Sunday, June 22, 2008

My name in print...and random meanderings.,8599,1606888,00.html (The original article that I was responding to.)

I actually got mail at my home address in response to this letter to the editor. It's funny how people formarly in the army despise you for having an opinion contrary to the "norm". This one gentleman decided to tell me how horrible I am because I didn't stand blindly (not his words) behind my husband, his army, and our president. Ha ha. Gag! I am sick and tired of being looked down upon because I don't follow the path everyone is "supposed" to take. I like to have my own opinions, and feel able to express myself with out someone assuming I'm after them, or talking about them specifically, or even thinking of them while I'm doing what I'm doing. People just think way too much of themselves....

I'm just stressed. Not making a lot of sense I'm sure. I am getting one of those nasty headaches, and time has slowed to an absolute crawl now that we have a leave date...and those nice people that were ticking me off so badly a couple of weeks ago are stirring the pot again. I wish they would just S**t or get off the pot. I can't stand it when people threaten and don't go through with it. No testes I guess. lol

In other news....It cost me $44.88 to fill up Jay's tiny little gas tank today. I almost cried. Oh, what is the world coming to? I wish the Gov't would ration gas. Seems like that would help, right? They rationed practically everything during WWII. I actually have some of the stamps my Great Grand Mother used back then. If it worked then, why not now? We could wean ourselves from this dependency, and save moula at the same time. Seems reasonable. I am dead set against setting up new oil rigs near our beaches. The amount of oil they PREDICT will come from them doesn't seem like enough to make a dent. And lets please conserve what little we have left of our environment! Give me a plug in electric car any day. I don't really care about being able to drive a thousand miles in one trip anyway. Seems like they could set up stations for us to plug the cars in, and charge by the kilowatt hour. Maybe the gas companies can look into the profit margins on that! Speaking of, anybody else sick to their stomachs about the gianormous profit margins???? How are we letting this happen? Seems like another generation would be staging sit-ins at gas stations, and becoming gas - celebate. I already stay home as much as possible, and save up errands to get them all in on one trip....I probably still spend a crazy percentage of my budget on gas, as opposed to three or four years ago. Gone are the days when Christie Y. used to run around the highschool asking for spare change and at the end of the day having enough money to fill up her gas tank!!!

My favorite quotes...

"Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. If your ideas are any good, you'll have to ram them down people's throats" -Howard Aiken

“It is only by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life.
Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. The very cave you are afraid to enter
turns out to be the source of what you were looking for” ~ Joseph Campbell

Friday, June 20, 2008

Someone reads my blog!! LOLOLOL

Thanks to for the plug! If you haven't seen her blog, check it out. She's the sweetest lady, with more challenges than being an army wife, that she tackles with grace and strength. I'm addicted already!

While I'm here, I'm going to borrow her last post, out of curiosity...

If you read my blog and comment every day, leave me a comment here...If you read my blog and only comment once in awhile, leave me a comment here...If you read my blog and have NEVER commented, leave me a comment here...If this is your first time to my blog, but you think you might come back, leave me a comment here...If this is your first time to my blog and you are NEVER coming back, first tell me why and then leave me a comment here... If you fall into none of the above categories, but you're somehow reading this post, leave me a comment here...


The Accidental Pumpkin and other Garden Dwellers.

We don't celebrate Halloween, but last year Miah really wanted to tackle the pumpkin carving tradition everyone else seems to enjoy so much. Unfortunately, the pumpkin she got from her school field trip didn't last very long, but it did give Miah a present this spring. About a week after I planted my tomatoes, banana pepper, and basil, I noticed a familiar leaf poking out from behind the pepper. A PUMPKIN! Too cool, right? I thought so....
Until it reached out..... and got a firm but delicate grip on Jay's rose bush!

I've since fiddled with, and trained it to climb elsewhere, but I'm worried about it's course of action.... The flowers are georgous though, and hopefully we'll have a real live pumpkin soon! Miah started planning for it already. On the way to the car this morning she was planning her attack, thinking that there will be a 200lb pumpkin. She's so cute.

The tomatoes are coming along nicely, if not a tad bit slower than usual. The problem is probably that I'm used to cherry and grape tomatoes, and this year I got Beefy, and Bush types. The fun of our garden is that it is so small due to on post restrictions that the tomatoes always come off the vine tasting like the roses that surround them. They have got to be the best I've ever eaten! I can't wait to taste the first few of the year. I really want some fried green tomatoes, but I only have three growing so far, so I'm going to leave them alone. Hopefully I'll be as lucky with these as I have been every other year, and have so many I have to start giving them away, and making pasta sauce by the gallon. Fingers crossed!

(this is the Bush plant)>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

This is my pretty little pepper plant....last years bunch were in a pot, and were so good we decided to try again, inside the rock wall this time. I'm hoping being outside the pot will encourage it to grow taller, and give us more peppers...

As a part of Laurel's "Green Party" for her birthday, we gave out seed packets as favors, instead of candy and toys....we got too many so, just for the heck of it we planted the squash (seen here) and califlower (is only just poking it's head out) We were all shocked at how quickly they popped up! I'm going to wait a bit, and weed a few out, but hopefully will have two or three good plants. I really wasn't expecting much, because usually the squirrels and birds attack the seeds before they really get going. Guess we were extra lucky this year.

The roses this year have been acting very oddly....Jay's roses, which are usually small and few and far between were huge to begin with, and popped up two and three at a time, while usually mine are all decent sized, and pop up eight or nine at a time, but are now tiny, and almost non-existant. The few we have seen have been really nice though....

These are from my bush
and the red ones are Jay's.

That's the garden! I am counting the years until I can have a garden like we used to when I was a kid....Can't wait!

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

My top 14!!

These are some of my favorites.
Miah asked me to put her necklace on the list. Her's is the green and pink. I gave her a handful of beads, and that's what she came up with.
The necklace with the pink background is a COPY of a necklace from Luxejewels. I used all "found" pieces, from old necklaces.
Also, the Pea Pod necklace, I know the necklace part is very simple, but I hand made the pod out of an old silver spoon. It was so much work, I figured it could stand on it's own!
The black and red one is made from the beads and silver lotus piece I got at this great little bead shop in Augusta, Georgia. The last necklace is made from beads that Sara put together, and some orphans I had been holding onto. The great part is the big bead floating on the ribbons, which is a handmade bead from a lady in Alaska. Too cool!
So, let me know what you think....

He's coming home!

25 days until R&R. I may die of anticipation. I need these 18 days so badly. Prepare for me to go AWOL from my life the entire time! I may check email once or twice, but I'm not going to spend much time replying if I can help it.

We are taking a trip to Illinois so that Laurel can go to The National Young Scholars Program, where she is taking the CSI strand. She wants to be a detective when she grows up, so she is hoping this will either spark her interest further, or show her she's not interested so she can go on.

So, for six days, Jay and I are going to be camping with our two dogs, while Laurel does her class, and Miah hangs out with the grandparents. This will be the only time during the 18 days that I get him alone, so I'm going to enjoy it! The kids have had a much harder time of it this time, and I think it's because they are older now, and time takes on new meaning now. The last three times, they were too little to really understand the passage of time. So, because of this, I know that they are going to be all over him. Of course, they could also be little monkies, and do what they do now, and disappear into the office to play on the computer, or into the bedroom to read, but I doubt it.

The question now is, what do we do with the rest of the days he's home? I'm perfectly fine staying home and soaking him up, but I know him, and he's going to get bored. I'm picturing lots of family game nights, which will make Miah's year :D and a lot of playing the new Indiana Jones game Autumn got Laurel for her birthday, and the Jeopardy dvd game we got for Jay. I'm going to get creamed. Actually, that all sounds so good. Normal life. we can pretend for 18 days that there is no war, and the world isn't going to fall down around my ears when he gets back on that plane....

Anyway, not much else to report. Nothing I can talk about here anyway. Work is busy, for sure. Miah is loving her summer classes. She is in love with her teacher, and whines every day when I pick her up that she wants to go home with Mr. Cribbs. I don't bame her. He's a guy, he's fun, and really nice. Exactly what she's been missing from daddy for the past (holy cow) nine months. My poor babies. I wish I could look them in the eye and say that daddy is making a difference, and this is all worth it. But I don't lie to my kids, not even to make them feel better.

I would have a newly designed necklace to show off, but after I put it together, I had to go get Miah from school, and she knocked the entire thing off of my desk. I'm still looking for the beads. I think they dissapeared into the same place all those oddball socks run off to.

I have a couple of ideas floating in my head for another project. I have several charms I found that I'm going to put together with some of Jay's old unit crests to make a bracelet (I think). Sort of a "the last ten years" thing. Eventually I'll get it together, and post it here, but I'm sure between now and then it will have changed shape a thousand times. I do have most of the pieces I want though. I'm babbling is just so exciting.

Thursday, June 12, 2008


If you google the title of this entry, you get this:

Results 1 - 10 of about 2,250,000 for I hate deployments.
Wow. So, we agree. It sucks. This pic I found during this google search, sure seems to sum it up. Deployments are a nasty, angry, explosive, scary, depressing monster. The little dude there is even shrouded in yellow. It's like the artist took my feelings and spit them out on paper.
Today I'm fine. It's actually been a good day for me. Operation Homefront is keeping me busy, and there isn't a ton of stress for the moment. I'm really writing this for a pal o' mine, that seems to be having a bad day. I have one person in mind, but I know this is going to ring true for someone else too. I really just want to say that it's ok to be sad, angry, depressed....whatever the emotion is that's plaguing you right now. I know from experience that it's hard to let someone know you need help. I never ask for help, not if I can help it, so I'm right there with you. So, here is my proposal. Anyone that doesn't want to go to the support group, or talk to someone in person b/c it's too embarrassing, talk to me. I know how hard it is to ask, so ask me, and know I'm not judging you. I'm not looking down from my superwoman pedistal and thinking less of you because you don't feel like washing your dishes, or getting out of your pajamas today. It's ok. I promise. Okay, I'm not going to volunteer to wash your dishes for you, cause I've got a load to do too, but I can listen, and nod my head, and hold your hand. We're in this together, aren't we?
So, someone's thinking about you. Worried about you. It's me.

Monday, June 9, 2008

The wife of a soldier

I used to think being the girlfriend of a soldier was the most romantic thing in the world. I watched war movies with my dad, and while the soldiers dropped like flies on the battlefield, I daydreamed. I pictured myself as the tough girlfriend left behind, pinning for my soldier, working as a nurse in a military hospital, you know, like in the movies.
What was I thinking??? The girlfriend thing worked out. He went to basic, he wrote. I wrote back. I drove fifteen hours to see him graduate. I only recognized him because of his hands. Just like the other thousand soldiers at Fort Jackson, he had no hair, wearing bdu’s and standing at attention. I spotted him when the drill sgt. Called “at ease.” I focused on his face, trying to get his attention. It only took a second for him to meet my gaze. Very romantic.
That night we walked down the street, Jay in his class A’s, me beaming up at him. My heart swelled. I wanted to melt into him so I could be with him where ever he went. We spent the night talking singing poorly to our favorite songs, just being together. I was there two days before I had to go back home. I missed him the instant I turned around. That was the last time the Army was romantic.
Immediately after A.I.T., he was sent to Kuwait for six months. I spent the time acting like a teenager. I missed him, so I wrote him letters constantly. They looked the other way at work if I spent more than my fifteen-minute break finishing a letter. I sat in my Jeep remembering the hours we spent there talking about life. Remembering every single second we were apart wasting time we could have been together. I was a mushy mess and everyone got tired of it quickly.
Jay and I planned meticulously the moment we would see each other. Of course, it didn’t happen the way we wanted it to. It was so much better. He rode a bus all the way from Ft. Benning to Nashville. I was to meet him at the station, and drive him the rest of the way home. I was too scared to drive in the city by myself, especially not knowing where the station was, and I’d never been there by myself before. I begged all of my friends to go with me. NO one wanted to. Finally, my brother (I was shocked) volunteered to go with me. He refused to take the Jeep, though, and absolutely would not let me drive his car. We got lost. Jason ran three red lights, and blamed it on me. Mostly because I was yelling. His driving scared the hell out of me. It was all worth it though. When we accidentally found the greyhound sign, I was so relieved. Jay had been waiting for a couple of hours, and was sitting with his head down at the end of a bench by the door. His huge green duffle bag was lying on the floor between his feet. I stood there just inside the front door for what seemed like forever, probably in reality only a minute or two, unable to move. I wanted to touch the top of his head, feel the velvet high and tight, and hug him forever. For the third time in our lives, his head lifted, and we were eye to eye again. It was as if we were connected mentally, and he had heard my thoughts. Somehow, I was in his arms then, and our first kiss was like rain to a thirsty desert rose after a drought. He should have asked me to marry him then. But he didn’t. No, actually, he asked me to marry him in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, after we had picked out the rings. Yes, we bought the rings first. Don’t ask me how, because neither one of us knows how we ended up deciding we were going to get married. Something like that should be remembered, but it is lost somewhere in the hundreds of hours we spent on the phone while he was gone. Any way, we were sitting in my mother’s van, waiting for her to get back so we could get back. Unexpectedly, Jay opened the side door, got on his knees, and said, “So, will you?” And embarrassed, I said, “Get back in the Van!” He replied with what he still thinks is the funniest line ever said “If you don’t answer me now, I’ll ask the next woman that walks past, and I hope it’s your mom!” So, I yelled “yes!” and yanked him back in the car. I was able to slam the door seconds before my mom showed up.
We were married a week later. Two days after that, he went back to Georgia. Many things happened in between then and now, we have two wonderful children, a nice (?) military house, a dog, and a new van…what more could I ask for? I’ll tell you what I’d like to have, my husband. It seems like he’s never home. In the ten years we’ve been together, Jay has been to Kuwait, for six months, Korea for a year, Iraq for three year long deployments, and in the field more times than I can even remember. I’m Scared to death that I’m going to loose him this time. The violence has escalated considerably in the past year. I can’t live without him in my life. It doesn’t matter how many times he is deployed, I will never be used to it. My kids don’t understand, and how can I explain it to them?
I think I envy the people who feel patriotic about the army, wars, and see the long deployments as their duty. Maybe if I believed that, it wouldn’t be so hard. Losing your husband would be much easier if you believed he died for a good reason. I just won’t ever be able to justify it that way. Maybe I should have warned you, reader, that this wasn’t one of those hooah - go army type of things. Nope, not here. Not ever. The everyday army stuff is getting easier to deal with. I’m sure that it has a lot to do with the way Jay has changed his approach too. He has done a good job softening the way I hear the army’s demands on our family. I tend to take it all a little too personally. All it took was for Jay’s life to be in danger for me to realize how much I need him. If it would help, I’d tell him so. But him knowing just how important his existence is won’t stop the army from sending him to hell and back. There are so many things I need to tell him…so much that he needs to know…but how do you sit down and say all of those things without sounding like a high school love letter, desperate, needy, and clingy? Not only that but I have no words. Don’t you wish that you could do a Vulcan mind meld, so that your thoughts would be known, not said, but felt? That would be perfect.
When Jay was deployed to Iraq the first time, I was devastated. We knew the orders were coming down the line about a month before they actually got to us, but I knew the instant the president started spewing about inspections. I remember very well when his father started the first Gulf war, and it started the same way. Jay and I sat on the couch in our front room on Dixie road, talking about what was about to happen. We discussed possibilities, whether the girls would go back home to Edmonton. We decided that moving for a second time in four months would be more traumatic, especially since we had no idea how long he’d be gone, and we’d just have to move right back.
Not too long after those talks, Jay came home for lunch, and gave me such a look. He didn’t have to say a word. I knew what was going to come out of his mouth. He sat me down on the antique couch, and simply said, “We’re going.” Our family had a month to prepare for the hardest year we’d ever live. Jay hugged me on that couch for long moments, both of us crying. I picked myself up, wiped my tears, and made lunch. That’s the life of a soldier’s wife.
I spent six months in front of the television set. My eyeballs were glued to cnn twenty four-seven. In the first two weeks, I died a thousand deaths on my front room floor. Before the men pushed to Baghdad, they were stationed in camps in the Kuwaiti desert. Each one was named in honor of the September 11 attacks. Jay’s camp was called Pennsylvania. While I was cleaning house one day, with cnn cranked up as loud as it would go, I heard a news brief. I was only casually listening, while also loading the dishwasher, until they said camp PENNSYLVANIA, and I froze. I ran into the front room, my heart in my throat. The woman on my TV. screen was saying there was a bombing. Several injured, some dead. They had no details. I felt faint. My heart skipped a year’s worth of beats, I was dizzy, the room spun around me. Slow motion outside of the movies is no fun. I’ve lost a few moments of memory for the next few moments, but I somehow was sitting on the couch, holding my youngest daughter Miah, who wanted to know what was wrong with mamma. I buried my face in her tiny body and sobbed.
For the next several hours, I could barely function. I waited with the phone in my lap for the soldiers to knock at my door. I called my FRG point of contact at least three times. No one knew any thing. I recorded the news briefs and watched them over and over again, trying to spot Jay. The problem is that all of these guys look just alike, and my husband hates cameras. We never saw him. It was three days before someone called me and said “ It’s okay for you, but there are some girls who need help.” Several guys died that day, and still more were injured. The HHC 3- 327th Inf. FRG helped several of the wives get on their feet; actually, they were great the whole year.
Jay was never hurt, thank God, but I panicked many times. I finally had to stop watching the news, because I was a nervous wreck all the time. Many times Jay called just to say, “You are going to hear some bad stuff, but I’m okay.” He was never allowed to tell me what it was though. The guys upstairs didn’t want to wives of dead soldiers to hear about it through the grape vine, and I understand that now, but I didn’t care then. Who am I gonna tell? What did you just survive? Tell me!!! He’s a good soldier, though, and follows the rules, darn his hide!
And so, here I am, eight months into the third Iraq deployment. I feel lost. I feel alone. I want to be able to hug my husband.

(Originally written 7 weeks into the second deployment, updated June 9th, 2008.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Images of the past

These are my grand parents, Imogene and Russell. This is the only picture I have of the two of them together, and to my mother and myself; their relationship has always been a mystery. All I know is what family members have told my mom, and then she passed to me. I know that my grandfather love her, they lived in Mexico for her health, he read poetry to her, I once got to overhear a story about Imogene’s driving. She got stuck on train tracks somehow and somewhere in there the car didn’t survive a train wreak (don’t quote me on that, it was a long time ago) and I know that when she died he was fixing a roof. I’d like to think that the last tidbit isn’t as bad as it sounds…maybe he was at such a loss because of her impending death that he couldn’t face it. I’ll never know.
Don’t they look happy though? He must have just said something funny, because that grin on her face can only be because of some small joke, or comment on passers by. I wonder who took the picture? What was it that they were doing? Is that really a cigarette in his hand?!?!?! They are such a beautiful couple. You can’t tell from this snapshot, but I have proof in the form of other photographs.
My grandfather was a very mysterious man to me. He was quiet, hated cats to the point of actually hunting them down and disposing of them, he rode a motorcycle well into his old age, he loved guns, and playing practical jokes on me. He had his own room in their house, and that is to where my father disappeared when we got there. I was only allowed in there once or twice, but the one time I remember really well, he told me to put my tongue on a 9-volt battery. I knew that I shouldn’t trust him and my father…dad didn’t say anything, but he looked at me in such a way that told me I was being tested. The problem is I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to trust him, or stand up to them and say no. I decided to trust them. Bad idea. My tongue got zapped, and they laughed at me. I do not like being laughed at, so I found a way to distract them from my stupid mistake, and suggested we call my little brother in. You can imagine what happened. He trusted them too. I got a laugh, and felt better. (This is a pattern here…) Once I walked past grandpa’s room and saw him lying on his bedspread with his headphones on, with his eyes closed. He had a smallish room, so he was able to push his bed right up against a shelf in the corner, so that his radio, television, and I’m sure at least one weapon was in easy reach. The headphones were so he wouldn’t bother Grandma (Marcella, whom he married when my mother was three-ish, and the only grandmother I’ve ever known)
Another sacred place was the gun shop in the basement. It smelled like gun grease, and was small and dark. The room was made of plywood, and was mostly shelves. Guns, gun parts, and various tools littered every inch of space, and everything smelled like a combination of gun grease, wax, hot lead, and wd-40. I only remember being in there a couple of times, but I soaked up the atmosphere. This was where the man-talk happened, the male bonding, the planning, and defiantly the more interesting conversations going on in the house. On one side of the room was a set of smaller shelves, all of which were crowded with neat rows of baby food jars, with the lids nailed to the top of the shelves so that grandpa only had to unscrew the jars to get to the contents. I remember lots of dirty screws, washers, bullets, and grease. I was so young at the time that both men towered over me. I must have been barely waist high, but the unusual honor of having my girl-hood being excused, and being allowed to enter was enough to set this memory in my mind like concrete. I admit to having no clue what was talked about, I was just there to soak up their presence.
I remember very well the gun shows I was taken to, and the red stuffed heart pillow I got at one of them (or was it a flea market) and the corduroy teddy bear Grandma gave me to play with, which I had until the house burnt to the ground in 1998. I still have the heart because I wrote BJ + Stacy forever on it back in 94 and when we broke up I shoved all of the evidence in a box and hid it in the storage building in the back yard, which, thankfully had not caught fire.
Also, my very favorite thing to do was target shoot. My mom, dad, and grandfather all taught me gun and range safety, dad teaching me to shoot my first guns, and both him and “Russ” testing me. Always with the testing, they drove me nuts. I was asked to collect lead from the mounds of red clay so they could melt it all down and make new bullets, but dad’s true idea was to test my methods…would I make sure they had the guns unloaded and placed out of the way, or would I just run out in front of them…I hope you know I’m smarter than that! Those are my favorite memories though. The nut balls shaped me, probably made me the paranoid person I am now….

!0 years down the road

June 8th, 2008

Today was a rather uneventful day. Jay is on a mission in the middle of nowhere, so there is no talking to him for a while. I hate it when he leaves the comfort of his fob. I get nervous, no matter how “safe” his job is. Stuff happens, you know?

In other news, our ten-year anniversary is planned and ready to go. August 16th. Jay won’t be here, so I’m taking Laurel. It seem appropriate, since I was pregnant with her junior year, and was doing double duty, doing school, homework, and breastfeeding all at the same time. She was sort of our mascot for a while. Several classmates helped me pick her name, and almost everyone in our class had money on a particular date I was going to “pop” how I loathed that question. None of the guys in our class could count to ten months, apparently. I won that bet by the way. I didn’t go into labor until right after graduation. I told everyone I’d make it. I’m too stubborn to loose. Hey, someone owes me $50.00 still!
I’m dreading the reunion just a tiny bit. No, I didn’t date anyone from my class, everyone I dated was either a couple of years older, or one or two younger, so thank god I don’t have to deal with that! It’s just that I’m not a huge fan of large groups of people. I have only one thing in common with most of my classmates, and that is largely that we had the bad luck to go to Metcalfe Co. High. I just know that I’ll end up sitting at a table with Laurel, giggling about the jocks that sell cars, and have beer guts (he he he) and pointing out all the people that used to irritate me (and probably still will) I’m hoping for some surprises, but in this age of internet, I have seen almost everyone I was interested in on My Space. The one guy I wanted to be able to report to Jay about so we could laugh is on the “cannot find” list.
I guess I can introduce Laurel to Tiffany W. who was the only person to stand up for me when the rumors started to fly about my honor (everyone thought that her parentage was in question, but they were all just bored) and there is Daniel F. who was the only person that could really get under Jay’s skin, and Tanya J. who used to be a part of my very tight little group, until she made some unkind remarks about my plans to be a mother, and Kim W. who was my very best friend for a long time, and Connie O. who pulled the best prank in the history of Barn lot (long gross story) and Landon B. who was the butt of that joke…I guess there are a few good memories that I have from highschool, but not thinking about them for ten years has made them pretty foggy. The question is, why are we going to do this to ourselves? For some of us, high school was the best years of our lives, and that will only cause sadness, and nostalgia, and a night spent getting drunk, and for others, like me, it was only a looong drawn out stepping point to better things. Yes, memories are nice, but nothing that I can look back at is going to make me feel better after I get to hold my husband in my arms when he comes home for R&R. It won’t even be a blip on my radar after that.
The only other thing to worry about is; what the heck am I going to wear? And can I get away with taking all the pictures for Jay that will make up for the fact that he’s not going to be there? I thought about doing what I saw in a news show a while back, where this marine’s wife took a huge man shaped blow up poster of her husband so she could go to her reunion with his effigy. I thought about it for a second, but I’d rather not look like a dope, so Laurel and I are going to make buttons with his picture on them to wear, so everyone can get a good look at him. I know that he will be the big topic, since he’s deployed. I doubt I’ll even be of much interest once they figure out what’s going on. Also, I have a feeling he might be the “most changed” since graduation. LOL
Here’s to crossed fingers. I hope we have fun, and no one embarrasses themselves.

Oprah says...

Today on Oprah, Maria Shriver was talking about her new book, “Just who will you be?” Somewhere in the conversation, Oprah said that it was important to take ten minutes everyday, to be silent with yourself. If you can’t do the ten, then you have to start with one. If you find yourself unable to spare even one lousy minute for yourself, then there is a problem that you need to fix. I think I am at that point. Proof you ask? Ten seconds after I turned off the TV, and closed my eyes in the darkened front room, I reached for the computer to start writing down my thoughts. Is this cheating? Can I have my silent ten minutes to myself, while writing my thoughts down?
I spend most of my day talking on the computer with Jay. In between his “one sec” time outs to go work, I scan eBay, or field calls and emails for either work, or FRG. I pick up the kids, cook dinner, watch TV yell at them to pick up after themselves, and veg in front of the computer some more. Every night, I go to bed, but I put on the television, and watch Charmed before I fall asleep to the sound of chicks vanquishing demons. That is pretty much the schedule every single day. Occasionally, like today, I baby-sit, or rescue someone from a situation that they are too helpless to fix themselves. As a matter of fact, that is my job as well.
I think I am coming very slowly to the realization that my life is meaningless to Stacy, and very helpful to everyone else. My kids really get the short end of the stick, because they are the ones that get fussed at if I am upset, or if I don’t feel well. Seems like I do not know anyone that doesn’t have a problem of his or her own for me to fix. I look around at my life, and realize that I have set myself up for this. Since my dad died, and I felt a shift in the power base of the household, I have become the problem fixer. I am the no bullshit tell it like it is fixer. I have been fixing everyone else since I was fifteen. I was a teenage single mother. I acted like an ass, but all along I never focused on my situation or myself. I had total faith that I would figure it out. I had no plan at all what so ever though. It never occurred to me to ask for help. Not once. I just trucked along. My mom did help, she babysat. She did not encourage me to go to college, she didn’t try to tell me I was nuts, she never yelled at me for getting pregnant. Not once. What was she thinking?
For the most part, I do not dwell on my feelings. I have a seemingly unique way of looking at myself. I always know when I need to vent, or when I really need to get help. I do not however, know how to come out and ask for it. A million times, I have mentioned that my feelings seem to be piling up, or that this situation sucks for me, or that I’m getting a little too angry, many examples escape my memory right now… I cannot blame my husband for not listening. He is more than 6000 miles away, and I’m sure that he thinks I am superwoman too, like everyone else does, and I am most sure that he is under the impression that if he told me to go get help I would laugh at him. Maybe I would. Or, maybe, if even one of the people in my life could look me in the eye, and say “I can tell, you need help” then maybe I would have the courage to cry on someone’s shoulder, instead of hiding in the closet. Maybe I would have the nerve to take ten minutes a day to think about only me, or should I say, actually think about myself.
I distract myself all day long. With TV, the computer, with work, with FRG meetings, babysitting, with rescuing everyone else. I need to demand from myself, ten minutes a day. No more waiting for Jay to talk to, no more eBay, no more TV at night, no more falling asleep at midnight, no more slacking on the housework, and no more not exercising. My body is screaming at me to stop being so stupid. I need to feel better, I need to stop being super woman, and I need to stop letting the only thing I do for myself be shopping, because when Jay comes home, and the deployment money is not coming anymore, I’m going to be screwed. I need to pick myself up, and take care of myself. I am the only person that is paying enough attention to me to know that I need help, So, I’m going to get it. I am going to say “NO” to people more, and I’m going to try my very best to be a better mom to my kids, who deserve it. I just wish they could help me by being better at helping me be better. I need to figure out how to motivate them to clean up after themselves, and I need to figure out how to not make it seem like I’m not checked in with them. I really think that Oprah’s one week challenge is an awesome idea, and if I can figure out how to tweak the rules so that I actually get some talk time in with Jay, and working on the computer during the day, from 9 am to 4 and no more than that, then I think it would be a breeze. Just enough to get back to basics. Well, that was my ten, actually, more like twenty minutes. Does this count?
Sunday, April 20, 2008 11:42 pm