Go tell your Mama to suck it.
Its been two weeks and, apparently, I still have nothing nice to say.
I'm still stressed. To the MAX.
I have one particular email I keep trying to respond to but it seems the only words that come from my fingers stem directly from Chicken Little's overly dramatic tendency to scream THE SKY IS FALLING, THE SKY IS FALLING! except with a heaping helping of bitching thrown in for good measure.
And there is something seriously wrong with my internal monologue because every time I think maybe I could pick up the phone to call them, instead, all I do is second guess whether or not said person has either the time or desire to speak to me. Probably because all I seem to do lately is sigh dramatic exasperations while letting my head fall into my hands and how exactly do you parley that over the phone? I can see it now, they'd be all, "Oh, you've got problems? Ha ha ha! What first world problems you have! Let me tell you about what's been happening over here while I'm busy saving your pretty world..." And there'd be the town drunkard in the corner, holding up his frothy beer, pounding his fist on the table while shouting, "HERE HERE!" Because, yes, even in my inner monologue, the town drunkard must be against me.
Self Deprecation 101.
I had a front row seat my entire childhood and, oh my word, do I sound like my mother, lately!
The move is happening during the exact same week Jeremy will be out to sea. Can you guess who planned it that way? Go ahead, guess!
I specifically asked.... "Hey! Can you not plan the movers to come at the same time you're away? It'd be super great if we could tag team the kids to keep them either occupied or out of the house those three days. Plus, when I get overwhelmed, I'll have you here."
So.... he calls up an hour later saying, "The movers are coming on these dates and I asked that they drop off our stuff just over a week later."
Oy! Those crickets. Such deafening bastards.
In that moment all I heard were crickets chirping, drowning out life as, once again, I lay my face in my palm. I'm thankful for the crickets in that moment because usually my first impulse would be to ask, the kindest way possible through gritted teeth, if he could walk right back into so-and-so's office and change those dates to something less stupid. But I didn't ask. I wrote the dates on the calendar like a good little wife and here I continue to stress.
I know I have friends who will jump up and wave their hands, offer to take the girls. That's what I would do, too. But somehow the thought of someone coming to rescue me, again, after all I went through this past year. I'm over it. Somehow having someone virtually stroke me on the head on this here internet while purring out soothing comments is much less damning to my ego then when it's done in person. In person I have the knee jerk reaction to pipe up, Oh! I don't need help, I'm okay! in my most chipper voice, because having someone both think I need help, AND THEN ACCEPTING IT, just makes me feel even more pathetic.
Then. THEN! After the movers come, I can choose to turn my keys in the next day and live in a hotel for a week! Or I can pull out the sleeping bags and the pack-n-play and camp out in an empty house for 5 days and hotel it for 2. The bitch about either scenario being enjoyable is RUBY! My sweet babe who has me up already tonight at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:30.
[The first two times I gave her Bunny, laid her back down and walked away. The third time I tried bringing her into my bed because its been a while since she's woken up every hour like this and all I have are flashbacks of Lydia refluxing and I never knew. So I brought her into my bed. Where she decided it was play time. Up until I continued to make her lay back down, which only made her scream some more. This time in my face! I tossed her back into her crib at 4:00 and decided to type up this here rambling while leaving the dear babe to work it out for herself. YOU'RE WELCOME!]
Can you imagine my sweet Ruby? Cast away into the perils of sleeping in a pack-n-play? WOE IS THE BAYBAY!
If we camp it up at home, I get to listen to her screams echo though out the bare walls. But at least she'll be in a separate room! With doors between us! If we stay in a hotel, I may have a comfortable bed to sleep on, but (1) who's going sleep with all that screaming going on and (2) who's to stop me from the full fledge meltdown that will definitely follow trying to sleep in the same room with that monster child? Clearly it ended well the last time we tried.
So. Ya. That's what's going on in my life... and in my head... and don't you wish you could have all those minutes back that you wasted away reading that nonsense?
Me, too.
Showing posts with label Navy Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Navy Life. Show all posts
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
In Through the Nose, Out Through the Mouth
I'm cranky, stressed and disappointed. All at the same time.
How's that for a follow-up to Perfection?
I'm cranky because Ruby STILL is not sleeping through the night. For no reason whatsoever. She's waking two to three times a night just so I can walk into her room, saying nothing while laying her screaming head back onto the mattress only to turn around and leave. She cries just long enough as she maneuvers Bunny-Bunny's bow back into her mouth before quickly falling back to sleep.
Letting her cry it out doesn't work because The Huz will either (A) ignore her entirely and return to snoring or (B) go into her room, pick her up, and rock her back to sleep. So instead I run in, two to three times a night, to lay her back down.
When I brought it up to The Huz tonight that, "Hey! Remember that email I sent you underway that explained how I was going to try to let her cry it out and if you'd jump on the same train with me THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS!" That attempted, Lets Work This Out, conversation went over like lead weight over a cliff because, "Pfft... Fine. Whatever. You yell at me when I go in there, you yell at me when I don't."
He's right. For only a millimeter. I've asked him to, you know, HELP OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE. To which, he has. All of thrice. Twice he rocked her back to sleep. The third time he plucked her out of her crib and was on his way to shower with her. {She loves the shower. You wash. She plays. Win-win. Except..} It was 5:30 in the morning. What was his plan after the shower? After he's left for work...?
Exactly.
There has been another couple of occasions in which he rolled over and said, "Want me to go get her?" I replied, "No. See if she'll cry it out." And then he rolls over and starts snoring, leaving me to do the dirty work. Alone. Again. Because clearly I am the only one who can try to wait these things out even when we both know it. will. fail. She cries. He snores. I pray.
Usually for the strength NOT to smother my husband because I truly do love the motherfucker.
I'm stressed because we're moving in about a month. We're moving to somewhere we've yet to live and comes with nothing but glorious compliments to describe the place.
The fact that we're moving, though. Ugh.
Now I'm purging, organizing, rethinking and reorganizing again. The worst thing, for me, is to have the movers come in and be all, What the fuck is wrong with these disorganized hoarders?
In all of our moves, none of them have actually ever said those words to me, but that doesn't take away my fear that one day they will. Until then, I purge what we haven't used, organize what we do use and then head to the kitchen to cook the shit out of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards. The less food we have to move, the better.
Purge. Organize. Rethink. Reorganize. Cook. Stress.
Who wants to take a peek in my head?
I'm disappointed because Jeremy FINALLY had some leave time approved to dance off to The Land of the CornHusker to baptize our third Godson... and this move has put the very quick kibosh on that idea. We pick up the keys to our new house in the middle of what was going to be our trip. If we turned the house down, we didn't know when a new unit would open up. Since we accepted the house, we can't take leave.
Sigh.
I desperately want to hold the new baby. Coo and cuddle and fawn over another sweet being in this world. I want to bat my eyelashes at Jeremy and playfully wish for another one. But, as of tonight, that doesn't look like it's going to happen until 2014. And that disappoints me. A lot.
I miss my best friend. I miss being there to fuss over her, cook her meals, vacuum her floors and help tend to her kids when she's fresh from the hospital. She may not need me. She may be able to do it all on her own. But someone needs to look her square in the eyes and tell her she's insane for taking a newborn to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and really, wholeheartedly mean it.
She has a Mama who comes to help out. But I've met her Mama. She's a very lovely and sweet woman who is just too nice. I've never once seen an ounce of mean in that woman. She might very well be a Saint, I'm convinced.
Its hard for me to wag my finger over the phone, trying to tell her to sit her ass down she has a husband MAKE HIM DO IT! Its hard for me to know she has five birds in her nest who all need a home cooked meal and that's right up my alley and WHY DID YOU MOVE SO FAR AWAY? Its hard for me to know that my only talent in life is cooking for families and caring for children in times of need and I can't be there to do either one.
My best friend finds and sends perfect gifts from afar to let you know she's thinking of you. Or your kids. And, frankly, my vacuum cord doesn't reach that far to let her know I'm here for her, I'm thinking of her.
I'm disappointed I can't be there with her. For her.
Life is good. But I'm still cranky, stressed and disappointed. I'm sure once the move is finished, I'll level out again. We'll be back to a waking toddler and trying to plan another leave schedule and I'll quit snapping at my husband and kids. Until then...
Breathe. Just breathe.
How's that for a follow-up to Perfection?
I'm cranky because Ruby STILL is not sleeping through the night. For no reason whatsoever. She's waking two to three times a night just so I can walk into her room, saying nothing while laying her screaming head back onto the mattress only to turn around and leave. She cries just long enough as she maneuvers Bunny-Bunny's bow back into her mouth before quickly falling back to sleep.
Letting her cry it out doesn't work because The Huz will either (A) ignore her entirely and return to snoring or (B) go into her room, pick her up, and rock her back to sleep. So instead I run in, two to three times a night, to lay her back down.
When I brought it up to The Huz tonight that, "Hey! Remember that email I sent you underway that explained how I was going to try to let her cry it out and if you'd jump on the same train with me THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS!" That attempted, Lets Work This Out, conversation went over like lead weight over a cliff because, "Pfft... Fine. Whatever. You yell at me when I go in there, you yell at me when I don't."
He's right. For only a millimeter. I've asked him to, you know, HELP OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE. To which, he has. All of thrice. Twice he rocked her back to sleep. The third time he plucked her out of her crib and was on his way to shower with her. {She loves the shower. You wash. She plays. Win-win. Except..} It was 5:30 in the morning. What was his plan after the shower? After he's left for work...?
Exactly.
There has been another couple of occasions in which he rolled over and said, "Want me to go get her?" I replied, "No. See if she'll cry it out." And then he rolls over and starts snoring, leaving me to do the dirty work. Alone. Again. Because clearly I am the only one who can try to wait these things out even when we both know it. will. fail. She cries. He snores. I pray.
Usually for the strength NOT to smother my husband because I truly do love the motherfucker.
I'm stressed because we're moving in about a month. We're moving to somewhere we've yet to live and comes with nothing but glorious compliments to describe the place.
The fact that we're moving, though. Ugh.
Now I'm purging, organizing, rethinking and reorganizing again. The worst thing, for me, is to have the movers come in and be all, What the fuck is wrong with these disorganized hoarders?
In all of our moves, none of them have actually ever said those words to me, but that doesn't take away my fear that one day they will. Until then, I purge what we haven't used, organize what we do use and then head to the kitchen to cook the shit out of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards. The less food we have to move, the better.
Purge. Organize. Rethink. Reorganize. Cook. Stress.
Who wants to take a peek in my head?
I'm disappointed because Jeremy FINALLY had some leave time approved to dance off to The Land of the CornHusker to baptize our third Godson... and this move has put the very quick kibosh on that idea. We pick up the keys to our new house in the middle of what was going to be our trip. If we turned the house down, we didn't know when a new unit would open up. Since we accepted the house, we can't take leave.
Sigh.
I desperately want to hold the new baby. Coo and cuddle and fawn over another sweet being in this world. I want to bat my eyelashes at Jeremy and playfully wish for another one. But, as of tonight, that doesn't look like it's going to happen until 2014. And that disappoints me. A lot.
I miss my best friend. I miss being there to fuss over her, cook her meals, vacuum her floors and help tend to her kids when she's fresh from the hospital. She may not need me. She may be able to do it all on her own. But someone needs to look her square in the eyes and tell her she's insane for taking a newborn to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and really, wholeheartedly mean it.
She has a Mama who comes to help out. But I've met her Mama. She's a very lovely and sweet woman who is just too nice. I've never once seen an ounce of mean in that woman. She might very well be a Saint, I'm convinced.
Its hard for me to wag my finger over the phone, trying to tell her to sit her ass down she has a husband MAKE HIM DO IT! Its hard for me to know she has five birds in her nest who all need a home cooked meal and that's right up my alley and WHY DID YOU MOVE SO FAR AWAY? Its hard for me to know that my only talent in life is cooking for families and caring for children in times of need and I can't be there to do either one.
My best friend finds and sends perfect gifts from afar to let you know she's thinking of you. Or your kids. And, frankly, my vacuum cord doesn't reach that far to let her know I'm here for her, I'm thinking of her.
I'm disappointed I can't be there with her. For her.
Life is good. But I'm still cranky, stressed and disappointed. I'm sure once the move is finished, I'll level out again. We'll be back to a waking toddler and trying to plan another leave schedule and I'll quit snapping at my husband and kids. Until then...
Breathe. Just breathe.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Disrupting the Normal
Already, Jeremy is gone again. It's amazing to me how quickly things turned back to "normal" upon his departure.
When did "normal" become three growing girls and myself in the roll of single parent? And wasn't it just a short time ago I was pining away the months, weeks, days, hours and minutes until he came home? Why does it feel like I can breathe again now that he's gone?
I remember all these emotions from years ago with our previous deployments and underways. Though, it seems remembering these emotions don't quite soften the surprise I feel when that exhaled breath leaves my lips.
When the boys are home, life revolves around them. Every wife I know is the same. We all take brakes from one another to hang out with the husbands we so missed, the family time we so desired.
Its been weeks, more than a month, since really hanging out with my girl friends as the kids run-a-muck outside or in a bedroom. More than a month since I started my mornings by walking into the kitchen thinking, Shit. What am I going to do about supper?
That one question, What am I going to do about supper, wouldn't even be a question when Jeremy's not home. What's for supper? Tonight it was quiche muffins. Last night it was oatmeal. Tomorrow? Who knows, I'll figure that out tomorrow.
Today I finished six loads of laundry, made two batches of chicken stock, did school work with Kyra and played Hi Ho Cherry-O with Lydia all while maintaining a steady stream of distractions to help Ruby stay out of trouble. There was little thought of supper before 3 o'clock, Ruby was asleep by 6 and the big girls were showered, read stories to, prayers done and in bed by 7:30.
When Jer's home I wake up thinking about supper. I make lunch wondering what I'm gonna do about supper. I spend nap time rifling though cabinets and fridges and freezers wondering what the hell I'm going to throw together for supper.
I'm out of the habit of catering to another grown up other than myself in the house and all the preplanning and forethought that goes with it.
I need to get back into the habit again of making menus and planning meals. I need to quit worrying about what the fuck we're eating for super. I need to make having Jeremy back in our lives the new "normal". I need to savor the moments when he's here and not breathe a sigh of relief when he's gone.
I know what I need to do, but that doesn't make it any easier to put into place when I know that each time he comes home it's only for a visit before the boys are gone again.
I remember him coming home from work one night while we were still on shore command. He was telling me about a student he was counseling. The student was worried how his wife would handle the comings and goings of the submarine life. Jeremy's sage advice was actually a quick story about me; how every time the boat leaves I get angry, flustered and emotional because he's left us and disrupted the routine and every time the boat comes home, I get angry, flustered and emotional because he's in the way and disrupting the routine.
He's right. What a keen eye he has for that bit of detail. That boy is smarter than he lets on, sometimes. When he's home I have one routine; when he's out to sea, I have another. Each one disrupted with every new coming and going.
So here I am, accomplishing more in one day than I have in a long time so I can swing myself headlong into a new routine. I'll give it a few days before the glitter and rainbows disappear and I'm flustered, overwhelmed and wishing him to come home, again, and breathe that sigh of relief.
Its a cycle. And with the change up of each new cycle I find myself breathing a new sigh of relief. Whether it's over not having to worry about supper or extra hands to hold you up when you're exhausted, there's always that sigh of relief.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Sigh.
When did "normal" become three growing girls and myself in the roll of single parent? And wasn't it just a short time ago I was pining away the months, weeks, days, hours and minutes until he came home? Why does it feel like I can breathe again now that he's gone?
I remember all these emotions from years ago with our previous deployments and underways. Though, it seems remembering these emotions don't quite soften the surprise I feel when that exhaled breath leaves my lips.
When the boys are home, life revolves around them. Every wife I know is the same. We all take brakes from one another to hang out with the husbands we so missed, the family time we so desired.
Its been weeks, more than a month, since really hanging out with my girl friends as the kids run-a-muck outside or in a bedroom. More than a month since I started my mornings by walking into the kitchen thinking, Shit. What am I going to do about supper?
That one question, What am I going to do about supper, wouldn't even be a question when Jeremy's not home. What's for supper? Tonight it was quiche muffins. Last night it was oatmeal. Tomorrow? Who knows, I'll figure that out tomorrow.
Today I finished six loads of laundry, made two batches of chicken stock, did school work with Kyra and played Hi Ho Cherry-O with Lydia all while maintaining a steady stream of distractions to help Ruby stay out of trouble. There was little thought of supper before 3 o'clock, Ruby was asleep by 6 and the big girls were showered, read stories to, prayers done and in bed by 7:30.
When Jer's home I wake up thinking about supper. I make lunch wondering what I'm gonna do about supper. I spend nap time rifling though cabinets and fridges and freezers wondering what the hell I'm going to throw together for supper.
I'm out of the habit of catering to another grown up other than myself in the house and all the preplanning and forethought that goes with it.
I need to get back into the habit again of making menus and planning meals. I need to quit worrying about what the fuck we're eating for super. I need to make having Jeremy back in our lives the new "normal". I need to savor the moments when he's here and not breathe a sigh of relief when he's gone.
I know what I need to do, but that doesn't make it any easier to put into place when I know that each time he comes home it's only for a visit before the boys are gone again.
I remember him coming home from work one night while we were still on shore command. He was telling me about a student he was counseling. The student was worried how his wife would handle the comings and goings of the submarine life. Jeremy's sage advice was actually a quick story about me; how every time the boat leaves I get angry, flustered and emotional because he's left us and disrupted the routine and every time the boat comes home, I get angry, flustered and emotional because he's in the way and disrupting the routine.
He's right. What a keen eye he has for that bit of detail. That boy is smarter than he lets on, sometimes. When he's home I have one routine; when he's out to sea, I have another. Each one disrupted with every new coming and going.
So here I am, accomplishing more in one day than I have in a long time so I can swing myself headlong into a new routine. I'll give it a few days before the glitter and rainbows disappear and I'm flustered, overwhelmed and wishing him to come home, again, and breathe that sigh of relief.
Its a cycle. And with the change up of each new cycle I find myself breathing a new sigh of relief. Whether it's over not having to worry about supper or extra hands to hold you up when you're exhausted, there's always that sigh of relief.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Sigh.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Disjointed and Over Analyzed Thoughts
We all know, without a doubt, I talk too much. When I do talk. I also have the horrible problem of thinking too much. Analyzing, myself, too much.
I've spent the better part of five months trying to figure myself out. Which is really hard to do, by the way, when you spend a solid five months crying, uncontrollably, for no good reason what-so-ever.
I tried to analyze why I couldn't stop crying. Why, unless we actually had somewhere to be, I couldn't climb out of bed. Why I couldn't just love my baby the way she deserved to be loved. Why I couldn't pull myself together when there are so, so many other woman who have been through, are going through, my same situation; newborn baby, deployed husband, no family, busy friends.
My kids, essentially, raised themselves for a solid four months. Kyra learned how to make breakfast and lunch, for the both of them, with little supervision on those days I couldn't get there fast enough. When school work got done, it was because of her own desire, she'd come to me only when stuck. Lydia has learned how to be self sufficient when she can and ask Kyra for help, first, when she can't. My girls have been all stars.
For some reason, in the last week of January, I happily climbed from under the covers with a new light in my eyes. I made the girls breakfast, straitened this' and that's, sat on the couch and watched the girls play.
I had tried before to do these things, but they were forced actions. This time, though, this time was natural. Enjoyable.
I don't know what it was to cause my funk. Lack of sleep? Crappy situation? Hormones?
I know I haven't gained a whole lot more sleep than before. Sure, Ruby's not waking like a newborn, anymore, but neither is she sleeping through the night.
I've been a single parent before, with Kyra. I've had a baby who refused to sleep before, with Lydia. I've had no help before. I've done this before, but not all at the same time.
Hormones are a tricky thing. Mine have always had a nice wack-a-do way about them. They fuck with my cycle, they fuck with my mind, they fuck with my body. I'd like to be rid of them, honestly. They've caused me nothing but problems since puberty. But like I've said before, I never wanted to off myself like I did after Kyra's birth. Though, I couldn't bring myself to love and dote on my new baby, the way I did with Lydia. So was this postpartum?
That day in January, the one where I woke up with a renewed spring in my step, came again the next morning. And then a third.
On that third day, I got a text message from a local friend, checking up on me. I remember replying back something along the lines of, "I've managed to pry my eyes open for three days now. Today, though, I look around my house and wonder what the fuck happened here."
My house was beyond a mess. Bathrooms, disgusting. Cobwebbed corners. Nary a place to sit or eat for nearly all available surface space had a pile of something waiting to be put away.
I can't help but wonder why I never bothered to ask for help.
I have a friend who, I swear, pays for nearly nothing in this world. She goes through life gabbing on about things she's looking for or needs, casual conversation-like, and people just hand their things over to her. I've fallen to her trap and handed her more than my fair share of, "Oh, I have one of those you can have," moments.
I was listening, last night, to her tell me about something else she had received for free. I couldn't tell you, now, what it was, but I quickly fired off, "You know. You have no problem saying, 'Yes, please,' which amazes me because I have no problem saying, 'No, thank you.'"
The look on her face, I could tell I totally just offended her. And I can't blame her look, I absolutely spoke my thought as it entered my brain. There was no filter-effect. Nothing stopped the thought from pouring through my open pie-hole.
I continued on, trying to save some semblance that I'm not an ass hole. "Someone offers you something and you have no problem saying, 'Yes, please.' Whenever someone offers me something I don't have the ability to say 'Yes, please,' its always, 'No, thank you.'"
And it's true. I've had countless people tell me, if I needed anything, please let them know. I can tell you, in all honesty, I've never asked for anything (that I can recall).
My friend, who just had her third baby, has had three baby showers. One for each kid.
And I recently attended a baby shower for another friend who was having her sixth child.
I have had three kids, so far, and never had a baby shower. It never dawned on me, until recently, so it's not like it was ever a big deal in my mind.
Both of these friends have also had other friends set up a meal plan thing where people bring them meals so they don't have to cook.
Yet another thing I've never experienced but once, when a girl from church asked if there was anything she could do to help out after I had Ruby. I told her, of course, "No. But thank you for offering!" She retorted back with, "Let me know when you come home and I'll bring something over for supper one night." I told her about Lydia and how hard it is for people to cook for her and not to worry about it, but this girl insisted. She was making supper for the rest of us and we could supplement something for Lydia. It turned out to be the one of the best meals I've ever had. And she even brought both a green salad as well as a fruit salad hoping Lydia might get to enjoy some of the splendor.
I've had a different friend both offer, then flat out tell me she's going to watch a child or two here and there. She would come over, in the beginning, to sit with me. Give Ruby a bath. Help out with supper dishes. I was grateful for the help and enjoyed the company. I know if I asked for more, she would say, "Yes," but I never do.
Once again, I don't know what it is about me that I don't know how to ask for help. Neither do I know what it is that (most) people think I'm some kind of amazing super woman. I get lots of compliments about how they (the person) can't believe how I do what I do. I'm not sure how I make it look so effortless when half the time I was dying inside.
No one, who sees me in real life seem to know how badly I hurt. That I truly was dying on the inside. I must have an amazing, exterior cover. And clearly they never read this blog because those five of you who do all sent me comments with virtual hugs, emails full of advice or phone numbers saying I can call whenever I need to talk. I've said thank you for the hugs. Back peddled with the emails because I was JUST FINE. Picked up the phone to call, only to find a half-assed excuse why I'd do it later, which never comes.
I'm in a better place now. I've been here for a month. I'm trying to get Kyra caught up on both complimentary praises as well as school work, showering Lydia with I love you's and dote on Ruby the way she deserves.
Still, I can't figure out why I was the way I was. I feel this need to know, though. Its as if, if I know the how's and why's, I can prevent it from happening again. Make myself a better self, if not for me than for my kids. They deserve a better Mom than what they had.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to ask for help. Clearly it's not one of my stronger character traits. I do think that if I had more help, a meal, a sitter, company, conversation, it would have helped.
I've spent the better part of five months trying to figure myself out. Which is really hard to do, by the way, when you spend a solid five months crying, uncontrollably, for no good reason what-so-ever.
I tried to analyze why I couldn't stop crying. Why, unless we actually had somewhere to be, I couldn't climb out of bed. Why I couldn't just love my baby the way she deserved to be loved. Why I couldn't pull myself together when there are so, so many other woman who have been through, are going through, my same situation; newborn baby, deployed husband, no family, busy friends.
My kids, essentially, raised themselves for a solid four months. Kyra learned how to make breakfast and lunch, for the both of them, with little supervision on those days I couldn't get there fast enough. When school work got done, it was because of her own desire, she'd come to me only when stuck. Lydia has learned how to be self sufficient when she can and ask Kyra for help, first, when she can't. My girls have been all stars.
For some reason, in the last week of January, I happily climbed from under the covers with a new light in my eyes. I made the girls breakfast, straitened this' and that's, sat on the couch and watched the girls play.
I had tried before to do these things, but they were forced actions. This time, though, this time was natural. Enjoyable.
I don't know what it was to cause my funk. Lack of sleep? Crappy situation? Hormones?
I know I haven't gained a whole lot more sleep than before. Sure, Ruby's not waking like a newborn, anymore, but neither is she sleeping through the night.
I've been a single parent before, with Kyra. I've had a baby who refused to sleep before, with Lydia. I've had no help before. I've done this before, but not all at the same time.
Hormones are a tricky thing. Mine have always had a nice wack-a-do way about them. They fuck with my cycle, they fuck with my mind, they fuck with my body. I'd like to be rid of them, honestly. They've caused me nothing but problems since puberty. But like I've said before, I never wanted to off myself like I did after Kyra's birth. Though, I couldn't bring myself to love and dote on my new baby, the way I did with Lydia. So was this postpartum?
That day in January, the one where I woke up with a renewed spring in my step, came again the next morning. And then a third.
On that third day, I got a text message from a local friend, checking up on me. I remember replying back something along the lines of, "I've managed to pry my eyes open for three days now. Today, though, I look around my house and wonder what the fuck happened here."
My house was beyond a mess. Bathrooms, disgusting. Cobwebbed corners. Nary a place to sit or eat for nearly all available surface space had a pile of something waiting to be put away.
I can't help but wonder why I never bothered to ask for help.
I have a friend who, I swear, pays for nearly nothing in this world. She goes through life gabbing on about things she's looking for or needs, casual conversation-like, and people just hand their things over to her. I've fallen to her trap and handed her more than my fair share of, "Oh, I have one of those you can have," moments.
I was listening, last night, to her tell me about something else she had received for free. I couldn't tell you, now, what it was, but I quickly fired off, "You know. You have no problem saying, 'Yes, please,' which amazes me because I have no problem saying, 'No, thank you.'"
The look on her face, I could tell I totally just offended her. And I can't blame her look, I absolutely spoke my thought as it entered my brain. There was no filter-effect. Nothing stopped the thought from pouring through my open pie-hole.
I continued on, trying to save some semblance that I'm not an ass hole. "Someone offers you something and you have no problem saying, 'Yes, please.' Whenever someone offers me something I don't have the ability to say 'Yes, please,' its always, 'No, thank you.'"
And it's true. I've had countless people tell me, if I needed anything, please let them know. I can tell you, in all honesty, I've never asked for anything (that I can recall).
My friend, who just had her third baby, has had three baby showers. One for each kid.
And I recently attended a baby shower for another friend who was having her sixth child.
I have had three kids, so far, and never had a baby shower. It never dawned on me, until recently, so it's not like it was ever a big deal in my mind.
Both of these friends have also had other friends set up a meal plan thing where people bring them meals so they don't have to cook.
Yet another thing I've never experienced but once, when a girl from church asked if there was anything she could do to help out after I had Ruby. I told her, of course, "No. But thank you for offering!" She retorted back with, "Let me know when you come home and I'll bring something over for supper one night." I told her about Lydia and how hard it is for people to cook for her and not to worry about it, but this girl insisted. She was making supper for the rest of us and we could supplement something for Lydia. It turned out to be the one of the best meals I've ever had. And she even brought both a green salad as well as a fruit salad hoping Lydia might get to enjoy some of the splendor.
I've had a different friend both offer, then flat out tell me she's going to watch a child or two here and there. She would come over, in the beginning, to sit with me. Give Ruby a bath. Help out with supper dishes. I was grateful for the help and enjoyed the company. I know if I asked for more, she would say, "Yes," but I never do.
Once again, I don't know what it is about me that I don't know how to ask for help. Neither do I know what it is that (most) people think I'm some kind of amazing super woman. I get lots of compliments about how they (the person) can't believe how I do what I do. I'm not sure how I make it look so effortless when half the time I was dying inside.
No one, who sees me in real life seem to know how badly I hurt. That I truly was dying on the inside. I must have an amazing, exterior cover. And clearly they never read this blog because those five of you who do all sent me comments with virtual hugs, emails full of advice or phone numbers saying I can call whenever I need to talk. I've said thank you for the hugs. Back peddled with the emails because I was JUST FINE. Picked up the phone to call, only to find a half-assed excuse why I'd do it later, which never comes.
I'm in a better place now. I've been here for a month. I'm trying to get Kyra caught up on both complimentary praises as well as school work, showering Lydia with I love you's and dote on Ruby the way she deserves.
Still, I can't figure out why I was the way I was. I feel this need to know, though. Its as if, if I know the how's and why's, I can prevent it from happening again. Make myself a better self, if not for me than for my kids. They deserve a better Mom than what they had.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to ask for help. Clearly it's not one of my stronger character traits. I do think that if I had more help, a meal, a sitter, company, conversation, it would have helped.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Sister Wives
As a military wife, I hold on to those precious moments with friends. We never know how long we'll have with our friends, when we'll be separated and when we'll meet again.
I'll often go to great lengths, drive to great lengths, to see a friend. Not all of them reciprocate the same way. Not all of them drive my direction to plan a visit with me. Or even to call and say they're in the area and are we home.
Imagine my surprise and excitement when an Arctic Tundra friend called today saying she's in the area and do I mind if she and her three boys stop by.
Do I mind? Never!
They only stayed for a short while. Two hours, tops. But those were a great two hours of catching up. Comparing her one year old to my five month old.
The funny thing is, I didn't know her long, before we left the Arctic Tundra. I knew her for less than a year. But in those months we did get to hang out, I knew she was a good person. And someone who I'd like to keep knowing.
She drove all the way down here to babysit for another friend of hers. Hours, she and her family drove, to babysit.
This is why being a military wife isn't all that bad. Because we get it. We get, sometimes we're all each other has. And if it takes driving hours or days to see each other, we'll do it.
Most of the best friendships I've ever made, I made because of, and thanks to, the military.
The military may take away your husband but in some odd, weird way, they leave you with a wife. Or two.
Sister Wives. Who knew.
I'll often go to great lengths, drive to great lengths, to see a friend. Not all of them reciprocate the same way. Not all of them drive my direction to plan a visit with me. Or even to call and say they're in the area and are we home.
Imagine my surprise and excitement when an Arctic Tundra friend called today saying she's in the area and do I mind if she and her three boys stop by.
Do I mind? Never!
They only stayed for a short while. Two hours, tops. But those were a great two hours of catching up. Comparing her one year old to my five month old.
The funny thing is, I didn't know her long, before we left the Arctic Tundra. I knew her for less than a year. But in those months we did get to hang out, I knew she was a good person. And someone who I'd like to keep knowing.
She drove all the way down here to babysit for another friend of hers. Hours, she and her family drove, to babysit.
This is why being a military wife isn't all that bad. Because we get it. We get, sometimes we're all each other has. And if it takes driving hours or days to see each other, we'll do it.
Most of the best friendships I've ever made, I made because of, and thanks to, the military.
The military may take away your husband but in some odd, weird way, they leave you with a wife. Or two.
Sister Wives. Who knew.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
A Picture of Exhaustion
I've said it before and I'll say it again, its the nights that are the hardest. Those desperately lonely nights where you're tired and exhausted, the kids are finely in bed but you can't muster the energy to do the dishes so you sit on the couch flipping channels until sleep finally comes, way later than you'd hoped.
Its those nights where the pediatrician has given you the Okay you so desperately wanted to let the baby start to cry it out. You doubt her belief that things will be better in a week but hope she's on to something. Almost two weeks in, you're back to square one. It did get better, for a few nights, but no longer. You now hate the new milestone of rolling over.
Its those nights when you're shushing, cooing and coddling at 2AM but never daring to pick up. And 4AM comes around and you're shushing, cooing and coddling but never daring to pick up. The 5AM, after you've been shushing, cooing and coddling every ten to fifteen minutes with no relief in sight. And its the 5:30 when you finally break down and nurse the baby back to sleep because the urge to do harm is becoming overwhelming.
Then an urge to walk away, shut as many doors between you and baby to sit and cry. Cry and sob and blubber. You wonder what is wrong with you. You know you've done this all before. You've been up, countless hours with another screaming baby and no relief, before. And before you had potential help.
You wish for him home, now, so he could help but he never helped before. While he slept soundly, waiting for another day of work or play, you sat up with a crying baby then, too, as you cried yourself.
During the daylight hours you'd beg for his mercy, beg for him to help you but he never did. So what makes you think he'd help you this time? Why wish for something that wouldn't happen anyway? Why sit up, crying with the baby, wishing for a fantasy? Doesn't it just make things harder?
Its those nights where you wonder why he keeps doing this to you? Strait from shore command to the first boat out to sea. He joked about such things, but to implement it twice...? Coincidence? Are you and the children really that horrible to live with? Are you really that exhausting?
During the day you sing his praises, love him deeply, miss him dearly. During the nights you wonder what it is about this to love. This tired. This lonely. This sad and angry.
But you've dug your hole and now you have to sit in the mud, hoping the rain will stop. Or the constant shelling overtop subsides. Its your hole, though, so you embrace it.
Its those nights where you can't find the sleep that's needed, instead pouring your soul out for all to judge. To get it off your chest is the only way your brain will shut down. Sleep will come once you hit Publish because you've finally told someone.
Its those nights where its 6AM, you've been away for a half hour and the baby is back at it. You just fed her, held her, rocked her and still, she cries.
Its those nights where you know things will get better when the sun comes up and the children start to stir.
Its the nights. The nights are the hardest.
Its those nights where the pediatrician has given you the Okay you so desperately wanted to let the baby start to cry it out. You doubt her belief that things will be better in a week but hope she's on to something. Almost two weeks in, you're back to square one. It did get better, for a few nights, but no longer. You now hate the new milestone of rolling over.
Its those nights when you're shushing, cooing and coddling at 2AM but never daring to pick up. And 4AM comes around and you're shushing, cooing and coddling but never daring to pick up. The 5AM, after you've been shushing, cooing and coddling every ten to fifteen minutes with no relief in sight. And its the 5:30 when you finally break down and nurse the baby back to sleep because the urge to do harm is becoming overwhelming.
Then an urge to walk away, shut as many doors between you and baby to sit and cry. Cry and sob and blubber. You wonder what is wrong with you. You know you've done this all before. You've been up, countless hours with another screaming baby and no relief, before. And before you had potential help.
You wish for him home, now, so he could help but he never helped before. While he slept soundly, waiting for another day of work or play, you sat up with a crying baby then, too, as you cried yourself.
During the daylight hours you'd beg for his mercy, beg for him to help you but he never did. So what makes you think he'd help you this time? Why wish for something that wouldn't happen anyway? Why sit up, crying with the baby, wishing for a fantasy? Doesn't it just make things harder?
Its those nights where you wonder why he keeps doing this to you? Strait from shore command to the first boat out to sea. He joked about such things, but to implement it twice...? Coincidence? Are you and the children really that horrible to live with? Are you really that exhausting?
During the day you sing his praises, love him deeply, miss him dearly. During the nights you wonder what it is about this to love. This tired. This lonely. This sad and angry.
But you've dug your hole and now you have to sit in the mud, hoping the rain will stop. Or the constant shelling overtop subsides. Its your hole, though, so you embrace it.
Its those nights where you can't find the sleep that's needed, instead pouring your soul out for all to judge. To get it off your chest is the only way your brain will shut down. Sleep will come once you hit Publish because you've finally told someone.
Its those nights where its 6AM, you've been away for a half hour and the baby is back at it. You just fed her, held her, rocked her and still, she cries.
Its those nights where you know things will get better when the sun comes up and the children start to stir.
Its the nights. The nights are the hardest.
Monday, January 14, 2013
My Acceptance Speech
The Most Awesome Waitress of the Year Award goes to..... my most dear friend in this entire world, Joelle. Thank you, so much, for refilling my glass. You are, as always, The Best. Period.
And to Karissa, for your novel letting me know you've been there, done that and honest-to-goodness, the sleep fairies really do come back.
Also, my friend Rebecca is pretty fabulous, too. I wish I could put her in my pocket and pull her out in times of need. She's the type of chick who will lie to your face when you're a hot mess and tell you you're pretty.
Life is exactly as I expect it should be. Mine sucks for moments here and there but, overall, it is fairly well amazing. All in due part to the beautiful friends I have in it.
On to other, non weighty things.
I am three miles behind on emails. Thank you Smart Phone for giving me the amazing ability to read my emails on the go and yet also providing me with the ability to NEVER turn on a computer and, ya know, properly respond and all.
Turns out, this is much like the rest of my life.
I still have Thank You cards that were written and enveloped back in September after Ruby was born and have yet to be sent. Initially, I was waiting to send them with birth announcements. And then the laptop went all Dementia on me and could never remember what it was supposed to do from one moment to the next, so no birth announcements were ever made.
Then I just figured I'd send them with the Christmas cards that I totally cheated on for the first time this year and allowed JC Penny to make those generic photo cards that you don't even have to sign. I was totally making life easier for myself during these holidays, so my brain told me.
[I hate those things, by the way. What better way to slog your way through life and show people you were thinking about them by not writing your own name on the stupid card? I mean, I like all the cute photos that come on them, but still, lazy. Sign your own name. Address your own envelopes. Put some kind of effort into the process.]
Anyhow. I jumped on the lazy train under the pretense of making my life three shades of easier versus spending my nights writing a personalized sentence or two on each card. And then I never mailed a single card. Not one. Mostly because only ten or so were ever addressed. By hand.
I did manage to give a few out in person, as I took the whole stack of them on the trip with us intending to finish the task, but there were other people I still saw in person, spoke to, and had actual thought through conversations with.... and I never thought to say, "Give me a minute while I run and get your generic photo card."
I also still have my nephew's Christmas present, which I brought on the trip with us. My mother even wrapped it for me, offered to mail it and I declined, saying I'd get it done. Good thing I never specified when it would get done.
So, I'm behind on emails, Thank You cards, Christmas cards and a little boy's present. They will all be sent out. Eventually. Maybe. Best of intentions....
What is the appropriate time frame these things should be accomplished before I enter Loser Territory? Or am I already there? I bet I'm already there, aren't I?
Ya, I thought so, too.
And to Karissa, for your novel letting me know you've been there, done that and honest-to-goodness, the sleep fairies really do come back.
Also, my friend Rebecca is pretty fabulous, too. I wish I could put her in my pocket and pull her out in times of need. She's the type of chick who will lie to your face when you're a hot mess and tell you you're pretty.
Life is exactly as I expect it should be. Mine sucks for moments here and there but, overall, it is fairly well amazing. All in due part to the beautiful friends I have in it.
************
On to other, non weighty things.
I am three miles behind on emails. Thank you Smart Phone for giving me the amazing ability to read my emails on the go and yet also providing me with the ability to NEVER turn on a computer and, ya know, properly respond and all.
Turns out, this is much like the rest of my life.
I still have Thank You cards that were written and enveloped back in September after Ruby was born and have yet to be sent. Initially, I was waiting to send them with birth announcements. And then the laptop went all Dementia on me and could never remember what it was supposed to do from one moment to the next, so no birth announcements were ever made.
Then I just figured I'd send them with the Christmas cards that I totally cheated on for the first time this year and allowed JC Penny to make those generic photo cards that you don't even have to sign. I was totally making life easier for myself during these holidays, so my brain told me.
[I hate those things, by the way. What better way to slog your way through life and show people you were thinking about them by not writing your own name on the stupid card? I mean, I like all the cute photos that come on them, but still, lazy. Sign your own name. Address your own envelopes. Put some kind of effort into the process.]
Anyhow. I jumped on the lazy train under the pretense of making my life three shades of easier versus spending my nights writing a personalized sentence or two on each card. And then I never mailed a single card. Not one. Mostly because only ten or so were ever addressed. By hand.
I did manage to give a few out in person, as I took the whole stack of them on the trip with us intending to finish the task, but there were other people I still saw in person, spoke to, and had actual thought through conversations with.... and I never thought to say, "Give me a minute while I run and get your generic photo card."
I also still have my nephew's Christmas present, which I brought on the trip with us. My mother even wrapped it for me, offered to mail it and I declined, saying I'd get it done. Good thing I never specified when it would get done.
So, I'm behind on emails, Thank You cards, Christmas cards and a little boy's present. They will all be sent out. Eventually. Maybe. Best of intentions....
What is the appropriate time frame these things should be accomplished before I enter Loser Territory? Or am I already there? I bet I'm already there, aren't I?
Ya, I thought so, too.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Glass Half Empty. Now, Where'd That Waiter Go?
Today, my friend asked me in a casual conversational way, "What'd you do today?" I answered with a little bit of this, a little bit of that and I dabbled over here, too. And then something struck me.
I confessed to my friend how I can never seem to finish one, set, project. I can't organize wardrobe boxes from recent growth spurts and season changes. I can't set Kyra's school work to a regular schedule. I can't form a long term meal plan. Hell, I can't even manage to straiten my own bedroom.
I don't have anything more than usual on my plate. Somehow, though, I can't seem to accomplish anything well enough to call one thing "finished."
I recently traveled to spend the holidays with my side of the family. It was nice to see everyone, but I can't say I was happy to be there. Within just a couple days of getting there, I was already wishing to be home, in what has become my sanctuary. Messy, unfinished or otherwise, my home has become my safe place.
The baby wouldn't sleep through the night, instead reverting back to a newborn's waking schedule. Lydia refused to leave my side unless I slipped away undetected. Kyra couldn't catch a break while searching for and stretching her boundaries with those she hardly knows. And I...
I was tired and exhausted, cranky and emotional, overwhelmed and alone. As much as my family is my family, they don't know me from Adam. In a family of pristine, downy white sheep, my wool is as black as the richest farm soil.
Nothing terrible, awful or even tragic happened. But no matter how quiet and wallflower like I try to stay, no matter how pleasant I try to keep my smile, I still feel like the outsider trying to find her way into the exclusive club. Some things never change, whether I'm 13 or 31, Awkward be thy name.
I keep trying to tell myself this is way too long I've been feeling this way, but is it really? I run between being sad and self-deprecating, to lonely and isolated, to plowing through with a smile. Is it all symptoms of deployment, post partum or a combination?
Would someone who didn't have a 4 month old baby to contend with feel all these same emotions? On the other hand, would someone without a deployment feel all these same emotions? I've had PPD before, and while I never felt adequate, I also wanted to off myself. At least I don't feel the latter. And I've had the loneliness of deployment before, too. Though I've never had the new baby at the same time as the deployment.
Would someone with more, continuous sleep under their belt be asking themselves the same questions?
My sweet baby Ruby is three days shy of 20 weeks old. As of today, Jeremy has been deployed for 17 of those weeks.
I miss my husband dearly. And not just at 12:30, 3 and 5 in the morning.
I can't wait for the heart of my family to come back home.
I keep waiting for the new normal to set in, the deployment normal. So far, the normal is still a giant hole I can't seem to help but to pace around.
I confessed to my friend how I can never seem to finish one, set, project. I can't organize wardrobe boxes from recent growth spurts and season changes. I can't set Kyra's school work to a regular schedule. I can't form a long term meal plan. Hell, I can't even manage to straiten my own bedroom.
I don't have anything more than usual on my plate. Somehow, though, I can't seem to accomplish anything well enough to call one thing "finished."
************
I recently traveled to spend the holidays with my side of the family. It was nice to see everyone, but I can't say I was happy to be there. Within just a couple days of getting there, I was already wishing to be home, in what has become my sanctuary. Messy, unfinished or otherwise, my home has become my safe place.
The baby wouldn't sleep through the night, instead reverting back to a newborn's waking schedule. Lydia refused to leave my side unless I slipped away undetected. Kyra couldn't catch a break while searching for and stretching her boundaries with those she hardly knows. And I...
I was tired and exhausted, cranky and emotional, overwhelmed and alone. As much as my family is my family, they don't know me from Adam. In a family of pristine, downy white sheep, my wool is as black as the richest farm soil.
Nothing terrible, awful or even tragic happened. But no matter how quiet and wallflower like I try to stay, no matter how pleasant I try to keep my smile, I still feel like the outsider trying to find her way into the exclusive club. Some things never change, whether I'm 13 or 31, Awkward be thy name.
**************
I keep trying to tell myself this is way too long I've been feeling this way, but is it really? I run between being sad and self-deprecating, to lonely and isolated, to plowing through with a smile. Is it all symptoms of deployment, post partum or a combination?
Would someone who didn't have a 4 month old baby to contend with feel all these same emotions? On the other hand, would someone without a deployment feel all these same emotions? I've had PPD before, and while I never felt adequate, I also wanted to off myself. At least I don't feel the latter. And I've had the loneliness of deployment before, too. Though I've never had the new baby at the same time as the deployment.
Would someone with more, continuous sleep under their belt be asking themselves the same questions?
*************
My sweet baby Ruby is three days shy of 20 weeks old. As of today, Jeremy has been deployed for 17 of those weeks.
I miss my husband dearly. And not just at 12:30, 3 and 5 in the morning.
I can't wait for the heart of my family to come back home.
I keep waiting for the new normal to set in, the deployment normal. So far, the normal is still a giant hole I can't seem to help but to pace around.
Friday, December 07, 2012
One of Those Days
Today is one of those days I wonder how it is possible that I'm still not a drinker.
Today is one of those days I really miss my husband.
Today is one of those days I could have used someone to tag team with, to tag me out, give me a chance to catch my breath.
Today is one of those days where Kyra is coming down with a cold. She started the sniffing this morning, the sneezing this afternoon and the coughing tonight. I hate colds. They make me sleep with one ear open, listening for the asthma attack just waiting to happen.
Today is one of those days I end the night wondering how I'm possibly going to make it four more months.
Today is one of those days I can't believe we've already made it two and a half months.
Today is one of those days, I thank God for giving me the chance to practice my patience again and again and again.
Today is one of those days the girls attempted a mutiny... and I did my damnedest to steer the ship through the choppy waters.
The house is a mess. The kids were rotten. The dogs stayed underfoot. The baby is still nowhere near self sufficient.
Today is one of those days I wonder how it is possible that I am still not a drinker.
Today is one of those days I really miss my husband.
Today is one of those days I could have used someone to tag team with, to tag me out, give me a chance to catch my breath.
Today is one of those days where Kyra is coming down with a cold. She started the sniffing this morning, the sneezing this afternoon and the coughing tonight. I hate colds. They make me sleep with one ear open, listening for the asthma attack just waiting to happen.
Today is one of those days I end the night wondering how I'm possibly going to make it four more months.
Today is one of those days I can't believe we've already made it two and a half months.
Today is one of those days, I thank God for giving me the chance to practice my patience again and again and again.
Today is one of those days the girls attempted a mutiny... and I did my damnedest to steer the ship through the choppy waters.
The house is a mess. The kids were rotten. The dogs stayed underfoot. The baby is still nowhere near self sufficient.
Today is one of those days I wonder how it is possible that I am still not a drinker.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Recording the Great
This morning was an excellent, easy morning.
The girls got up and dressed for ice skating without a hitch. Kyra composed herself into her future 27 year old, responsible adult who spoke kind words, helped others and was an overall angel sent down from heaven. Lydia surprised us all at the rink by not only getting on the ice with out even a hint of the complete meltdown of a tantrum, but she seemed like the same ice skating little girl I knew, and swore to all the parents who've tried to help me tame her these past five weeks, that this is how she really behaved back in the Arctic Tundra, first one on the ice and hamming it up, from the beginning of class to the end.
We came home, changed the growing Ruby's clothes so her stomach might not hang out of a too short shirt and took a few pictures together while texting a friend back and forth who agreed to meet us for lunch at Five Guys where, once again, my children were fan-fucking-tastic. Purely saint-like, through and through.
After lunch it was grocery shopping. My poor refrigerator. All sad, lonely and empty. Last night's supper was tuna fish sandwiches, because I couldn't muster the enthusiasm for peanut butter and jelly.
We came home and quickly unloaded groceries so we could FaceChat with Jeremy! (!!!) He's in Greece, spending all our money on meals he hopes isn't cooked kitty. Apparently stray, yet social, cats are abundant in that particular part of the country.
The day did end rather abrupt and early. The big girls had lost their listening ears by supper time. Through, try as Kyra did, asking me what she could do to help out, in the end, she'd find trouble with Lydia- an all too willing partner in crime. And a poor Lydie Kate, at that. She can only do so much without a nap before the words, "No, ma'am" send her over the edge. By 7 o'clock I had both big girls in bed. By 7:30, Ruby was swaddled and on her way to sleep in her own bed.
I write all this down as a reminder to myself that things are good. We have our good moments, good days and sometimes even a good week.
I had a bit of wallowing week as I hemmed and hawed over what to do for Thanksgiving. I'd love nothing more than to spend it with the people I'm most comfortable with, my very best friends, in the Land of the CornHusker. And I feel an immense amount of guilt for having not traveled to the Land of the Country Bumpkin to introduce the family to Ruby. But, sometimes, I have to be honest with myself. I'm not mentally, or physically, there yet. I'm not to the point of extended travel vacations. I'm not ready for a three day drive and boarding dogs and worrying about Lydia safe food. I'm not up for family dramas, remarks over who's house I'm staying in, walking on egg shells to keep everyone happy.
I'm still sleep deprived. I'm still emotional. I'm still getting a firm handle of this whole situation. And while I've a much stronger grip than I did 7 weeks ago, I'm still aware of how quickly my palms get sweaty and my grasp starts to slip. Right now, I still need my time to escape to my room for a quick breath of fresh air.
While the crazy days are short and the lonely nights are long, I need to record today.
Today, we not only had a good day, we had a great day. As ordinary and mundane as it may be, today was a great day.
The girls got up and dressed for ice skating without a hitch. Kyra composed herself into her future 27 year old, responsible adult who spoke kind words, helped others and was an overall angel sent down from heaven. Lydia surprised us all at the rink by not only getting on the ice with out even a hint of the complete meltdown of a tantrum, but she seemed like the same ice skating little girl I knew, and swore to all the parents who've tried to help me tame her these past five weeks, that this is how she really behaved back in the Arctic Tundra, first one on the ice and hamming it up, from the beginning of class to the end.
I had a bit of wallowing week as I hemmed and hawed over what to do for Thanksgiving. I'd love nothing more than to spend it with the people I'm most comfortable with, my very best friends, in the Land of the CornHusker. And I feel an immense amount of guilt for having not traveled to the Land of the Country Bumpkin to introduce the family to Ruby. But, sometimes, I have to be honest with myself. I'm not mentally, or physically, there yet. I'm not to the point of extended travel vacations. I'm not ready for a three day drive and boarding dogs and worrying about Lydia safe food. I'm not up for family dramas, remarks over who's house I'm staying in, walking on egg shells to keep everyone happy.
I'm still sleep deprived. I'm still emotional. I'm still getting a firm handle of this whole situation. And while I've a much stronger grip than I did 7 weeks ago, I'm still aware of how quickly my palms get sweaty and my grasp starts to slip. Right now, I still need my time to escape to my room for a quick breath of fresh air.
While the crazy days are short and the lonely nights are long, I need to record today.
Today, we not only had a good day, we had a great day. As ordinary and mundane as it may be, today was a great day.
Monday, November 05, 2012
Keeping the Romance Alive, One Computer At A Time
Oh, well, HI! and HELLO THERE!
No, as a matter of fact, I did. not. drop off the face of this here earth. You see, I had this tiny little problem with a laptop that downright refused to work properly. And by properly, I mean you had to have all your computer things finished in approximately two minutes time before the darned thing just froze solid. Which kinda-sorta puts a serious cramp when trying to write things like... emails to your deployed husband.... or blog posts.... or whatever other computery related things one does on such devices.
One email I managed to type quickly enough, two days after he left, asking him what the fuck was wrong with the computer, he replied back that he's had my poor laptop on life support for the last year and its time to get a new one.
As with most matters of spending oodles of money on crappy pieces of plastic and wire, I sat back, said we don't need a new computer until Jeremy comes back in... April... and then he can whine, cry and complain that life sucks when one does without such frivolous computer things. And then he would impatiently wait until I agree that we don't need to take giant chunks of money with us to the grave and "Go out and buy your stupid computer."
And then last Friday came and I got six emails all at once from him.
Guess who's boat came off a very important, no communication allowed, month long mission!
So I slowly tried to tap out an email on my phone which I then, somehow, deleted instead of sending. At which point I got mad and just gave up.
A few days passed and I got a seventh email from Jeremy saying how much he missed me! And loved me! And tell me all about you and the kids!
So I whined and cried to myself that technology sucked and I hated it and he's bound to think I don't like him anymore.
And then he re-sent his previous 7 emails.
Probably because he's sure I didn't get them and that's why I hadn't wrote in two solid weeks...
So I sucked it up, pulled a wad of cash out of the money I intend to take with us to the grave and skipped out to buy a new desk top to replace my dying laptop. Because laptops suck, even though they're slightly awesomely portable.
Somehow, through God's good graces, I managed to walk into the NEX, oogle the computers while simultaneously Google checking reviews before purchasing this monstrosity.
Seriously, 23 inches of screen is just ridiculous. Our first TV, when we married, was only 19 inches.
And somehow, still through the grace of God, I'm sure, I managed to get this here contraption home, set up and working all by my little lonesome. A simple feat I was sure I'd NEVER have to do since I married a stereotypical nerd.
Hopefully, this means I can be a much better wife and email my husband more pointless tidbits of life like YOUR CHILD IS 8 SHADES OF UP-MY-ASS AND YOUR DOGS TORE UP THE BLINDS AND THEY CLEALY HAVE A DEATH WISH AND I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT!
Because, that right there...? That's romance. A type of romance one can only convey with the aid of a functional computer.
No, as a matter of fact, I did. not. drop off the face of this here earth. You see, I had this tiny little problem with a laptop that downright refused to work properly. And by properly, I mean you had to have all your computer things finished in approximately two minutes time before the darned thing just froze solid. Which kinda-sorta puts a serious cramp when trying to write things like... emails to your deployed husband.... or blog posts.... or whatever other computery related things one does on such devices.
One email I managed to type quickly enough, two days after he left, asking him what the fuck was wrong with the computer, he replied back that he's had my poor laptop on life support for the last year and its time to get a new one.
As with most matters of spending oodles of money on crappy pieces of plastic and wire, I sat back, said we don't need a new computer until Jeremy comes back in... April... and then he can whine, cry and complain that life sucks when one does without such frivolous computer things. And then he would impatiently wait until I agree that we don't need to take giant chunks of money with us to the grave and "Go out and buy your stupid computer."
And then last Friday came and I got six emails all at once from him.
Guess who's boat came off a very important, no communication allowed, month long mission!
So I slowly tried to tap out an email on my phone which I then, somehow, deleted instead of sending. At which point I got mad and just gave up.
A few days passed and I got a seventh email from Jeremy saying how much he missed me! And loved me! And tell me all about you and the kids!
So I whined and cried to myself that technology sucked and I hated it and he's bound to think I don't like him anymore.
And then he re-sent his previous 7 emails.
Probably because he's sure I didn't get them and that's why I hadn't wrote in two solid weeks...
So I sucked it up, pulled a wad of cash out of the money I intend to take with us to the grave and skipped out to buy a new desk top to replace my dying laptop. Because laptops suck, even though they're slightly awesomely portable.
Somehow, through God's good graces, I managed to walk into the NEX, oogle the computers while simultaneously Google checking reviews before purchasing this monstrosity.
Seriously, 23 inches of screen is just ridiculous. Our first TV, when we married, was only 19 inches.
And somehow, still through the grace of God, I'm sure, I managed to get this here contraption home, set up and working all by my little lonesome. A simple feat I was sure I'd NEVER have to do since I married a stereotypical nerd.
Hopefully, this means I can be a much better wife and email my husband more pointless tidbits of life like YOUR CHILD IS 8 SHADES OF UP-MY-ASS AND YOUR DOGS TORE UP THE BLINDS AND THEY CLEALY HAVE A DEATH WISH AND I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT!
Because, that right there...? That's romance. A type of romance one can only convey with the aid of a functional computer.
Monday, October 08, 2012
Pulling on the Big Girl Panties
Somehow, I've managed to find my big girl panties. I've pulled them on, looked at myself in the mirror and had that self talk.
You know the one.
Where you tell yourself everything is going to be alright, that everyone is counting on you. And then I put one foot in front of the other and marched through the week with determination and distraction.
Two weeks down.
Twenty four, probably more, weeks to go.
April can't come fast enough, but at least now I know, I'm gonna make it. One week at a time.
Thanks for all your supportive words and emails. You are all the best, most supportive friends this girl could ever ask for. Honest to goodness.
You know the one.
Where you tell yourself everything is going to be alright, that everyone is counting on you. And then I put one foot in front of the other and marched through the week with determination and distraction.
Two weeks down.
Twenty four, probably more, weeks to go.
April can't come fast enough, but at least now I know, I'm gonna make it. One week at a time.
Thanks for all your supportive words and emails. You are all the best, most supportive friends this girl could ever ask for. Honest to goodness.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
The Screaming Silence
My sweet babe is a month old today. It's bittersweet, really. She smiled at me yesterday. A real smile, so I thought, a whole string of them as I whispered sweet nothings to her. I haven't been granted the same privilege today. I can't help but wonder if it was a fluke. Or maybe that I've been right all along and she really does hate me. I swore this to Jeremy since the day she was born. I'd watch her, Ruby would stare unabashedly at Jer, sheer love in knowing he was here Daddy. Never with me. With me, I'm rarely granted eye contact.
I wish I could freeze time, here, at home, until Jeremy can return. But these early days of three kids, one of them a new born, on my own... I'm utterly overwhelmed at times. I could use him here for physical support, if not only for moral support. My expectations of the big girls are high. My fuse with them is short. I'm pretty sure I'm failing.
I thought I was finished in my woe-is-me wallow fest, but in these late hours, after the kids are all in bed, I can't help but be swept up in the screaming silence.
I've done the dishes. The laundry is running. The floors are being swept in the slowest pattern I can muster.
Tomorrow is one week since he's left. And to be honest, I don't even know what date the boat is supposed to return. One of the downsides to him checking onto the boat and then taking baby leave. He had one week to jump in head first before the boat deployed. Little things were missed, his email address, expected port calls, approximate return date.
At least I now have his email.
I miss him.
I keep reminding myself the first month is brutal. The first week the worst. That means, starting tomorrow, it's only going to go up from here. Right?
I wish I could freeze time, here, at home, until Jeremy can return. But these early days of three kids, one of them a new born, on my own... I'm utterly overwhelmed at times. I could use him here for physical support, if not only for moral support. My expectations of the big girls are high. My fuse with them is short. I'm pretty sure I'm failing.
I thought I was finished in my woe-is-me wallow fest, but in these late hours, after the kids are all in bed, I can't help but be swept up in the screaming silence.
I've done the dishes. The laundry is running. The floors are being swept in the slowest pattern I can muster.
Tomorrow is one week since he's left. And to be honest, I don't even know what date the boat is supposed to return. One of the downsides to him checking onto the boat and then taking baby leave. He had one week to jump in head first before the boat deployed. Little things were missed, his email address, expected port calls, approximate return date.
At least I now have his email.
I miss him.
I keep reminding myself the first month is brutal. The first week the worst. That means, starting tomorrow, it's only going to go up from here. Right?
Saturday, September 22, 2012
The Pain of Deployment
And just like that, Jeremy has left on deployment.
I'm not sure how I could still be producing tears, but I am. Last week he came home saying thanks to the hoop-la in the middle east, he'd be leaving a week and a half early. Doesn't sound like much to anyone else, I'm sure, but that week and a half meant so much to me. To us. To our family.
Ruby is only 3 weeks old. She hasn't smiled her first smile. Her Daddy won't see the real thing for seven months. Of everything we knew he was going to miss, I was at least comforted that he'd leave knowing his baby had smiled at him, hopefully a hand full of times, by 5 weeks old. But at 3 weeks 4 days... not a real smile to be had.
At least he was still home for her Baptism.
Kyra is devastated. Absolutely, inconsolably, devastated. She cries deep, heaving sobs and wishes we were back at our old house when Daddy didn't have to leave.
Lydia cries because Daddy is gone, but it's the same cry she gives when he'd go to the grocery store without her. The cry a 3 year old gives when they want to have things their way.
I cry for all that he will miss. It's the hardest part of deployment, for me, knowing all that I get to see, do and witness... and all that he will miss.
To me, he repeated, again and again, "You gonna be alright without me?" He worries, so much, that I might fall down that same rabbit hole of postpartum depression I did with Kyra, except there will be no one here to save me from myself. I tried reassuring him that I was fine. That I will be fine. But I'm not sure he fully believed me. The abundance of tears and unwillingness to fake a smile had everything to do with it, I'm sure.
I'm sad. Plane and simple. I never wanted to have a baby and three weeks later say goodbye to both my best friend and my husband in the same week. It was almost too much for me as I continued to loose it, again and again, on the kids.
Shameful of how I didn't cope, I'm trying to make this first week alone as busy as possible. Apple picking at the orchard today, overnight trip to visit Ruby's namesake tomorrow. And while I'm not sure what to do with myself the rest of the week, I'm sure I'll think of something. It seems I'm at my best in the company of others. Be it a much needed distraction or the unwillingness to crumble in front of others.
That's right where my children need me right now, Kyra especially, at my best.
I'm not sure how I could still be producing tears, but I am. Last week he came home saying thanks to the hoop-la in the middle east, he'd be leaving a week and a half early. Doesn't sound like much to anyone else, I'm sure, but that week and a half meant so much to me. To us. To our family.
Ruby is only 3 weeks old. She hasn't smiled her first smile. Her Daddy won't see the real thing for seven months. Of everything we knew he was going to miss, I was at least comforted that he'd leave knowing his baby had smiled at him, hopefully a hand full of times, by 5 weeks old. But at 3 weeks 4 days... not a real smile to be had.
At least he was still home for her Baptism.
Kyra is devastated. Absolutely, inconsolably, devastated. She cries deep, heaving sobs and wishes we were back at our old house when Daddy didn't have to leave.
Lydia cries because Daddy is gone, but it's the same cry she gives when he'd go to the grocery store without her. The cry a 3 year old gives when they want to have things their way.
I cry for all that he will miss. It's the hardest part of deployment, for me, knowing all that I get to see, do and witness... and all that he will miss.
To me, he repeated, again and again, "You gonna be alright without me?" He worries, so much, that I might fall down that same rabbit hole of postpartum depression I did with Kyra, except there will be no one here to save me from myself. I tried reassuring him that I was fine. That I will be fine. But I'm not sure he fully believed me. The abundance of tears and unwillingness to fake a smile had everything to do with it, I'm sure.
I'm sad. Plane and simple. I never wanted to have a baby and three weeks later say goodbye to both my best friend and my husband in the same week. It was almost too much for me as I continued to loose it, again and again, on the kids.
Shameful of how I didn't cope, I'm trying to make this first week alone as busy as possible. Apple picking at the orchard today, overnight trip to visit Ruby's namesake tomorrow. And while I'm not sure what to do with myself the rest of the week, I'm sure I'll think of something. It seems I'm at my best in the company of others. Be it a much needed distraction or the unwillingness to crumble in front of others.
That's right where my children need me right now, Kyra especially, at my best.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Decision Time and 9 Months Early!
Jeremy got a list of possible commands for next June's start of a new sea tour. Our options, as it stands today, is to head back to the Toxic Crap Hole or venture into new territory: Granola Nation, Beach Tans Required, or The Pacific Speck.
Vague. I know. I like to keep it that way so our families will never find us.
Now, our first hope was for Granola Nation, but they only have 1 boat available for Jeremy's position. So, if we jump on that train QUICKLY we'll be set. It's a type of boat Jeremy is used to, but not the schedule I was hoping for. Which is fine. Really. Life is life and then we move on.
Our second hope was to head back to the Toxic Crap Hole. We've been there. We have friends there. Life will continue on as we've always known it. But, then, where's the excitement and adventure in that?
Next up, we have Beach Tans Required. Its exotic, expensive and comes with overpriced food and teeny-tiny-housing. But, if you're living your life and homeschooling your kids on the beach... who cares if you're broke and live in a shanty!
Finally we have The Pacific Speck. Which we know absolutely nothing about. Except, HEY! WE'LL BE OUT OF THE COUNTRY! WON'T THAT BE EXCITING?!
I'm kinda leaning to Granola Nation or The Pacific Speck. Jeremy seems to be shooting for anywhere that isn't the Mason Dixon Line.
Where to go, where to go...
Vague. I know. I like to keep it that way so our families will never find us.
Now, our first hope was for Granola Nation, but they only have 1 boat available for Jeremy's position. So, if we jump on that train QUICKLY we'll be set. It's a type of boat Jeremy is used to, but not the schedule I was hoping for. Which is fine. Really. Life is life and then we move on.
Our second hope was to head back to the Toxic Crap Hole. We've been there. We have friends there. Life will continue on as we've always known it. But, then, where's the excitement and adventure in that?
Next up, we have Beach Tans Required. Its exotic, expensive and comes with overpriced food and teeny-tiny-housing. But, if you're living your life and homeschooling your kids on the beach... who cares if you're broke and live in a shanty!
Finally we have The Pacific Speck. Which we know absolutely nothing about. Except, HEY! WE'LL BE OUT OF THE COUNTRY! WON'T THAT BE EXCITING?!
I'm kinda leaning to Granola Nation or The Pacific Speck. Jeremy seems to be shooting for anywhere that isn't the Mason Dixon Line.
Where to go, where to go...
Monday, February 02, 2009
Ding Dong the Witch is Gone
Er... um... Hi, Mom!
So, my mother was in town for 10 days to see the girls and babysit while Jer and I took a quick trip to the Artic Tundra of the North to find a new house. While Mom was here, she managed to teach Kyra such things as when she eats her belly gets fat and how to use the word "stupid" in a sentence.
Wonderful.
I guess it's no worse then at the dinner table tonight Jeremy used the word "sucks" in a sentence. Kyra immediately began muttering "sucks" over and over to which Jeremy asked in all seriousness, Where in the world did she learn that word from?
Duh?
Anyhow, with my mother's help (she watched the girls for us again) Jer and I got to have another little movie night! We saw the movie Gran Torino. Totally . Fucking. Awesome. In every way shape and form.
But now my mom has gone. Back to regularly scheduled programming. Like posting super cute pictures of my children:
Lazy Bones Bishop
and Proud Cricket.
Oh, you were expecting the non furry children? Well, because I hate to disappoint here's a quick shot of Kyra and Lydia.
And look here, today at the zoo with 6 girls. Aren't they all damn cute?
You know, supposedly there is a study going on about submariners and the effects working on a sub has on the sex of their off spring. The entire 4 years we've spent on the boat, there are only 4 boys I'm aware born and about 385 girls. Okay, so the girl count has been exaggerated, but the number is significantly higher then 4 boys in 4 years.
Here's a tip, if you want to conceive a male heir, don't do the nasty with a submariner. Your chances will drop dramatically. Radiation is killer to those Y carrying sperm.
So, my mother was in town for 10 days to see the girls and babysit while Jer and I took a quick trip to the Artic Tundra of the North to find a new house. While Mom was here, she managed to teach Kyra such things as when she eats her belly gets fat and how to use the word "stupid" in a sentence.
Wonderful.
I guess it's no worse then at the dinner table tonight Jeremy used the word "sucks" in a sentence. Kyra immediately began muttering "sucks" over and over to which Jeremy asked in all seriousness, Where in the world did she learn that word from?
Duh?
Anyhow, with my mother's help (she watched the girls for us again) Jer and I got to have another little movie night! We saw the movie Gran Torino. Totally . Fucking. Awesome. In every way shape and form.
But now my mom has gone. Back to regularly scheduled programming. Like posting super cute pictures of my children:
Lazy Bones Bishop
and Proud Cricket.
Oh, you were expecting the non furry children? Well, because I hate to disappoint here's a quick shot of Kyra and Lydia.
And look here, today at the zoo with 6 girls. Aren't they all damn cute?
You know, supposedly there is a study going on about submariners and the effects working on a sub has on the sex of their off spring. The entire 4 years we've spent on the boat, there are only 4 boys I'm aware born and about 385 girls. Okay, so the girl count has been exaggerated, but the number is significantly higher then 4 boys in 4 years. Here's a tip, if you want to conceive a male heir, don't do the nasty with a submariner. Your chances will drop dramatically. Radiation is killer to those Y carrying sperm.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Everything We Hoped For and Then Some
So. My initial excitement of fitting into a pair of size 10 pants was short lived. Today I tried to squeeze into another pair only to be disappointed when they wouldn't button. Apparently yesterday's pair were a larger version of 10.
Hmph.
In other news, if you were wondering where I was this past week, Jer and I ventured to the Artic Tundra of the North in search of a fancy new place to move into and damn if we didn't hit the the jackpot.
My new home, folks---->
We have upgraded from a 2 bedroom, 1000 square foot apartment in the city to a 5 bedroom, 2500 square foot HOUSE on an acre and a half of land. With only 2 neighbors. On one side of us resides a pair of snow birds (northern folk who travel down to Florida for the winter) and on the other side a vacant house that's soon to go into foreclosure. Our landlord told us he'll eventually buy that house and rent it to Navy people too... which means no neighbors there for a while! Across the street and behind us features woods that goes on for miles and miles and miles and miles and, it's a national forest back there. Faaab-u-louuus. I'm telling you, this location was destined for us.
Now, only to make sure Mother Nature gets on the ball with this whole snowing business. I mean, I like it, it's beautiful and all, just so long as it doesn't snow on days I need to be on the road. Cause let me tell you, Jer was ready to throw me out of the speeding car on Thursday because it was snowing while we were house hunting and I still haven't learned to keep my cool (or at the very least, panic quietly) while sitting in the passenger's seat.
And he thinks I'll get used to it. HA!
Hmph.
In other news, if you were wondering where I was this past week, Jer and I ventured to the Artic Tundra of the North in search of a fancy new place to move into and damn if we didn't hit the the jackpot.
My new home, folks---->
We have upgraded from a 2 bedroom, 1000 square foot apartment in the city to a 5 bedroom, 2500 square foot HOUSE on an acre and a half of land. With only 2 neighbors. On one side of us resides a pair of snow birds (northern folk who travel down to Florida for the winter) and on the other side a vacant house that's soon to go into foreclosure. Our landlord told us he'll eventually buy that house and rent it to Navy people too... which means no neighbors there for a while! Across the street and behind us features woods that goes on for miles and miles and miles and miles and, it's a national forest back there. Faaab-u-louuus. I'm telling you, this location was destined for us.
Now, only to make sure Mother Nature gets on the ball with this whole snowing business. I mean, I like it, it's beautiful and all, just so long as it doesn't snow on days I need to be on the road. Cause let me tell you, Jer was ready to throw me out of the speeding car on Thursday because it was snowing while we were house hunting and I still haven't learned to keep my cool (or at the very least, panic quietly) while sitting in the passenger's seat.
And he thinks I'll get used to it. HA!
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Good News/Bad news
The good new: Kyra's ice skating coach raved quite highly about what a natural she is on the ice. (tonight being her second class) The coach asked Jeremy how old she was, when Jer said she just turned three the coach was amazed- she thought Kyra was a "petite 5 year old!"
Apparently Kyra's listening skills and ease at picking up new techniques is well past the norm as her coach proclaimed she hasn't had a 3 year old with the abilities Kyra has shown. Oh, and she also wished she could scoop Kyra up as her own child prodigy.
I think my jaw just might have hit the floor. I mean, I knew Kyra was doing much better then most of the kids in her class, but I had no idea she was doing that well!
The bad news: Jer didn't get the really great, fantastic school with wonderfully set schedule and hours that his detailer said last. week. he was going to put the paperwork in for. Gah!
Apparently he "forgot" that he had already filled the position prior to the conversation he had with Jer last. week. Asshat.
So now we're weighing our options for a recruiting job down in what I like to call Hurricane Alley (the Louisiana/Alabama/Florida border) or another school with shitty rotating hours in the North Eastern part of the country. Both require a major decrease in pay, the school being $100 less per paycheck then the recruiting job, but the recruiting job requires yet another tremendous amount of paperwork that could take up to 8 weeks to get approved. Oh, and the job could very well be filled by the time it's all been submitted and approved. Any one up for a game of Russian Roulette?
Oh, and did I mention Jer and I had set a time limit that we wanted to be up and moved out of our tiny humble abode by February 1st- mere weeks after I give birth the little termite? So we're kinda stressing A LOT! about what our living situation is going to look like come the new year. (and when I say "we're stressing" what I really mean is "I'm stressing" because Jer doesn't stress over this kind of thing. He has a bed on the barge at work if he ever needs one. The children, dogs and myself? He'd just as soon send me to my Grandmother's house- which is a cool place and all- just not where I want to be post baby) I'd like to have all of this where are we going to live business secured BEFORE the baby is born, but when it comes to the Navy- nothing gets done in any kind of timely manner.
Have I ever mentioned to you that the Navy is run by a bunch of fuck ups who probably couldn't hack it in the real world? Lets face it, most of the branch is run by a bunch of men who, I'm very well assuming, stand around scratching their balls talking about the latest sports figures, video games, and/or dirty, slutty, whore they screwed last night instead of doing their actual jobs.
And Jer laughs at me for insisting they need more women in the military... At least the only thing we'd be doing is getting into petty cat fights with one another- but, hey, at least we'd get people to where they needed to be in a timely manner.
Apparently Kyra's listening skills and ease at picking up new techniques is well past the norm as her coach proclaimed she hasn't had a 3 year old with the abilities Kyra has shown. Oh, and she also wished she could scoop Kyra up as her own child prodigy.
I think my jaw just might have hit the floor. I mean, I knew Kyra was doing much better then most of the kids in her class, but I had no idea she was doing that well!
The bad news: Jer didn't get the really great, fantastic school with wonderfully set schedule and hours that his detailer said last. week. he was going to put the paperwork in for. Gah!
Apparently he "forgot" that he had already filled the position prior to the conversation he had with Jer last. week. Asshat.
So now we're weighing our options for a recruiting job down in what I like to call Hurricane Alley (the Louisiana/Alabama/Florida border) or another school with shitty rotating hours in the North Eastern part of the country. Both require a major decrease in pay, the school being $100 less per paycheck then the recruiting job, but the recruiting job requires yet another tremendous amount of paperwork that could take up to 8 weeks to get approved. Oh, and the job could very well be filled by the time it's all been submitted and approved. Any one up for a game of Russian Roulette?
Oh, and did I mention Jer and I had set a time limit that we wanted to be up and moved out of our tiny humble abode by February 1st- mere weeks after I give birth the little termite? So we're kinda stressing A LOT! about what our living situation is going to look like come the new year. (and when I say "we're stressing" what I really mean is "I'm stressing" because Jer doesn't stress over this kind of thing. He has a bed on the barge at work if he ever needs one. The children, dogs and myself? He'd just as soon send me to my Grandmother's house- which is a cool place and all- just not where I want to be post baby) I'd like to have all of this where are we going to live business secured BEFORE the baby is born, but when it comes to the Navy- nothing gets done in any kind of timely manner.
Have I ever mentioned to you that the Navy is run by a bunch of fuck ups who probably couldn't hack it in the real world? Lets face it, most of the branch is run by a bunch of men who, I'm very well assuming, stand around scratching their balls talking about the latest sports figures, video games, and/or dirty, slutty, whore they screwed last night instead of doing their actual jobs.
And Jer laughs at me for insisting they need more women in the military... At least the only thing we'd be doing is getting into petty cat fights with one another- but, hey, at least we'd get people to where they needed to be in a timely manner.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Glutton For Punishment
I miss New England. And I never thought I would utter those words when we were stationed there. I've even been told, after uttering those words to a friend who has also lived in and recently moved out of New England, that I'm a glutton for punishment.
I look back now and see my dislike of New England had more to do with the Navy and the fact that our boat was out to sea 75% of the year. I missed Jeremy. Kyra missed her Daddy. Because of him never being home, we never experienced a whole lot of the wonderful things New England has to offer.
Skiing at the local hot spots. Touring around NYC or Boston. Taking a weekend to stay at one of the ungodly number of Bed and Breakfasts that litter every large and small town. We were within driving distance of both the fresh lobster Maine has to off and Niagara Falls and we didn't get to travel to either.
Jeremy and I have been dreaming about returning to our favorite Toxic Crap Hole the Navy has to offer. We agreed that if there was an opening for a shore command position there we both wanted to jump feet first on it. But we've had no such luck. The only job available at this time is no better then asking to be put on the first boat out on deployment. And neither one of us are all that excited to sign up for that job.
His next option is to stay here at the Mason Dixon Line with a sweet, cush job that includes 9-5 work days, weekends off, very limited time away from home and a guaranteed ladder to quickly climb the military ranks due to the sheer number of head haunch's Jeremy would work with/under. The thing is, we hate it here at the Mason Dixon Line. It's crowded. It's expensive. And every bit of affordable housing within close proximity to his job is either next to the ghetto or a 4x6 box in the shiny part of town. The glory of living in the big(er) city wore off about two months after we moved in.
His third option is a teaching position in the Bible Belt. Still 9-5, weekends and holidays off and helpful with advancements. The catch is, he's not quite qualified for the position, yet, and my fear is the position will be taken before he is qualified. Even still, it's in the Bible Belt... and the Bible Belt is fucking hot 9 months out of the year. Combine that with the fact that there aren't any new and fun things to do within close proximity. (Take my word for it, I grew up in the Bible Belt) The couple of differences between the Mason Dixon Line and the Bible Belt are as follows: its significantly smaller and more affordable; and there is always someone on the corner of a major intersection holding a sign with some kind of religious jargon I'd rather not have shoved in my face while on my daily errand runs. I mean, other then my family, which will be in very close proximity for the first time in 5 years and the job its self, there's not much in the Bible Belt we're all that excited about.
Two excellent jobs in locations we don't really want to be or our prime, first pick, location with a crappy job offer. We're torn. And I'm saddened.
I miss my orchard, canning a year's worth of peaches and pears, freezing a year's worth of blueberries and raspberries we hand picked. I miss cutting down our ginormous Christmas tree for just $20. I miss our house that had my large kitchen and the giant hill in the back yard, perfect for winter sledding. And I miss bitching about the cold ass winters.
So, what would you guys do- egg your husband on to pick the crappy job in your ideal area, push him to go for the job with the quickest advancements (knowing he's not a lifer) in the crappy part of town or pick the good job in the decent city closest to family?
I mean, sure, I write it down and it seems obvious to me, Bible Belt- Here we come! But damn it, I want my New England.
I look back now and see my dislike of New England had more to do with the Navy and the fact that our boat was out to sea 75% of the year. I missed Jeremy. Kyra missed her Daddy. Because of him never being home, we never experienced a whole lot of the wonderful things New England has to offer.
Skiing at the local hot spots. Touring around NYC or Boston. Taking a weekend to stay at one of the ungodly number of Bed and Breakfasts that litter every large and small town. We were within driving distance of both the fresh lobster Maine has to off and Niagara Falls and we didn't get to travel to either.
Jeremy and I have been dreaming about returning to our favorite Toxic Crap Hole the Navy has to offer. We agreed that if there was an opening for a shore command position there we both wanted to jump feet first on it. But we've had no such luck. The only job available at this time is no better then asking to be put on the first boat out on deployment. And neither one of us are all that excited to sign up for that job.
His next option is to stay here at the Mason Dixon Line with a sweet, cush job that includes 9-5 work days, weekends off, very limited time away from home and a guaranteed ladder to quickly climb the military ranks due to the sheer number of head haunch's Jeremy would work with/under. The thing is, we hate it here at the Mason Dixon Line. It's crowded. It's expensive. And every bit of affordable housing within close proximity to his job is either next to the ghetto or a 4x6 box in the shiny part of town. The glory of living in the big(er) city wore off about two months after we moved in.
His third option is a teaching position in the Bible Belt. Still 9-5, weekends and holidays off and helpful with advancements. The catch is, he's not quite qualified for the position, yet, and my fear is the position will be taken before he is qualified. Even still, it's in the Bible Belt... and the Bible Belt is fucking hot 9 months out of the year. Combine that with the fact that there aren't any new and fun things to do within close proximity. (Take my word for it, I grew up in the Bible Belt) The couple of differences between the Mason Dixon Line and the Bible Belt are as follows: its significantly smaller and more affordable; and there is always someone on the corner of a major intersection holding a sign with some kind of religious jargon I'd rather not have shoved in my face while on my daily errand runs. I mean, other then my family, which will be in very close proximity for the first time in 5 years and the job its self, there's not much in the Bible Belt we're all that excited about.
Two excellent jobs in locations we don't really want to be or our prime, first pick, location with a crappy job offer. We're torn. And I'm saddened.
I miss my orchard, canning a year's worth of peaches and pears, freezing a year's worth of blueberries and raspberries we hand picked. I miss cutting down our ginormous Christmas tree for just $20. I miss our house that had my large kitchen and the giant hill in the back yard, perfect for winter sledding. And I miss bitching about the cold ass winters.
So, what would you guys do- egg your husband on to pick the crappy job in your ideal area, push him to go for the job with the quickest advancements (knowing he's not a lifer) in the crappy part of town or pick the good job in the decent city closest to family?
I mean, sure, I write it down and it seems obvious to me, Bible Belt- Here we come! But damn it, I want my New England.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
A New Day. A Better Day.
So today was marked with changing Kyra's insurance, then talking with a lady actually who knows her stuff and switched Kyra to a doctor in another, hopefully not retarded, clinic, then told me she'd shred my request to change insurance. Fabulous.
Then when I put Kyra in her car seat, which was sitting next
to her BFF Rachel's car seat who truly enjoys her personal space, Kyra decided to move her hand from her own lap and put it in her Rachel's lap. Rachel started with the "Kyra's touching meeee!" whine, (which, PS, I hate whining and thank God Kyra's not into that kind of thing because I think I might have drowned her in the bathtub long ago when I was all sad and PPD but I'm better now and so it's not quite as dangerous to be miniature and whine around me anymore) so I told Kyra to get her hand back in her car seat and then next time she touches Rachel without being asked I would cut her hand off.
Kyra started crying. Uncontrollably. Usually I can say THAT'S ENOUGH! and she'll sop those tears up right away. But she didn't stop crying. Then I felt guilty.
So I cuddled her head and told her softly that Rachel doesn't want to be touched and she needed to keep her hand in her own car seat or she's going to find trouble (read:a swift kick to the ass a smack on the hand)... And, by the way, did she want to get some bites and then go to the Zoo?! Which totally fixed everything and placed me back upon a pedestal in her eyes.
Once again, life is good.
Then when I put Kyra in her car seat, which was sitting next
to her BFF Rachel's car seat who truly enjoys her personal space, Kyra decided to move her hand from her own lap and put it in her Rachel's lap. Rachel started with the "Kyra's touching meeee!" whine, (which, PS, I hate whining and thank God Kyra's not into that kind of thing because I think I might have drowned her in the bathtub long ago when I was all sad and PPD but I'm better now and so it's not quite as dangerous to be miniature and whine around me anymore) so I told Kyra to get her hand back in her car seat and then next time she touches Rachel without being asked I would cut her hand off.Kyra started crying. Uncontrollably. Usually I can say THAT'S ENOUGH! and she'll sop those tears up right away. But she didn't stop crying. Then I felt guilty.
So I cuddled her head and told her softly that Rachel doesn't want to be touched and she needed to keep her hand in her own car seat or she's going to find trouble (read:
Once again, life is good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)