What do you want to be when you grow up?

While my husband has only had 3 or 4 jobs throughout his life, I've had many.  I'd like to think of myself as a renaissance woman.  Not the Ren Fest kind (though I do enjoy chivalry and a "friendly" jousting event, ooh! and I used to LOVE those turkey legs), but the renaissance person that was educated or experienced in twenty different things.  However, in today's world, I'm labeled as a person who gets bored easily when I'm not challenged, yeah that sounds SO much better.

I have worked in various customer service positions over a few years.  (I'm in my late 30's, do the math...I was going to put it down, but that number made me feel uncomfortable).  Food service, banking, veterinary assistance, retail sales, animal nutrition, car rental, movie theater management and auditor (not IRS-so chill), Jamberry consultant, and most recently recess monitor, are all jobs I have had.  Good gravy, that's a lot of customer service for someone who doesn't appreciate (READ: terrified of ) the fine art of conversation.  (I'm not including Navy wife or mother in this list because those jobs are an entire post unto themselves and everything else pales in comparison.)  

A few months ago, Princess had to write about what she wants to be when she grows up.  She immediately stated she wants to be a ballerina teacher.  I think this is based on her 6 to 8 classes of Intro to Ballet she took years ago.  Evidently, these classes taught her enough that she wants to share her knowledge with others. (This was a couple of years ago, now she wants to be either a teacher or environmental scientist - I'll write that post later.)

Either way, this made me think back to what I answered when asked the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

When I was her age, I wanted to teach.  I was an only child, therefore I felt that my bossiness was experience enough for teaching others about school or life in general. Plus without anyone around to argue with, or contradict me, I took this as a sign that I knew EVERYTHING.

As I grew older I remember wanting to write. I enjoyed keeping journals and writing short stories. I did not appreciate grammar enough to stick with it. My mom and her, "this is passive voice" squashed that dream for awhile. I can still see red marks or hear her voice informing me that my entire paper was littered with passive voice. (I probably have some in this post!)

Then came the phase where every child wants to be either a doctor or a lawyer. I found out that even though I could argue forever about any topic (whether I was right or not), being a lawyer involved A LOT of paperwork. I can tell you what's wrong with your paperwork, but I don't actually enjoy writing reports or filling out paperwork, so being a lawyer didn't exactly seem right.

I remember wanting to be a pediatric cardio-thoracic surgeon at one time. Evidently I just wanted to be in school for the rest of my life, because holy crap that's a lot of specializing! After volunteering ONCE for an hour at a veteran's hospital near my college, being a doctor was off my list. That's another story for another day, but please realize that as a country/society we treat our veteran's like shit, especially the elderly, that need medical care.

After seeing that humanity sucked royally, I decided that I wanted to take care of animals and switched my major to animal sciences. (My husband thinks there is something wrong with me when I watch movies. I can watch movie people slaughter each other, but so help me, if an animal is threatened, I will throw down.) While I never actually got a job in this field AFTER graduating, I enjoyed this field very much. I could argue that movie theater management, is very much in the animal science field, however that may require another post.

A while ago, I was offered a job at a local veterinarian's office as a veterinary assistant. I went in for my normal  "raping of my wallet," otherwise known as small animal veterinary care, with Maggie for her shots. There is a method to holding down any size dog in order to give it vaccinations, and after several years of experience, I still remember the method. The vet complimented me on my technique, so I felt the need to explain my experience. When she honestly asked me if I wanted a job, I was horrified.

I wasn't horrified  because I didn't want a job, or that a veterinary assistant was a position lower than a college graduate, blah, blah. I was horrified because I actually thought about it.

My current job as Navy Wife and stay-at-home mother is the most challenging and rewarding job I've had up to this point in my life, why would I change that? Well, after 7 months of my husband being gone, there comes a point when you crave the easy road. Yes, a job is the easy road.

When you are home all day with your kids, whether they are in school or not, it is a tough job. You have to manage to get done everything you need to get done, plus entertain and educate your children. If you are fortunate to have nappers, then you get a small break, in which I strongly suggest you lie your butt down and take a nap with them! However, you won't, because you think that one hour of peace, "just imagine the things you could accomplish!"

Your only real down time is at night when they go to sleep. You get to catch up on any shows you recorded, read a book, spend countless hours on Facebook, Twitter, etc. The problem is, some days, you pass out at 7:30 with your kids, just to start your day over.

I began this post several years ago. Since then I became a Duty Supervisor at my kids' elementary school. I volunteered and they convinced me to come over to the other side and get paid. I spend the hottest part of the day in the sun (sometimes it rains) watching elementary kids at recess or lunch. It's a hard job, but there are times when it is seriously fun and rewarding.
I went from two decently behaved kids to over 800 kids who have good days and bad days. Some days you wake up thinking I really don't want to go yell at kids today. Mostly because parents don't interact with their own children anymore, they are starved for attention when they get to school. It's hard to contain that energy all the time. Over the last three years, I have watched first graders turn into fifth graders. This June when school ends will be very tough on me. I'm moving away from all these kids I've watched grow. Who knew that my younger self would know what I would be passionate about in my late 30's?

As I look towards moving to another state, I still have no idea "what I want to be when I grow up." I still don't really consider myself "grown up" enough to need to know. Grown ups are people who have settled. My parents aren't even "grown up" in the sense that they are still learning new things, starting new hobbies, learning Gaelic!

I'm beginning to think that what you want to be is not what should define you as a person. Your job or career is not what makes you a great person, or even a bad person, it's what puts food on the table. If you have found something you are passionate about, that is what should define you. Whatever makes you a better person, that's what we should do as we grow up.

This post contains swear words

One day the kids and I were driving home listening to Pandora Radio. We were listening to the Pitch Perfect mix because that movie is a guilty pleasure of mine. Macklemore's "Thrift Shop" song comes on. I'm so used to hearing the radio edit, that I completely forget to skip the song. To my horror (not really, I was tired and amused) my kids started singing along. At a stoplight the chorus blared loudly and then I realized I was screwed.

I immediately paused the station and explained that the song had swear words in it and they were not to repeat them. My son says, "Yes mommy." My daughter asks, "Like the S-H word?"

Let me pause for a moment and let you in on a little secret...I have no idea why my daughter doesn't know swear words. She has me for a mother and a sailor for a father. We are either doing a great job of keeping our mouths shut around our kids, or she lives in a bubble. My son obviously knew enough to agree not to sing them. Princess actually thinks the S-H word is "shut up" not the real S-H word (yes, "shit").

I am very honest with my kids, or at least I try to be. When my daughter asks sex questions, I answer her honestly. There is no birds and bees crap in this house. My husband may pale during a few of our conversations, but I'm open and honest when it comes to serious stuff. I'd rather my kids learn about sex, drugs and all the other stuff, from me.

For some reason the F word just makes me stutter and feel uncomfortable. I can use it amazingly in sentences. I like to think I'm an artist some times. My daughter has now asked me on two occassions what it was and I just couldn't say it. Until now.....thank you Macklemore.

Instead of saying it, I just turned the song back on and after the F-ing awesome part, I said, "that, don't say that!" It was so simple, it was done.

"Mommy, what is fruckting mean?"
Damn (slap forehead).

Song is now turned off so I have their complete attention.
"You guys aren't going to be happy until you hear them are you?"
Little Dude with a huge smile on his face: "yep."
Princess: "No, I just need to know what they are so I can yell them if someone grabs me."

(It is my firm belief that adults will ignore a kid screaming. However, I believe a kid screaming at the top of their lungs while spewing out obscenities, will gather some attention. If they can't yell "Fire" then they have been given full permission to cuss like a sailor while they are trying to bludgeon their attacker. I don't care who I offend if it keeps my kids safe.)

"Fine, here they are: damn, shit and the one I don't ever want to hear unless you are being attacked or are old enough to know better, fuck."
Little Dude: (laughing) "Fuck?"
"Yep, that was your one time saying it. No more."
Princess: (huge smile on her intelligently smug little face) "Fuck?"
"And that was your one time saying it. No more."

While I believe I may have been set up for part of this conversation, I did enjoy it. My parents swore as I grew up. Since I can probably account for causing a solid third of those words; I don't think I ever got into trouble for using them in public. I knew that they were words that shouldn't be used in certain places. When I was a teenager and thought I knew everything (READ - blazing idiot) I tested them out regularly. In my 30's I believe I have them down to an art form.

As of yet, Little Dude is the only one that has swore. One day he was cutting corners on our walk around this field. I decided to have a little fun and told him that the next time he cut a corner, I'd turn around and walk back, making him walk much further. He cut a corner, so I turned around.
I hear this, "Damn it!" along with a sigh of frustration.
Since he used it in the right context, it was very hard not to laugh as I told him to refrain from using it in public.

Before the Macklemore discussion, when we were giving Princess guidance on using swear words during an attempted abduction, we gave her permission to scream out the f-word.
Princess: Seriously? I get to scream it and not get into trouble?
Us: Yes. Get it out of your system so it's easier to scream when needed.
Princess looks around like she's being set up.
Princess screams at the top of her little lungs: F WORD!
Military Dad: laughing, absolutely no help.
Me: Uh, Princess...
Princess: I feel better, thank you.
At this point MD is crying and can't offer any suggestions or help.
Me: Next time Princess you need to actually scream the word "fuck." Baby steps though. Good job.

Princess realizes she screwed up her one opportunity, while MD is still laughing. Parenting as a team, my ass.

Holy crap! It's been three years!

Evidently it's been three years since my last post. A lot has changed. While there have been no human additions to our family, we have added reptiles. We are now the proud owners of 2 ball pythons, 1 red-eared slider, and a leopard gecko. Military Dad's Blog on our zoo.

Princess is now in 5th grade and Little Dude is in 2nd. They are both doing great in school. I would know first hand since I began working as a Duty Supervisor three years ago. We are going to finish out this school year and then move to Rhode Island for our next Navy adventure. Rhode Island was not our first choice, or really in the top five, however we have accepted this new move with excitement.  You know what? Let's just go with we have accepted this move.

In the past couple months we experienced the job decision, Military Dad coming home from a nine month deployment (supposed to be four month), deciding whether to rent or sell our house, finally deciding to sell, donating about half of our things, and packing up the rest so it doesn't appear cluttered. (You know, like people actually live in the house.)

If you are a civilian and you've experienced a few moves you know what the average military family goes through. An average military family moves every two or three years depending on how lucky they are with the job slating process. Honestly I'm not sure how we managed it, but my husband was able to stay in San Diego for FIVE years! Now we need to let our beloved So-Cal go for a few years.

When you move around so much, you realize very quickly what stuff is important and what is actually necessary. My mom is a big fan of keeping things. I'm a big fan of: will it make the move, how much damage can this thing take, and have I actually used it in the last year? Judging by how much crap is sitting in our garage awaiting the DAV pick-up, we fell into the "staying in one place too long" role. Seriously, my two car garage is full.

Over the next few months, most of my posts will probably be dealing with moving anxiety and depressed thoughts about leaving warm, season-less CA. Bare with me and you may enjoy reading the blog once we get to Rhode Island...and I experience seasons again after almost ten years.

Thanks for stopping by!

"I want to be part of the community..."

About a week ago my husband stated that he wanted to be more involved in our Buddhist community. We discussed going to the meditation and yoga classes. We discussed joining one of the groups and actually taking the classes offered.

Today as Princess and I were discussing the upcoming Obon Festival, she was really excited about learning a few of the Bon Odori dance steps. (A very abbreviated lesson on Obon:  Obon is a time when you honor the spirit's of your ancestors. The dance is a folk dance to welcome the spirits.)

Princess and I discussed going to the lessons and dancing in the festival. Since it will be somewhat dark and there will be other people there who have no clue what they are doing, I agreed that I would go to the lessons with her. I am what you would call rhythmically-challenged. (I have Zumba on the Wii, so I don't have to shame myself in public.) 

Princess asked Military Dad if he wanted to go with us. His immediate reaction was no, but then after further discussion (READ: begging) he agreed. Here is how it went:

Princess: Daddy, can we do the Obon dance lessons?

MD: Sure, when is it?

Me: Tuesdays at 7.

MD: How much is it?

Me: It's free.

MD: What am I missing here?

Princess: We are going to learn how to dance for the Obon festival.

MD: Wait, what?! I don't dance.

Me: You said you wanted to be part of the community.

MD: NOT DANCING!

(Laughter on my part; panic on his.)

Me: You dance around, in a circle. They actually have lines painted on the ground and you follow what the person in front of you does. It's easy. Look, I'll show you some YouTube videos and you can see that it isn't that hard.

(watched several videos)

MD: (I'm not sure whether the look was pure terror or part of an anxiety attack - but we'll go with "look of surprise.")

Me: It's Tuesdays at 7. The kids will have a blast.

MD: So we show up and they tell us what to do? We don't have to actually do it at the festival though, right?!

Me: Yes, we will go learn the steps and then watch other people do it during the festival. (Knowing that his daughter will drag him into the middle of the fray and he will willingly go.)

Why My Cat is a Jerk - Reasons #16 through #25

I am not going to even get into the story as how we decided to add another animal into our family. I blame my husband's horrible lack of will power when it comes to pets. (Not really, I'm just as bad!) The total in our household is now: 2 cats, 2 dogs, 2 kids and 2 adults. Depending on the day, we have 6 animals and 2 adults.

We adopted a cute, pure bred Siamese from the SPCA. I still don't know how we managed this, but once you have a Siamese in your life, they aren't easy to forget. Siamese cats are "different" than your normal mutt or pure bred cats. They have this personality that is unique. Add in some serious intelligence and you have a dangerous combination. Yes, Siamese cats can, and will, learn tricks. I read somewhere that because of their intelligence they are the easiest to train. Let's go back to that personality bit....their personality enables them to now use this new trick in fun and interesting ways AGAINST you.

Siamese are also social cats, in that they like to let everyone else know where they are...A LOT! Not only that, but every Siamese I have heard has a distinct meow. It's either, chirping, or imagine the sound of trying to say all of your vowels at the same time. (Ha ha, you totally tried to do it, didn't you?!)

Knowing all these facts, once that emaciated little kitten purred, and let Little Dude brush him at the SPCA, we were done for. Home he went. Once he got acclimated, we found out that he was in fact, not neutered. He displayed all sorts of actions that were difficult to explain to Little Dude and Princess. Especially when the actions were happening to them (and everything else that would lie still long enough). Fortunately, the SPCA believed me when I said that he might be cryptorchid (his testicles didn't drop) and fixed the issue. Now he only occasionally humps his blanket. I'm cool with that and so are my kids. 

We also let Little Dude help name him. In hindsight, watching the Avenger's movie right before asking for a name from a 4 year old boy, wasn't the best idea. I'm not sure if the kitten REALLY fits the name, or we cursed ourselves, and this kitty is choosing to live up to his name. 

Introducing Loki...

Aww! He's so cute!
HA! Don't let that little fur-ball trick you, he's a sneaky little turd. Here are just a few of the fun and exciting things he does:

• Waits for you to walk by couch, bed, stairs, door (pretty much anything he can hide around the corner) then attacks either your feet, or jumps at you in that ninja kitty move you see on so many videos.
• We have a curtain (several actually) in our bedroom that he will hide behind. Once you walk by it he will jump at you, through the curtain, at a height of about 4 feet. It's terrifying if you don't know he's there. One day I was brushing my teeth on the other side of that curtain. He jumped through the curtain, hitting me in the stomach, causing me to hit myself in the mouth with my own toothbrush. I had a fat lip for 4 days!
• He sneaks into the kid's Lego stash and randomly deposits them all over the house. I'm glad I see him do this, otherwise my poor kids would get blamed. It's just annoying until you have to walk through the house at night, then those innocent Legos become torture-by-foot devices.
• Loki also has a thing for socks. Military Dad has always had this thing about leaving his socks wherever he happens to take them off. My kids now have a thing about leaving their socks wherever they take them off. Loki loves this. He drags the socks all over the house playing with them. The problem is now laundry day is even worse with unmatched socks!
• He evidently likes the taste of wine...

• We also have to keep our eyes peeled for him when we do the dishes. I have no idea why, but he loves to get inside the dishwasher as we load the dishwasher. He doesn't do anything but sit behind the bottom rack; guess he likes the view?

• He also used to chew on the carpeted stairs. Now that I'm remodeling the stairs with wooden flooring, I thought the stair chewing would stop. I was correct....however, he has now taken to chewing my meticulously placed painter's tape. This is my THIRD application of the expensive masking tape, just so I don't accidentally paint the wrong thing!!!
  

After Loki is done having his jerk moments, he can be the sweetest thing, if he is in the mood. He plays with our rat terrier in a way that they just roll around in weird ball of fur. He cuddles right down in the middle of the dogs, as if he is one. He does this thing we call "noggins" where he will rub his head against yours. He will even give you nose kisses (his nose touches your nose).

While I joke that Loki can be a jerk, he is part of the family. As part of the family we will always love him, despite his weirdness. However, I will make sure that our next cat is named "Cuddles," "Sweetie," or anything not remotely related to Gods/Goddesses that are associated with mischief!

Spelling Bees (aka another way for me to feel stupid)

Princess made the final cut to make it into her school's Spelling Bee. She had to be one of the top three in her class to compete. Yay! I remember my first Spelling Bee and how it was fun. At least it was fun until you got THAT word. For those that are losers like me and didn't complete the spelling bee, you know which word I'm talking about. THAT word, is the word that you will remember how to spell for the rest of your life. You will also remember the definition for the rest of your life. My word was oafish. It makes sense, it means stupid, uncultured or clumsy. Jerks! (shaking fist in the air).

Knowing the bad taste that spelling bee left, I wasn't about to pressure Princess and make her feel like she had to succeed. We were just happy making it to the competition.

Then the teachers sent out the practice lists for each grade. Evidently people practice for these things with a vigor that is comical. (If parents would take this much interest in the rest of their kid's education, we wouldn't be behind other countries in the value of education.) Princess decides she would like to practice, so I print off the 2nd grade lists which result in 30 pages of words! WTH? Yes, I have OCDs but seriously people, have you ever heard of Excel and using a spreadsheet? I got our list down to 6 pages, saved a couple trees in the process. I'm feeling great about myself.

Our practice routine is not what you would call "dedicated." When we remember, we practice. Today was the first time we actually sat down and practiced in a serious manner. I explained to her about why she needs to repeat the word, spell the word and then say the word again. I didn't even mention asking for the parts of speech, using it in a sentence or that whole where the word originated from thing. (Mostly because I couldn't tell her - my husband hasn't exactly banned me from discussing parts of speech, but it's coming.)

What I notice is my daughter is once again smarter than me. When we get to certain words, she asks for the definition, or for me to use it in a sentence. I'm proud of her, because she is thinking before she spells. Then she starts asking for these things on words that aren't as easy for me to define, or use in a sentence. I'm not the English/grammar person in this house; I am the math/science person. My husband could probably do this in his sleep, I need a lot of help and coffee. This results in a 20 minute break from practice, while I tear the house apart looking for ONE dictionary. I'm pretty sure we have three, but the best I could do was the Child's Dictionary. It was nice, it had pictures. It made me feel that this dictionary was appropriate, I felt it understood my problems and tried to help. They were really pretty pictures.

The spelling bee is in a couple of weeks, so wish Princess luck. She will need it since she has her mom and a Child's Dictionary helping her!

I have a dilemma

Little Dude is in a preschool that is very education driven and they learn through play activities. He is a pretty bright kid, so he needs to be challenged, otherwise he gets bored and I lose my patience. I'm not complaining, I am very happy to have two VERY bright kids that are genetically related to me! My problem comes when they get bored with my meticulously planned activities, because they aren't challenging enough! I consider myself a pretty smart woman, but when I'm learning new ways to do math (that would've made calculus WAY easier) because of my 2nd grader's homework, it's a little depressing.

Back to my story. Little Dude gets homework every month that goes along with the lesson plan they are working on. There is a math concept section and a reading/writing concept section. He gets one week to turn them in. The homework isn't that challenging in itself, it's getting Little Dude to sit down long enough to do it. Mostly the homework involves counting things, grouping things, cutting random things and gluing other things. (By the way, you should begin to stockpile "crap" magazines when your child reaches 4 years of age. There will come a time when they need to cut things out. I had to get over the horror of some of my cooking magazines being slaughtered.)

This week's homework is actually pretty simple and will be easy to get him to sit down and finish. Why am I having a dilemma? In the reading/writing section he has to choose his favorite song, write the title, explain what happens in the song and then draw a picture. I look back on my mothering and wonder at what point I went wrong, even though I enjoy that he likes my music.

Princess would love when I sang the lullabies and kid songs when she was younger. I think she still might enjoy hearing me sing them. Little Dude on the other hand, wasn't as appreciative of my singing abilities and wouldn't let me sing. I understand that I am not the next American Idol, but I'm not awful. You want awful? Walk on to any school yard and hum a few lines of "Let It Go" and just stand back and listen in horror. Some kids sound great, but the others...wow! Princess just happens to be one of the "others," so I know why Little Dude doesn't like us singing.

Every once in awhile though, the family can get together and belt a few songs out and not worry about how we sound. It's those songs we will blast in the car and sing as loudly as we can. Those songs happen to be from groups such as: Imagine Dragons, Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco and Katy Perry. (Yes, Katy Perry.)
Obviously I try very hard to play the radio edited versions of these groups, just because I swear enough for my own kids, they don't need to pick it up while singing.

While I am very happy that Fall Out Boy and Panic at the Disco were not chosen as the group of his favorite song, he did choose a song by Imagine Dragons that is the reason for my dilemma. If you have not heard or watched the video for "Radioactive," it is a pretty good song, with an even more entertaining video.

Here is the video link, if you're interested.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktvTqknDobU&feature=kp

If you just listen to the lyrics, it would be pretty difficult for a preschooler to explain what is going on. The problem is, Little Dude has seen the video several times, because honestly I find it amusing. If you haven't watched it, you should, for many reason that include a cameo by Lou Diamond Phillips. Basically it involves an underground Muppet/stuffed toy fighting ring. Mr. Phillips is the cage boss. Stuffed toys go up against this purple Muppet character and get annihilated.

If you follow my husband's blog about his journeys with Sweet Peach, Footy and Truman, my poor Truman is one of the unfortunate toys. My husband loves this because of our college rivalry and that fact my poor stuffed tiger is named Truman (college mascot's name). He's just sick, but that's his college's fault.

My dilemma is, do I let my preschooler write about, and draw images of Muppets and toy bears, fighting to the death? I can't think of any scenario in the video that he could draw without getting a "concerned note" or phone call about.

I'm hoping I can get him to come up with a second favorite song. My luck, he'll choose a Fall Out Boy or Panic at the Disco song. I guess I should be happy, at least neither one of my kids like Bieber, Cyrus or One Direction. Ha! I'll take a note home any day over them liking those "artists."

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.