Katie: Mommy, I think we're pretty good kids, because we haven't set the house on fire.
I'm not making this up.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Training for the Olympics - Track and Field
My husband is sending me pictures from Afghanistan.
I think he only sent me this one because he isn't at that facility any more. Either that or the heat has gotten to his head.
Save this kind for when you come home safely, dear.
Lunacy
Maybe they should just let the people vote about whether or not they want female clergy:
Anglican ordination of women leads to two types of Communion at cathedral
An Anglican cathedral is trying to accommodate those of its faithful who do not accept female clergy by allowing parishioners to decide whether to accept communion bread blessed by its female canon or by a male priest.
So we've got Catholics and Orthodox who use the Bible and tradition. We've got Bible-alone Protestants. Now we get doctrine-by-poll. Women priests? Take a vote! Homosexual bishops? Polls are now open! Is it wrong to cheat on your taxes? It was yesterday, but the latest Zogby results say it's okay (just don't get caught).
The practice was attacked by Sally Barnes of the Anglican feminist group Women and the Church. She said it was “unacceptable and disgraceful” to turn communion into “a buffet.”
No, Sally, it's not a buffet, it's a cafeteria.
Anglican ordination of women leads to two types of Communion at cathedral
An Anglican cathedral is trying to accommodate those of its faithful who do not accept female clergy by allowing parishioners to decide whether to accept communion bread blessed by its female canon or by a male priest.
So we've got Catholics and Orthodox who use the Bible and tradition. We've got Bible-alone Protestants. Now we get doctrine-by-poll. Women priests? Take a vote! Homosexual bishops? Polls are now open! Is it wrong to cheat on your taxes? It was yesterday, but the latest Zogby results say it's okay (just don't get caught).
The practice was attacked by Sally Barnes of the Anglican feminist group Women and the Church. She said it was “unacceptable and disgraceful” to turn communion into “a buffet.”
No, Sally, it's not a buffet, it's a cafeteria.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A daily rant and poll
I've discovered a growing pet peeve. It never used to bother me, then it bothered me a little. Now it bugs the daylights out of me.
Using Lenten feast days as an excuse to eat meat on Fridays.
First it was St. Patrick's Day, and certain bishops wanted to make sure that the faithful could indulge in green beer and corned beef even if March 17th fell on Friday as it did it 2006 and 2000. Now as much as I love St. Patrick, his feast is a minor feast day, so this is really pushing it.
But March 19th is the Solemnity of St. Joseph. Next year it is on a Friday. My Catholic homeschool group wants to do a father-son meal on this day, and many of the women felt that serving meat was fine since it was his feast day.
"We are required to celebrate solemnities," pointed out one woman.
"But we aren't required to eat meat, " said I. She agreed, but she and many others thought that meat could still be an option, for example, if the dinner was spaghetti with meatballs, you could decline the meatballs if you were one of those holy-than-thou people who thought that eating meat on Friday during Lent was wrong.
Now, I don't eat meat on Fridays as a general rule - even outside of Lent, and I'm willing to accept that others may choose different sacrifices outside of Lent. But it annoys me when Catholics socialize as Catholics on Fridays (as my homeschool group does once a month) and nobody encourages going meatless. We do a potluck, and my dish will be the only meatless dish. If we are all supposed to be doing some sort of sacrifice on Friday, wouldn't it just be easier if we did the same one? If the Jones Family offers up cheese, they may have trouble finding a dish. And if the Smiths offer up sweets, then there will be a whole table of temptations. And if the saintly Reitemeyers give up meat, then they have to feed themselves or go hungry.
There's not much point going to a potluck if you can't eat anything served.
OK, so this part of my pet peeve is, obviously, growing, too. But sticking with the main part - eating meat on Fridays during Lent - I want to know how the rest of the Catholic world thinks (or at least the small fraction that comes here to visit). The Solemnity of St. Joseph is only seven months away. What do you plan to do? Do you think eating meat on his feast day is acceptable (assuming the Bishops give permission)? Do you think the requirement to "celebrate" necessitates the eating of meat or the eating of sweets?
And, since I obviously disagree with you if you do, I really want to hear some justifications as to why "Catholic-lite: the smooth, easy road to Heaven" is a good idea. Do you think this trend of minimal discomforts has made us a stronger church or better people? Do you think that voluntarily suffering is useless? Or are you just not interested in being challenged? What's your problem, huh?
Using Lenten feast days as an excuse to eat meat on Fridays.
First it was St. Patrick's Day, and certain bishops wanted to make sure that the faithful could indulge in green beer and corned beef even if March 17th fell on Friday as it did it 2006 and 2000. Now as much as I love St. Patrick, his feast is a minor feast day, so this is really pushing it.
But March 19th is the Solemnity of St. Joseph. Next year it is on a Friday. My Catholic homeschool group wants to do a father-son meal on this day, and many of the women felt that serving meat was fine since it was his feast day.
"We are required to celebrate solemnities," pointed out one woman.
"But we aren't required to eat meat, " said I. She agreed, but she and many others thought that meat could still be an option, for example, if the dinner was spaghetti with meatballs, you could decline the meatballs if you were one of those holy-than-thou people who thought that eating meat on Friday during Lent was wrong.
Now, I don't eat meat on Fridays as a general rule - even outside of Lent, and I'm willing to accept that others may choose different sacrifices outside of Lent. But it annoys me when Catholics socialize as Catholics on Fridays (as my homeschool group does once a month) and nobody encourages going meatless. We do a potluck, and my dish will be the only meatless dish. If we are all supposed to be doing some sort of sacrifice on Friday, wouldn't it just be easier if we did the same one? If the Jones Family offers up cheese, they may have trouble finding a dish. And if the Smiths offer up sweets, then there will be a whole table of temptations. And if the saintly Reitemeyers give up meat, then they have to feed themselves or go hungry.
There's not much point going to a potluck if you can't eat anything served.
OK, so this part of my pet peeve is, obviously, growing, too. But sticking with the main part - eating meat on Fridays during Lent - I want to know how the rest of the Catholic world thinks (or at least the small fraction that comes here to visit). The Solemnity of St. Joseph is only seven months away. What do you plan to do? Do you think eating meat on his feast day is acceptable (assuming the Bishops give permission)? Do you think the requirement to "celebrate" necessitates the eating of meat or the eating of sweets?
And, since I obviously disagree with you if you do, I really want to hear some justifications as to why "Catholic-lite: the smooth, easy road to Heaven" is a good idea. Do you think this trend of minimal discomforts has made us a stronger church or better people? Do you think that voluntarily suffering is useless? Or are you just not interested in being challenged? What's your problem, huh?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Battle Royal
It's never fun to stumble out of bed and first thing see a problem.
It's better to have your coffee first.
I suffered through mice this past fall and winter. I kindly caught and released them, nice person that I am, although I considered other options. Maybe I should join the Franciscan order.
But I'm not so nice to the kitchen ants. Tiny, annoying little things. I will say, though, that they force you to clean up every crumb and kool-aid spill. They really like kool-aid.
I had a man come out last week and spray. It worked for a bit, but then they came back. Not as many as before, but more than two or three. I can tolerate that many, since it only takes a few seconds to squish them, but after that, it's too much work and quite a mess. Windex, for what it's worth, either kills them or knocks them out on impact. Then your counters look like an aerial view of a battlefield with tiny bodies strewn about. It's yucky, especially on the walls where the matte finish prevents them from wiping up easily.
Yesterday morning, I made my way to the sink to fill the coffee maker. There had to be 500 ants in it swarming over a single knife covered in peanut butter. Peanut butter, I thought, who had peanut butter last night? I knew I hadn't left this knife there before I went to bed.
As soon as I turned on the water, the ants ran for the sides of the sink and started climbing out. I was able to catch most of them with the spray nozzle, but the fast ones had to be Windexed and wiped. Such slaughtering at such an early hour is so unpleasant.
An hour or so later, Billy woke up and proudly said, "I had a midnight snack last night!"
Yes, darling, I noticed.
Only a few random ants in sight this morning. No midnight snackers either. I've got the pest man scheduled to come back out on Thursday anyway.
It's better to have your coffee first.
I suffered through mice this past fall and winter. I kindly caught and released them, nice person that I am, although I considered other options. Maybe I should join the Franciscan order.
But I'm not so nice to the kitchen ants. Tiny, annoying little things. I will say, though, that they force you to clean up every crumb and kool-aid spill. They really like kool-aid.
I had a man come out last week and spray. It worked for a bit, but then they came back. Not as many as before, but more than two or three. I can tolerate that many, since it only takes a few seconds to squish them, but after that, it's too much work and quite a mess. Windex, for what it's worth, either kills them or knocks them out on impact. Then your counters look like an aerial view of a battlefield with tiny bodies strewn about. It's yucky, especially on the walls where the matte finish prevents them from wiping up easily.
Yesterday morning, I made my way to the sink to fill the coffee maker. There had to be 500 ants in it swarming over a single knife covered in peanut butter. Peanut butter, I thought, who had peanut butter last night? I knew I hadn't left this knife there before I went to bed.
As soon as I turned on the water, the ants ran for the sides of the sink and started climbing out. I was able to catch most of them with the spray nozzle, but the fast ones had to be Windexed and wiped. Such slaughtering at such an early hour is so unpleasant.
An hour or so later, Billy woke up and proudly said, "I had a midnight snack last night!"
Yes, darling, I noticed.
Only a few random ants in sight this morning. No midnight snackers either. I've got the pest man scheduled to come back out on Thursday anyway.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Nostalgia
Fencing is an expensive sport, especially at the beginning when you have to buy the equipment. And when you have two beginners needing equipment, the outlay can be quite painful. For Christmas, the boys received all they needed to "dry" fence, that means to fence without all the fancy electrical equipment. They got a jacket, mask, sword, and a bag to carry it (they already had gloves). We spent more on them for Christmas buying that than we normally would spend on them in all. They didn't get much else.
Now we're moving them to an electric class which requires an electric sword, a body cord, and a lamé - a vest with metal filaments.
Ouch. I think I spent the same amount that I did on their Christmas package. And I guess one of them complained that the poking of the sword into the chest was uncomfortable, so the coach told them to get a chest protector. This plastic shield straps to the chest and costs so much that I wondered if it was bullet proof too. Personally, I think a painful poke in the chest will help make you a better fencer. It's the Dodgeball method of improving your skills: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball. If you don't like getting poked, improve your parrying.
But besides the physical pain of buying the equipment, I didn't expect the emotional pricks. My husband prefers épée, but when I met him, he was fencing foil because that's what the team needed. My boys are fencing foil because that's "classic" fencing where you really learn all the basic moves. Considering how much money I just spent, they will be fencing foil for quite some time. Their coach sized them up for blade length and decided that Fritz was ready for a full-sized weapon. We already own adult-sized foils. All I really needed was a right-handed grip. Grips are $5. Swords are over $100.
But I don't know about the condition of my husband's old equipment; I don't know how to test or clean them; and I don't know how to put them together. I sighed and not for the first time wished my husband were the one doing this or was at least just a phone call away.
I turned from blade selection to see Billy trying on a lamé. Suddenly, I was transported back nearly twenty years and there was a very young version of my husband suiting up for a bout. I don't know if it was the way he zipped it or his demeanor or his physical appearance. But whatever it was, the memories of those early dating years rushed in for a brief moment.
Boy, do I miss this man.
Now we're moving them to an electric class which requires an electric sword, a body cord, and a lamé - a vest with metal filaments.
Ouch. I think I spent the same amount that I did on their Christmas package. And I guess one of them complained that the poking of the sword into the chest was uncomfortable, so the coach told them to get a chest protector. This plastic shield straps to the chest and costs so much that I wondered if it was bullet proof too. Personally, I think a painful poke in the chest will help make you a better fencer. It's the Dodgeball method of improving your skills: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball. If you don't like getting poked, improve your parrying.
But besides the physical pain of buying the equipment, I didn't expect the emotional pricks. My husband prefers épée, but when I met him, he was fencing foil because that's what the team needed. My boys are fencing foil because that's "classic" fencing where you really learn all the basic moves. Considering how much money I just spent, they will be fencing foil for quite some time. Their coach sized them up for blade length and decided that Fritz was ready for a full-sized weapon. We already own adult-sized foils. All I really needed was a right-handed grip. Grips are $5. Swords are over $100.
But I don't know about the condition of my husband's old equipment; I don't know how to test or clean them; and I don't know how to put them together. I sighed and not for the first time wished my husband were the one doing this or was at least just a phone call away.
I turned from blade selection to see Billy trying on a lamé. Suddenly, I was transported back nearly twenty years and there was a very young version of my husband suiting up for a bout. I don't know if it was the way he zipped it or his demeanor or his physical appearance. But whatever it was, the memories of those early dating years rushed in for a brief moment.
Boy, do I miss this man.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails (LUPEC)
My favorite new resource:
The Founding Chapter of Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails (LUPEC) welcomes you!
This site is dedicated to the Gin Fizz, the Widow's Kiss, and the Singapore Sling – the drinks our mothers and grandmothers drank, the drinks we strive to save from extinction as a small measure of remembering those great women and their great cocktail parties.
Here you can find information about those cocktails, as well as their history and the rituals, barware and hors d'oeuvres that accompanied them.
So, remove the pineapple chunk from your cocktail, raise your glass, and drink to their memory! Up in ya!
H/T: The Pious Sodality of Church Ladies
The Founding Chapter of Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails (LUPEC) welcomes you!
This site is dedicated to the Gin Fizz, the Widow's Kiss, and the Singapore Sling – the drinks our mothers and grandmothers drank, the drinks we strive to save from extinction as a small measure of remembering those great women and their great cocktail parties.
Here you can find information about those cocktails, as well as their history and the rituals, barware and hors d'oeuvres that accompanied them.
So, remove the pineapple chunk from your cocktail, raise your glass, and drink to their memory! Up in ya!
H/T: The Pious Sodality of Church Ladies
Too long to go
Yesterday I drove south down the George Washington Parkway which runs parallel to the Potomac River. Reagan National Airport is along this route and inbound planes line up with the river as they make their descent. We pointed out to Peter plane after plane that we spotted lowering itself to the runway. He was very eager to see them and finally started asking, "Do you think Daddy is on that one?"
Sorry, buddy, I wish it were so.
Sorry, buddy, I wish it were so.
Next up: prove that swings and bouncy seats are just as good for baby as a mother's arms
Expert says breastfeeding benefits 'greatly exaggerated'
I just don't get it. God designed our bodies to feed our babies. It's what "they" are for. I can't help but feel that attempts to prove that formula, like daycare, is just as good as moms caring for their babies naturally is rooted in the desire to keep sex separate from its consequences. Sex without babies unless you intend it, and babies without a lifestyle change (return to work and perky breasts) unless you intend it.
I just don't get it. God designed our bodies to feed our babies. It's what "they" are for. I can't help but feel that attempts to prove that formula, like daycare, is just as good as moms caring for their babies naturally is rooted in the desire to keep sex separate from its consequences. Sex without babies unless you intend it, and babies without a lifestyle change (return to work and perky breasts) unless you intend it.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
From my Inbox
When I get email, it has a tendency to sit in my inbox until I'm done with it. The junk gets deleted, unread. Other junk gets deleted, read. A few things might get "filed" in case I ever want to look at them again. And the rest sits and waits until I have time to deal with it appropriately.
Some things have been sitting for quite some time. For example, Jody Erickson emailed me last October about her hands-on sacrament preparation activities. I saw her table at the IHM Conference, and her products are very nice. I've also seen her book, Montessori on a Shoestring, and I wish I had had that about 5 or 6 years ago.
Back in June, I received an email telling me about Direct from Lourdes. If you want Lourdes water or a statue of St. Bernadette or anything else related to the apparitions there, including general (online and free) information about what happened, this is the place.
And also more than a month ago, I found out about Logos Bible Software. I definitely prefer a bound paper book to anything electronic (call me old-fashioned), but I do see the high value in having digital versions of texts. If you are studying theology, routinely writing articles or papers about certain topics or simply like to be able to find that passage or quote to bolster an after-dinner discussion with an argumentative spouse (not speaking from experience here at all), being able to search with a few key strokes and find your section within seconds as well as being able to cut and paste passages for your articles is convenient indeed. Logos Bible Software isn't just the Bible. Their Catholic products include works of Augustine, Aquinas, Chesterton and others.
And lastly, I blogged about going to Williamsburg and mentioned that they have Homeschool days in the fall. I got another email telling me that the dates for this are September 12 - 27 (wow, two full weeks). If you pay in advance by 8/31, it is a mere $5.50 per ticket for one day with walk-in prices of $6.50. Two days are $8 in advance and $9 for walk-ins. Children 5 and under are free. The phone number given was 800-228-8878. Regular admission for an adult is $36, so this is quite a savings. I'm not feeling brave enough to do this without Bill, so it will have to be another time for us. But if you go, I highly recommend the Jamestown and Yorktown visitor's centers as well.
Some things have been sitting for quite some time. For example, Jody Erickson emailed me last October about her hands-on sacrament preparation activities. I saw her table at the IHM Conference, and her products are very nice. I've also seen her book, Montessori on a Shoestring, and I wish I had had that about 5 or 6 years ago.
Back in June, I received an email telling me about Direct from Lourdes. If you want Lourdes water or a statue of St. Bernadette or anything else related to the apparitions there, including general (online and free) information about what happened, this is the place.
And also more than a month ago, I found out about Logos Bible Software. I definitely prefer a bound paper book to anything electronic (call me old-fashioned), but I do see the high value in having digital versions of texts. If you are studying theology, routinely writing articles or papers about certain topics or simply like to be able to find that passage or quote to bolster an after-dinner discussion with an argumentative spouse (not speaking from experience here at all), being able to search with a few key strokes and find your section within seconds as well as being able to cut and paste passages for your articles is convenient indeed. Logos Bible Software isn't just the Bible. Their Catholic products include works of Augustine, Aquinas, Chesterton and others.
And lastly, I blogged about going to Williamsburg and mentioned that they have Homeschool days in the fall. I got another email telling me that the dates for this are September 12 - 27 (wow, two full weeks). If you pay in advance by 8/31, it is a mere $5.50 per ticket for one day with walk-in prices of $6.50. Two days are $8 in advance and $9 for walk-ins. Children 5 and under are free. The phone number given was 800-228-8878. Regular admission for an adult is $36, so this is quite a savings. I'm not feeling brave enough to do this without Bill, so it will have to be another time for us. But if you go, I highly recommend the Jamestown and Yorktown visitor's centers as well.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
What goes around, comes around
Last fall, a friend of mine donated a kidney to a total stranger. Recently, she sent me this story about a man from her parish who had volunteered to donate for that same woman, but he wasn't a match. He went on to donate to another stranger, and his generosity led to a chain-reaction of donations totalling EIGHT donated kidneys. It's a neat story.
Done any good deeds lately?
Done any good deeds lately?
Tell me you love me
I happened to be up at 2 am, so I checked my email to see if there was a note from Bill. It is, after all, mid-morning by that time in Afghanistan.
Nothing.
I went back to bed, sulking. Why hasn't he written? I mused in a pathetic manner.
Perhaps, I retorted to myself, because he knows it's 2 am here, and that you should be sleeping and not checking email.
And when I woke up later, at a decent hour, there was, of course, a love note.
And thus my morning is glorious.
Nothing.
I went back to bed, sulking. Why hasn't he written? I mused in a pathetic manner.
Perhaps, I retorted to myself, because he knows it's 2 am here, and that you should be sleeping and not checking email.
And when I woke up later, at a decent hour, there was, of course, a love note.
And thus my morning is glorious.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
July seems to be the month of goodbyes
On Thursday, I had two families over. My friend, Rachel, and her family were moving to Kansas the next day, so this was a goodbye party.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
The treadmill makes an excellent blacktop for car racing.
Taking a break from Jedi training.
There are times Jenny is a huge help.
No camera shy kiddos here.
Dirt is all little boys really need.
Rachel and I met in 2006, and the following summer we sadly moved away (to Kansas). Being able to see them again was the number one reason I was happy to return to this area in 2008. Now it's their turn to move.
As they left our house Thursday night, there was much wailing. This is the thing I hate most about the Army life. But as I reminded us all, the Army brought us together, too.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
- Tennyson
It will be easier on me, since Rachel and I can email and blog to stay in touch. The kids will have to write letters for now, but maybe in a few years, they'll be Facebooking. I suggested to Billy that they all go to West Point together. It has the wheels in his mind churning.
The treadmill makes an excellent blacktop for car racing.Taking a break from Jedi training.There are times Jenny is a huge help.No camera shy kiddos here.Dirt is all little boys really need.Farewell, my friend. You will have a great time in Kansas. We shall see each other again, I'm sure. Let me know when you pick a place to retire, and I'll buy the house next door.
CarJacking
Him: This is some car. I like this car. I could go places in this car.Her: Uh, Mom, I could use some help.
Him: Maybe if I try the "Look over there" distraction technique, she won't notice if I climb in with her.Her: What the...?
Him: Okay, here's the deal. I want this car. You're just going to have to get out.
Him: Okay, here's the deal. I want this car. You're just going to have to get out.Her: Oh, yeah? Make me!
Him: Okay, you asked for it.Her: The Force has failed me.
(Note to Joseph's Mom: the last picture was taken 5 minutes later after she got out all on her own. It was his turn fair and square.)
Friday, July 17, 2009
Sweet Little Old Lady - not.
Katie: Mommy, how old do you have to be to get a credit card?
Me: Old enough to have a job to pay for it.
Katie: Do YOU have a job?
My 1st thought: Grrrrrrrr......
My 2nd thought: No, I have a Sugar Daddy.
One day, when my kids are adults, I'm going to actually say some of these things I think. They may go into shock, since I'll have spent 20 years or more blandly answering their questions. Maybe they'll blog about their crazy old mom. They'll claim mental degeneration, but we'll know it's just my true colors finally coming through.
Me: Old enough to have a job to pay for it.
Katie: Do YOU have a job?
My 1st thought: Grrrrrrrr......
My 2nd thought: No, I have a Sugar Daddy.
One day, when my kids are adults, I'm going to actually say some of these things I think. They may go into shock, since I'll have spent 20 years or more blandly answering their questions. Maybe they'll blog about their crazy old mom. They'll claim mental degeneration, but we'll know it's just my true colors finally coming through.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Because bending over backwards is easier than going to the Post Office
Yesterday I tried to coordinate with a man who refitted my husband's custom-fit knee brace (from ACL replacement surgery last fall) for pick-up or delivery. He is in Chevy Chase, MD which is a bit of a drive for me - an excruciating distance considering Mary does not like riding in the car.
He said he could drive it to my house, but in a way that made it seem like it was a sincere hardship for him. Since Bill had originally been fitted for this brace at his doctor's office - local to me - I thought he must make routine drives out this way, but apparently not. Bill had driven to Chevy Chase for the refitting, and I guess the original salesman was gone. Maybe Bill had explained all this and I just didn't listen...
So, I threw in my tale of woe - having to drive 6 little children all the way the Chevy Chase. Again, he said he could drive it out to me, he supposes, again with this begrudging attitude.
So I suggested he mail it. He seemed unsure about that. "It's in a box," he said. Well, good, I thought. The Post Office likes that. I suggested that First Class postage would be cheaper than gas. But he told me he would have to get approval from higher ups to do that. (Heaven forbid someone have to go through such red tape.) It would be better (easier) if he drove it over, but I would have to wait until he returned from his next week's vacation.
Personally, I would have preferred that he get it in the mail today, instead of driving it over personally in two weeks, but since I'm putting the man out so much and I doubt he would have managed to secure approval in such a short amount of time to actually spend the $10 for postage (I think this thing weighs 8 ounces - it's super high-tech), I felt like my only choices were to wait or to drive there myself.
So, sorry, honey, it's going to be September before you get this thing.
He said he could drive it to my house, but in a way that made it seem like it was a sincere hardship for him. Since Bill had originally been fitted for this brace at his doctor's office - local to me - I thought he must make routine drives out this way, but apparently not. Bill had driven to Chevy Chase for the refitting, and I guess the original salesman was gone. Maybe Bill had explained all this and I just didn't listen...
So, I threw in my tale of woe - having to drive 6 little children all the way the Chevy Chase. Again, he said he could drive it out to me, he supposes, again with this begrudging attitude.
So I suggested he mail it. He seemed unsure about that. "It's in a box," he said. Well, good, I thought. The Post Office likes that. I suggested that First Class postage would be cheaper than gas. But he told me he would have to get approval from higher ups to do that. (Heaven forbid someone have to go through such red tape.) It would be better (easier) if he drove it over, but I would have to wait until he returned from his next week's vacation.
Personally, I would have preferred that he get it in the mail today, instead of driving it over personally in two weeks, but since I'm putting the man out so much and I doubt he would have managed to secure approval in such a short amount of time to actually spend the $10 for postage (I think this thing weighs 8 ounces - it's super high-tech), I felt like my only choices were to wait or to drive there myself.
So, sorry, honey, it's going to be September before you get this thing.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Re-Defining Audacious
Today on Capitol Hill:
I'll bet there are plenty of Pennsylvania voters who want to know the same thing about Senators who switch parties. Perhaps the first and best opportunity to protect the interests of your constituency is to worry more about keeping your own promises instead of fretting about others keeping theirs.
The shadow of the old Arlen Specter emerged Wednesday when he echoed Republicans' concerns that Sonia Sotomayor may say one thing at her confirmation hearing and do another as the next Supreme Court justice.
Sen. Specter, who recently switched parties from Republican to Democrat, expressed frustration over the nominee's refusal to give specific answers on a number of legal issues and court rulings.
"Is there anything the Senate or Congress can do if a nominee says one thing seated at that table and does something exactly the opposite once they walk across the street?" he asked Sotomayor Wednesday during Day 3 of her confirmation hearings as she seeks to become the first Hispanic to sit on the high court.
I'll bet there are plenty of Pennsylvania voters who want to know the same thing about Senators who switch parties. Perhaps the first and best opportunity to protect the interests of your constituency is to worry more about keeping your own promises instead of fretting about others keeping theirs.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Waiting for Godot to Call
If you are waiting for a phone call, it can be very frustrating and a test of your patience. Here are some tips to make that phone ring right away:
1. Rock the baby to sleep four rooms away from the nearest phone where you can hear the ring, but will not be able to get to it before it goes to voice mail.
2. Go for a run on the treadmill.
3. If you take a shower, you must leave the phone in another room. Taking the phone with you guarantees that it will not ring.
4. Lie on the couch with the baby who was prematurely awakened from her nap. Decide that a few minutes to rest your own eyes is a great idea. I think Mom-naptimes are the best generators of phone calls. I usually get an average of one for every 15 minutes of dozing.
Unfortunately, though the phone may ring, it may not be the person you wanted to call. Try again the next day.
1. Rock the baby to sleep four rooms away from the nearest phone where you can hear the ring, but will not be able to get to it before it goes to voice mail.
2. Go for a run on the treadmill.
3. If you take a shower, you must leave the phone in another room. Taking the phone with you guarantees that it will not ring.
4. Lie on the couch with the baby who was prematurely awakened from her nap. Decide that a few minutes to rest your own eyes is a great idea. I think Mom-naptimes are the best generators of phone calls. I usually get an average of one for every 15 minutes of dozing.
Unfortunately, though the phone may ring, it may not be the person you wanted to call. Try again the next day.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Freeport Flag Ladies
This awesome organization goes to Bangor, Maine to greet troops heading out or home from deployments (fueling stops tend to be Maine, somewhere in Europe, and then Kuwait).
From their website:
Untold thousands of pictures have been taken of the soldiers and put on the web site for their families. We make a special effort to be there for as many of the outbound troops as possible since we have learned that these pictures are so treasured by their families.
I have to agree. I don't know why, but having some nice ladies smiling and hugging my husband and going out of their way to make him feel special for one minute is comforting. I get all warm and fuzzy feeling.
They also send care packages to the troops. If you are looking for a great way to support the troops (and don't actually know anyone), they happily accept donations to fund their work.
Bill passed through on July 10, Flight 2, top 2 pictures of page 5. He, like so many others photographed, was on the phone (with me) - last chance before international charges apply.
From their website:
Untold thousands of pictures have been taken of the soldiers and put on the web site for their families. We make a special effort to be there for as many of the outbound troops as possible since we have learned that these pictures are so treasured by their families.
I have to agree. I don't know why, but having some nice ladies smiling and hugging my husband and going out of their way to make him feel special for one minute is comforting. I get all warm and fuzzy feeling.
They also send care packages to the troops. If you are looking for a great way to support the troops (and don't actually know anyone), they happily accept donations to fund their work.
Bill passed through on July 10, Flight 2, top 2 pictures of page 5. He, like so many others photographed, was on the phone (with me) - last chance before international charges apply.
Condiments: It's What's for Breakfast
I give her a bowl of cereal, and she has a few bites.
Sometimes she gets into the ketchup.
She waves off pancakes and waffles. Although she will chug the syrup if you leave it in her reach.
Toast: she licks off the butter.
Bagels: she sucks off the cream cheese.
She yowls to get into the fridge and selects...tartar sauce with a toddler-friendly pop top (oh, yum!). I have to hide the sticks of butter in the back or she will peel and eat them like bananas.
Sometimes she gets into the ketchup.Frequently she wants grated Parmesan cheese.
Today she ate a bowl of spaghetti sauce.
At her 18 month old well-baby check up, the doctor was pleased with her weight gain (from the 10th percentile to the 25th). I didn't want to tell him it was the condiments.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Selective Helpfulness
It is the "witching" hour - that time right before dinner when toddlers seem barely hanging on to anything resembling composure and moms are similarly struggling. Mary is, as usual, bewitched. I just need her to hang on for another half hour and then I'll happily put her to bed.
Relief! She has discovered the muffin tins, and the madeleine tin and - oh, no, I didn't realize she has one of my Polish Pottery dishes (OK, rescued that one) - and she has laid them out on the floor and is pretending they are stepping stones. She skips gleefully from one to the next, blissfully distracted from all her end-of-the-day stresses.
Disaster! Helpful older sisters and Neighbor Girl (who is staying for dinner) decide that the dishes are not for playing and take them from her.
Thankfully, they returned them immediately when Iyelled at them mentioned that I was aware of her activity (I'm sitting ten feet away), and she recovered her good mood.
Nobody noticed her five minutes ago when she took the canister of Carnation Instant Breakfast, ripped off the lid with her teeth, and up-ended the entire thing on the counter and floor. Of course not.
Bill is in an airport in Kuwait waiting for a flight to his final destination. He might be there a while, and he has nothing better to do but read my blog and worry about me. I'm desperately trying to come up with something amusing to write to ease his worries somewhat. I've got nothing, although Neighbor Girl, when told he was in Kuwait, asked if it was an "exotic" country. Since her definition of "exotic" did not include "hotter'n an oven" or "sandstorms" I told her no. If you've read anything funny recently, feel free to include a link in the combox. We could use a good laugh.
Relief! She has discovered the muffin tins, and the madeleine tin and - oh, no, I didn't realize she has one of my Polish Pottery dishes (OK, rescued that one) - and she has laid them out on the floor and is pretending they are stepping stones. She skips gleefully from one to the next, blissfully distracted from all her end-of-the-day stresses.
Disaster! Helpful older sisters and Neighbor Girl (who is staying for dinner) decide that the dishes are not for playing and take them from her.
Thankfully, they returned them immediately when I
Nobody noticed her five minutes ago when she took the canister of Carnation Instant Breakfast, ripped off the lid with her teeth, and up-ended the entire thing on the counter and floor. Of course not.
Bill is in an airport in Kuwait waiting for a flight to his final destination. He might be there a while, and he has nothing better to do but read my blog and worry about me. I'm desperately trying to come up with something amusing to write to ease his worries somewhat. I've got nothing, although Neighbor Girl, when told he was in Kuwait, asked if it was an "exotic" country. Since her definition of "exotic" did not include "hotter'n an oven" or "sandstorms" I told her no. If you've read anything funny recently, feel free to include a link in the combox. We could use a good laugh.
Offering it up
At Mass last night, Mary learned:
1) Hooting loudly creates an echo.
2) Pulling mom's glasses off her face makes her really mad (not the first or second time, maybe, but after that she gets a crazy look in her eyes).
3) Mom's crazy-eyed look is hysterically funny.
At Mass last night, Mom prayed:
1) That the church vestibule (under construction) would be completed very soon.
2) That the priest was hard of hearing.
3) For the physical strength to hold the 22 pound toddler at arms' length.
1) Hooting loudly creates an echo.
2) Pulling mom's glasses off her face makes her really mad (not the first or second time, maybe, but after that she gets a crazy look in her eyes).
3) Mom's crazy-eyed look is hysterically funny.
At Mass last night, Mom prayed:
1) That the church vestibule (under construction) would be completed very soon.
2) That the priest was hard of hearing.
3) For the physical strength to hold the 22 pound toddler at arms' length.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Camping with Teddy
Fritz is packing up for his first ever away from home for a whole week camp with the Boy Scouts. We tried to do this last year, but it didn't work out. So far, no reports of e coli at camp this year, thank goodness.
Hanging out of the side pocket of his backpack, I noticed a Beenie Baby teddy bear dressed in camouflage. We got this bear when Bill was deployed in 2003, and even had our family photo from that year taken with the bear representing him. I felt it necessary to warn my sheltered son of the possible consequences of taking the bear.
"Someone might make fun of you," I mentioned.
"It reminds me of Dad," he said as though such sentiments would be instinctively understood and respected by all.
"I just want you to be prepared in case somebody doesn't know that. You might have to explain it, and they might tease you anyway."
He didn't respond, but his jaw was set. He'll take that bear and defend it as though he were defending his family honor. I'll be curious to hear when he gets back how that works out for him.
Hanging out of the side pocket of his backpack, I noticed a Beenie Baby teddy bear dressed in camouflage. We got this bear when Bill was deployed in 2003, and even had our family photo from that year taken with the bear representing him. I felt it necessary to warn my sheltered son of the possible consequences of taking the bear.
"Someone might make fun of you," I mentioned.
"It reminds me of Dad," he said as though such sentiments would be instinctively understood and respected by all.
"I just want you to be prepared in case somebody doesn't know that. You might have to explain it, and they might tease you anyway."
He didn't respond, but his jaw was set. He'll take that bear and defend it as though he were defending his family honor. I'll be curious to hear when he gets back how that works out for him.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Widened Circle of Love
Content warning: emotionally difficult stuff. Just because I am compelled to write it does not mean you should feel compelled to read it.
Two weeks before Bill left, I realized I was pregnant. I was angry at God. This was not my plan.
Three days later, I had names and Godparents picked out. I was mentally rearranging the car seats in the van, thinking ahead to bedroom assignments, and wondering if I should spend time and effort to fix and paint the crib or if I should just get a new one. I wouldn't say that I was joyful, but I was definitely making room in my heart for another.
The night before, Bill asked me, "You said you were angry at God when you found out you were pregnant...did you ever wish you weren't?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Yes."
And there it was, our collective guilt. We wished we weren't having a baby, and now our baby was dead. And we were grieving.
I do not know how a man feels when he has to leave his family for six months. I know that Bill's eyes were moist and his jaw was clenched as four children clung to him, wailing and begging for him not to go. They were hurting, and it was his fault. It's a heavy burden. I didn't want to add to it, but I could not change the reality that I was having a miscarriage. How helpless he must have felt.
When I got back from the doctor's, I tried to comfort him and myself as well. "God does not grant the impetuous wishes of someone if they are not also His will." He was leaving so soon, and we had not a moment to ourselves. Our every conversation, our every embrace had many little witnesses who often wedged themselves between us. It was important to me that the kids not know. I could not add to their grief. This was just between Bill and I, but we could not talk about it. We could not work through our loss together.
Two days after Bill left, I passed the baby. It was unexpected, in the shower. I held it in my hands and then it was gone the very second I realized what it was. Not only was the baby gone, it was washed into the public sewer system. That was when I first really cried.
I am reminded that these are not our children. They belong to God, and He decides how long they are in our care. This one was with me so briefly, but, nonetheless, I feel that our family dynamic has changed. In my head, my family litany goes from oldest to youngest and ends with the baby, as yet unnamed. "God has given us a saint in Heaven to watch over us," I told Bill, pointing out that we might be concerned that He feels we need one.
Bill and I have been in phone contact while he is down South getting equipment. But our opportunities for intimate conversations have been limited. I was finally able to voice to him my concern that this would be something that happened to me, and that it would not be a shared memory. He assured me that the wound was a deep one, and that I was not alone in my sorrow.
This pregnancy was not the first unexpected and unwelcome child to enter my life. But always my passion for the child grew with the circumference of my waist. Never have I birthed an unloved and unwanted child, and always have I been able to make up for my initial resentment with years of kisses and caresses and nurturing. I am sad I lost the baby, but I am also sad that I will have to wait a lifetime to prove to him or her and to God that my heart did, in fact, have room to love this child.
Two weeks before Bill left, I realized I was pregnant. I was angry at God. This was not my plan.
Three days later, I had names and Godparents picked out. I was mentally rearranging the car seats in the van, thinking ahead to bedroom assignments, and wondering if I should spend time and effort to fix and paint the crib or if I should just get a new one. I wouldn't say that I was joyful, but I was definitely making room in my heart for another.
Three days before Bill left, I started bleeding. The day he left, I had an ultrasound and confirmed the miscarriage, the "abnormal pregnancy."
The night before, Bill asked me, "You said you were angry at God when you found out you were pregnant...did you ever wish you weren't?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Yes."
And there it was, our collective guilt. We wished we weren't having a baby, and now our baby was dead. And we were grieving.
I do not know how a man feels when he has to leave his family for six months. I know that Bill's eyes were moist and his jaw was clenched as four children clung to him, wailing and begging for him not to go. They were hurting, and it was his fault. It's a heavy burden. I didn't want to add to it, but I could not change the reality that I was having a miscarriage. How helpless he must have felt.
When I got back from the doctor's, I tried to comfort him and myself as well. "God does not grant the impetuous wishes of someone if they are not also His will." He was leaving so soon, and we had not a moment to ourselves. Our every conversation, our every embrace had many little witnesses who often wedged themselves between us. It was important to me that the kids not know. I could not add to their grief. This was just between Bill and I, but we could not talk about it. We could not work through our loss together.
Two days after Bill left, I passed the baby. It was unexpected, in the shower. I held it in my hands and then it was gone the very second I realized what it was. Not only was the baby gone, it was washed into the public sewer system. That was when I first really cried.
I am reminded that these are not our children. They belong to God, and He decides how long they are in our care. This one was with me so briefly, but, nonetheless, I feel that our family dynamic has changed. In my head, my family litany goes from oldest to youngest and ends with the baby, as yet unnamed. "God has given us a saint in Heaven to watch over us," I told Bill, pointing out that we might be concerned that He feels we need one.
Bill and I have been in phone contact while he is down South getting equipment. But our opportunities for intimate conversations have been limited. I was finally able to voice to him my concern that this would be something that happened to me, and that it would not be a shared memory. He assured me that the wound was a deep one, and that I was not alone in my sorrow.
This pregnancy was not the first unexpected and unwelcome child to enter my life. But always my passion for the child grew with the circumference of my waist. Never have I birthed an unloved and unwanted child, and always have I been able to make up for my initial resentment with years of kisses and caresses and nurturing. I am sad I lost the baby, but I am also sad that I will have to wait a lifetime to prove to him or her and to God that my heart did, in fact, have room to love this child.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Where does she get these ideas?
"There's the ice cream truck," one of the kids said as we passed a house. Apparently, a neighbor has secured summer employment.
"The ice cream man is mean," said another kid. I asked why, and they went on to describe how he never stops by our house and how Neighbor Girl said she was waiting for him, and he slowed down, but then he sped up and didn't stop for her.
I thought perhaps these trucks have set routes and that our street was not on his, but before I had a chance to suggest it, Jenny offered her own idea:
"Maybe he had too much beer the night before."
"The ice cream man is mean," said another kid. I asked why, and they went on to describe how he never stops by our house and how Neighbor Girl said she was waiting for him, and he slowed down, but then he sped up and didn't stop for her.
I thought perhaps these trucks have set routes and that our street was not on his, but before I had a chance to suggest it, Jenny offered her own idea:
"Maybe he had too much beer the night before."
passionate
Mary's newest word is "Hug." This is accompanied by the sweetest embraces and slightly moist, delicate kisses. She is not frugal in the delivery of her affection, and I am frequently made to sigh, "Oh, I love this age."
But then I will have the audacity to peel a banana, or to remove the stem from a strawberry - my only excuse, forgive me, is that she is incapable of peeling them herself and that she preferred me to take the green part off just yesterday - and her inconsolable fits of writhing and crying on the floor remind me how much "I hate this age."
But then I will have the audacity to peel a banana, or to remove the stem from a strawberry - my only excuse, forgive me, is that she is incapable of peeling them herself and that she preferred me to take the green part off just yesterday - and her inconsolable fits of writhing and crying on the floor remind me how much "I hate this age."
Monday, July 06, 2009
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Independence Day Ruminations
Watching fireworks on television is a waste of time. If you can't feel the boom, there's no point.
The kids wanted to go see fireworks live, but I said no. I explained that me with six little kids in a dark field at night trying to find a car (even a big white 12 passenger van) was not my idea of fun. Fritz very seriously detailed a plan involving rope that would give me peace of mind. Duct tape would probably work better.
As it is, the baby fell asleep at 530 PM in the car on the way home from the pool. I suspect a 3 AM wake up, but I promise I will not have a Part III to my series on my sleeping habits. Maybe I'll just do a daily log of my weight and how many cigarettes I smoked...no, that's been done already. Perhaps a mundane sleeping diary is the ticket to fame and fortune...
Then Jenny and Peter and I fell asleep during the pre-fireworks show at the Nation's Capital being show on PBS. I'd have had a hard time doing that in a dark field with six little charges, unless of course, duct tape were involved. I'm happy to only have to carry the little ones up the stairs to bed and not in and out of a car and up the stairs.
Before I fell asleep, I saw (on TV) a military helicopter in the air over the Mall. I know several pilots, and I can tell you that being assigned to the DC area has some drawbacks, to include being tasked to do flyovers of public events on federal holidays, usually the ones geared toward honoring you. So, while the average civilian's heart gets to swell with pride at seeing your helicopter or jet screaming through the air, your thanks for a job well done is another day at the office. And no, folks, there is no such thing as comp time in the US Military.
On the PBS show, they announced Barry Manilow performing. I muttered some amount of surprise that he was still alive and kicking. When the kids saw him, Billy said, "He's a young man!" I said he was an old man when I was their age (at least he seemed that way - he's three years older than my parents). I assume the man has had some assistance in his appearance. Either that or he has a very ugly portrait hidden in his attic. For perspective, Billy was insisting that his own father was an old man just the other day. But Barry Manilow is young. Maybe I should get Bill some botox for Christmas.
When I began this post, Katie interrupted to say that she couldn't sleep because of the locals setting off firecrackers. I told her lie in her bed, awake, until they were done. About 10 minutes later, some local fireworks show began and it woke up the baby (so much for 3 AM...). I looked in on Katie and she was fast asleep.
Fritz passed out too, but the noise got Billy to hopping around from window to window. Alas for him, we live in a forest, practically, and he could barely see some of the lights over the tops of the trees. I remember a time when I was about his age or a little younger and I was still awake when the fireworks started. My mom helped me find the best view (I think she wanted to see too). It was neat being up past my bedtime, being quiet to not wake my siblings, and being able to watch something wonderful.
I am glad that people still set off firecrackers and fireworks and whatever else is legal (or not). I'm not so sure that we all appreciate the magnitude of what was done on that original July the 4th. Certainly, we all are guilty of taking our liberties for granted most of the time - and I thank God for that. To be ever cognizant of our blessings usually means that we experience otherwise or fear that we are in danger of losing them. But it is because we are so assured of our freedom that we grow numb to just how special that is.
And once a year we simulate the noise and excitement of war without all that messy bloodshed. I think the roman candles are my favorite. Nothing gets your heart pumping faster.
The kids wanted to go see fireworks live, but I said no. I explained that me with six little kids in a dark field at night trying to find a car (even a big white 12 passenger van) was not my idea of fun. Fritz very seriously detailed a plan involving rope that would give me peace of mind. Duct tape would probably work better.
As it is, the baby fell asleep at 530 PM in the car on the way home from the pool. I suspect a 3 AM wake up, but I promise I will not have a Part III to my series on my sleeping habits. Maybe I'll just do a daily log of my weight and how many cigarettes I smoked...no, that's been done already. Perhaps a mundane sleeping diary is the ticket to fame and fortune...
Then Jenny and Peter and I fell asleep during the pre-fireworks show at the Nation's Capital being show on PBS. I'd have had a hard time doing that in a dark field with six little charges, unless of course, duct tape were involved. I'm happy to only have to carry the little ones up the stairs to bed and not in and out of a car and up the stairs.
Before I fell asleep, I saw (on TV) a military helicopter in the air over the Mall. I know several pilots, and I can tell you that being assigned to the DC area has some drawbacks, to include being tasked to do flyovers of public events on federal holidays, usually the ones geared toward honoring you. So, while the average civilian's heart gets to swell with pride at seeing your helicopter or jet screaming through the air, your thanks for a job well done is another day at the office. And no, folks, there is no such thing as comp time in the US Military.
On the PBS show, they announced Barry Manilow performing. I muttered some amount of surprise that he was still alive and kicking. When the kids saw him, Billy said, "He's a young man!" I said he was an old man when I was their age (at least he seemed that way - he's three years older than my parents). I assume the man has had some assistance in his appearance. Either that or he has a very ugly portrait hidden in his attic. For perspective, Billy was insisting that his own father was an old man just the other day. But Barry Manilow is young. Maybe I should get Bill some botox for Christmas.
When I began this post, Katie interrupted to say that she couldn't sleep because of the locals setting off firecrackers. I told her lie in her bed, awake, until they were done. About 10 minutes later, some local fireworks show began and it woke up the baby (so much for 3 AM...). I looked in on Katie and she was fast asleep.
Fritz passed out too, but the noise got Billy to hopping around from window to window. Alas for him, we live in a forest, practically, and he could barely see some of the lights over the tops of the trees. I remember a time when I was about his age or a little younger and I was still awake when the fireworks started. My mom helped me find the best view (I think she wanted to see too). It was neat being up past my bedtime, being quiet to not wake my siblings, and being able to watch something wonderful.
I am glad that people still set off firecrackers and fireworks and whatever else is legal (or not). I'm not so sure that we all appreciate the magnitude of what was done on that original July the 4th. Certainly, we all are guilty of taking our liberties for granted most of the time - and I thank God for that. To be ever cognizant of our blessings usually means that we experience otherwise or fear that we are in danger of losing them. But it is because we are so assured of our freedom that we grow numb to just how special that is.
And once a year we simulate the noise and excitement of war without all that messy bloodshed. I think the roman candles are my favorite. Nothing gets your heart pumping faster.
Not sleeping through the night: Part Two
Bill hasn't left the States yet. He's down south standing in line, standing around, getting equipment and filling out paperwork. He leaves in a few days.
He called last night at 830 PM to say he and his group had just gotten to a restaurant. I asked him to call me later. {Aside: I think eating dinner so late at night is extremely unhealthy. It amazes me how quickly he reverts to such bachelor-like apathy for decent behavior.}
At 1030 PM I closed my book and turned off the light. I was snoring by 1031 PM. He called at 11. I don't know about you, but I function much better after even two hours of sleep than after just 30 minutes. Had he been calling from a war zone I would have sucked it up, but as it was, I suggested that saying "I love you" merely 4 or 5 times would be sufficient until tomorrow. I was snoring again at 1103 PM.
He called again at 1130 PM. I love this man. Really, I must. It's the only thing keeping me from becoming a raving lunatic.
Our filtering software was preventing him from logging in to the internet through the post barracks' system. {Another aside: it's 1130 at night - stop acting like a bachelor and go to bed. But, I digress.} So I got up out of bed to help figure it out. It's a good thing I'm not an insomniac. I fell back asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
Fortunately, the kids did not disturb me last night, although Little Miss Alarm Clock thought 430 AM was a good hour to get up. She's been dancing around here since 5. But that's okay. I function really well on 5 hours of sleep.
He called last night at 830 PM to say he and his group had just gotten to a restaurant. I asked him to call me later. {Aside: I think eating dinner so late at night is extremely unhealthy. It amazes me how quickly he reverts to such bachelor-like apathy for decent behavior.}
At 1030 PM I closed my book and turned off the light. I was snoring by 1031 PM. He called at 11. I don't know about you, but I function much better after even two hours of sleep than after just 30 minutes. Had he been calling from a war zone I would have sucked it up, but as it was, I suggested that saying "I love you" merely 4 or 5 times would be sufficient until tomorrow. I was snoring again at 1103 PM.
He called again at 1130 PM. I love this man. Really, I must. It's the only thing keeping me from becoming a raving lunatic.
Our filtering software was preventing him from logging in to the internet through the post barracks' system. {Another aside: it's 1130 at night - stop acting like a bachelor and go to bed. But, I digress.} So I got up out of bed to help figure it out. It's a good thing I'm not an insomniac. I fell back asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
Fortunately, the kids did not disturb me last night, although Little Miss Alarm Clock thought 430 AM was a good hour to get up. She's been dancing around here since 5. But that's okay. I function really well on 5 hours of sleep.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Not sleeping through the night
At some early hour of the morning, I was awakened by a 4 year old who was incapable of expressing his needs and wants. All I got was moaning. Groggily, I got up and put him on the toilet. He went. Great, I thought, problem solved. But no, he continued to moan. I put him on my bed, but he flailed. So I put him on the floor next to the bed. His wailing grew louder, but I managed to roll over and go back to sleep.
At another early hour of the morning, I was awakened by an 11 year old who was complaining that the calamine lotion was not helping to relieve the itching of his mosquito bites. "Sorry, honey," I muttered, "go back to bed." He left, and I took the opportunity to check the floor for my earlier distraction. The floor was empty. Sleep, though, overrode any curiosity I may have felt.
At 5 AM my alarm-that-has-no-snooze-button went off. It's a cute alarm, but the early wake-up has gotten annoying after nearly 21 months. 6 months ago, it was automatically set to 4 AM, so I am grateful for the little progress it is making in adjusting itself to reasonable hours.
I fetched the alarm clock and looked around her room for the 4 year old, since that is where his bed is. Not there. Interesting, I thought. I took the little alarm clock back to my room and looked harder at my floor. Only the dog looked back at me.
Early morning snuggling with the alarm clock usually only gets me 15-20 minutes of light dozing, but I guess she was really tired today. It was nearly 7 AM before she decided it was time to get up. Fritz had been puttering in the sunroom outside my bedroom, heard me talking to her, and came in. "Have you seen Peter?" I asked. Negative. Perhaps he's in the girls' room, I thought. Or....
I got up and looked under my bed. Sure enough, there he was.
After my coffee, I got the camera and went to get a picture, but just then he came out of my room. "Mommy, somebody put me under your bed," he said. Sure, son, little elves were playing a trick on you, and on me too.
At another early hour of the morning, I was awakened by an 11 year old who was complaining that the calamine lotion was not helping to relieve the itching of his mosquito bites. "Sorry, honey," I muttered, "go back to bed." He left, and I took the opportunity to check the floor for my earlier distraction. The floor was empty. Sleep, though, overrode any curiosity I may have felt.
At 5 AM my alarm-that-has-no-snooze-button went off. It's a cute alarm, but the early wake-up has gotten annoying after nearly 21 months. 6 months ago, it was automatically set to 4 AM, so I am grateful for the little progress it is making in adjusting itself to reasonable hours.
I fetched the alarm clock and looked around her room for the 4 year old, since that is where his bed is. Not there. Interesting, I thought. I took the little alarm clock back to my room and looked harder at my floor. Only the dog looked back at me.
Early morning snuggling with the alarm clock usually only gets me 15-20 minutes of light dozing, but I guess she was really tired today. It was nearly 7 AM before she decided it was time to get up. Fritz had been puttering in the sunroom outside my bedroom, heard me talking to her, and came in. "Have you seen Peter?" I asked. Negative. Perhaps he's in the girls' room, I thought. Or....
I got up and looked under my bed. Sure enough, there he was.
After my coffee, I got the camera and went to get a picture, but just then he came out of my room. "Mommy, somebody put me under your bed," he said. Sure, son, little elves were playing a trick on you, and on me too.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Coping
Today is a better day than yesterday. The goodbye part is always the worst.
Yesterday, a woman signing and dating something for me said, "July 1st! It'll be Christmas before you know it!"
I replied, "I hope so!"
I am happily looking forward to December. I re-read Bill's orders last night, and joyfully discovered I'd misunderstood them originally. I thought he was supposed to head for the States by a certain date, but actually, he's supposed to be in the States by a certain date. That makes a difference of 2 or 3 days which is a really big deal to me. It also means he has a slim, but possible chance, of being home on Christmas Day. Can you guess what will top my Santa wish list this year?
I took this picture of Bill and the kids before his ride came.
And then there's this rare shot of me and the kids. Normally I'm the photographer. My husband doesn't love me enough to photograph me regularly. I have to beg.
I filled a pretzel container from BJs with peanut butter cups. One per kid per day first thing in the morning, and when they're gone, Dad will be home. Don't tell the kids, but the jug is a tad small, so I'll be sneaking in a few pieces a day for the next month. I wanted to use Hershey Kisses, but BJs didn't have any. They are a little smaller and might have worked. I opted out of hard candy because of the baby. Peppermints would have fit. If you consider doing something like this, I think a good estimate is that the jug would hold enough candy for 2 1/2 - 3 years worth of days. That's one piece per day. Since I need 6 pieces per day (one for each kid) and Bill will be gone for 6 months, I needed something to hold three years worth. My larger pieces put me closer to the low end, but I'll finagle it. I'd have to be prepared to adjust anyway. It is better to have too much candy than too little. No kid will argue that Dad can't come home until next week because there's still candy left.
Katie has been busy making a countdown chain. She had wanted to make a countup chain, but that is 1) depressing and 2) cluttering. I had her date the links so I won't have to worry about running out. Again, if December has a few links left and Dad comes home early, she won't be upset in the least.
By the time Bill left yesterday, it was after 5 pm. We were all a little upset. Go figure. I had planned to order some pizza, but that meant we'd all sit around moaning for an hour until it got there. Instead, I loaded everybody up and we went to the pizza joint and ate there. The distraction helped, but now I'm wondering if it was such a good idea. Hey kids, I know you're sad, let's just go get some pizza and we'll all feel better. Then we'll come home and eat the leftover cake from Petey's birthday and you can have extra ice cream. Just stop crying, okay? They will already be scarred for life by being abandoned by their father for 6 months, and I've made things worse by planting the seeds that will germinate into an emotional eating disorder. Great parenting, eh?
Normal, healthy eating to resume in 6 months.
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