I subbed today. Sixth grade. I had been warned by the teacher and just about every other substitute and staff member in the building that this class was, "a really, really tough class." Last week, another substitute went so far as to say, "Hey, I'll be in the same hallway that day. I'll keep an ear out and will come running if you need me." Whoa. How bad could they actually be? I'd yet to have a class at this school or in this county that had me punching out at 3:55 and pulling into the Safeway (best wine selection near my house) parking lot at 4:00. But I went in having prepared myself for the the worst.
Thankfully, that was not necessary. Don't get me wrong...there were a few "gems." You know, like the boy that thought he would stand on his chair to see if he could touch the ceiling, only to fall and take out another boy who was trying to hide the fact that he had a sleeve of powdered donuts in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. That didn't end well for the donuts. After I cleaned up the donut fiasco, there was the other young man who decided he would fashion some sort of flying device out of his recorder, a rubber band and yesterday's math test. That didn't end well for him OR the recorder. And then there was Maddie (*name changed for privacy reasons and so I don't get fired).
Maddie lit up when she saw me at the door that morning. Sixth grade girls that light up when they see a substitute only means one thing...they like to talk. Maddie was no exception. After she put her backpack away she bee-lined for me. Questions started spilling out of her at an alarmingly high rate of speed:
"What's your name?"
"Do you have kids that go here?"
"How old are they?"
"What class are they in?"
"Do you live around here?"
"Where did you live before?"
"Why did you move?"
Once I answered that last question, she got quiet. Really quiet. Once I explained my husband was in the Army and we moved because of his job all she could say was, "That's cool. I'm gonna do my work now."
It was odd. The questions stopped way too suddenly. But because I needed to move on and get the class lined up for music, I made a mental note to talk to Maddie later. I should have known I wouldn't need that mental note.
Fast forward to right after lunch. The teacher had mercifully built in 20 minutes of free reading time that day (teachers that do that rock, by the way). As I was walking around making sure the kids were actually reading and not playing with their Rubiks Cubes, Maddie stopped me.
"So, Mrs. Trimble. You said your husband is a soldier, right?"
"Yep. He is."
"That's cool."
"Yep. It is. Now please keep reading."
"My dad was a soldier too. He was killed in Iraq in 2006, though. I was six."
Oh dear Jesus.
Choking a little on my saliva and fighting with all of my might not to let the tears forming in the corner of my eyes actually spill onto my face, I coughed out, "Oh, he did? It makes me really sad to hear that. One of my friend's husband was killed there, too. What are some things you remember about your dad?"
I honestly can't recall what she said other than that his death anniversary was just last week. I stared at her with a combination of awe and sadness. Thirty seconds ago she was a sixth grade girl with a purple sparkly notebook and a mean gift of gab. Now she was the child of one of the 6,626 men and women who have sacrificed their lives for our country. Now she was a 12-year-old that takes the train into Arlington to lay flowers on her dad's grave every year on his death anniversary. Now she was part of my military family.
We talked for as long as I could (safely) ignore the rest of the class and then she got back to reading her book. The rest of the day passed without any major incidents but I could not shake the impact of Maddie and my conversation with her. I wanted to keep talking to her. I wanted to tell her how much I admire her for being a military kid. I wanted to give her a hug. Once again, I should have known better. Five minutes before the bell rang Maddie came up to me and said, "Thanks for talking to me about my dad, Mrs. Trimble. Not many people around here get it. It seems like you get it."
She's right. I do get it. And I always will.
19 December 2012
02 September 2012
How a hummingbird made me cry
This move has been hard for me. There are a lot of reasons why that I could list here...worry about the kids starting yet another school, the expense of living off-post for the first time in a long time (electricity is not free in the civilian world, FYI), the exhaustion of finding a new doctor, dentist, orthodontist, and most importantly a new hair stylist (I'm not kidding...that is a REAL issue for me), etc. But the main issue is that I wasn't feeling CONNECTED. When you live on post you have a built-in community. Neighbors are in close proximity, usually with kids around the same age and with husbands around the same rank and in the same stages of their careers. You're all stuck in these not-so-great government houses with not-so-great floor plans or storage, but you don't really care. The schools are usually better (emphasis on usually), the commute for your spouse is usually shorter and the lack of a mortgage is usually less stressful. United in this kind of "yeah, this sucks but let's make the best out of it" attitude, it becomes a way of life. And a pretty awesome one, at that. As an extrovert, it's the reason I have been so happy the past seven years. (Conversely, as a huge college football fan, it's the reason my husband grumbled under his breath every time the doorbell rang or kids ran through our living room on a Saturday afternoon the past seven years). I was so happy, in fact, that I didn't even think it possible for this move to be hard for me. Big mistake.
Along with my love for most things on-post living is my love for wild birds. Is it hereditary? Probably. I remember my mom and dad always had an Audubon Society book of birds on the coffee table when I was growing up. My dad never had a pair of binoculars more than an arms reach, either. My aunt has always been a bird person too. (And much to my uncle's chagrin she is also a bunny person). So I think I come by my wild bird affection honestly. Really though, I think I love birds and bird watching because it is a guaranteed in my ever-transient life. Birds are everywhere and have surrounded every place we have lived. When Joshua is deployed, they are my alarm clock. When I am missing my dad, they are my comfort. And for the past 13 years as an Army wife, they have been my constant. Constant is good. Constant makes me feel connected.
One of my favorite birds and also one of the easiest to feed and observe is the hummingbird. I have had a hummingbird feeder for years and have spent many a summer morning/afternoon/early evening watching them through my kitchen window. I have spent more money than I care to admit on hummingbird food but I did so happily. Every early spring I would catch a glimpse of the hummingbirds coming around my window and that would be my signal to put out the feeder. The kids would help too, always taking turns climbing on the counter to peer out the window and trying not to scare them away before they could get a good look. Last summer there were so many we started naming them! And we even got a ruby-throated at the feeder a few times! Yes, it is super dorky. But it made me happy. It made me feel connected.
A week or two before we moved this summer, I started to panic. I was moving. Moving meant I had to take all of our stuff. Even the bird feeder. There was no way were were going to clear housing with a giant red bird feeder on a shepherd's hook in the front yard. Who was going to feed my hummingbirds? What was going to happen to them when they came looking for food and all they got was a yard full of neglected weeds? I felt like I was abandoning Mother Nature and I was sad. My neighbors (love them, love them, love them) were wonderful but not bird people. I made a last ditch effort the day the movers showed up and tried to give my feeder to one neighbor but it didn't work. Apparently she thought two dogs, a cat, two kids and a deployed husband was enough to worry about. I couldn't blame her. Totally depressed, I dumped out the food, washed the feeder and let Leroy wrap it up and pack it next to my pink toolbox and my "T" welcome mat.
As I was unpacking at the new house one day I came across the box with my bird feeder and toolbox and welcome mat. Since the feeder was wedged ever-so-tightly in the bottom of the box (nice work, Leroy) I got careless and yanked. I yanked hard and in the process the feeder flew out of the paper and crashed to the ground. It was at that moment when I saw that also wedged in the bottom of the box was the hummingbird bird food. And the cap had fallen off. Do you know how sticky hummingbird food is? Think liquid jolly rancher. Nasty. And now it was coating everything in the bottom of that box, the box under it and my laundry room floor. Curse you, Leroy. I threw everything in the sink next to the washer and forgot about it. On to the next box.
Two weeks later the house is set up and I'm still not feeling connected. As I put in a load of laundry I see the red, sticky mess in the laundry sink and decide to clean it up. As I am washing out the feeder I notice that I think it has a leak. This stinks. It probably happened when I yanked it out of the box. I couldn't bear to throw it or the remainder of the liquid food out, so I mixed up a batch, filled the feeder, grabbed the hook and marched out to the front yard. I got the feeder up and it started leaking. It was a slow leak, but a leak none the less. Or so I thought. I went back inside, glancing over my shoulder as I went, hoping to see a hummingbird but knowing I would not.
Weeks go by and I obsessively check the feeder. As I walk out to my car every day I try to gauge whether the fill line has moved at all. I think it has, but I am never sure and I convince myself that there IS a leak and that no birds whatsoever live in Northern Virginia. During those same weeks, I am still struggling to meet my neighbors, explore the area (my GPS is taking a beating) and keep my kids entertained until school starts. My mind started to mess with me. What if the final six years in the Army are going to be this way? I have always loved this life and the multitude of opportunities it brings us. If I can't recover from a 50 mile PCS (permanent change of station) how am I going to handle the inevitable PCS back to North Carolina in a few years or even a PCS overseas? What if I don't snap out of this? It was starting to scare me and it was starting to affect my family.
And then a few days ago it all turned around. I was working out in my driveway and walked around the side of the house to take a breather (Don't judge, I was in the middle of a particular nasty workout comprised of sit ups, burpees and squats). As I rounded my car I saw it. A hummingbird at the feeder! In a split second it was gone but I saw it! The feelings of relief from the doubt and uncertainty kicked in and I cried. I kind of cried a lot. I actually cried so much that I couldn't finish my workout. Silly? Yes. A bit dramatic? Yes. But it restored my faith in this life we live. And it reminded me that things aren't always easy. Things worth doing usually never are. And thanks to a hummingbird, it is something I will never forget.
Along with my love for most things on-post living is my love for wild birds. Is it hereditary? Probably. I remember my mom and dad always had an Audubon Society book of birds on the coffee table when I was growing up. My dad never had a pair of binoculars more than an arms reach, either. My aunt has always been a bird person too. (And much to my uncle's chagrin she is also a bunny person). So I think I come by my wild bird affection honestly. Really though, I think I love birds and bird watching because it is a guaranteed in my ever-transient life. Birds are everywhere and have surrounded every place we have lived. When Joshua is deployed, they are my alarm clock. When I am missing my dad, they are my comfort. And for the past 13 years as an Army wife, they have been my constant. Constant is good. Constant makes me feel connected.
One of my favorite birds and also one of the easiest to feed and observe is the hummingbird. I have had a hummingbird feeder for years and have spent many a summer morning/afternoon/early evening watching them through my kitchen window. I have spent more money than I care to admit on hummingbird food but I did so happily. Every early spring I would catch a glimpse of the hummingbirds coming around my window and that would be my signal to put out the feeder. The kids would help too, always taking turns climbing on the counter to peer out the window and trying not to scare them away before they could get a good look. Last summer there were so many we started naming them! And we even got a ruby-throated at the feeder a few times! Yes, it is super dorky. But it made me happy. It made me feel connected.
A week or two before we moved this summer, I started to panic. I was moving. Moving meant I had to take all of our stuff. Even the bird feeder. There was no way were were going to clear housing with a giant red bird feeder on a shepherd's hook in the front yard. Who was going to feed my hummingbirds? What was going to happen to them when they came looking for food and all they got was a yard full of neglected weeds? I felt like I was abandoning Mother Nature and I was sad. My neighbors (love them, love them, love them) were wonderful but not bird people. I made a last ditch effort the day the movers showed up and tried to give my feeder to one neighbor but it didn't work. Apparently she thought two dogs, a cat, two kids and a deployed husband was enough to worry about. I couldn't blame her. Totally depressed, I dumped out the food, washed the feeder and let Leroy wrap it up and pack it next to my pink toolbox and my "T" welcome mat.
As I was unpacking at the new house one day I came across the box with my bird feeder and toolbox and welcome mat. Since the feeder was wedged ever-so-tightly in the bottom of the box (nice work, Leroy) I got careless and yanked. I yanked hard and in the process the feeder flew out of the paper and crashed to the ground. It was at that moment when I saw that also wedged in the bottom of the box was the hummingbird bird food. And the cap had fallen off. Do you know how sticky hummingbird food is? Think liquid jolly rancher. Nasty. And now it was coating everything in the bottom of that box, the box under it and my laundry room floor. Curse you, Leroy. I threw everything in the sink next to the washer and forgot about it. On to the next box.
Two weeks later the house is set up and I'm still not feeling connected. As I put in a load of laundry I see the red, sticky mess in the laundry sink and decide to clean it up. As I am washing out the feeder I notice that I think it has a leak. This stinks. It probably happened when I yanked it out of the box. I couldn't bear to throw it or the remainder of the liquid food out, so I mixed up a batch, filled the feeder, grabbed the hook and marched out to the front yard. I got the feeder up and it started leaking. It was a slow leak, but a leak none the less. Or so I thought. I went back inside, glancing over my shoulder as I went, hoping to see a hummingbird but knowing I would not.
Weeks go by and I obsessively check the feeder. As I walk out to my car every day I try to gauge whether the fill line has moved at all. I think it has, but I am never sure and I convince myself that there IS a leak and that no birds whatsoever live in Northern Virginia. During those same weeks, I am still struggling to meet my neighbors, explore the area (my GPS is taking a beating) and keep my kids entertained until school starts. My mind started to mess with me. What if the final six years in the Army are going to be this way? I have always loved this life and the multitude of opportunities it brings us. If I can't recover from a 50 mile PCS (permanent change of station) how am I going to handle the inevitable PCS back to North Carolina in a few years or even a PCS overseas? What if I don't snap out of this? It was starting to scare me and it was starting to affect my family.
And then a few days ago it all turned around. I was working out in my driveway and walked around the side of the house to take a breather (Don't judge, I was in the middle of a particular nasty workout comprised of sit ups, burpees and squats). As I rounded my car I saw it. A hummingbird at the feeder! In a split second it was gone but I saw it! The feelings of relief from the doubt and uncertainty kicked in and I cried. I kind of cried a lot. I actually cried so much that I couldn't finish my workout. Silly? Yes. A bit dramatic? Yes. But it restored my faith in this life we live. And it reminded me that things aren't always easy. Things worth doing usually never are. And thanks to a hummingbird, it is something I will never forget.
15 August 2012
Is Taps on iTunes?
Moving is part of Army life. It's not something I love, but I don't hate it either. It has its challenges (there are LOTS of them, in case you were wondering) but it's nothing we can't handle as a family. Worry is a big part of moving for me. (So is unwrapping my 18 dish packs at each new house, but we'll save that for another time). One of my biggest worries each time we move is my kids. I've said many times before how special I think military kids are. But that comes with a price. And moving every two to three years comes with a big price tag for such little kids. Over the past seven moves or so that I have done with children, I like to think that I have perfected the art of worrying. I have worried about finding just the right teacher for my supremely mature yet kind-hearted daughter. I have lost sleep over my son and his numerous quirks (you must remove the ENTIRE yogurt lid before you give it to him or he will be consumed with the tiniest piece of left-behind silver foil until the yogurt is warm and therefore inedible in his eyes) and whether or not kids will make fun of him. Don't even get me started on doctors, dentists and specialists. If worrying about transitioning your kids was an Olympic sport, I would put Michael Phelps and his 18 gold medals to shame. In short, there is not a worry out there that I haven't worried over when it comes to a military move and my kids.
This summer we moved. And for the first time in seven years, we are not living on a military installation. We actually have a real house! With real wood floors! And a real electric bill! It's been an adjustment for me to not have the immediate bond with the neighbors like you do on post. By the time I had lived at my last house this long, I had a key to two other neighbors' houses and had a few neighborhood dinners under my belt. Not so here in the civilian world. But the kids seem fine, we've had a few play dates and I had pretty much decided that off-post living was going to be my adjusment and mine alone. Wrong.
Last night I laid down with my daughter when I went to kiss her goodnight. This is a rarity because these days if I lie down with her the next thing I know it is 5am and I have the arm to an American girl jammed in one ear and her snoring in my other ear. But I did it anyway. It makes her happy and I know she won't let me do it much longer. She happily giggled, snuggled in next to me and said, "I'm glad you're here. I need to tell you something." Worry alarm! Alert! Alert!
"Oh yeah, what's that?" I calmly asked.
"Well, it's just that I can't sleep in my new room." What is this? A new worry I had not considered?!
"You see, every night since I can remember I have heard Taps play before I fall asleep. I know it is supposed to be a signal for soldiers to go to bed, but I always kinda pretended it was for me too. And now I can't go to sleep without it. Do you think we can get Taps on iTunes?"
For those of you who don't know, military installations play Taps over the loudspeakers every night at 2100 (9pm). Twenty-four trumpet notes that are the most peaceful and reassuring way to end the day, in my opinion. Apparently, I am not the only one. And guess what? Taps is on iTunes. And yes, it's on my daughter's iPod now too. Sweet dreams.
This summer we moved. And for the first time in seven years, we are not living on a military installation. We actually have a real house! With real wood floors! And a real electric bill! It's been an adjustment for me to not have the immediate bond with the neighbors like you do on post. By the time I had lived at my last house this long, I had a key to two other neighbors' houses and had a few neighborhood dinners under my belt. Not so here in the civilian world. But the kids seem fine, we've had a few play dates and I had pretty much decided that off-post living was going to be my adjusment and mine alone. Wrong.
Last night I laid down with my daughter when I went to kiss her goodnight. This is a rarity because these days if I lie down with her the next thing I know it is 5am and I have the arm to an American girl jammed in one ear and her snoring in my other ear. But I did it anyway. It makes her happy and I know she won't let me do it much longer. She happily giggled, snuggled in next to me and said, "I'm glad you're here. I need to tell you something." Worry alarm! Alert! Alert!
"Oh yeah, what's that?" I calmly asked.
"Well, it's just that I can't sleep in my new room." What is this? A new worry I had not considered?!
"You see, every night since I can remember I have heard Taps play before I fall asleep. I know it is supposed to be a signal for soldiers to go to bed, but I always kinda pretended it was for me too. And now I can't go to sleep without it. Do you think we can get Taps on iTunes?"
For those of you who don't know, military installations play Taps over the loudspeakers every night at 2100 (9pm). Twenty-four trumpet notes that are the most peaceful and reassuring way to end the day, in my opinion. Apparently, I am not the only one. And guess what? Taps is on iTunes. And yes, it's on my daughter's iPod now too. Sweet dreams.
30 August 2011
To Hug or Not to Hug...
If you know me, you know I love being a military wife. Okay, I don't love ALL of it (wet PT clothes in the bottom of the hamper and vibrating Blackberry's at 3am are the devil), but for the most part, being a military wife makes me happy. I love the feeling of adventure when we move every few years. I love experiencing the "firsts" with my family at each new duty station. And I love that my kids are growing up with friends all over the world (for real...they have friends in Italy!). But I think what I love the most is the special bond I have with other military wives. Corny? Yes. True? Yes. Here is my most recent example...
I have a good friend, Jen, who lives in Tennessee. From the years 2003 - 2005 we were pretty much glued to each other. Our husbands were deployed ALL the time, our kids drove us crazy ALL the time and so we hung out ALL the time. And by hang out, I mean I would spend 5-6 hours a day at this woman's house. I believe my love of polish pottery started at Jen's house. My affinity for tortilla soup started at Jen's house (Jen is a really good cook, btw). I learned all about raising boys at Jen's house (turns out they like to be left alone while bathing starting at about age 6...sorry Jake!) Jen's daughter Rileigh would entertain my daughter Natalie. I helped Jen deliver a litter of puppies in her laundry room, for goodness sake! Do you see where I'm going with this? Jen and I were tight.
About 2 months ago Jen messaged me on Facebook and asked me if I'd do her a favor. Well, duh! Of course I would! Jen's friend Beth's was being stationed with me! Jen wanted to pass my name on in case Beth had questions about the area/schools/housing, etc. I was more than happy to oblige. Beth and I chatted a few times on Facebook, giving my two cents when asked. During the summer I watched (is that what you call seeing someone's status every day in your newsfeed?) as Beth packed up, moved here and subsequently had to spend WAY too much money on school supplies. (Did you know high-schoolers need $150 calculators? Ugh!)
Fast forward to last Thursday. I arrived at the annual spouses club sign-up for our post. For those non-military types, this is just an opportunity to drop in, eat some yummy food, fill out a membership form for the upcoming year, pray your kid doesn't spill his plate of food and chat with some ladies that you may not have seen since last spring. I glanced around to find an empty place to sit and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar face. Inside my head it sounded something like this, "Oh, there's Beth. I'll go sit by her. Wait, is that BETH? It looks like Beth, I mean it looks like all of the pictures I've seen of her on Facebook, but I've actually never met the woman before. It must be Beth! Do I hug her? What if she's not a hugger? But Jen's a hugger, so Beth must be too, right?" (And yes, all of that flashed through my brain in about .5 seconds...scary).
It turns out Beth was already sitting with my friend Suzanne and as soon as I got close enough she blurted out, "Hi Amy..." And that was that. We talked for the next 15 minutes and it was kind of like we had always been friends. It was that easy. THAT is what I love most about being a military wife. I cherish more than anything our connections to each other because of each other. Yes, Facebook and social media are a big part of what keep us connected, but there is something else too. There is something about the commonality we share that is unique to just us. Not everyone can do what we do. Not everyone is cut out for this lifestyle and that's okay. But for those of us who do it, our relationships with each other are what make the military and our way of life so special and so rewarding.
Now, if I could only find a way to get rid of that Blackberry...
I have a good friend, Jen, who lives in Tennessee. From the years 2003 - 2005 we were pretty much glued to each other. Our husbands were deployed ALL the time, our kids drove us crazy ALL the time and so we hung out ALL the time. And by hang out, I mean I would spend 5-6 hours a day at this woman's house. I believe my love of polish pottery started at Jen's house. My affinity for tortilla soup started at Jen's house (Jen is a really good cook, btw). I learned all about raising boys at Jen's house (turns out they like to be left alone while bathing starting at about age 6...sorry Jake!) Jen's daughter Rileigh would entertain my daughter Natalie. I helped Jen deliver a litter of puppies in her laundry room, for goodness sake! Do you see where I'm going with this? Jen and I were tight.
About 2 months ago Jen messaged me on Facebook and asked me if I'd do her a favor. Well, duh! Of course I would! Jen's friend Beth's was being stationed with me! Jen wanted to pass my name on in case Beth had questions about the area/schools/housing, etc. I was more than happy to oblige. Beth and I chatted a few times on Facebook, giving my two cents when asked. During the summer I watched (is that what you call seeing someone's status every day in your newsfeed?) as Beth packed up, moved here and subsequently had to spend WAY too much money on school supplies. (Did you know high-schoolers need $150 calculators? Ugh!)
Fast forward to last Thursday. I arrived at the annual spouses club sign-up for our post. For those non-military types, this is just an opportunity to drop in, eat some yummy food, fill out a membership form for the upcoming year, pray your kid doesn't spill his plate of food and chat with some ladies that you may not have seen since last spring. I glanced around to find an empty place to sit and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar face. Inside my head it sounded something like this, "Oh, there's Beth. I'll go sit by her. Wait, is that BETH? It looks like Beth, I mean it looks like all of the pictures I've seen of her on Facebook, but I've actually never met the woman before. It must be Beth! Do I hug her? What if she's not a hugger? But Jen's a hugger, so Beth must be too, right?" (And yes, all of that flashed through my brain in about .5 seconds...scary).
It turns out Beth was already sitting with my friend Suzanne and as soon as I got close enough she blurted out, "Hi Amy..." And that was that. We talked for the next 15 minutes and it was kind of like we had always been friends. It was that easy. THAT is what I love most about being a military wife. I cherish more than anything our connections to each other because of each other. Yes, Facebook and social media are a big part of what keep us connected, but there is something else too. There is something about the commonality we share that is unique to just us. Not everyone can do what we do. Not everyone is cut out for this lifestyle and that's okay. But for those of us who do it, our relationships with each other are what make the military and our way of life so special and so rewarding.
Now, if I could only find a way to get rid of that Blackberry...
05 July 2011
Footloose and fancy free! Just like our country.
The stars have aligned yet again this summer and we were able to dump our kids off let our kids spend some time with their grandparents. 12 whole days with no kids...just me and my soldier. We plan on doing our best to cram everything we can into these 12 days. And I'm fairly confident the grandparents will be doing the exact same thing.
Since last night was the 4th, we decided to just walk down to the golf course to see if we could see the fireworks. Fresh from our kid-free dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, I didn't really care where we watched from, I was just happy to not have to be schlepping a gazillion blankets, chairs and snacks down there with me.
So there we were, walking hand in hand, dog on leash at our side (just like it was 1999...hey, it rhymes!) and talking about our kids. I mentioned to my soldier how much our daughter missed him on our trip. I went on to describe how she kept asking to call him while we were on vacation, how she got tearful when she realized she would miss his birthday this year, and so on. And then my soldier said, "Just imagine what she'll be like during the next deployment."
BUZZKILL.
"Uh-huh. Oh, right. Yep, that will suck," I replied.
And that was it. We moved on to the next topic. But 24 hours later I haven't moved on. After eight trips across the big pond you'd think I would move on a bit faster, but I haven't yet. I know he'll go again. It's not if, it's when. But something about the matter-of-factness way he said it got to me.
We continued our walk, arrived at the golf course and the fireworks started. Standing there with him for those 20 minutes reminded me that my soldier's matter-of-fact attitude about his deployments is the reason our country is so special. He and thousands of others just like him are willing to do what is asked of them over and over again (insert shout-out to my BFAM, Sean here). They do what is asked of them so that this country can remain free.
I hope the next time a deployment arises I will remember to have the same attitude. Until then I will spend the next 12 days enjoying my freedom. As a matter of fact, I hope you all do too.
Since last night was the 4th, we decided to just walk down to the golf course to see if we could see the fireworks. Fresh from our kid-free dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, I didn't really care where we watched from, I was just happy to not have to be schlepping a gazillion blankets, chairs and snacks down there with me.
So there we were, walking hand in hand, dog on leash at our side (just like it was 1999...hey, it rhymes!) and talking about our kids. I mentioned to my soldier how much our daughter missed him on our trip. I went on to describe how she kept asking to call him while we were on vacation, how she got tearful when she realized she would miss his birthday this year, and so on. And then my soldier said, "Just imagine what she'll be like during the next deployment."
BUZZKILL.
"Uh-huh. Oh, right. Yep, that will suck," I replied.
And that was it. We moved on to the next topic. But 24 hours later I haven't moved on. After eight trips across the big pond you'd think I would move on a bit faster, but I haven't yet. I know he'll go again. It's not if, it's when. But something about the matter-of-factness way he said it got to me.
We continued our walk, arrived at the golf course and the fireworks started. Standing there with him for those 20 minutes reminded me that my soldier's matter-of-fact attitude about his deployments is the reason our country is so special. He and thousands of others just like him are willing to do what is asked of them over and over again (insert shout-out to my BFAM, Sean here). They do what is asked of them so that this country can remain free.
I hope the next time a deployment arises I will remember to have the same attitude. Until then I will spend the next 12 days enjoying my freedom. As a matter of fact, I hope you all do too.
10 June 2011
A few reminders...
Due to yesterday's Nerf dart incident (Nerf dart drive-by, side of head, from boy wearing nothing but underwear, 7am, pre-coffee) I feel the need to post some gentle reminders for my son as we officially start our summer vacation together. It's for his own good, really. And as an added bonus, they'll be written down as evidence to show his therapist when he's 25 and living in my basement. Even better, I can show his girlfriend/fiancee/wife at some point as proof that it's not MY fault. I tried to reign him in at an early age. I really did.
#1 - There will be no Nerf play before 9am or before mommy has had at least 2 cups of coffee, whichever comes first. And God forbid a Nerf dart land IN the coffee. Consider yourself warned.
#2 - Mommy's shirt/shorts are not to be used as a tissue. You are old enough to use a tissue (or a piece of toilet paper, for all I care), so please do so. Wiping your nose on mommy and then exclaiming, "Yuck...that one was nasty!" will not be tolerated.
#3 - We will be going to the pool this summer. DAILY. You are now old enough to carry your own towel and your own snack bag. Mommy is not a pack mule.
#4 - While at the pool, please keep your hands to yourself. Just because mommy is wearing a top that ties in the back or shows more skin that a tshirt, does not mean you are free to fondle mommy. Your dad has that covered. Trust me.
#5 - Please keep your hands out of your pants. Mommy doesn't care if they are "just resting there," it's not polite.
#6 - Please keep your hands out of MY pants. Coming up behind me while I wash dishes and sliding your hands up my shorts or up the front of my shirt was cute when you were two. Now, it's just plain creepy. Besides, your dad has that one covered too.
#7 - Mommy will be making 3 meals a day. Not 10. Mommy is not a short-order cook.
#8 - Mommy loves to play UNO. Mommy doesn't even mind if you beat her 7 games in a row. Mommy does mind, however, if you refer to her as, "Mommy, the UNO loser," and point at her while in line at the commissary. That's not nice.
#9 - Mommy always welcomes a "squeeze hug" or a "nose kiss." Those will always be allowed. Even before she's had her coffee.
#1 - There will be no Nerf play before 9am or before mommy has had at least 2 cups of coffee, whichever comes first. And God forbid a Nerf dart land IN the coffee. Consider yourself warned.
#2 - Mommy's shirt/shorts are not to be used as a tissue. You are old enough to use a tissue (or a piece of toilet paper, for all I care), so please do so. Wiping your nose on mommy and then exclaiming, "Yuck...that one was nasty!" will not be tolerated.
#3 - We will be going to the pool this summer. DAILY. You are now old enough to carry your own towel and your own snack bag. Mommy is not a pack mule.
#4 - While at the pool, please keep your hands to yourself. Just because mommy is wearing a top that ties in the back or shows more skin that a tshirt, does not mean you are free to fondle mommy. Your dad has that covered. Trust me.
#5 - Please keep your hands out of your pants. Mommy doesn't care if they are "just resting there," it's not polite.
#6 - Please keep your hands out of MY pants. Coming up behind me while I wash dishes and sliding your hands up my shorts or up the front of my shirt was cute when you were two. Now, it's just plain creepy. Besides, your dad has that one covered too.
#7 - Mommy will be making 3 meals a day. Not 10. Mommy is not a short-order cook.
#8 - Mommy loves to play UNO. Mommy doesn't even mind if you beat her 7 games in a row. Mommy does mind, however, if you refer to her as, "Mommy, the UNO loser," and point at her while in line at the commissary. That's not nice.
#9 - Mommy always welcomes a "squeeze hug" or a "nose kiss." Those will always be allowed. Even before she's had her coffee.
25 April 2011
Month of the Military Child
Some of you may or may not know that April is Month of the Military Child. Consequently, it is also Sports Eye Safety Month, Irritable Bowel Syndrome Awareness Month and STD Awareness Month, but I think I'll let someone else blog about those happy topics. I'm here to blog about what I know and love... military children.
I like to think I am somewhat of a subject matter expert on these particular little members of society. I have spent countless hours volunteering in their schools. I have babysat multitudes of them on a regular basis. I have cared for them during the happiest of moments and have held their hands during the darkest times of their lives. Oh, and I just so happened to have given birth to two of the cutest military kids you'll ever meet. This post is for them.
The best way to exemplify how special these kids are is to give you a recent list of statements/questions overheard at our house in the last few months.
"Are we moving today, too?"
"Is Daddy coming home tonight?"
"Is Uncle Sean in Iraq or Afghanistan?"
"When we move, will our new house be one-story, or two?"
"Where will we be living when I turn 10?"
"Why does my friend's dad have a cane?"
"Why do you drink coffee every morning?"
Ok, that last one isn't specific to military children, but you get the idea. I field a lot of questions from my kids on a daily basis. A LOT (I'm looking at you, Aunt Carrot). Lately, I've had to pause before answering some of them. The absurdity of the questions coming out of their tiny mouths overtakes my emotions. It is simply not normal for a five-year-old boy to wonder if his daddy will be home every night. How sad is it that a nine-year-old girl must accept the fact that she will move every two or three years? Or that her uncle will be gone for a year and that countries named Iraq and Afghanistan are a frequent part of her vocabulary?
But I can't let myself go there. The kids don't go there, so why should I? The kids don't know any different. They've grown up knowing their dad will be home sometimes and sometimes he won't. They know their friends will move just like they will move. And they know there will be new friends awaiting them at their new school and in their new neighborhood. The kids also know that their uncle is gone, but that it's ok. Their cousins will be fine, just like they are fine.
Military children are lots of things. They are resilient. They are flexible. They make friends easily. They're responsible. They recognize the importance of selfless service. They have what it takes to succeed in any situation. In short, they are my heroes. So, this month I've made a point to ask THEM some questions. It looks like they just might have all of the answers.
I like to think I am somewhat of a subject matter expert on these particular little members of society. I have spent countless hours volunteering in their schools. I have babysat multitudes of them on a regular basis. I have cared for them during the happiest of moments and have held their hands during the darkest times of their lives. Oh, and I just so happened to have given birth to two of the cutest military kids you'll ever meet. This post is for them.
The best way to exemplify how special these kids are is to give you a recent list of statements/questions overheard at our house in the last few months.
"Are we moving today, too?"
"Is Daddy coming home tonight?"
"Is Uncle Sean in Iraq or Afghanistan?"
"When we move, will our new house be one-story, or two?"
"Where will we be living when I turn 10?"
"Why does my friend's dad have a cane?"
"Why do you drink coffee every morning?"
Ok, that last one isn't specific to military children, but you get the idea. I field a lot of questions from my kids on a daily basis. A LOT (I'm looking at you, Aunt Carrot). Lately, I've had to pause before answering some of them. The absurdity of the questions coming out of their tiny mouths overtakes my emotions. It is simply not normal for a five-year-old boy to wonder if his daddy will be home every night. How sad is it that a nine-year-old girl must accept the fact that she will move every two or three years? Or that her uncle will be gone for a year and that countries named Iraq and Afghanistan are a frequent part of her vocabulary?
But I can't let myself go there. The kids don't go there, so why should I? The kids don't know any different. They've grown up knowing their dad will be home sometimes and sometimes he won't. They know their friends will move just like they will move. And they know there will be new friends awaiting them at their new school and in their new neighborhood. The kids also know that their uncle is gone, but that it's ok. Their cousins will be fine, just like they are fine.
Military children are lots of things. They are resilient. They are flexible. They make friends easily. They're responsible. They recognize the importance of selfless service. They have what it takes to succeed in any situation. In short, they are my heroes. So, this month I've made a point to ask THEM some questions. It looks like they just might have all of the answers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)