid weather of a Missouri summer day, at 1:00 in the afternoon.

The wedding coordinator informed us that the wedding was now moved indoors due to the elderly people attending. Old people having heat stroke was not on our agenda. 30 minutes later we are dying of heat and humidity, because of course the wedding party has to wait outside the damn chapel place. This is the moment when the sweat dripping from our bodies makes us realize that duct tape, is NOT for everything.

Your body has one function in the heat; cool itself off. It sweats. Sweat evaporates and cools the body, except in the Midwest where the humidity prevents evaporation. It just becomes a sticky substance that won't go away.

The sweat is loosening the duct tape, securing our perkiness. This isn't a huge deal because that just means it will slip off, right?! No, your body also has tiny, little hairs all over. Those hairs may have mattered ions ago, but right now, they are the only thing holding that duct tape to our bodies. Gravity is trying to defy our perkiness, and with the sweat, it's winning. The duct tape is slowly, painfully starting to stretch down.

Our poor bride has no idea, that three of her four bridesmaids are idiots. (Well, at least not for this specific reason. She is friends with us after all.) She has no idea that we are all silently crying because the pain is rapidly increasing, to agonizing.

Wonderfully, it is a brief ceremony. We are all gathered for photos and then we are off to the reception, while the bride and groom take more photos. Like all smart bridesmaids, we head to the bar.

After a few drinks and the rest of the wedding formalities out of the way, I go to the restroom. I can no longer bare the pain. It feels as though my skin is being ripped from my chest. I gather my courage and barricade myself into a stall and attempt to rip it off.

OH MY GOD!

I managed to loosen a tiny corner. I have now come to terms that the duct tape is part of me until it falls off on its own. I make my way back to the table. The flat chested bridesmaid is out dancing and has no worries. One bridesmaid has left and gone to her room, and the remaining one is at the table with the same look I had on my face...BEFORE, I went to the bathroom.

Time passes and more drinks are consumed. Military Dad being the gentleman he is, offers to rip the duct tape off for me. A sound between a laugh and sobbing comes out. Before I know it, the remaining bridesmaid is dragging me to the bathroom.

While barricaded in a stall, she and I work out a deal to remove the duct tape. I will rip hers off, she will rip mine off. I was in so much pain, I volunteered to go first. Since I have no pain tolerance, this should tell you how much pain I was, in order to volunteer for more pain.

She, would on the count of 3, rip it off in one motion.

One....

Two....

RIP!

WTF happened to Three? Then a string of obscenities flew out of my mouth.


Her turn...on the count of 3...

One....

RIP!

I take vengeance very seriously. I got my "three" back!

I don't remember much after that. I remember having to get something to stop the blood flowing from where it actually ripped skin. I was horrified that through our stupidity (repeated) we had ruined our friend's wedding.

Somehow, we managed to keep this from her and 95% of the people at the wedding. Aside from the innocent victims in the restroom and the people sitting at our table, no one had a clue. She did find out later, as we each got a phone call...it was kind of hard to understand her opinion on the matter, because she was laughing so hard.

I also found out later, that the show on models did not mention that most of them wax or shave their whole freaking body, before they apply the duct tape. I never watched that show again. I still can't look at a roll of duct tape without pain coursing through my chest!

While it seems there a million uses for duct tape, here are two it is not approved for:

duct work

bras, any type imaginable!

Military Spouse Day

It's not everyday the President of the US creates a holiday for you. Not me specifically, but something I am labelled. I am actually very proud of the efforts that this presidential administration (mainly Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden) are taking to support our military. I won't even get started on Veteran's benefits or hospitals, that is probably several rantings worth. However, I am very glad that someone is taking an interest in what happens when the men and women come home and/or get out of the military.

In the last few years, Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden have actually brought an unknown entity, forward into the public eye:  the military spouse. In the last 5 years, I have seen more endorsement and appreciation for the military spouse (and the military, itself) than in the last 12 years I have been involved with the military.

All this change aside, I do appreciate that military spouses are being recognized as hard working individuals who don't ask for much in return, other than our spouses home safe. From experience, I have had several people thank me for my service. It's awkward, I don't feel like people should thank me for my service, because I am not in the military, I am not making this huge sacrifice for my country.

Usually it takes reading about what someone else has posted regarding military spouses, in order to appreciate that I do actually make sacrifices. Through our sacrifices, our spouses are able to leave and do their jobs, without worrying whether things at home are good. Through our sacrifices, our spouses are able to concentrate 100% on their duty, so they can return safely. Knowing these things makes it a little easier to be thanked by complete strangers.

My kids and I, are thanked regularly from the employees at Lowe's or Home Depot. Most times, I turn beet red, mutter some horrible combination of your welcome and thank you, then hurry away. My kids are much better at accepting compliments than I am, so they skip outside, with their heads held high and a smile on their faces.

On those rare days I get time to miss my spouse, it's usually then, that employees (it's like they sense it) will specifically thank me for my sacrifice as a spouse. They will say something like, "Thank you for your sacrifices. You definitely have the hardest job and we really appreciate you taking care of our military!" These are the times when I usually start to cry, say thank you and walk away with my head held high.

So with my head held high and a tear (or three), I say thank you to everyone that has helped a spouse in some way! (A HUGE thanks to those that have helped me!) It's a hard job, but it is really wonderful to know that we are in people's hearts; it's nice to know we aren't as alone as we feel sometimes.

Thank you!

Deep Thought for 5/9/13

After many years of trying to include my husband in discussions about things that bother me, or cause me stop and think, I have decided to include you in my deep thoughts. Military Dad is probably laughing right now, because he sees my "deep thoughts" as a form of torture. He seems to think I have my own stance on reality and therefore, don't live in the "real" reality. Or even worse, he won't answer my questions, he just says, "I don't know sweetheart." His "sweetheart" is the equivalent of, "Yes, dear."

More importantly, since he is almost 3000 miles away, I need purge my thoughts. My brain seems to find it acceptable to wake up at 2 am to ponder strange things.

So here is my thought/question for today:



Is it redundant to put lettuce on a veggie burger?

I have been "served"

There is nothing like sitting in between two children that constantly try to outdo each other in everything. I mean everything: screaming, telling on each other, sports, drawing, nap taking, you name it, both of my children have done it better than the other. I can usually ignore it for the most part, however they seem to save the best arguments for when we sit down at the table to eat.

Mostly it is telling on each other. "Sissy isn't sitting right!"
"Well, Little Dude isn't eating at all, he's just talking!"
"Mommy, she's talking with food in her mouth!"
"You still aren't eating anything! I don't want to sit here and wait, while you finish your dinner!"

And it goes on, until it is reduced to "Uh-huh!" "Nuh-uh!" based arguing, in which I normally clap my hands on the table or yell, "For the love of anything, Shut IT!"

I know that I am not alone in this area. I am fully aware that there are parents around the world, dealing with this sibling...love and attention. It stands to reason that they would not go to these measures if there wasn't some sort of love or affection towards one another, right?!

After dealing with this for months, almost every night, I either ignore it until I can't take it anymore or I invoke the "no talking during dinner" rule. I realize this breaks down the entire reason we come together every night to eat dinner. You know, the conversations and family memories that are made at the table. The conversations and family togetherness that they will remember fondly, years from now. (It's a frail hope, but I'm still hanging on to this, so please don't cut the thin thread that is holding it together.)

Last night was a little different.

I attempted to make a pizza crust out of cauliflower. Yes the white broccoli vegetable. I think it was supposed to be a gluten-free option, but something went wrong, epic-fail kind of wrong! It tasted good, but was not up to my standards of what I consider a pizza crust. (For example, I expect my crust to come off the pain without scraping it into pieces.) So I quickly threw in my back up personal pizzas from the freezer and then we sat down to eat.

They were quiet because they were actually eating. I was amazed, there was no yelling or telling me they didn't like the food (without ever trying it, ugh!) I should have known something was off.

Our personal pizzas come in a pack of four. Normally, we eat three and then Princess inhales part of the fourth one. For some reason, Little Dude (who rarely finishes one) wanted to stake claim on part of the fourth pizza. I explained that they could both have half of the pizza and everything would be fair.

Finally, Little Dude looks up from his pizza and yells at Princess, "Princess, you are eating too fast! Slow down!"

(This is a normal occurrence at meal times, because Princess likes to only breathe between bites, therefore she inhales her food.)

Princess looks back and calmly says, "I'm not eating too fast."

I take this moment to look over at her plate and see that out of four sections of pizza she's currently working on her third. "Princess, maybe you need to slow down a little, please."

This is the moment when everything goes wrong, horribly wrong.

Princess looks down at her plate, then she looks at mine, looks up at me and says, "I'll slow down when you do."

(Oh crap.)

I am currently working on my third section of pizza, also. What can I say? After my epic fail in the cauliflower pizza crust department, I had gotten a little peckish. The Saturday Night Live skit comes to mind, when Chris Farley's character is wolfing down the fries and one of the other characters mentions that she was on a diet. Chris Farley's character responds by saying, "I'M STARVING!!!" Yeah, it was a little like that.

Little Dude sensed the shift, I think, because then he starts talking about how sissy is going to eat his pizza. I explain "Princess won't get any extra pizza until you are finished. How about next time we try not talking with our mouth full of food please?"

Little Dude looks up at me, "But you have food in your mouth!"

(Oh crap)

After this point, I figured good manners were out the door, so-to-speak, and just shut my mouth and ate quietly. The kids started laughing and I finally joined them. All-in-all it turned out to be a pretty good dinner.

My War on Hot Wheels, Legos and Barbie

I think I may actually have to admit defeat when it comes to my war on Hot Wheels,Legos and Barbie accessories. No matter how many times you ask/beg/scream for your kids to pick up ALL the pieces, there are always a few left. A few left out isn't a big deal as far as the clean house picture, is concerned. It is however, a big deal when those few pieces somehow end up being the ones you step on in the middle of the night...barefoot.

I have read several books related to the humorous nature of motherhood and several of them deal specifically with toys. A few moms seem to still be fighting the good fight, sometimes it involves a vacuum, but they seem to have a handle on things. Things meaning the war on toys, not exactly the WAY in which they are dealing with the toys themselves. 

Other moms seem to deal with reality a little better and have decided that it's better to admit defeat, than go crazy. They have yards overflowing with toys and their houses have piles of toys here and there.

I am somewhere in the middle of these two groups of women. I have several OCDs, one of which, is I like everything to be put away neatly in the place it is supposed to go. However, having two children has pretty much bludgeoned that OCD into submission. Now I am happy as long as the toys are in the "toy closet." (Out of sight, out of mind.) Every once in awhile, if I'm feeling anxious or stressed out, that is the first place I go to in order to organize something/anything. Many of you may be thinking, "wow, she may need help!" Yeah, well, ask my husband I'm doing MUCH better.

I've noticed that when you have only one child, it is much easier to keep up with them. You have more patience in which to instruct them on how to put away their toys or do general chores. Two kids, well...you have less patience and time to deal with things such as toys, cleaning your house, taking showers, you know, the little things. Fortunately, we stopped at two children, because if we had three, I am pretty sure the toy war would already be over...and I wouldn't be the winner.

However, last night as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed Legos, cars and barbie shoes randomly thrown around the house (even after the kids cleaned up). Usually I pick these items up and throw them in the toy closet, but last night came a turning point in the war. I actually looked at some of the toys and realized just how gruesome they were. So gruesome, in fact, that if someone were to break in to my house, I'm sure the toys would take them out.

I actually imagined someone breaking into my house and subsequently being attacked by random toys. I pictured them writhing on the ground in pain, my dogs hearing the noise would "attack" them, giving me enough time to get a bat and call the police. (Attack meaning one dog would lick them to death, another would just bark a lot).

I would then tell the police that the Hot Wheels cars next to the TV made him slip and fall, landing on the Legos mixed with Barbie shoes. These pieces are now embedded deeply into his skin, in crucially painful places. Word will spread of this spectacular event and I, for once, will be proud that I didn't clean my house!

Sadly, I smiled, turned off the lights and went to bed.


Early the next morning, I went downstairs to let the dogs outside and fell not once, but twice on those damn cars! After getting up I only had to dig out one Barbie shoe from my palm, so I considered myself lucky.

I guess the war isn't over yet...

Raising a Military Family

This isn't a "How-to" article, it's more of an out loud question/thought post. I've been thinking of how I should raise my children in a general sense: am I doing a good job, are they going to be good kids, etc?

My husband and I try very hard to raise our kids well. We aren't perfect and some things work for us that don't work for other parents and vice versa. We do believe that our kids should have manners and should NOT act like lunatics in public! We understand that they are kids and they are allowed to make mistakes, but when Princess uses both hands to shovel food into her mouth at a restaurant, yes, I will tell her to use her fork....several times. Little Dude is still not allowed to use potty words at the table either.

You are thinking "and this is different from a normal family in what way"? Well, Military Dad has now been on the opposite coast for five months, in order to go to school for his next position in the Navy. So far the kids and I have done alright, most of this is due to the fact that he is still Stateside, a phone call away. The only major hurdle is the 3 hour time difference in scheduling Google Hangout chats. The kids are still going to school, going to bed on time and using their table manners.

Princess has gone through this before, however it was 4 years ago. Every once in awhile I get the random comments, "I really miss Daddy." Then I get to imagine the awful sound of my husband's heart breaking, as I try to explain how it's his job. Fortunately she is now old enough to understand that his job is to protect our country, in a way. He obviously doesn't do it alone!

The easiest way I found to explain it to her was to compare Daddy to a police officer. A police officer protects the cities and states that they live in. The military just does it on a much bigger scale for our entire country. They also protect other countries from bullies.

This conversation with her was actually the best thing I've done for her. She is very proud of her father and she seems ok with him having to leave us every once in awhile. But the best was hearing, "Mommy, even though Daddy does a hard job, I'm still going to want him home with us because he's my daddy and I love him!"

Little Dude has had Daddy home the entire time, so when Daddy left, there was a definite adjustment period.  He took on the typical, temper tantrum/general refusal to do anything, attitude. It was difficult but we got through it. He is still four, so he has those moments as a normal child.

The hard part is raising your kids while your partner is gone. Yes, he is a phone call away, but to the kids he could be in outer space; he's just not here, in the now. I go into what I call "survival mode", which is just getting through the day and surrounding yourself with tasks to keep busy until you can pass out at bedtime. It's absolutely exhausting, stressful and very hard to do on a daily basis for extended periods of time.

The major problem with raising your kids in the military is the inconsistency. How do you keep them sane and regular when everything around them isn't? If your partner is on a ship and has to stay late or overnight to fix problems, "Sorry, kids, Daddy has to stay on the ship again tonight! Here's your dinner."

Every once in awhile these "pop-ups" are okay to deal with and move on, however if they are underway or deployed, it gets harder to keep things regular or rules as strict. You can't say, "Daddy won't be home for 78 days, 4 hours and 2 minutes", not because your counting or anything. So it becomes, "Daddy won't be home for awhile", or general avoidance, "Daddy's on the ship remember?"

Sometimes it's just easier to order a pizza and watch a movie for dinner, instead of sit at table and practice manners.

It's the weekend, do we really need to get dressed? NO! Pajama day!

You want macaroni and cheese for the fourth day in a row? Okay.

The list goes on, but you get the point. In order to not go insane you depend on friends, because normally your family is in another state or country. These friends become more like family, but better (less drama, usually). They become your entire support system.

Imagine having one of those days when nothing goes well and you are just exhausted. Somehow, your friend can feel this from miles away and calls you (my friends text, since I'm not a talker) and asks you over for dinner or she's bringing over her hoard of kids to help make dinner.

I know some of you may be thinking:  seriously? some woman just invited her kids over to your house? You are having a bad day, just order a pizza and send everyone to bed early.

Problem with that is, you already did that yesterday and more than likely, the day before. Think about it, you now have your kids occupied doing constructive things, socializing, while you and your friend are venting and getting some much needed therapy while you (completely unaware) make a wonderfully healthy, complete meal. It's weird, but it works and it is what keeps military "families" together.

"It takes a village to raise a child."

We may not live in the traditional village setting, or even remotely close to one another, however military families are their own village. We aren't just raising children either. We are laughter when we need it, a shoulder to cry on, a therapist, an emergency contact for your kids, and someone who will share horror stories without judgment. Most important, throughout all my years, I have never met and connected with people on the level that I connect with other military families.

Thank you sisters and brothers!