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.

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.

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

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!

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!

Good Parenting

I always wonder if I'm hard on my kids. I have rules and expectations they need to follow on a daily basis. There are days when I believe that I am simply the worst parent alive, because I force my kids to mind their manners at the dinner table. Even if they're watching a movie with a meal, they have to sit correctly and use their silverware.

I often wonder if I'm not allowing them be kids and act crazy enough. I try to remember aspects of my childhood for comparison. However with two young children, I've firmly entrenched myself in the CRS (Can't Remember Shit) category.

Both my parents had full-time jobs, so during the day, I was taken care of by friends, grandma and/or school. I can't recall my parents yelling at me about my manners or for breaking small rules...I do remember some big ones and yes, I got a spanking or grounded when older. I do remember getting threatened a few times, but the threat was good enough for me. I think I just knew if I disappointed them I would pay for it later.

So how did my parents do it? I'm not exactly sure, but I'm pretty sure a lot of it fits with stopping after one child. Experience tells me one kid is much easier to control than two. Different personalities require finesse, you can't skate by using the all-encompassing, blanket approach.

I also think my parents were honest with me, which is hard to do with your kids. I remember a few times when I wanted a toy or something and my parents had to tell me no, because they couldn't afford it.

They also weren't afraid of causing a confrontation with me in public...if they were, it never occurred to my younger self. (Plus I'm pretty sure my mom enjoys confrontation with anyone...it's genetic, I have the same affliction.) If I started to throw a tantrum, they would ask me if I wanted an "altercation in the car". I wasn't exactly sure what that word meant, but I knew it was a big one and it meant leaving my current public situation and going to a quiet, alone situation.

I'm starting to think my parents were kick ass with playing head games! Wow, no wonder I am awesome with manipulation, thanks mom and dad! (When your grand-kids complain later in their life, you have no one to blame but yourselves!)

Why am I discussing this? 

I was a chaperon for a field trip to an amusement park with Princess' class. (Insert dramatic or scary music).

I experienced first hand how my kids:  treated adults with respect, how they stayed safe in their group, waited quietly while other kids finished their lunches, used "thank you" and "please," and most importantly, for my sanity, stayed within grabbing distance of me.

The other kids...let's just say, I was ready for a bottle of wine after 30 minutes.

I'm amazed with how kids (of all ages) speak to adults. I allow my kids to talk back to me in some cases (not arguments) but they understand they don't cross that line with other adults. If they do, they get "the look" and quickly apologize.

I'm also absolutely horrified when parents just let their kids run loose. Hopefully I'm just paranoid from watching too many episodes of CSI and SVU, but should you really be surprised when you can't find your kid after you're done updating FB?! Don't give me that "I took my eyes off for a second" crap! Either teach your kid to stay close or pay attention; everything else can wait. If you have choice between reading my blog or watching your kid, please stop reading now and spend some time with your kids, while they still like you.

I spent 4 hours of my life, that I won't ever get back, worrying about some other person's kids because they kept trying to run off by themselves. After constantly telling them to stay close, I was given attitude and dirty looks, "because their parents let them."

Unfortunately for the poor kids, I'm confrontational and extremely persistent. By the end of the day, we were all holding each other's hands and I believe I got a few "pleases," but they were mumbled so I'm not positive.

I'm also pretty sure when the kids went home I was reported as being mean and bossy. What I would love would be for the rest of the conversation to go like this:

Parent:  Why was she so mean and bossy?

Kid:  She wouldn't let me go where I wanted to!

Parent:  We're you going by yourself?

Kid:  Yes, they were slow.

Parent:  I see. What else?

Kid:  She told me something about how she'd appreciate it if I asked her instead of told her what I wanted. She also made me say "please" and "thank you." It was awful!

Dream Response A: Who was this wonderful person? Obviously she has worked wonders with you in a couple of hours, what we haven't been able to do with years! We should thank her and shower her with praise and adoration....

(actually I hate getting compliments, but the thought is wonderful, isn't it?)

Reality Response B: Well she does sound pretty awful. We'll make sure that the next field trip you get assigned someone else. Would you like us to buy you something for your troubles?

Part of me doesn't want to chaperon the next field trip, but the alternative is letting someone else's parent do it...which parent would I get?

Being a great photographer isn't easy, being a horrible one...

I love taking pictures of people and landscapes. I am very comfortable BEHIND the camera, it is where I can be myself. Evidently I have a natural ability to take good photos. I was not aware that I had this ability until I met my husband. It just isn't one of his strengths.

Today at Princess' softball game we received the pictures that a company took of the team on opening day. I wasn't real impressed with their skills the day of the photo shoot, so I didn't have high hopes when I got the pictures back. I wasn't disappointed....with myself.

I understand you have a lot of teams, with a lot of girls to get in line, ready for photo, picture taken, then the team photo. I realize there is stress with getting the job done quickly. However, I also expect some quality photos taken if you label yourself a professional.

First issue was that they wanted the girl's individual photo to be a pose with them holding a bat. Some girls didn't have a bat, so they had to borrow a bat from a team member. We aren't talking brand new, photogenic, bats. So my daughter has an individual softball photo with a dirty, dented bat. So it maybe looks authentic, but not photogenic.

First tip for aspiring photographers:  if you want to pose the kids with a prop, spend the money and buy brand new props. The photos will speak for themselves!

Second issue was they took the photos on the outside of the fields. A place surrounded by houses and odds and ends. Therefore my daughter has a house sticking out of her left ear, a weird shadow cutting her image in half and a tree over her other shoulder.

Second tip for aspiring photographers: actually look in your viewfinder at the entire picture. Imagine taking a picture of a tree in the middle of the forest. You need to stop a second and look past the lone tree and take in the forest behind it. Make sure nothing funky will end up in the image.

Third issue is make sure the person in your photo looks good. I'm not talking they need to be a model. I'm talking about noticing things like their hat or collar being crooked, their tie needs to be straightened, they have food on their face (kid problem, trust me), etc. You guessed it, Princess' hat is all weird on her head. I was trying to help, but I was glared at for interfering so I had to step away and just hope the image would turn out decent. I should have ignored it and fixed the issues, I am paying for these images after all.

Third tip for aspiring photographers:  as you are checking your image, make sure the person's clothing isn't jacked up; if it is, fix it.

Fourth tip:  if you have someone willing to help with the image, use them, direct them. It makes things easier on you, because you don't have to step away from the image. It also makes the parent feel involved and will get them on your side when you need their kid to stop picking their nose or looking the wrong direction. You can't yell at their kids, but they can! Enlist their help, it pays off in the end.

Fourth issue was the team photo. I should just mention I had issues and stop numbering them, I guess. I did get involved with this and put my foot down and became "that" mom, so the team photo didn't turn out too bad (other than the house sticking out of their head). The photographers set up their camera so they had a great backdrop for the team photo. Hey, at least they thought this one out. The problem was that now the girls and coaches were looking directly into the sun. That trick about having kids close their eyes and on the count of 3, they all open them and you take a wonderful photo....that's dumb. Not only do you irritate your subject with momentary blindness, your image won't look natural. I've seen some of the weirdest expressions when kids are made to look directly into the sun. Plus, there will be one or two kids that will tell you that their moms told them not to look into the sun, so just avoid it.

Fortunately, the team banner was reflecting the sun so well that it was messing with the photographer's flash (which I'm not sure why she needed it, since she was further from her subject than the flash could actually light up). After moving the kids so the sun was coming directly from the sides, we took the team photo. Yay, harsh side lighting and a house and a fence sticking out of their heads on the left.

Fifth tip:  never have your subject look into the sun. They get pissy and the lighting won't look natural. Plus the expression you get will more than likely ensure that there is no repeat business. The best lighting is sun or light coming in at a 45 degree angle to your subject. It lights up the subject without harsh angles.

Sixth tip:  take your time on individual photos. Team photos you do not have this luxury. You have a group of people that all have different comfort and attention levels. Quicker is better. Have a game plan in mind and having an assistant that doesn't take crap can make the difference. With kids you need to have a sense of humor or be able to capture their attention at a single moment. They ALL need to look at the lens at the same time AND smile at the same time. 


Now that I have that off my chest I feel slightly better. It's sucks that I paid for them in the first place, but at least I got to complain about them. Princess just had her spring photos taken at school, so when those come in you will probably get another post.

If you have any questions about photography I would love to answer them. Unlike the above ranting, I'm actually quite helpful with photography concerns. I just get frustrated when "professionals" don't act or take pictures like they should.

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.

Am I really that strange?

I haven't been feeling great for the last few days due to some new cootie the kids brought home, in order to test my immune system.

Therefore, I conned Military Dad (MD) into going to bed early tonight so I'd have company. It's hard to be alone when your sinuses are so plugged you sound like Darth Vader when he breathes. Plus, I imagine I'm making even more attractive noises as I try to clear my previously mentioned stuffed sinuses. (My father once, not so gently, compared the sound of me blowing my nose to that of a fog horn.)

I imagine I'm not anywhere near ravishing or acting lady like, however I'm sick, so I have an excuse.

MD is truly wonderful. He lies next to me, ignoring the strange assortment of noises coming out of my nose, in order to keep me company. What a wonderful man!

Out of nowhere, a moth flies steadily for my face, threatening to beat me up with its tiny, little wings..our worse yet, land on me! Now I am forced to take evasive action in order to defend myself...I slap the crap out of myself, the bed, sheets, the wall, etc. You get the point...it was war and I was fighting with honor as the snot runs down my face.

As World War III is happening, a thought occurs to me: MD is just lying next to me, not even looking up from his damn phone!!!

Am I really that strange that I can slap the crap out of myself for about a minute straight and get no reaction or concern?!

I'd like to believe that MD knows me that well, he realized what was going on, and thought I was handling myself with the grace and eloquence required.

Doubt it, but if he can sit by with no reaction, then I get to say I handled myself well.

You can learn a lot from someone's playlist!

If you truly want to understand a person, find their music selection. It doesn't matter the type, just find those mixed tapes, burnt CDs, or those mp3 playlists and give them a listen. Those personalized, hand-picked with delicate thought,  selections of music will tell you more about someone than anything you could ever ask them.

About a year ago Military Dad (MD) and I downloaded the Google Music app, which is awesome. It takes those hundreds of CDs you have taking up space and puts them out there in the wonderful web's space. In the process of downloading millions of MB, or whatever the techno term is, we have gotten rid of literally hundreds of CDs and their cases. We no longer fear the kids getting their sticky fingers on one of our cherished CDs in fear of scratching...or breaking. (You'd think virtually indestructible would mean lasting through an encounter with Little Dude, but it doesn't.)

During this upload I let my husband do most of the work, just like a good wife should. This meant that some of his CDs from before my time were uploaded, as were a few of mine. I caught a lot of hell for my love of Megadeth; but let me tell you, when you are playing "Doom" on the computer, Megadeath is the perfect soundtrack. Plus I also went through a horrible phase where I actually enjoyed listening to country. Not that old, country music (that MD grew up listening to) but evidently the new cross-over stuff.

So as the upload progressed we learned a lot about each other's musical tastes and how they changed throughout our past: before, during and after our marriage. There used to be a time when MD would put on any Counting Crows' album and I could be passed out, asleep before the first track was done. He found it insulting, as they are his favorite band. I on the other hand found that they had this lulling quality to their music that helped a high-stressed individual find some relaxation. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.) However, as the years went by and my tolerance to the Counting Crows' music grew, I found that I actually love their music. (I do use it on my children though, it works wonderfully when the kiddos need to calm down a little.)

Almost 11 years have gone by, our musical taste has melded together and we enjoy the same things, most of the time. For the most part, our playlists are interchangeable.

Then one day I had the opportunity to actually listen to his entire workout playlist. As I have said before, I have to be tricked into exercise because I just don't enjoy working out. I've tried so many things, that I started to lose hope that I would ever find a way to get healthier.

(Insert that dun-dun-dun music here.) Then I found the recline bike at the YMCA. I can sit on my butt and pedal away. Since I don't have great knees, bike riding is supposedly preferable to my joints than running, walking, blah, blah, blah. I have an elliptical machine at home, however those machines you actually have to pay attention to what you are doing. Otherwise the stupid arm bars can pack a pretty good wallop or worse you can walk right off the platform. Either way, I enjoy losing focus and zoning out, so the recline bike is perfect. I get my exercise and a weird sort of meditation period.

One of these meditation/exercise occasions, I grew bored with the TV screen that is somehow built into this bike and started playing with the Google Music app on my phone. I knew my husband has good "workout" songs, with good solid beats, so I let it play. Normally, I only ride the bike for 30 minutes or 6 miles whichever comes last. However, that day I was feeling really good and kept pedaling.

Here I am, in my pedaling zone, spacing out, when my playlist just plays a song I was not expecting to be on my husband's playlist. For the sake of his embarrassment, I won't post the song. I will even go as far to argue, that once I got back on the bike after my sudden stop in pedaling, the song did have a great beat for working out. Even after people turned to stare at me and give me strange looks, I kept on laughing (probably louder than I thought, due to the headphones) and pedaling.

For the sake of my poor feet being caught in the pedals and people giving me looks, I think I will stick to my own playlists from now on. At least then, if I put my own weird song in, I will know it's coming. The sneaky part of me wants to add a few songs to his playlist, so he enjoys the same thing I endured. However, unlike him, I don't lift weights. I would feel horrible if he hurt himself because of some song I added. It would also be equally horrifying if somehow his headphone cord came loose and now he is blaring some song like, Christina Aguilera's "Fighter" in a room full of weight lifters. I doubt they could appreciate that the song has good, strong beats....gets you through recline biking like a champ!

If you truly want to learn more about your partner, then take a listen to their playlists. I would not recommend exercising without a preview first, just for health reasons.

When it comes to shots, I am a pansy!

As I sit here nursing my homemade pumpkin smoothie after yoga class (yes, I do love California and what it has done to me), I think about the pain my upper body is in. I'm not talking just the soreness associated with working out, I am talking about that feeling you get when your muscles are fatigued and shaking uncontrollably. I love yoga right up to the point that my body says, "nope, no more" and then my legs or arms start shaking in a most epileptic manner.

I have been told several times, by several different people that my body looks like an upside down triangle or I look like I'm wearing shoulder pads, blah, blah...I get it, I have broad shoulders. For my quaint size I'd like to think that I have very good arm and shoulder strength. There are times when my husband and I tease each other; I have all the upper body strength, while he has all the lower body strength.

When I heard that today's workout focused on shoulders and arms, I was excited because that small part of me said, "Yay! I won't have to work as hard, I can work on stretching instead." I was wrong, so very wrong. In order to explain, let me back track a little and inform you how I was exposed to an embarrassing reality on Saturday.

Saturday, Princess had to go to the clinic to get a routine check-up. While we were there, we decided to get our flu shots out of the way. This is when the doctor asked if she had been tested for TB or anemia, of which I was sure she was tested for anemia when she was an infant...I remember the screaming. (Oh, the days when kids would scream while getting shots, how they will be missed.)

The doctor begins explaining the procedures to me and Princess. Princess may have missed the bit about the flu shot, but I didn't! Doctor says, "Yeah, I got my shot on Monday (doctor rubs her shoulder) and today it's just starting to feel bet....so how are you doing in school?" At the time, I was only thinking about how if Princess had heard that, she may lose her excitement.

Off we went to the lab, where Princess skipped over to the chair, sat down and began telling the technician about how she liked shots, just like her daddy. He then had the sad job of telling her she wasn't getting a shot just yet, he was going to prick her finger and squeeze out drops of blood. If this had been Little Dude, he would have said, "Cool, I'm out of here!' Princess, on the other hand, "Can I watch?" The poor technician was ready for a fight, so he sat in stunned silence for a second before he explained what he was doing while he did the test. Now the ever-important bandage is applied and she jumps up happy. The technician tells her that she is probably the bravest 6 year-old he has ever dealt with.

Now we leave the lab and head back towards the clinic for the TB test and flu shots. We try our best to manage Princess' huge ego as we manage the narrow hallways. Once in the vaccination room she climbs up on the exam table and begins explaining to the nurse that she is brave and likes shots. The nurse looks at me and asks if I needed to go first. With Little Dude I have to go first in order to show him that it really isn't that bad, I figure Princess can have her glory. I regret this decision a lot over the next couple of days.

The nurse begins explaining the TB test and Princess just watches her as she completes the procedure. The nurse explains that the flu shot will hurt when she injects her and it will hurt a few days later. At this point, I don't think Princess is listening, she almost has this happy phased out look on her face. She gets the shot, the bandage and her sticker before jumping off the exam table in excitement. It's sick, really. While she is getting the shot, I start thinking to myself, I probably should have gone first just so I don't look like a pansy. Too late.

It's my turn to get a shot, yay. Have I failed to mention that I hate shots? I understand the importance and the physical aspects of getting an injection. They aren't supposed to feel good...well to normal people, they aren't. When giving blood or getting vaccines I have to look away. Evidently, there is always a look that comes across my face because I am always asked, "Are you going to be okay?" I grit my teeth and reply that I'll be fine. The nurse has me wiggle my fingers while she injects me, this is new and very painful. I suppose it is to make the muscle in my upper arm relax, but it freaking hurts!

Everything is done and over, I get no stickers or bandage (I'm not much of a bleeder, either) and my arm hurts like someone repeatedly hit me in the exact same spot. I even look for bruising, it hurts so bad. My arm feels as though it may actually fall off at the shoulder! Princess is skipping down the hall, singing, "I got a shot, I got a shot."

This is when it hits me. My 6 year-old daughter just kicked my butt in something!

The flu shot did wear her down though, so I was glad that it did effect in her in some way. I was starting to think she was invincible. Her elementary school has a running club where kids can come before classes and run for 20 minutes. Every mile (10 laps) they get a plastic foot and the prizes get bigger the more miles they run during the school year.

On Monday, instead of her normal 14 laps in run club, she only ran 12...and she was really sweaty. I told her to walk after her 8th lap, but she just kept on chugging. Yes, I did run with her for 4 laps until I was needed to help in counting laps for the kids.

Now it is Tuesday and my arm feels as though it will fall off again. If it hadn't been "picture day" and my stern warning of not getting dirty, Princess would probably be running her own obstacle courses at recess. It's amazing to see your children do what they do, there is so much pride! It's also sad when you are forced to realize you just aren't as young and invincible as you once thought you were.

Comfort Zones

I have a bubble around me, it is my comfort zone, my blankie or my snuggy, if you will. I say it's literal, but my husband has convinced himself that it's figurative. For some reason I appreciate space. Maybe it is because I am an only child, so I wasn't exposed to privacy or space issues. I'm not one of those "huggy" people either, even if I know you.

Different people have different comfort zones or levels. My mother-in-law can have complete conversations with strangers on a daily basis, she doesn't seem to have a comfort zone, she's just nice to everyone. We have told her several times that she is too nice for California! My husband is very sociable and people tend to love him; however, he doesn't like to be in big crowds.

I am not very sociable therefore in this texting/emailing world, I am completely comfortable. We are symbiotic. The one thing that I absolutely hate is ordering food. It doesn't matter if it is on the phone or in person, I just have no love for it at all.

For as long as I can remember, my husband and I have argued over whose turn it was to call the pizza delivery or Chinese take-out place. Fortunately for me, my husband is a wonderful enabler and allows me to convince him to order whatever is needed. This method worked for years until the wonderful invention of online ordering. Both of us feel better because I am now able to contribute something when ordering food.

When Military Dad wants to order something and he decides he is going to force me to act out this process, I will make sure that our choices are companies that have online ordering. Once again, he is an enabler and allows me to get away with this. This went on for months, until one day he decided to stop enabling me.

It all started with a trip to the beach. On the way there we noticed a Sonic and we decided that it was Cherry Limeades and Tots on the way home. MD starts teasing me relentlessly about not being able to order; even going so far as to comment on my anti-social habits.

Despite his best efforts, we had a wonderful time at the beach. Upon arriving at Sonic, MD decided from out of nowhere that I should order. I tell myself, "It's going to be okay, you are ordering 4 Diet Cherry Limeades and 4 Tots, how hard can it be?"

Yep! This is where that connection from my brain to mouth malfunctions at its finest. Please read Military Dad's post about the conversation, because honestly it's so horrific, I can't revisit it or I will need more therapy. What should have taken maybe a minute to order, took about 4 minutes and a Sonic employee almost in tears. It was that bad.

Evidently, I should have gone through this horrifying experience years ago, because now MD doesn't even bring up who is going to order anymore. If he wants food that doesn't have online ordering, he makes the call. I think he also feels at this point that he isn't enabling me anymore, he is saving me and several food employees from therapy. It's a win-win for both of us.

Pride doesn't even begin to describe how I feel...

I have mentioned several times about how my daughter seems to be years ahead of herself in maturity and intelligence. It's absolutely amazing the innocence and depth that children possess.

Years ago I decided that I wanted to donate my hair to Locks of Love. Unfortunately, I have issues with taking out stress on my hair, therefore I color it or cut it regularly. Due to the process involved in creating hair pieces they need long, healthy, un-colored hair. Since college, my hair hasn't been longer then shoulder length or anywhere near its natural color.

I knew after doing this research, that I would never be able to donate my hair. My daughter being ever so observant asked me why I was so upset. I tried my best to explain to a then 4 year old about the reasons for Locks of Love. It was difficult, depressing and utterly uncomfortable to explain how not everyone is blessed with health.

Princess, being the empathetic person she is, understood and immediately stated that she wanted to give her hair to people who couldn't grow their own. What had left me depressed just minutes ago, had me amazed and proud of such a huge personality trapped in a little girl's body.

So for the next two years we have been taking care of her gorgeous blonde hair in order to whack it off and give it away. Every few months she had me measure it to see how close she was. Not once during this entire period, did she every change her mind. Our goal was to have it long enough, she could easily cut off the minimum requirement (10 inches) and still have neck or shoulder length hair. She is about one inch from neck-length haircut.

After helping her wash her hair this evening, I came to the realization that her type of hair might not be able to make it that last inch. For every person, no matter the hair type, there is this magic length at which hair stops being healthy. Her hair appears to be thick, however it is actually pretty fine, so I'm amazed it made to the length it has. After leaving conditioner in it, spraying with detangler and working out clumps of tangles, I had to finally come to terms that this was probably her magic length...just one inch shy of our goal. I was heartbroken for her.

In one last attempt to save our goal, I thought maybe it was just split-ends wreaking havoc, because then we could get a trim and let it grow some more. However, after relentless searching, I couldn't find a single split end.

I got out the ruler and checked to see if maybe I was wrong and we actually had hit our target. The number 9 kept staring back at me, no matter what chunk of hair I measured.
Princess:  "How much more Mommy?"
Me:  "Still one more inch, unless you want to cut it higher."
Princess:  "OK"
Me:  "OK, what? You want to cut it higher?"
Princess:  "Sure."

I measure up to 10 inches, the magic number. It would be about the middle of her ear in length. I show her with my finger the magic length and then try my best to show her what her hair would like that short.

Princess:  "OK, when can I cut it?"
Me:  "Um, go show your father."

MD:  "That's pretty short, are you sure you want to cut it now? If so, we can make an appointment this week and we can donate it."
Princess:  without hesitation..."I want to give my hair to someone who needs it."
MD:  "Sounds good, why don't you take a day or two and think about it, and if that's what you want to do, Mommy will make you an appointment."

Now Princess is off making a pretty big decision for a 6 year old. I'm in shock, I think. My daughter is such a better person than I am, and I'm worried that she may regret cutting it so short. However, I already know that as soon as it is cut, she will start asking how much longer until we can cut it again. Princess has mentioned before how she wants to keep donating her hair to Locks of Love. At 6, she already understands that it's just hair and it doesn't define her in any way. So, how do I come to terms with it?

A glimpse of insanity...

Every morning at 6:08 AM a neighbor's sprinklers go off. Normally this wouldn't concern me. However, it wakes me up from my last sacred minutes before the school routine starts. At 6:08 AM, I still have 22 minutes before the actual alarm goes off, or Little Dude comes into our bedroom, already dressed.

What concerns me is the timing of the sprinklers going off. 6:08? I have already ruled out our clocks being early or late, as they are set with Sprint. (Whether this is an accurate time or not is moot, I just assume that everyone else sets their clocks to some cellular device nowadays.)

I now lie awake thinking is their clock 3 minutes slow? 2 minutes fast? Or, even worse, did they actually program their sprinklers to go off at 6:08 AM? If it is the last option, then I am in awe of their testicular fortitude to plainly mess with people.

I really hope it is the last option, because as soon as we get our sprinklers ripped out and a drought resistant garden built, I plan on setting my sprinklers to go off at some random time also, just to mess with people. (For those of you wondering, we do have a small patch of grass in the backyard that we will keep for the kiddos - this is where I will set off my sprinklers at 6:52 AM.)



***Upon reading this out loud to my husband, his response was, "You aren't right. It's the right title for it, though."

Welcome to a small slice of my "reality." (Insert evil laugh here)

I'm being unleashed....

There a few things that get me so excited I actually shake with glee. One of those things is tackling home improvement projects.

If my dad is reading this, he is shaking his head in disbelief. When I was younger he had to drag me kicking-and-screaming into a home improvement project. I guess I did not appreciate the knowledge I was gaining, I just felt that I was free labor.

I also understood that anytime he needed anything at a home improvement store, I had to go a long. The fact that I was a teenage girl in a store teaming with teenage boys looking to "help" someone, did not go unnoticed by my dad. If he needed to ask a question or needed something loaded into the truck, he would disappear around the corner. Seconds later, a young, helpful man would come running around the corner to assist me in my woes of home improvement. Later with the questions answered or materials loaded into the truck, we would drive back to my manual labor, no fun on the weekend, bonding experience with my dad.

I learned how to install ceiling fans, sprinkler systems, decks, wood flooring, tile and several other things that I can't think off of the top of my head. Some of you are thinking, "Wow! What an opportunity to learn things from your dad, I never had that chance." Yes, you would be right, I had a wonderful opportunity, however I was a teenager and did not understand that at the time. I was also an only child, so it didn't matter that I was his daughter or whether I was capable or not, I was simply there when tasks were needed.

With all this being said, now that I own my own home, I look forward to everything on our to-do list with so much excitement that I think it scares my husband. Maybe, even terrifies him.

Before we owned our own home, we fought over who got to put things together from places like IKEA. We would even go through the effort to make sure something was delivered when the other person wasn't home. Sad, I know.

Lately, with home ownership I have slowly been carving away at my husband's do-it-yourself insecurities. He helped install a new toilet for the kid's bathroom with hesitation, however, by the end he started looking around the house for new stuff to do. It was a proud moment in my life!

Moving ahead, we had Home Depot measure our entire house for flooring installation. I never planned on Home Depot doing all the installation, however I later realized this was exactly what MD had in mind. His do-it-yourself fears came flooding back due to his inexperience. I, on the other hand, had this wealth of knowledge, the right attitude and tons of YouTube videos at my fingertips...I was READY!

I started looking over Home Depot's estimates and doing a cost analysis of materials and labor that we could save if we did it ourselves.  MD just wasn't buying this. After about a couple of weeks of begging and pleading, he changed his mind for some reason. I'm not sure if it was the constant ideas being thrown at him, the YouTube videos I made him watch ("see honey we can really do this, that guy with a mullet did it!"), or the professional massage package I told him he could have after we completed the project (no, I didn't really, but it makes the story better), but he hesitantly agreed to unleash me.

Now that I have been unleashed I kind of feel like that dog who is made to sit and watch their toy be thrown far away. They just sit their shaking and drooling, until they are told to go get it. I've been unleashed but I'm still waiting to go get my toys at the store and start. Maybe another week....

Identity Crisis

Up until Sunday, I was (to my knowledge) never referred to as a sweetheart. I have been known to be sweet on rare occasions. My husband does call me sweetheart, but it is similar to "yes, dear" that it's not really an endearment, more of a statement.

I'm not really the sort of person who goes out of their way to be nice or pleasant really. I'm just me. A lot of people find me a bit abrasive and challenging. As I have said before, I'm not a people person, but I can fake it really well. My husband will be the first to tell you that I am very opinionated and seem to delude myself into believing that my opinions are indeed facts. I argue a lot, because I don't like being wrong. Even on the rare occasion when it seems that I am actually wrong, I will argue about it until the other person just gets tired or frustrated and gives up. I know that I wasn't correct, but I won the argument. It truly takes special or maybe "special" people to be my friends...I have a few.

So what did I do to receive this honorable(?) title of sweetheart? I really don't know, but it must have been good!

The story begins: a fellow father blogger (MadDadz) and his daughter came down to San Diego to watch a Padres game and my husband (Military Dad) and Princess decided to go with them.

This is probably the point at which I should mention, we've never met these people before. My husband and MadDadz' only form of communication was trading random emails or insults about each others blogs. I am a regular reader of MadDadz blog, so he sucked me into his world too. MadDadz almost seemed like someone I would love to meet, if I weren't completely antisocial.

My husband being the social-everyone-likes-me kind of guy, casually invited him to have a beer if he ever ventured down to San Diego. Fast forward a few months and MadDadz announces he is taking his kids to every baseball stadium in the Western area, guess what? Yep, San Diego is on his agenda.

How bad can he be? He's taking his kids to see a few baseball games. According to one of his blogs, his son wasn't real excited about the prospect and told him in so many words, "No!" His daughter wanted to experience it though, now the beer offer from my husband is a real thing.

Obviously with his daughter coming, a beer wasn't such a good idea, so they both agree Military Dad and Princess should join them at the game. So maybe they can just meet at the game and meet in a public place, right? Nope, my husband says, "Come on over and we'll fix you lunch before the game!" Ah jeez!

Did I mention that MadDadz is from Beverly Hills and he's a lawyer? No, I left that out? Oops. Anyway, now being the person I am, I grit my teeth, clean the house like a madwoman and figure out what we should feed these well-to-do people. My husband helps me decide that his meals (comfort food) are too heavy, because they have been on the road and eating unhealthy food. Ugh! I decide vegetarian lasagna shouldn't be too bad to make. Then I remembered he was bringing his daughter and to be honest, I wasn't sure my own children would eat the lasagna. (Insert maniacal screaming with random bits of laughter)

Contrary to my overactive imagination of being hacked up into pieces and never heard from again, they were great people to meet. What can I say, I'm really surprised I don't have ulcers.

What I realized, despite his blog, he's a lot like Military Dad, in that he is very easy to like. His daughter was absolutely wonderful. She entertained my kids and put up with their weirdness with a genuine smile on her face. She also made my husband laugh for hours with descriptions of her story characters. She even drew us pictures of most of them, I believe. There is only one character she drew that really creeps me out, one of these days the banshee character will stop haunting my dreams.

During this whole encounter, of which I had about an hour's worth of involvement, I became a sweetheart. I am having to reassess my whole outlook. What if I can actually be a sweetheart and break through my sullen exterior? It's something to think about.

But for now, my husband isn't feeling well because he ate too much for lunch, so I'm going to make him go pick up Chipotle for dinner. What can I say, I'm such a sweetheart!

Today I turn thirty-FORE!

If you are familiar with golf, then you understand the pun. If you don't understand:  after you put a wicked hit on the ball and it decides to sail towards unsuspecting people, to warn them you yell out, "FORE!"

My husband took me to an narrow par 3 golf course to celebrate my birthday. He also wanted to get me back in the swing of things. (I could go all day with puns, but I'll try to stop.) I haven't golfed in a little over two years and we decided to skip practice on the driving range, so it was a little stressful for me.

For some reason I have a pretty good knack at driving the crap out of the ball. For a girl, I hit pretty darn far. I am not a putter, I just cannot get a handle on soft swings. In my limited experience on golf courses, I usually have to whack the heck out of the ball to get it remotely close to the putting area. Keeping this in mind, we step up to the first hole and my husband tells me to use a 7 iron, I said, "Say what?!"

He started blathering about yardage and it only being par 3; I phased him out because I'm not great with my irons. I love my woods, so I glanced at them longingly and grab my 7. I am strictly a whack it, then attempt at putting the ball into the hole in less than 10 strokes. Yes, I said 10. For today's game I limited myself to 3 tries...nope, still didn't make it.

I walk up, drop my nice bright pink ball down (it's honestly because I can't see the white balls and my husband stole all my fluorescent orange balls). I get ready to swing, take my mandatory deep breathe and whack it. Thankfully there was this 30 foot high net that prevented my horrible shank from sailing into a car window on the busy street next to us.

Well that sucked! I won't even include my putting attempts in this post, because honestly, it's just plain embarrassing. So onto hole 2.

Hubby takes out his 5 wood and walks toward the tee. I got so excited about being able to use my wood, this day was turning around! I pick my 3 wood, give it a quick kiss and skip towards the tee. This is 1 of 2 holes on the entire course that are par 4. Yay! I get a chance to whack the ball, I'm so happy.

Hubby takes his shot and it sails beautifully straight toward that checkered flag, yards down the green. I step up, pink ball in hand, and line up to take my shot. I whacked it...right towards the people putting on hole 1.


I yell, "FORE!" for the first time in my life. Then in slow motion, I see a man and a woman falling to the ground to avoid my badly aimed ball. The woman is screaming and crying as it nearly took off her head, I am horrified.


According to my husband it missed the couple by about 30 feet, and in reality, they only just looked over at me as the ball went flying past them, but I was still horrified. I actually cried, I was so embarrassed. 

We move onto hole 3, I have snot running down my face and no tissues to clean up the mess. My husband is horrified because I'm so upset about it, "Honey, I do it all the time, calm down!"

Holes 3 through 8, I manage to find my swing and do rather well. Putting....I just give up on at this point, I'm so bad. Oh! On hole 8, I almost hit some ducks...pretty much right after saying to my husband, "if I hit a damn duck, I quit!" Fortunately, my shank saved their lives. Why on earth would you live on or near a golf course?

On hole 9, we are waiting for the group ahead of us to finish putting, so I am pretending to eye up my shot. I hear this "CRACK" and a ball manages to drop behind me about 9 feet. Um...where did that come from? As it turns out the dude I almost shot the ball at near the 2nd hole is trying to make it even, karma, who knew?!


We watch as the couple behind us takes about 4 shots to get near the green for their hole. I'm pretty sure you get one try, but hey, they have the range to knock out a few of my teeth, so I'm not going to argue.

FINALLY, the people ahead of us move along and I line up my shot. It was downhill and curved to the right, so even with my shanking ability, I relaxed a little. Bad idea. I managed to get enough distance and curve on the stupid thing to send it sailing right towards....you guessed it, the couple behind us. Well crap, now I'm one up on the karmic screw you meter. The hubby lines up his shot, it looked and sounded great until it suddenly curved towards the right. Evidently he decided that his karmic scale needed adjusting too.

Shoulders slumped, we get into our golf cart and drive towards the balls. We exchange a laugh and some pleasantries with the couple as we pass on the path. Upon finding our balls, we discover my ball landed about 3 feet from the lady taking her shot, and hubby's ball tried to take out their golf cart. By this point I am pretty rattled at my near misses with killing people and ducks.

Next couple of holes have houses directly on the course...on the right hand side. I told hubby that I wasn't going to be responsible for breaking some person's window, karma was not on my side today. For the next couple of holes, I pretended to be his chauffeur, until I convinced him that I was starving and would live no longer.

So golfing is not really my thing, when accuracy is required in order to not kill people or destroy property. I'll stick to golfing on military bases, nothing but open space there!

To make up for my near involuntary manslaughter charges, hubby took me and the family out to dinner and most importantly...wine tasting at San Pasqual Winery! I am a firm believer in drowning my embarrassment in a glass of wine or three. Important note here: I HATE being sang to in restaurants, absolutely loathe it. 

As I tried to enjoy my salted caramel chocolate cake with a glass of port, hubby gets Little Dude and Princess to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. It was sweet...until the other 20-30 people joined in that were also wine tasting.

The laughable part came when the others didn't know who they were wishing Happy Birthday to, so there was a pause. The kiddos sang, "to Mommy!" then the 20-30 other people joined in, "to Mommy!" and continued on. My face turned beet red and I actually enjoyed myself!

All-in-all, it was a pretty good 34th birthday! Thank you to my immediate family and to the "kids" I now have at the San Pasqual Winery.

Food - I love you, why don't you love me?

I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love it, but it hates me.

"Hi, my name is ME and I am a stress eater."

For some psycho-babble reason, it seems to make things feel better for that split second. I realize therapists all over the world are crying out, "Replace that feeling with something that actually makes you feel good. Activities that make you laugh, blah, blah."

I manage to think long and hard before I stress eat, so I'm making progress. I try my best to drink a large glass of water or leave the room completely; however, sometimes that spoonful of peanut butter mixed with another spoonful of dark chocolate chips just TASTES awesome!

Since I don't enjoy exercising (on purpose), I have to monitor what I eat closer than non-stress eaters do. Plus I have low blood sugar issues and my families genetics SUCK! Due to genetics I now have, and will continue to have, cholesterol problems. Yes, I do realize that a small amount (30 min everyday) of exercise would cure most of my problems, but it's the motivation I lack. Once I'm exercising, I'm fine, I even enjoy it!

Recently, I went full-on vegetarian (okay, so not full-on, I eat fish and dairy/eggs - so I'm a pesky ovolacto Unitarian or something) so that adds another hitch in my food monitoring. Also, since I don't eat meat I now have low iron levels to worry about. Not usually a problem, however being a woman, evidently you pretty much deplete your iron stores on a monthly basis, yay! But how much iron do I need? What if I eat too much iron? Ugh!

This is how I came to have an appointment with a dietician. Other than the fact that I've been monitoring the wrong things and my genetics suck, it was actually a great appointment. If your insurance will pay for it or you have a YMCA near you (ours has a dietician), I recommend consulting with some sort of nutrition specialist. (**For those of you with spelling OCDs: dietician and dietitian are the same thing, I looked it up because Google said I spelled it wrong.)

After browsing through the multitude of handouts, I am actually doing a decent job eating healthy (aside from the stress thing). Getting rid of meat in my diet is actually 1/3 of my battle with cholesterol; dairy and genetics are the other two-thirds. My real struggle comes from the fact that I evidently monitor and eat the wrong fats.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not and never will be a dietician so go see one for yourself, because you are not me and may have different diet and genetic suckage to deal with.

One of the many handouts explained the whole saturated/unsaturated fat business in a way I understand...it had pictures! Plus, I added the all-important arrows indicating what the different fats did to my cholesterol. My dietician helped explain the LDL and HDL thing.
HDL is good stuff, it helps gets rid of the LDL which is the nasty stuff that sticks in your arteries. I'm still lost on triglycerides, but that is because mine seem to be fine so we didn't touch on that.

Basically your natural oils (olive, peanut butter & nuts) help increase your HDL and decrease your LDL. Fried stuff, we all know is bad, but it's BECAUSE it lowers your HDL and raises your LDL. Ah HA! I'm not very good at, "Don't do that, it's bad for you!" I need explanations and reasons for things I should do.

Avoiding fats altogether is bad too (did not know this) because good fats are needed to raise your HDL. If you don't eat them, no matter how "healthy" your diet, genetics come in and have a SUCK parade all over your healthy food.

Now I get to do what I hate to do, count calories! Ugh! It's more the vitamin, fat and iron levels I am monitoring, but I still hate it. If anyone has any recommendations for free apps for an android phone, I'd love the help!

Also, if anyone has any recommendations for vegetarian, healthy snacks that I can use for my stress eating I would love the help! My go-to snack is peanut butter with dark chocolate chips added, horrible, I know...but oh SO GOOD! Working on my stress eating will be a whole different post, so let's not go there!

I'm not perfect

Wow! That was kind of hard to say! I know I'm not perfect, but you all don't know that! My husband says I'm perfect all the time, but now that I think about it, he may be lying!

Seriously though, there are very few of us who are actually perfect in any way, that's what makes us special and unique. Some people can do things others of us can't.

For example, without being formally taught, I managed to teach myself how to sew on a machine, and I do it rather well. Can't sew a button on to save my life, but I can use a machine quite well. There are other things out there I seem to have this natural ability at doing, which make me seem like a super hero to some members of my family. Mailing is not one of these things.

Mailing anything, not just packages. This is one woman who truly appreciates and knows the value of online bill-pay! If it wasn't for online shopping, I probably wouldn't get any gifts to my friends and family either.

My  husband says I have a process and if I were to send Christmas gifts in the summer months, they would get there on time. You ask, "seriously, it's June, what postal process takes 6 months to get to its destination?"

Mine!

Here is my normal timeline for mailing packages:

I buy the item and it sits on my table, or some random place, until the next step, which is wrapping the item. This first step can take weeks, months even, if I don't have the right wrapping paper! The poor item gets moved around, from place to place, until I manage to force myself to take the 2 minutes to wrap it.

Yay! Now it's wrapped, now I need to put it in a box. If I have the box, just lying around, then this process is quick and painless. If I don't have the box, add another couple of weeks.

You're thinking to yourself, "Now she only has to drive it to the post office and she's done!" Ha! I laugh out of sympathy for your thoughts. This is the step that can actually break me. 

Now the package seems to disappear into this place of limbo, where it somehow manages to become "out of sight, out of mind." The package will sit somewhere in the house, waiting patiently to make it to the car for distribution. If the package was fluorescent, or any other color than white or brown, this process could be shortened dramatically. However, the postal service seems to enjoy white and brown packages, plus I'm too cheap and paranoid to buy the present looking packages. (The paranoia comes from my mother. I'll have to write a post about our family Christmas' another day!)

I actually had some books that I was mailing back to my mother and I managed to get everything done in a day, since it didn't require wrapping. I felt that the winds of change were upon me and I was going to get past this awful affliction. Nope.

I set it in the car so I could take it to the post office next time I was out and about. Due to some interesting driving we have in California, the box managed to fall off the seat and slip under the driver's seat. There the package sat for 2 months, until my mother-in-law accidentally found it then mailed it for me. Somewhere in my mind, I had already mailed my mother that package,so imagine my surprise!

Fortunately I have a supportive husband who realizes my weakness and tries his best to mail it for me, once I get it to the package stage. If it hadn't been for my mother-in-law, those books would still be underneath the seat!

Here is a big THANK YOU to my friends and family for putting up with my inability to mail things. Even the not-so-gentle reminders are helpful. To my newer friends, you better hope I can shop on-line for you, otherwise you better have some patience!