Sunday November 20, 2011

So, it's been one of those months, and it just seems like it's going to get even more stressful. I've been trying to find the time to participate in NaNoWriMo, but I'm am horribly behind. The only thing that's going to save my novel now is a small miracle. I hope that miracle happens tomorrow night at the write-in that I've planned.

Also, the holidays are quickly approaching. That means food, and gifts, and travel. You know what all those thing have in common? They cost money. Money that I seem to be short on lately. Even shorter than usual. Buddha grant me serenity, because I really need it this month.

Ohm ... Ohm ... Ohm ...

Still Baby Weight, or Just Fat?

There are MILLIONS of women across the United States that have given birth. And of those MILLIONS, there are still MILLIONS of us that are unhappy with our bodies. It’s no joke, growing a baby wreaks havoc on your body. I gained anywhere from fifteen to forty pounds every time I was pregnant.

So here is the question I pose: When does baby weight become just plain fat? 

I love and adore my daughters. They are truly my sunshine--most days, anyway ... After every birth, I’ve lost some of the weight. Usually not ALL of it, though. And, I still have yet to lose the weight gained from carrying my youngest.

I’m not gonna lie, I’m a weak-minded person. I don’t have much as far as willpower and self-discipline. (Hello? Can’t say no to my husband, remember?) If I want a piece of chocolate cake with double fudge frosting, odds are, I’m gonna eat it.

I try to exercise everyday, on top of my normal physical activity chasing kids and dogs around. So, while I’m not LOSING weight, at least I’m not GAINING any, either. As of my last weigh in, I am about forty-five pounds overweight. That’s obese, people! Yikes!

Seeing as my youngest daughter is three, has too much time passed for me to call it baby weight? I know, I’m pulling at some pretty flimsy strings trying to blame this on pregnancy. But come on, if I say it was the baby, then it can’t be MY fault, right?

I ask, because (1) I really wish I could still call it baby weight, and (2) I know someone that was incredibly overweight at the age of sixteen and tried to convince everyone that she was still heavy from when she actually WAS a baby. I think they made a saying for her: “That’s not baby fat, that’s just FAT BABY.”

That was harsh, sorry, but while I’m just being silly, she was serious.

Losing weight on my own is hard! Kudos to everyone that is able to do it. I have so much admiration and respect for people that can lose weight by eating right and exercising. I think about not having chips and soda, and I have a physical reaction. My heart starts racing and I begin to panic. Yes, the idea of not having junk food gives me anxiety.

And here we are, back at willpower again. I wish it were that easy for me to cut out sugar and carbs. I would be SO much smaller if it were. But, alas, it’s not. (I’m the fatty on the couch watching The Biggest Loser, while chowing on buttery popcorn. Sad face ... ) I learned about this new concept that seems to be working for me, though: Portion sizes.

Did you know there are certain AMOUNTS of food that you’re supposed to eat? And crazy enough, 16 ounces of Ribeye steak is too much. Dang. No, seriously, I’ve started watching my portions. I’m weighing and measuring, and putting food on a smaller plate. I’ve been doing it so long that my stomach has stopped complaining about not being constantly stretched to the limit. That huge steak? Now it’s two meals-SCORE!

But I digress. I guess they say that it took about nine months to put on the weight, so you should count on about that long to take all the weight off. Since my nine months was over two years ago, I think I might be pushing the baby weight claim.

This is my story, though; I’m gonna stick to it. At least until someone calls, “Shenanigans!” And after that, I guess I will have to start making dates with Tony Horton. I hope that’s still a ways down the road ... I’m not in the mood to “bring it” any time soon. (another sad face ...) 

Just Say No

There are times when I like to pretend that I am Superwoman. Why not? I am a stay at home mom. I take care of all the kids, the animals, my husband, and the house. I run errands for family members. I try to help my friends with their businesses whenever I can. And my favorite thing to do (aside from writing) is to volunteer.

But just like Superman (and probably Superwoman, I don’t remember exactly) I have a kryptonite. An almost debilitating weakness. I cannot say no to my husband. I do what I can, and what it takes to keep my family healthy and happy. But, when it comes to that man, no matter how ridiculous the request, I just can’t say no.

He could ask me to ride a water buffalo bareback, naked, backwards and eating a dill pickle and I would probably say yes. If he winked when he asked, it wouldn’t even be a question. I am retarded when it comes to my husband.

But, people do all sorts of crazy things when they fall in love, you say? Consider then, the fact that my husband and I met almost eight years ago. We’ve been married for over five years. We have two daughters together. We are not even close to still being in that starry-eyed honeymoon phase.

Then how does he still get me to answer his every beck and call? I honestly can’t tell you. Maybe it’s that goofy smile he puts on when he asks me for something silly (“Since you’re already up, would you get me a pop? Pretty puh-leeze?”). Maybe it’s the random bear hug he’ll give me while I’m cooking his dinner (Yes, I make his plate for him. No, I don’t cut his meat into tiny pieces.). Maybe it’s the knowledge that, after so many years together, he still has to snuggle when we go to bed or he won’t sleep well.

I spoil the man rotten. I really do. I can’t seem to stop myself.

But then again, he spoils me just the same. I almost always have a nicer vehicle to drive (he says it’s because I drive with the kids more often, but I know it’s MY safety he worries about). I buy whatever I want when grocery shopping, and we always eat what I want to cook for supper.

The house is decorated solely in my taste. I got the smartphone and cell plan that I wanted (so superficial, I know). I got the high efficiency washer and dryer set I liked. And when I park at Starbucks, to pick up Angela from her dad, he knows good and well that I’m going to buy a drink for the ride home.

Then when I get back home, all hopped up on Frappuccino, if he asks me if I want to buy a pistol, I find myself saying, “Yes.” Budget be damned, I tell the man yes. In my caffeine haze, I forget to realize that buying a pistol doesn’t just mean the price of the pistol. It means, of course, a case of rounds and sales tax. Somehow, “I only need about sixty dollars,” turned into $100.

Here I am, kicking myself in the ass, experiencing a horrible case of buyer’s remorse. Dang him and his boyish grin.

How did I get sucked into the thought that I need it for protection? We live in tiny town Iowa! Who the heck is going to break into our house? And for that matter, how the heck are they going to get into our house? Bella growls when she hears a car door slam down the block. And it’s not like Jesse isn’t going to be here. He’s not likely to deploy any time soon. Last I heard, 1st CIV DIV doesn’t see too much action.

The darn butterflies in my belly have gotten me into trouble more than once ... they got me to say, “of course I’ll marry you,” and “go ahead, babe, enlist in the Marine Corps,” not to forget, “sure buy that fixer-upper, you can do all the work yourself. It’ll save us so much money.”

Oh, and the puppies. The dear, sweet puppies. “Solomon found a pregnant pit bull wandering his neighborhood,” and “Let’s buy a purebred dog. We can breed her and sell the puppies.” If I remember correctly, I was the one sitting in the whelping box both times. I swear, the man could sell me the Brooklyn Bridge.

No more. This is it. I will learn to Just Say No to my husband. I will think before I say yes. I’ll install a filter between my heart and my mouth. I will tell him I’ll think about it. I’ll tell him that I have to check my calendar. I will say, “No!”

Well ... maybe once I’m done painting the house I told him he could buy ...

When Do You Stop Having Babies?

Lately, a lot of my friends have been having babies. It’s a fairly common occurrence, especially in the military community.  But with all these little ones popping out, I’ve started asking myself, “Are Jesse and I done having kids? And, how do you REALLY know when you’re done?”

Honestly, the biggest reason that I decided to stop having kids was very selfish. My kids had just started to sleep through the night. I was waking up in the morning actually feeling rested. I had gone more than four years without a decent night of sleep. If I have another baby, it’ll probably be another two years before I get my nights back again. It sounds awful when you say that out loud, but it’s how I feel. I can’t apologize for that.

Another reason that I’m ready to step off of the baby train? In a word, Diapers. Again, having two girls about two years apart is a large part of this decision, but I also provided childcare in my home for the last couple years. All my charges were under eighteen months old. That’s A LOT of smelly diapers to change in one day! When I start thinking that I might want another little bundle in our home, I remember the days when either one of my children or charges would have a bellyache and I shudder at the memory. I prefer not to be elbow deep in poo, and my dogs already provide me with plenty to clean up. Ew.

I hate to sound like all I’m doing is complaining and being selfish, but I’m an adult, I think I’m entitled to that. I’ve been a mother for over ten years, and a stay at home mom for the last eight. I’ve devoted my entire last years to my children, husband, pets, and home. Other stay at home moms will (secretly) agree that there are times when you start to lose your sense of self. You start to forget that you’re not just a mom and a wife, but also a woman. You have hopes and dreams and aspirations. Some of us have college degrees that we feel guilty for not putting to use. Some of us haven’t even been to college, but wish that we could.

My youngest are approaching school age. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t looking forward to it. I have no plans to go out and find a job. I plan to stay at home still. Maybe take some online classes? But most importantly, I look forward to having time for myself. I look forward to having uninterrupted time to  sit and write. Blog. Tweet. Whatever. I am lucky enough to be blessed with a husband that still thinks that a woman’s place is in the home. Whether there are still ankle biters running around or not.

Now, not ALL of my reasons for not continuing to reproduce are hoggish. I know, it really seems like it though, doesn’t it? Well, they’re not! When I was pregnant with our youngest one, we learned that my body was producing an antibody that, if counts got too high, was harmful (and potentially deadly) to the baby. My body had apparently produced this with every pregnancy, and started producing higher amounts with each subsequent child. I endured weekly ultrasounds, and biweekly blood tests. At one of our checkups, the specialist told us that we would be tempting fate if we had another child after Abby. Now, how can you knowingly get pregnant when you have been given THAT warning?

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore babies. Really, I love all things itty-bitty. Jesse and I decided, together, that I would have an IUD inserted to give us time to decide whether we are actually done or not. It’s a question we’ve been tossing back and forth for three years now. I still feel a tug in my uterus every time I see a baby, or hear that another one of my girlfriends has given birth. My internal clock is slowly ticking. I’m fully aware that I’m not getting any younger, and soon mother nature will decide for me that I’m done making little ones.

But, I have three gorgeous daughters. They are happy, healthy and the center of my world. They each have their own dynamic personality. Soon all of them will be in school, and it will be my turn to discover my own person, again. I look forward to coffee in the morning with my dogs. Chaperoning field trips. Cleaning the house, and having it remain that way for more than twenty minutes. Helping out at class parties. Typing away on my laptop, without someone asking for a cup of juice. And when my husband decides to fully retire, spending time alone with him during the day. That is how I knew I was done having kids.

Girlfriends

 Interpersonal relationships are very important for women. You love your kids, and you adore your husband. But I would have to say some of the most important relationships we women have are the ones with our girlfriends. Otherwise, who else would we complain to about our husband and kids?

 Your girls are the ones that you call when you first start dating the man who will become your husband. They’re the ones that share champagne with you after he pops the question. They also stand next to you as you take your vows. And when it’s their turn down the aisle, you are right there for them.

 Aside from your parents, who are the first people that you call when you find out you’re pregnant? Your girls, of course. They throw your baby shower. Listen to you complain about being the size of a whale. And they bring you cheeseburgers in the hospital.

 My girlfriends have helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. They’ve provided me with brutal honesty when I’ve made dumb decisions, and also lifted me up when my confidence was wavering. They are my sounding off board when I need help making decisions, and they are my biggest cheerleaders when I’m trying something new.

 There is no greater test of friendship than a stressful situation. My husband is a Marine. He is no longer active duty, but the experience of being a Marine wife is something I’d never want to take back. Camp Lejeune, North Carolina is where I met the women I now call my best friends.

 I take that back, I was still living in Iowa when I “met” Mary Louise. She had posted the same question on two different Marine Corps support discussion boards that I log on to. I answered her question (hopefully I was helpful) on both boards, not knowing which one she was more likely to see it on. We ended up exchanging private messages, then exchanged emails, and then finally phone numbers.

 I remember that first phone call. I didn’t know what to expect, it had been years since I’d made a new friend. And, Mary Louise is eight years younger than me. She was still in high school. I was already married and had two children. But we were united by a very strong common bond. We love our Marines (her Recruit at the time).

 Mary Louise ended up being smart, sarcastic, and above all, a sweetheart. We learned that friendship doesn’t discriminate. You don’t have to have everything in common to best friends, but we had enough.

 Janna actually knew my husband before we became friends. She is a female Marine, and she and Jesse were in the same Unit before both being TAD out to other companies. She and I met when she started dating, and later married, one of Jesse’s buddies. (But that’s a WHOLE other story ...)

 In Janna, I found another sarcastic, take no crap, strong woman. Just the fact that she made it through Boot Camp is a testimony of her strength. But, she again, ended up being a fellow Marine wife when her husband deployed with mine. We leaned on each other when one or the other’s husband didn’t call. We shared ideas for care packages. We called each other when we were our loneliest, because we knew what the other was going through.

 Janna and I also share a love for baking, she has become my partner in Cooking Crime. We both have a problem eating the things that we make. Janna and I solved the problem by sharing our goodies with each other. But it’s okay, because Janna is also a kick-ass trainer, and about the only other person that could keep up with me during P90X.

 Probably my favorite “how did you meet?” story has to be shared with Tiffanie. I love being involved. Volunteering is one of my favorite things to do. It’s also high on Tiffanie’s to-do list.

 One day, my FRO (Family Readiness Officer) emailed me an opportunity to take part in a panel discussing the controversial “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy. The other wife of my husband’s unit wasn’t able to make it, so there I sat on the bleachers all alone. Tiffanie walked in, late, and sat beside me. When everyone was asked to move in to a smaller group, she moved with me. We shared a lot of the same views on the policy, and I learned that she was, also, a very outspoken personality. Tiff and I walked out of the panel together, exchanged phone numbers, and the rest is pretty much history.

 Tiffanie knew more about the Marine Corps in general, and I knew more about Camp Lejeune. (Tiffanie had just moved to the area.) I was a stay at home mom in need of adult conversation, and she needed a place to hang out while her husband was at work. It was a great match.

 Our first family portraits were taken by Mary Louise. She needed us to help build her photography portfolio. To this day, she is the only one that can get my husband to really smile for a picture. She (and Vincent) have become like family to us. If you’ve ever heard her and Jesse argue, you would think that we were family. (I would love to hear what people think when we all go out in public together ...)

 Janna is my Starbucks buddy. Sometimes it seems like she’s my Starbucks Bitch. I whine that I need some coffee, and half an hour later she magically appears at my door with a Venti Mocha Frappe. Explain that one. Starbucks just isn’t the same without her. Not that there’s one within an hour of my house, anyway. (sad face ... )

 Tiffanie is my favorite wine-o. She always brings a good time with her. Not that we ever get out of hand, mind you, but we definitely know how to relax and enjoy ourselves. Tiffanie is like an open book, some of our conversations can even make me blush! I cherish those honest talks with her.

 I would probably say that I’m the big sister. Seeing as I’m older than everyone, was married before the Marine Corps, and already have three kids, it kind of came naturally. But I’m okay with that. Like I’ve told all the Marine wives I’ve talked with throughout the years:  If I can save someone the hassle/worry/headache that I went through, I am more than happy to share my knowledge.

 Jesse and I didn’t meet until we were twenty-two, I already had a daughter by then. We didn’t marry until I was twenty-five. A year later, Jesse enlisted. I’ve got plenty of life experience under my belt. We’ve been through just about every relationship peak, valley, and plateau there is. One thing’s for sure, the support of my sisters has helped me through most of those darkest times.

 We’ve all changed in our time as friends. Some of us have moved on from the Marine Corps. Some of us have moved on from relationships. But one thing has never changed, I still talk to at least one of my girlfriends every single day. They listen to me rave and rant about my new life back in Iowa, and I do the same for them. I still share my hopes and dreams with them, and I support them in all of their endeavors.

 We are not sorority sisters, but sisters in silent arms (Once a Marine wife, always a Marine wife). These friendships were forged later in life, for me, but they are ties that I hope to keep until the end. I love you dearly Mary Louise, Janna & Tiffanie.

It's Almost Time for NaNoWriMo!

I keep telling myself that I’m going to write a novel this year. And I have written some, at least parts of some. To kick myself in the butt and finally finish one by Christmas, I’ve signed up for NaNoWriMo.

National Novel Writing Month happens in November. It’s a month long concentration to get that pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. I figure with the constant encouragement, and a looming deadline, I’ll stay motivated enough to finish. It’s only 50,000 words for the month, which comes to just over 1,600 words a day. Do-able, right?

My obstacles are going to be Facebook and Pinterest. All the drama, and shiny crafts are going to be hard to avoid for a whole month. Do I allow myself time on those sites as a reward, or do I avoid them both completely until NaNoWriMo is over? I don’t think I can stay away cold turkey. Facebook has turned into a train wreck that I just can’t take my eyes off of.

Oh, and the housework and kids. It’s a good thing that I’ve started doing the Flylady system again. I can do anything for 15 minutes. Be it housework or writing or a tea party. I’m going to have to make sure that my sink is shiny before Halloween comes around. I’m almost there, PMS really knocked me off my feet this month. (TMI, I know, but if you don’t like it, stop reading!)

The novel I’ve set aside for next month’s project is a piece of chick lit based on a bundle of love letters that two sisters find in their grandmother’s attic. It’s an idea that I got from a great friend of mine. I’m so lucky that she’s given me the opportunity to write it. It looks like it’s got some great potential. It’s got coming of age, sister-sister relationship revelations, a new perspective on why some people are distant, and learning to care for a loved one with Alzheimer’s. I hope that I can do her story idea justice. I am still a novice, after all.

I’m also trying to recruit more people to join me in the challenge. The more the merrier, and I’ve always been one that works better in a group support setting. I’ve found a few people in Iowa that are also taking the challenge, but this IS the NW corner of the state, where people are few and far between sometimes. Especially ones that think like me.

So, I’m sending out a smoke signal to others in the Cherokee/Storm Lake area. If you’ve always wanted to write a novel, sign up for National Novel Writing Month with me! If I can do it, so can you!

Scam-Spam is so obvious!

Ever since I posted classified ads trying to sell our puppies, I have been overwhelmed with junk mail. Seriously, tell me, what part of this email looks legit? Who talks like this? Who are these people that fall for these scams?

JUNK MAIL I RECEIVED:

Attention:My Dear Friend,

I write to inform you that we have already sent you USD5000.00

dollars through Western union as we have

been given the mandate to transfer your full compensation

payment of USD1.800,000.00 via western union by the United

Nation Government.

I called to give you the information through phone as internet

hackers were many but i cannot reach you for over one week now

and even this

morning. So,I decided to email you the MTCN and Sender's Name

so that can pick up this USD5000.00 to enable us send another

USD5000.00 by tomorrow as you knows we will be sending you only

USD5000.00 per day.

Please pick up this information, you are run fast to any western

union in your country to pick up the USD5000.00 and send us e-

mail back

so we can send you another payment tomorrow.

website: www.westernunion.com

Manager: Mr Ronald K. Noble

Email: icpo207@gmail.com

Telephone: +233277248827

E-mail me once you picked up this USD5000.00 today.

Here is the western union information to pick up the USD5000.00,

MTCN : 7875833448

Sender's Name: Nicholas ng

Question: Honest

Answer:Trust

Amount send: 5,000.00USD

Am awaiting your e-mail once you pick up the $5000

Furthermore you advised to call us as the instruction was passed

that within 10 hours without hearing from you. Count your payment

cancelled.

For more information call +233277248827

Warmest RegardsRonald. K Noble

**Compensation for what? What did I do to deserve $1.8 million? Who the hell is Ronald K. Noble?

Bella's First Litter

Saturday was supposed to be Mom’s Day Off. Well, not really, but I was hoping to be able to get caught up on all my housework while the kids were at Grandma’s, and Jesse was at work. I woke up with Jesse, sent him off; the kids woke up, and then guess what happened.

Bella’s water broke. My dog was in labor.

What is it they say about the best laid plans? Yeah, there was a major monkey wrench in my day. Her water broke at nine o’clock, and for the next seven and a half hours I sat on the hard floor next to the whelping box. Alone.

It was not an easy delivery, by far. The first two puppies were breach. My poor baby, I felt so bad that her first experience delivering babies was starting out so painfully. It took such a long time to get the first little boy out, I was certain he was going to be a still born. My heart was aching, and my fingers were trembling, when Bella finally pushed him all the way out. When he started wiggling in my hands, and made his first tiny whimpers, I cried out with joy.

The second pup was just as difficult. Also breach, she kept coming out one foot first. I pushed her itty-bitty paw up, but it just popped right back out. After much discomfort for Bella, I was able to get both feeties out together.

Luckily, the third pup came out head first, and was a good size. She couldn’t have been more wonderful. Minimal pushing, minimal pain for momma. After she was out, Bella became so relaxed that I just assumed we would only have three little ones. But, you know what they say when you “assume” things.

An hour after the third puppy, Bella started having contractions again. By now, it had been more than six hours since her first water broke. And, it was three hours after her first delivery. My baby was tired. She didn’t have much left in her. And to make matters worse, puppy number four was bigger than the first three. It took an hour for her to push him out.

When everyone was here, I couldn’t have been more proud of my girl. She put up with all of my poking and prodding. She dealt with me handling her babies right away. She handled all the pain like a champ. She is a momma, and momma’s little princess.

I’ve been watching Bella’s, and the puppies’, progress over the last few days. Nature is fascinating. She tends to all of the puppies’ needs. She feeds them, regulates their temperature, lets them know when it’s time to tinkle, and even cleans up the mess afterwards (ew!).

I could never be an animal giving birth in the wild. The pain factor alone gets me. I had some sort of painkiller with all three of my children. And, I had so much help from my parents with my first daughter. It’s amazing how much animals know to do on their own.

There is a lot to be said for human, maternal instinct. But we have nothing on animals. They have no one around telling them what they should be doing. They can’t read books. There is no internet to search. They just do. And they “do” well.

Chillin' in a Whelping Box

It’s almost time! My baby girl is about to have babies. No, silly, Angela is only ten! My dog, Bella, is about to have puppies! Jesse finally got the whelping box built today. And none too soon, mind you~Bella is over 8 weeks pregnant. We could have these puppies, literally, any day now.

It’s not our first adventure in whelping, but this is my first time through the entire breeding process. We took in a pregnant pitbull two years ago. I’ve given birth to three of my own children, but it is something wonderful and completely different to watch my little girl go through it. The actual breeding was not pleasant to be a part of. Ew.

She has been such the little preggers, too. She scrounges around outside and eats things that she shouldn’t be. She’s been having accidents in the house, instead of telling me when she has to go out. Bella doesn’t even come immediately when called anymore. She will slowly look up at me and m-o-s-e-y over, as if to say, “I’m gonna make it seem like I can’t move fast, due to my huge belly, but really, I just want to make you wait for me.”

And, as if she wasn’t enough of a bitch before, she growls at even the smallest noises. My favorite is when she barks at people going out the door, and not just the ones coming in. But, don’t let her scare you, Bella’s all bark and no bite.

So now, my Princess is getting super fatty (as Jesse would say), and we’re hunkering down. I’m spending as much time in the whelping box with Bella as possible. We’re getting supplies together that I should’ve gotten weeks ago. I cannot wait to see her little white puffballs! I am both excited and nervous. I hope that all will go well. I’m sure it will, my Bella’s one smart doggy. And, I am one proud furmommy - furgrandmommy-to-be!

May 25, 2011

Moving is stressful. I know it, you know it, every member of the United States military knows it. But, you know what happens when you’re under that stress? You have to find ways to deal with it, find ways to work through it. Find ways to get rid of whatever’s causing you stress.

Moving stress requires a lot of work and attention. We have moved not once, but twice in the last four months. That takes a lot out of a person. Or people. Especially people that have been forced to leave the lifestyle they’ve known for the last four years.

Not only have we moved back to a life we haven’t known for years, we’ve moved into a house that needs a lot of TLC. When you’re the mom, all the T and the L come from you. I’ve been spending the last four months giving everything that I’ve had to my husband, kids, dogs, and then the house. When one o’clock in the morning rolls around, I don’t have anything left for myself. It’s a sad feeling.

I finally decided that even if I am exhausted, I am going to give to myself. I may be a little extra tired in the morning, but I will feel better that I took some time to do something that I wanted to do.

That thing that I’m wanting to do is write. My brain aches when I don’t get to stick pen to paper, or fingers to keys. I love my family, but writing is my passion. I know, I may not be that great at it, but I do not write for you (not yet, anyway). I write for me. Spending a couple hours with my music and my blog are even better than a glass of wine and a book. But, come to think of it, that glass of wine is sounding pretty good, too.

Barefoot and Planting

70 degrees, sunny, a light breeze. Perfect conditions to walk barefoot through the garden. Two gardens, to be exact. Two plots in our lower yard were tilled last week. Which means, for the past week, my husband has been harping on his mother and me to get something in the ground.

Today was that day. It couldn’t have been nicer outside. It was a family effort, which made the planting even sweeter. Grandma, the grandkids and I stuck so many fun seeds in the dirt. Rows were crooked. Mounds for vining fruits and veggies were uneven. Names of plants were written sideways on the plant stakes after seeds were sown, making for some very interesting handwriting.

My husband is going to look at the garden in a few days, and wonder what we were thinking. You know what? We weren’t really thinking. We stuck our fingers and toes in the earth and put things where they felt best. You don’t get much more organic than that. And that, is what summertime memories are made of.

“In the garden, my soul is sunshine.”

Mother Nature needs to make up her mind. Three days ago it was in the 90s here, and this morning it was 43deg when I woke up. For a while, I was worried that my plants wouldn't make it into the ground on time. Today I freaked out because I left my citrus fruits outside overnight.

I can't keep up w/ MN's mood swings! My sinuses are killing me. That is, when I'm not sneezing so hard I'm afraid my brains are going to fly out of my nose. Benadryl is my new favorite candy flavor~I'm popping them like Tic Tacs.

Hopefully summer is around the corner, so that Mother Nature's hormones will be on a more even keel. Then all the beautiful flowers will make the sinus pain worthwhile.

Today my husband spent the entire day working in my kitchen. No, he wasn't making an elaborate meal. It was something even better ... He was remodeling. He moved my stove and refrigerator; installed a dishwasher, counter and sink, and even cleaned up after himself.

This entire day of work was his Mothers' Day gift to me. I kind of missed breakfast in bed, but I'll take a remodel that will make my life easier any day! Unfortunately he wasn't able to complete the whole thing, but he's finishing up tomorrow. So technically, I'm getting TWO days of remodel from him!

My husband is a man of few words, especially those expressing emotions. But he does still show love-by trying to make my life as a stay at home mom as easy and stress free as possible. I'm getting the message loud and clear today, Babe. I love you, too!

Wear Proper Shoes! a public service announcement

I have a charlie horse. It’s in the arch of my foot. I am learning the hard way, when they say wear proper workout shoes, you should listen.

Last summer when I was on vacation for a week, my husband’s dog ate one of my good athletic shoes while her sitter was in the shower. In hopes of not missing out on workout days, I bought some very cheap sneaks to hold me over until I could make it to a sports store.

Shortly after that purchase, my girlfriend and I stopped working out. Life just took over. Our husbands were home, our kids got sick, we provided childcare into the late hours of the evening. By the time we could get away for a little exercise, we both fell asleep instead.

Fast forward about eight months. (Yeah, I know, eight months is a long time to go without exercising.) New home, new state, new life. My husband is the heaviest he’s ever been, and I’m not far behind. Two of our dearest friends are getting married in about three weeks. My lovely husband decides we should do the Insanity Workout to slim down.

All that jumping around gets painful when your shoes don’t fit correctly. My feet were sliding around within them. There is no support for my arches. Since my feet were not comfortable, I was over compensating with my other muscles. My back is killing me, my calves are clenched tighter than Hank Hill’s butt cheeks, and it hurts just to breathe!

Moral of the story? I’m going to be hoofing it to a Lady Foot Locker as soon as possible. I will not settle for less than awesome in workout shoes. My ploy to get a foot rub from the husband didn’t work last night. And, I will never go this long without exercise again. My abs of steel have turned to flabs of j-ello.

February 26, 2011

It’s February 26th. Next Tuesday is the first of March. Do you know what that means? It means that my birthday is just over two weeks away. It’s not just any birthday, either. It’s my thirtieth birthday. The big 3-0. I will be old in about sixteen days.

Thing of it is, I’m not sure I’m a grown up yet. I’ve been married for about five years. I have three gorgeous little girls. I pay bills, cook suppers, and fold socks. There’s something in me, though, that just isn’t ready to give. I love lunches with my girlfriends (sans Happy Meals). I love relaxing with a drink and some ridiculous reality tv.

And there are times, when I would love to just throw daily life to the side and run off to a tropical island and pretend that I don’t have a care in the world. Is it possible take a leave of absence from being an adult, and return to being a careless teenager for awhile?

Those were the days. Going to clubs, road trips and flirting with boys. Eating an entire steak dinner, and not worrying about the calories or carbs. The days before dishpan hands. Before diapers and bedtimes. And long before age-specific facial moisturizers and cleansers.

Perhaps I should've made a bucket list of things to do before turning thirty....

February 20, 2011

So, we’ve been back in Iowa for a few weeks now. Everything is the same as it ever was, and completely different all at the same time. Some days it’s comforting to be back around family. Some days, I wish for the comfort of the new family that I had formed over the last four years.

It’s still cold, dank, and slow in Iowa. I know, that sounds awful. But, when you’re comparing this place to the coastal towns of North Carolina, the competition is tough. There are no sparkling beaches. No fresh off the boat seafood. Heck, there’s not even traffic!

I miss my best girlfriends. I miss the people that I used to volunteer with on base at Camp Lejeune. I miss the support of everyone that understood my situation, when I was awake at 0200 staring at the empty space on the other side of the bed.

I formed friendships and alliances that I will never forget and will fight my hardest not to lose.

There are somethings the Southeastern US doesn’t have, though. It doesn’t have my parents and siblings. It doesn’t have the Buddhist Temple that my parents helped build. It doesn’t have my in laws. And most importantly, it doesn’t have the daughter that I’ve been missing like crazy.

If I could take all the slow-cooked comfort of our family and transport it to the warmth and hospitality of the South, I would be in Heaven.

January 25, 2011

We’ve been packing up our house for what seems like forever, but now we’ve finally approaching the finish line. Or would it be the starting line? The start of the next leg of our lives together.

Jesse has started his Terminal Leave. I’ve had my last lunch with the lovely ladies from CLB-6. The babies I tended to have moved on to their new daycares. Almost all of my house is in boxes. There’s no turning back now.

Today we started putting things into the trailer. My husband is playing the ultimate game of Reverse Jenga. Turn this here, lay this on its side there. An end table with a cubby? Stuff crap in it.

It’s not all fun and games, though. We have too much stuff! How do we keep accumulating “things”? I thought that we had gotten rid of quite a bit of our possessions, but apparently not enough. Ugh, how do you fit four lives (and two furry lives) into a truck and trailer?

The moving experience just keeps reminding me how much I love all of my friends, and will miss them dearly. Only my girlfriends could come to help me pack, and leave me crying tears of laughter.

Put on Your Big Girl Panties!

How do you get a child that doesn’t want to potty train to cooperate? You let her decide whether she wants to be a big girl or a baby, and make her live with the decision. My child decided that she wanted to be a baby, so we took it to the extreme. We didn’t allow her to be a toddler. Oh no, we treated her like she had just started eating solid foods. Quite the step back for her.

There were so many things that she couldn’t do, that being a baby lasted less than twenty-four hours. Poor thing was only allowed to play with a handful of toys. Could only eat oatmeal and bananas. And wasn’t allowed to play on the stairs. Yup, we did it hardcore.

Lo and behold, the next morning my daughter was ready to shed the pull up and don her big girl panties. Since New Year’s Day we’ve had only two accidents.

Oh, the joys of toddlerhood. We’ve been potty training this princess for about a year. It was hit or miss while Daddy was deployed. I take responsibility for that. But, after Daddy came home we realized that maybe there was more to why she wasn’t catching on.

Then we realized that she’s just stubborn like her father. I babysit a couple babies during the week, and she would see the attention they got when I changed their diapers and got jealous. And sometimes, pottying in your pull up when you’re playing is just easier than taking time to sit on the pot.

Ugh, some days were like hitting my head against a wall. Thank goodness those days seem to be behind us. One more check mark on our list before we hit the road back to Iowa.