Full-fledged "hippie" status, here I come!

Since moving to California, my husband and I joke with each other about me becoming a true hippie. He has even stated that California looks good on me. I absolutely love California and I truly hope the Navy allows us to stay here for my husband's career.

I love the season's we have here: summer and rainy. If I really want to see snow, I can drive for 90 minutes to Julian, CA and see snow. If I want to go to the beach, I drive about 20 minutes. For those people out there saying, "I couldn't live without real seasons," you can keep them. I have lived in Utah, Missouri and Virginia. I have also been in North Dakota during "summer" and "fall" (both had snow, so I'm not sure what to really call it).

Due to the "lack of" seasons in CA, I get fresh produce year round! Stick that in your "I love having different seasons" pipe. I get oranges, strawberries and avocados year round, without having to take out loans! Oh, and they're fresh compared to yours!

Now that I am a vegetarian, I love the fresh produce. My kids eat more vegetables than I ever did as a child. I don't think I even knew what kale was until I moved to CA.

You ask, "How are you going full-fledged hippie? Sounds, like you're already there." Ha ha, just wait.

Recently pesticides and GMOs (genetically modified organism) have been in the news with increasing frequency. Several European countries have banned a few pesticides, and they make companies label their foods if they contain GMOs. With our love of corporations and low prices, I don't see the US advancing in this area for awhile. Hell, the FDA allows a flame retardant as a sports drink additive (evidently it allows the beverage to be better emulsified), only because they haven't done enough research on the harmful effects on people.  Um...it's flame retardant, how can that be good for anything involved in the digestive process?

Last night, I actually sat up thinking about how I could start buying from the hundreds of farms I drive by. Where does their food go? Why am I buying oranges from Peru, when there is an orchard 20 miles from my house? Why am I buying lettuce from Mexico, when I know there were tons of farms between here and Monterey, CA?

Price is the answer. When you pay someone a few cents a day to harvest produce, it's still pretty cheap by the time they drive or fly it to the US. The problem is, because they have to fly or drive the goods, the produce has to be picked before it's actually ready. You can't argue on the taste. Pick any tomato out of your garden and compare to ANY tomato in a store and tell me which tastes better! (Oh yeah....it's probably still winter where you are. My tomato plant is 5 feet tall right now.)

The other thought that comes to mind is, what are they using on their fields? In the US we have somewhat strict regulations on chemicals we can use, not the best, but decent. But wait, I'm not buying my produce from the US, remember? Since I'm a vegetarian, I'm now eating more fruit and vegetables than I did before. What if the chemicals used on the plants have an accumulative effect and I'll be really screwed in 20 years? What exactly am I eating, or feeding my kids?

I've looked into buying organic, but it's so expensive in the stores! However, now I'm looking into the possibility of getting a box of fruit and veggies each week from local farms (CSA).  Researching the prices, I found that depending on the size box I order, I will paying about the same or a little less on organic, fresh fruit and veggies than I get from buying them in the store. So what is the downside of this?

These are seasonal fruit and veggies, picked by the growers, so I can't pick and choose my produce. (Some places will allow you to exchange or add-on stuff for an extra charge). Also, in some other places the drive time may effect this choice, however in sunny San Diego, I've got several choices within 10 minutes of my house. It's a 20 minute drive to the military base grocery store or a 10 minute drive to Sprouts, so I don't have to calculate mileage into my costs.

The upside: this will force us to try new and different produce, that we normally just stare at with wonderment in the store. The kids will get to experience the fruit they love in the farmer's markets. Also, some places will allow you to tour and even volunteer on the farm. I can hear a few of my relatives that grew up on a farm, saying, "Seriously? You want to tour or volunteer on a farm?"

Yes, I do. I have an agricultural degree from Mizzou, so I learned the importance of responsible farming. It's not always done, but at least on the CSA farms they are using innovative ways to control pests and fertilize their crops. My kids should learn this and get their hands dirty in the garden....a huge ass "garden."

More importantly, I want my kids to grow up questioning what they are buying. One day they will work hard for their money and they need to question:  is what they're buying safe to wear? Safe to eat? Are the workers getting paid decent wages and are their working conditions safe? (At least in the US we have child labor laws).

No one should settle for something because it's cheap. The more people question ingredients and methods, the better our world will be....for everyone. If you refuse to buy something that uses child labor or uses flame retardant as an "digestible" ingredient, you are sending a message to the company that you won't allow this. It's a small message, however if more and more people stop buying a product, things will change.

Being a military spouse has its moments

Every once in awhile you have those strange moments as a military spouse when you try to go that extra mile. Those times, when all those acronyms and weird sayings just make perfect sense.

Then there are other times when you can't remember those things, so you try your best. In this case, trying my best means making up stuff as I go along.

Conversation between Military Dad and I where I need to give him letters over the phone. I reach deep into my call sign memory bank and come up with...nothing.

MD: What were the letters?
Me:  Grover, Grover, Victor

Silence...

MD: Grover, huh?
Me:  That's not it? What is it?

MD: Golf. (I might add, his voice had a tone that screams, "Why is this so complicated?")

Me:  Golf? Meh, I like Grover better, he was awesome!

MD may be on the other coast right now, but I can feel both amusement and frustration coming out of the phone. Yeah well, I guess today wasn't one of those extra mile days!

What you think you know, you really don't.

I had a conversation with my daughter the other day about what age you "grow-up." I told her how some people thought it was 18 years, but I thought it was more likely to be 25 years of age. Hell, my father is 62 and a baby boomer, so the likelihood of him "growing up" is rather small.

I explained that what I know now is so much more than what I "thought" I knew at 18, and even 25. We discussed the qualities of grown-ups and what makes someone "old enough to know better." I felt really good about this conversation, only because my daughter asks hard questions that a simple "Because, I said so," will not answer.


Of course, something can happen in the blink of an eye that make you change your mind and realize, you know nothing...about anything.

Princess has had some nasty cold that came out of nowhere. We thought she was able to go back to school today, however she just didn't make it. Her teacher called and asked if I would like to come get her. She has a wonderful teacher, who explained that she was hanging in there, but Princess' eyes just didn't look well. Princess' eyes are pretty much the doors to her soul, she cannot tell a lie. Her eyes will tell you everything about her.

Little Dude and I left immediately to go pick her up from school. The moment when I realized everything I thought I knew about fear, I had no clue. As soon as I walked into the office to sign her out, I was ushered into an inner office and told to sit down and be quiet. While they locked doors, turned off lights and made an announcement over the loud speakers, that they were in lock-down and it was not a drill, I sat with Little Dude absolutely helpless.

Within seconds (yes, it was timed) that school went from happy kids at lunch, to a desolate campus. All the lights were turned off, every window and door was shut and locked, and there was no noise. Little Dude doesn't like the dark, but I think he knew he shouldn't say anything, because he just sat there.

It turned out, some idiot decided to make a prank call. Instead of taking precious minutes to decide whether it was a hoax or not, my daughter's school took action and decided, better safe than sorry. As I type this now, I am absolutely thrilled they did this. Even after speaking to the person who made the lock-down decision, she said, "90% of the time it's a hoax," and then left what we were both thinking, unsaid.

The fear I speak of is, is being 30 feet from your child's classroom and not being able to see or comfort her in any way. It's not being able to protect her. It's realizing that, not only you cannot protect one child, you brought your other child right into the middle of something. It's also being the parents, outside the gates who have no idea what is going on, when police cars are surrounding your child's school.

I'm very glad that nothing happened. I'm very glad that the school I put a lot of trust in to help raise my child, reacted the way they did.

There are many thoughts racing through my head right now as the left-over adrenalin is coursing through my body. The conversation about being "grown-up" happens to be one of them. At that moment when fear for my kids hit me, I realized I still don't know as much as I think I do.

Baseball, why does thou forsake me?

Princess decided a few days ago she wants to try softball, not just softball, but fast pitch. Part of me is excited she is showing an interest in another sport. The other part of me is horrified; why baseball? I dislike baseball. Throughout my life, baseball has never been a friend of mine, so I am trying my best to not show my issues with the sport. (Insert: Yes, Military Dad, you ARE going to hear the story about the T-Ball again, so deal with it!)

My first experience was a pee wee T-ball league when I was 7 or 8 years old. My dad didn't start out as the coach, but as it usually happens, he started assisting when the other coach couldn't show, or just needed help.

On a day my dad assisted the coach, I wasn't paying attention because baseball has NEVER been exciting to me. I was that child out picking flowers in the outfield. I don't remember much that infamous day, other than I knew I wasn't paying attention as usual. Supposedly my dad had tried to get my attention. (I was paying attention! Just not to him.) I paid attention a split second AFTER my dad threw the ball and yelled, "Ball!" I had threads in my chin for days. To this day, I cannot stand in front of a ball to catch it. I stand off to the side to reach it. (Insert: Military Dad, I will get over it, when I am good and ready to get over it!)

Later, when I was in middle school (junior high) I went to a St. Louis Cardinal's game with my dad. We were watching this huge rivalry game, between the home team (Cards) and the hated Chicago Cubs. Into some inning (yeah, that exciting), I decide to take a nap. Suddenly, I hear the crack of the bat, the one where you just know that a home run has just been hit out of the park. I stand up and start cheering; I'm excited! The Cardinal's just hit a home run, Yay! What I didn't immediately notice was: I was the only person cheering AND standing. The wonderful fans around us glared at me while my dad jerks me back down into my seat. Evidently, I had slept through the Cubs loading the bases....then hitting a home run. The Cardinal's lost that game.

In high school, I thought I may try this baseball thing again and try out for softball. I mean it's "soft" ball right, and girls play, it can't be that bad? I sit on the bench and watch warm ups; my confidence starts to build. Then this girl walks out to the pitcher's mound to warm up. That day, for some reason the coaches used a speed gun on her pitches. When she averaged some ungodly number, I did some calculations in my head. This was probably the only time I successfully calculated any physics problem in my head. After getting the answer through some pretty gruesome mental images, I got up and drove home, satisfied that baseball, in any form, just wasn't for me.


We don't watch baseball in our house. For some strange reason Military Dad is a Cub's fan and since I remain true to the area I grew up, I guess I'm a Cardinal's fan. More importantly, professional baseball puts me to sleep faster than watching golf on TV. I didn't think anything was wrong with this arrangement until I went shopping for baseball gloves with Little Dude.

I knew that if Princess was going to start playing softball, I better have something Little Dude could use. The issue is, he's a lefty. I had my old gloves for Princess, but nothing for him.

After my initial shock at left-handed equipment prices, I found the youth glove section. As I am bent down looking at sizes and handedness, Little Dude asks, "Mommy, what is THIS?" Hearing the excitement in his voice, I turned hoping to see some brightly colored, or just plain weird, item.
It was a bat. Yep, a normal, baseball bat.

"It's a baseball bat, Little Dude."
"Oh. What's a bat?"
Oh crap, really? My 3 year-old boy doesn't know what a bat is? I'm not sure whether to be proud (I've obviously enriched his life somewhere else) or ashamed. I did what anyone would do at this point, I grabbed his hand and led him to a different section.

Now we fast forward a few hours, to practice with the kiddos in a grassy field. Princess tries to catch the ball with her eyes closed. She doesn't seem to enjoy catching the ball, or anything flying at her face, so I figured we should start with fundamentals. What I didn't realize, was how wrong I was at the level of the fundamentals.

I show her how to throw over-hand, explaining that everyone in the outfield or infield, throws this way, except the pitcher who throws under-hand. I was expecting a question about over-hand and under-hand.

"What's the outfield?"

"Princess, do you see the grassy area we are standing in? This is the outfield. See that dirt area over there? That is called the infield."

I won't mention the other questions I got here, but let's just say, it seems, I may have deprived my kids of a few basic informational items.
Yes, the grassy field happened to be a baseball field and neither one of my kids realized it. After walking towards the infield and explaining the bases and the pitcher's mound, we practiced catching and throwing.

On my very first toss to Princess, I hit her square in the nose with the ball.
I should mention two things here. First, I can't throw, or aim for that matter. I was just aiming for somewhere within a two foot area around her body. Second, at that moment when she grabbed her nose, I was so thankful I was practicing with tennis balls.

Once she is over the shock and slight pain, she actually did well throwing it back to me. I toss the ball to Little Dude....and...hit...him...square...in...the...eye. What the...?! I quickly decide pop-ups and ground balls are better for us to practice. I figured my odds weren't great and I didn't want them to fear the ball. All-in-all the kids had a lot of fun and I got some exercise out of the deal.

After dinner, the kids tell Military Dad about their "practice." Princess tells him all about catching and how I hit her square in the face.
"Daddy, I tried to catch but I think my mitten is too big!"

Yes, her glove is indeed too big because I grabbed the wrong glove on the way out the door. Also, yes, yes she did call a baseball glove...a mitten.
Military Dad offers no help, because he is laughing to the point of tears. For the second time today, I have to explain something about baseball and how they aren't called mittens, they are mitts or gloves.

While this has been amusing, it's also a wake up call for me. Just because I don't find something enjoyable doesn't mean my kids shouldn't learn about it.

Trust me, it's better than waiting for that moment when your child is in the middle of a large group of people and asks about "that thing, you know the thing which hits the balls"....the bat? Or says, "my mitten is too big."

My alarm clock...or: Why doesn't my cat have a snooze function?

I am so excited! Tomorrow our automatic cat feeder should arrive. For clarification (and proper enthusiasm) purposes, this cat feeder can dispense a specific amount of food up to three times daily!

No I'm not lazy...well not for this reason. Our cat, Chu, is a bit on the portly side and needs to lose about 2 pounds. After trying many methods to help her shed the pounds, she just seems to be very comfortable (stubborn) at weighing more than our rat terrier.

I had given up hope on her losing the weight, however I found an automatic feeder that is on a timer. Yes I know, they have several different types with timers, however, this one dispenses a predetermined amount of food! Now I get to monitor her food plus maybe, just maybe, sleep in an extra hour or two every morning!!!

...

Imagine waking up to the feeling that you know someone is watching you. It's dark. You glance at the clock, yep, it's 4:00 AM, just like every other morning.

The problem is...it saw you glance at the clock. You're screwed.

THUMP!

Yes, that was your portly cat landing on your hardwood floor, from whatever piece of furniture she was perched on.

Quick! Turn over! Put a pillow over your head, anything before she jumps on the bed!

#$%*! She somehow managed to move her fat-self in stealth mode and is now staring you down.

Trying to ignore her now is pointless. The purring starts; not the quiet, hypnotic kind either.

Even if you manage to ignore the loud purring (some may call it growling), this is now the time when she brings out the massage-with-claws technique. (These are usually sensitive areas of skin showing, or your bladder, depends on her mood.)

I'm pretty good at ignoring her until she somehow gets my bladder involved. Either she is standing on it or has some voodoo that makes it so you really have to pee.

You've already lost...now if you get up quickly, you still have a chance at one, maybe two, hours before the kids start their morning ritual.

Tomorrow I will hopefully be on my way to a healthier, thinner cat AND a bit of extra sleep. If it works, I will write a glowing review. If it doesn't...Chu will have to learn to type, because I'll be taking some cat naps! (Sorry, I couldn't stop myself...see, I need more sleep!)