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.

Strait Out Gangsta

Don't start with her, she will mess you up.

You Know You're In the Bible Belt When....

1) The thermometer says it is 83 degrees outside, yet, when you step out your front door you're gasping for a single breath in the thick air and suddenly wondering why you're wearing Capri's and not a bathing suit.

2) On your way to the local grocer you see a truck flying a rebel flag... a f*cking huge rebel flag attached to the truck bed with a 4x4 piece of lumbar.

3) At the local grocer, a cart boy looks at your licence plate (which is not from the Bible Belt) and says "Yous a long way from home ain't choo."

Ahh... Sleep

Remember this post? Sure you do. The one where I asked for advice and not even Lindsey gave advice she knows nothing about? Well, with no help from you guys I've gotten Kyra to go to bed again, on time at 7, without a fight. It's taken a whole month, but I've done it!

Wanna know my secret? Black out shades in the windows. Mom already had blinds, but they kept out very little light. I bought and had Kyra's Papa put them up behind the blinds on Sunday. That's right, we've doubled up. In return, Kyra has had a peaceful bedtime since Sunday. Ahhh...

She's Done It

Kyra has stuck her hand in her diaper only to show me what's inside. Really, I could have went my whole life without her learning this new trick.

Old & Hateful

This is what I do not want to happen to me as I age. I don't want the title of old and hateful. I want to be kind and appreciative.

Nanny is old and hateful. (and before you say something, the description "old and hateful" was termed by her sister... I just happen to agree) She wants her needs met and tended to now and by God if they aren't she'll shoot you a glare so mean you'd think lasers were going to pop right out and do you in.

I've decided that my calling is not in the home health department. I've taken care of Nanny for this last week and I think I might just pull my hand right back and slap her. Sounds horrible, I know. Yesterday was the worst. Death rays shooting from her eyes at every turn. Snide remarks made under her breath, too quiet for me to decipher.

Granted she's lived a hard life and crap crap crap, but regardless, there is no reason to be hateful to those trying to keep you alive!

She hollers so and so, do this. So and so, get me this. So and so, kiss my tail. Her sister yesterday corrected her by telling her she needs to start saying please and asking nicely other then ordering people around. This was remarked by, "she (speaking of me) knows I appreciate it and I'm mean please." Um, no ma'am, I heard the tune from Cinderella with all that bellowing you've been doing.

Now, Nanny wants cigarettes. She's on oxygen 24/7 with COPD... and she wants a cigarette. Mind you, she hasn't had one since I found her in a coma three weeks ago, but now that she's feeling better she'd like her sticks of death back. I told her if she started smoking again to go ahead and kill herself, I wasn't going to argue with her. Boy was she surprised and angered by this. As it is, a pack of cigarettes have turned up missing from a visitor's purse. Within and hour of them coming up missing she's started with the "I don't want to smoke, but I can't promise anyone that I won't." On top of that, when my mom cleaned her room while she was in the hospital, she found stashes of them hidden everywhere around her room. I am quite certain I know who took them.

I don't know how people do it, take care of the elderly. My grandmother works in an old folk's home (not p/c, I know, get over it) and she has for many, many years now. And she seems quite at home working with even the bitterest of them, with all the patience and demure you would expect. Sure, there are some old people who are the characteristically nice, sweet people you tend to think of, and then there are those like Nanny, whom I love dearly, but I'd like to knock some politeness and sense right into their head.

Dear God,

I would greatly appreciate it if you would not let me become old and bitter. I enjoy my life and surrounds, and should that change, I'd like it greatly if you'd send a rock in my direction to peg me right in the head and knock some common sense into me.

Much love,

Alicia

Tiny Bubbles

I couldn't resist showing you all Kyra and her Papa's rendention of "Tiny Bubbles". Papa wanted me to inform all of you music producers out there reading this that his voice has been effected by a sinus infection... you know, in case you were thinking of signing him or something.

Bathing Suit Weekend

This is how we spent our Saturday. Kyra got a sprinkler to play in. She was terrified of it. When the water is turned on the little hoses flail about spraying water everywhere. We turned the water pressure down low so the flailing would stop and Kyra could actually play rather then scream. Her idea of fun was to drink the endless supply of water directly from the tube.

Other times it was more fun for Granma or myself to hold the tube to spray into the air and she could then try to catch the flying water in her mouth.

On another note, did you notice something? Like I'm now able to post oh so cute pictures? Well, that is because I have finally talked my mother into getting DSL! Hip hip horray!

Uncle!

Today is day 1 of official potty training, and I've thrown in the towel already. For any of you who feel the need to tell me that I should wait until she's older, I don't want to hear it. For any of you who tell me that your mother had you potty trained by 2 with no problems, I don't want to hear it. If you've got some sound piece of advice that doesn't make me look or sound like a wimp or hurt my ego, I'm all ears.

Here is what I've found in the half day we've spent running back and forth to the bathroom:

1) Kyra is a tinkler, as in she pee's about every 5 minutes. Literally. I'll put her on the toilet, she'll do (what I think) is a pretty good bit of "business", I take her down put her panties on and within 5-10 minutes she's wet another pair of panties. Unless I set her on the toilet for the entire day, I don't think we're going to accomplish much.

2) Kyra's panties don't really fit her. I bought the smallest size I've found anywhere, 18 months, and they still hang down to her knees. Thank God we were all made with a small crook where your legs meet your trunk because that is the only thing saving her drawers from falling down. The whole purpose of "feeling" that she's wet is not being met with her crotch hanging at her knees, thus she's not telling me anything until I see her legs are shiny from another little tinkle.

3) This one, quite obviously, ties in with the fact that her panties don't fit... I've cleaned up the poop trail from our hundred yard dash to the potty twice today and I am thoroughly grossed out. I am not exactly thrilled when I have to change a poopy diaper, but I'd rather do that 10 times over then have to change a poopy kid (because it's fallen from her behind all the way down to her feet), poopy panties, and a poopy floor all in one setting. I've had it. I'm hollering "Uncle!" so the whole world can hear me.

With all this, I think we are going to wait another few months and try again. Maybe she'll gain a few more pounds and she'll fit a bit more snug in the pants. That is, unless I can find some 12 month training pants around here. There is no sense in keeping this up when I'm cleaning up 3 times the mess I was with diapers.

Stupid Comments People Should Keep to Themselves- Parenting Edition

1) You don't never leave that baby alone do you? Let her play in the dirt like she's supposed to. Why you always got to be up on top of her like that? - First of all... F*ck off. It's not your child. You didn't spend your money to buy the nice clothes she wears, and if I want them to stay clean then that is my choice, not Kyra's or yours. Secondly, I don't question your parenting skills, don't question mine. Kyra has her fair share of time to play in the dirt, and when she's wearing something that I'd like to keep decent, that's my prerogative.

2) You don't let her watch TV? Why? Its a good baby sitter. There's education cartoons you she could watch. - I choose not to have the television on when Kyra is awake because it not only distracts her from being a child, it distracts me from being a parent. I would much rather get down in the floor and play with Kyra then have our noses stuck in some stupid show. The day will come when she wont want me to play with her and when that day comes, I'm sure the TV will still be there to keep me company and soothe my tears. As for the "educational cartoons", good for them. Let them babysit another child while mine is busy refining her motor skills.

3) You don't give her any candy? At all? What do you feed her for snacks? - Healthy foods. You know, those ones that don't show up on your hips or in your arteries. Apples, grapes, raisins, bananas. I'd like to know that she has the potential to live to the ripe age of Older Then Dirt then to die young of heart disease because I was irresponsible when preparing her meals. Aside from that, I'd also rather her not be made fun of in school because she has three chins and a waist that easily measures up to Papa's beer belly.

Project Fat- Month 1

As of tomorrow, we're one month into operation Project Fat. Things are going much better today then when we started a month ago.

As for the pediatrician's recommendations of getting her to eat eggs and putting olive oil on her foods, both ideas failed and failed miserably. Kyra won't eat anything drizzled with the oil, and eggs, whether you make them fried, scrambled, boiled or poached, she wants nothing to do with them.

What she has started eating and absolutely loves is olives. Whole, sliced, green or black. She's all about the olive and that pleases me greatly because they are chalk full of healthy fats. The home made chicken fingers TED's Wife suggested... BIG HIT! We have had many of dinners with chicken fingers and olives. I have quickly found out that she'll eat any kind of breaded meat.

What, Jeremy? You want pork chops tonight? Sure, I'll just bread them and throw'em in the oven. Kyra will eat it. No problem.

Heather and I weighed her on a home scale today, total weight gain for month 1 (drum roll please....) 2 pounds! It's not exactly official, since we're not using the same scale she always uses at the pediatrician's office, but I'm gonna take it with no complaints.

1995

Apparently that's the year we're still living in here in the bible belt, as my mother still has dial up Internet. Yes, dial up. The slowest of the slow, the retarded kid in the bunch, the one who is always lagging behind.

"But Mom," I say, "if you switch to cable, you're only paying $15 dollars more per month. Surely you could afford that? And if not, I'll write you a check for the entire amount of cable Internet every month." Two weeks in and we still don't have cable.

Mom and I had talked about this long before I got here and I thought we agreed on the switch. I wanted cable Internet to talk to Jeremy. She complained about dial up, she too had said she wanted something better. Her web cam doesn't work with dial up. Jer and I got it for her 14 months ago so she could watch Kyra grow before their eyes from a thousand miles away, and the last time she used it was 13 months ago. "I want to be able to talk to Jer when he's in port because that's one of the reasons we got him his fancy new lap top with a web camera, so he could see his wife and his daughter, and Kyra wouldn't forget who her daddy is."

All this has apparently fallen to deaf ears. I. Am. Pissed. Jer is in yet another port for a bit this week and for another port Kyra can't see him.

Aside from all that, I can't show you guys the pictures of Kyra looking at a horse with just three inches between them and refusing to touch him. And I can't show you all that cute Easter pictures of Kyra finding the colorful eggs under leaves and behind trees. And I can't show you pictures. Period. Because dial up is so f*cking slow, it doesn't load up a d*mned thing!

I'm pissed about this dial up thing because nearly every time I get on, the phone rings, kicks me off, I loose the work I'm doing and I have to start all over again. Jeremy probably thinks I've forgotten him, as I've written him a whopping 2 times since they left. You beautiful blog readers have probably forgotten all about me with a drifting wonder of why I have dropped of the face of the blog sphere. And, finally, because I can't up load any picture to anything, such as to the Wal-Mart website to send some to Jer's parents since another summer has to go by that we can't afford to go see them.

AOL dial up, you suck. I hate you and wish only horrible things upon your puny existence as it stands today, in 2007. In 1995 you were great, fantastic, whatever. In 2007, you are the vein of my existence. I hope your run will end. Soon. Tomorrow would be nice.

What An Imagination She Has

Who is "She" you ask? Why it's Erica, from the land down under. *cue cheesy 80's music here* You can read the 5 questions she answered here, and then used her fantastic imagination to ask me these... go ahead, read how insane it gets then somehow comes back to normal (just a little bit).

1. Is there anything you really miss since becoming a mom? Sleep. Kyra has never been one to sleep. I mean, sure, she sleeps through the night and has since she was 6 weeks old (or used to, until we arrived in the bible belt) (even still, incredibly lucky I realize) but she gets up usually before dawn, doesn't sleep well during the day, and I have yet to learn to go to bed at a reasonable hour at night. Really, I bring most of it upon myself by not going to bed at 9 or 10, but I can't miss my night time TV. I don't watch it during the day and sometimes it's the only adult interaction I get.

2. When any major holiday rolls around, what do you dread the most? Stress, due to lack of money. I like to go big on holidays. Lots of cooking, lots of friends and family, lots of enjoying each other. I cook enough to feed a small army, and that usually costs us a pretty penny. I'm sure it doesn't help that it seems every holiday requires present exchanges now.

3. What was it like to work on the starship enterprise? I have to say it was amazing! I got to travel around the Galaxy, experience different forms of life, and I just can't explain to you how beautiful the sunset was on plant Nodirtywhoresallowed.

4. After your brief appearance on Star Trek, you were cast as an extra in a music video clip. unfortunately, during one of the scenes, your skirt fell off due to poor sewing skills and your weave became entangled in the singer's mouth somehow. What was that like, and how did the lead singer respond afterward? The experience itself wasn't as bad as the press made it out to be. (because we're in the pretend mode here) I have an absolutely flawless and beautiful body and therefore had nothing to be ashamed of when my skirt fell off. As for the whole weave caught in the singer's mouth bit, that, once again, was the press blowing everything out of proportion. The lead singer reacted by sending the seamstress back to fashion school and paid for it all, because he's rich and cool like that. He also decided to ban any press from further video shoots, because they're not out to report the truth, they just make up their own.

5. Would you ever consider wearing mismatched socks on a date? Um, no. I'm quite OCD when it comes to anything matching, wardrobe or otherwise. I may not be on top of the fashion scene, but I do care what I look like, even down to my matching socks.

Updates- Brought to You From the Bible Belt of America

Nanny is doing better. Last I heard she was still on a ventilator, but was able to write questions and answers. They expect her to be in the hospital for another week or so, but expect a full recovery. I've been given the credit for saving her life, but I think all the credit goes to the mongrel pooches who wouldn't stay out of her room like they were told. I'm used to Nanny staying quietly in her room so as not to bother anyone, and I wouldn't have noticed any difference that day either.

Kyra has a new love of my mother's cats, her hound dog, Jasper, and the neighbor's chickens. She'll play outside in the front yard chasing the cats around (much to their dismay) saying "ki-ey" and when she catches up to them, she bends down in their face and meows at them. I think she's trying to communicate with them but they're just not understanding. She must be using a different dialect.

Next she'll run to Jasper's cage, where he jumps and howls with glee that someone is there to visit. Kyra in turns howls back at him. She used to tell him to "huss" because we tell The Babies to hush when they're barking, but she's now howling back at him.

After Jasper, its off to the chicken cage, running through the back yard saying "chic-ken. ba ba." (her version of "chicken" and "bock-bock") At the chicken cage, she'll point to the chickens while talking to who ever will listen that they are chic-ken, then turn to the chickens saying, "ba ba". Once again, she's trying to communicate with them, but instead they run to the other side of the cage.

Kyra's new thing, aside from learning to climb on all the furniture, is she's figured out that if you push this button on Grandma's refrigerator, water will squirt into your cup. Except that Kyra isn't that tall, and can barely reach the button with her sippy cup, which has a lid and won't catch the water with the lid on, but she tries anyhow. Even with the lid on, the stream of water misses the cup completely and squirts Kyra in the face. To which she is not very happy about and proceeds to scream, because she's afraid of the squirting water or because it's very cold, I don't know, but she hasn't learned her lesson yet.

Jeremy has called me from Spain, where they have ported for a bit. He has proclaimed it to be the most beautiful port he's been to so far. He speaks of the statues and beautiful architecture, and smash sandwiches (sandwiches with french fries in it, smashed together). He said the town has tons of cats. Cats are everywhere. Instead of the usual pigeon they tend to find on the pier, they found cats. I guess they don't spay and neuter in Spain?

I tried to apply for my passport today, but apparently most of the bible belt post offices here don't do that kind of thing. Instead I've got to travel 30 minutes away, past the 6 other post offices, to find the only one in the county that does this sort of complicated paperwork and check accepting. These people, I swear, don't they know I'm on a deadline here?

Oh, and I have seen the beautiful Mrs. Heather and her oh so cute tater-tot of a daughter, Aeralyn, twice since I've been here. Kyra is a bit too old for Aeralyn to play with, but that didn't stop Kyra from trying to pick her up today. By her neck! She was trying to give her a hug but in mid-hug decided to attempt lifting her off the ground. Ya, I don't foresee Heather inviting us back.

New Profession?

Maybe I should rethink my current profession of choice. No, I don't mean the stay at home mom job, I'm talking about the EMT class I took, passed, but haven't finished my state certifications for yet.

My day has been great. Kyra has been a doll, as usual. And then it just went kaput in the blink of an eye.

I was busy making dinner, a wonderful taco delight, and Kyra was at the table helping me tear the lettuce. The Babies kept walking in and out of my Nanny's room, to which I thought they were bothering her. I shooed them out several times before I actually walked in to ask if they were bothering her. I look to the bed, no Nanny. I look towards the bathroom, door is open, no Nanny. Look back in the bedroom, find her slumped over her bed side table with her head, face down, buried in a box. Ya, lovely.

Respirations? Check. Pulse? Check. Obvious signs of blood or serious injury? None to be seen. Pick her up? Um, not happening. Call for back up. On the way. Call 911. Done.

Back up arrives few minutes later, pull her up and lay her out on the floor. Eww, gross, if she stops breathing I don't know if I can giver her mouth to mouth, she's got juices coming from her mouth.

Still breathing? Check. Still a pulse? Check. Air way clear? Best as I can get it. Wait for medics to arrive and do their thing.

I don't know how she's doing right now, but she's pulled through many times before, and I have high hopes for this time too. What really concerns me is that I doubted giving her life saving breaths because her face was (for a lack of a more mature term) icky.

Seriously, you can't really be a true EMT and look at a patient while thinking, "eww. I can't touch that, that's gross!" Now I understand why we wear gloves and put a face mask over their mouths.

True heroes of the story, The Babies, who wouldn't stay out of her room, forcing my attention in that direction.

Please, Make Her Go To Sleep

It is well after 9 at night and Kyra is still wide awake and insistent on playing.

At my house, her bed time is 7. At the latest she's up (although in bed) until 8. Since we've arrived here, she's not even attempting to go to bed, much less go to sleep at 7. Or 8. Or apparently not even 9.

I understand it is a new place for her, and there are all kinds of new things. To top it all off, no one even starts to get home until after 6. Thus, everyone walking in though the door creates more noise, which makes for a very difficult time trying to set the mood for "night night time". And our bedroom is one thin wall away from all the noise and foot traffic.

Good times. That's what we're having, good times.

Advice? Anyone? How do I get a toddler adjusted to a new place, but still keep her under the same set of rules?

Fried Okra and Pity Parties

My child eats and thoroughly enjoys fried okra. Eww.

Okay, so my pity party for myself is now over. Still without a tear. But I'm done feeling sorry for myself, not like it's going to help anything anyhow. I guess writing it for the whole world to see was venting enough for me. Today I'm happy and chipper, and I hear Heather has a park near her house. Think Kyra and I will be paying her a visit tomorrow!

A Good Cry

Have you ever just needed a good cry? I mean a good cry. As in tears gushing, loud wailing, and alternating punching and clutching a pillow kind of good cry?

I need one. I've thought about crying, have nearly broke down and started crying, but yet, not a tear has fallen. Not one. I cried as I dropped Jeremy off at the pier, but that was the last time. And even then it was silent tears.

I haven't had a moment to myself, to sit and be sad about my husband leaving. And I need one. I need my own 30 minute pity party all by myself. And for whatever reason, I'll let you guys read about me wanting to cry, but you're not allowed to watch me do it.

My mission for you all today... Make me feel better and tell me about something wonderful or funny that has happened to you lately, because I need a few good laughs if I can't have my one good cry.

"Home"

We've arrived. In the south. In the bible belt, where you'll find a church every couple hundred feet. We've arrived in the land of fried green tomatoes, sweet tea, and 90 degree heat in March.

I'm back "home", the place where I can't help but giggle and poke fun at my slow paced surroundings. *dum dee-dum dadum dee-dum* Where the world seems to have taken a step back from the rest of life, the rest of reality. At any given point you'll see a rifle rack in a back window of a truck, a rebel flag waving proudly, dogs running free, and children playing barefoot in the yard with no parents in sight.

And still, I'm back "home", with the slow pace of life I can't get ever seem to find while stuck in New England.

Jeremy left on deployment Friday. For 6 months. Kyra will be 2 when he comes home.

To speed things up, I chose to drive home. Because sometimes it's the slow pace of life that will make Jeremy's coming back seem that much faster.