Why won't my kid eat the food I serve him...but will eat ANYTHING he finds on the floor?
Is this one of the signs that he is now a member of the Toddler Anti-Obedience Movement?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Pondering My Position
I was in a crabby mood last week. I was feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, and depressed. Rob was working a crazy schedule; getting up at 3 a.m., not coming home for lunch, and getting home for dinner about 6 p.m. each day. The schedule was not as much of an inconvenience as it was a change from the norm. I like change, I do, it just takes me a little to get used to because I have to readjust my routines and overanalyze it to death.
I was tired because I was up with the baby twice a night and then up to say goodbye to Rob. Not to mention the buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. I became overwhelmed and depressed when I realized that the hours between 3 a.m. and 6 p.m. were foreshadowing the many years of my life to come. As a military spouse I will end up being a single parent almost more often than not. I was a single mom for 15 hours a day and only 60 hours of the week and I really felt like I was sucking at it. I don't know what the right things to do are. Do I play with them enough? Do I yell too much? Am I causing permanent damage in any way? Is my personal crisis of self causing me to be selfish and unaware of their needs? And my biggest fear, am I doing and saying things that will cause these tiny people to grow up and be like me?
I was overwhelmed, better said, I overwhelmed myself. I have harsh and unrealistic expectations of myself. I somehow believe that "if I were a good mother" I'd: have a clean house all the time, have the laundry done, be showered and well dressed every day, spend time singing songs and doing art projects to nurturing my children's creativity, be happy and relaxed, feed them nutritious foods so they get all the food groups (how many are there now anyway?), venture out into the world off base in actual Japan and see what there is to see like zoos, fish, beaches, and pineapples. I do not do all of those things, not on a daily basis and some not even on a weekly basis. But really Michelle…who the hell does??? My Mom never did, no one's sane Mom that I've ever heard of did, and none of my Mom friends do…so why do I hold myself to that standard? It is unrealistic and completely ridiculous. Because of some idealistic belief I beat myself up? Why and what for?
We were back on our normal schedule on Fri. When Rob popped in for a pre-lunch visit (he needed to get something) he asked, "So are you feeling better today? You were kind of snippy last night." To which, in typical female fashion I responded with flames spewing from the top of my head, "I WAS NOT SNIPPY, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, AND YO MAMA (for good measure)." My husband, the saint, replied "What can I do to help you?" To which I started crying and scared him to death. I tried to explain to him that he had done nothing wrong and that I did not need help. I told him, "I am just realizing my place in this life and am trying to adjust." I don't know if that phrase even makes sense but it sort of hurt his feelings. We talked a little more, he got unhurt, and I continued to ponder my position.
After he got home from work I escaped to the library for a few minutes and started looking for a book that would tell me what my problem was. I was actually looking for that Brooke Shields book about postpartum depression. I was beginning to hope that PPD was my problem then I could take pills and my life would be perfect. Easy peasy, because the loony pills worked so well for me in my AZ life….anyway I digress, that is another story. I did not find Brooke but found Oprah and Dr. Laura (insert Jessie's eye roll here) instead. I believe it was divine intervention and the power of the universe reaching out to me to say Stop Whining, Start Living which happens to be the title of the Dr. Laura Schlessinger book that I checked out. I also found a little collection of writings by Oprah called "What I Know For Sure." I started reading both books and they are both touching on so many of the same things that it is amazing. So far they talk about personal beliefs, life purpose, hurt feelings, and identifying yourself.
These are all of the things that I want to explore about myself and change. I have been living for a very long time looking backwards and asking why instead of looking back to see what I should have learned from those experiences. These books have started me thinking and given me great jumping off points for my writing. I am very optimistic.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Weighting and Wondering
So here goes a major step on my journey of honesty and self discovery.
I am fat.
I am 5’1” tall and weigh…weight for it…ha ha weight…I’m so funny…180.4 pounds. There.
This is what fat me looks like right this very second. I did not crop out my face so you can see how um, happy, I was to take my own phat photo. Phat photo…hee hee I’m on a roll today! Very biggest looseresque of me don’tca think?
Monday I started Weight Watchers again. I used Weight Watchers about 8 years ago to drop 45 pounds. I used the past 8 years to get divorced, remarried, have 2 babies, and eat my way through most of the northern hemisphere. I had a great time, but alas, I am sick and tired of being a little round girl.
Besides the improved aesthetics of losing weight my reasons are 3 fold:
1. Improve my healthfulness (ie energy, mood, stamina, longevity, etc)
2. Improve my self esteem
3. Concentrate on something that I actually CAN control
So far so good, I have had more than enough points to eat whenever I want and not feel hungry. Plus, a lot of things have changed food wise in the past 8 years. Fat free cheese actually melts and fat free mayo does not taste like weird sweetened gelatinous sludge. They even have 1 point ice cream fudge bars. Woo Hoo!
Here is a picture of my yummy Monday morning breakfast. It consists of a 3 egg white omelet (with spinach, onion, and fat free cheddar cheese) and a whole wheat English muffin with a yogurt fruit spread. It was huge, extremely filling, and only 5 points.
I think about many things when I contemplate my weight.
I remember my Father always giving my Mom a hard time about her weight. He would point out her size, how her clothing fit, and what she was eating. I remember my Mom secretly going through the drive-thru or hiding in the kitchen eating “bad” food just to spite him. My idea of overweight = unacceptable came from that.
I remember growing up that I always had girlfriends who I believed to be prettier and thinner than myself. As if somehow, I’d be thin and pretty by association. In reality, I ended up making myself feel like the fat ugly friend. No one ever pointed out to me that I was either of those things…it was just how I felt…overweight = unattractive, unpopular, unwanted, mostly tolerated.
As an adult I recall a pot luck office party when I worked at Charles Schwab. I remember getting so super excited about the deserts, especially the pie. I told my friend Tami something like “OMG, yeah, hooray, WE HAVE PIE!!” Tami chuckled and said something like “Wow that’s a lot of excitement over pie.” The mental picture of me being a whopping 190+ pounds at the time doing the happy dance over pie is embarrassing. My friend Tami is tall, thin, blonde, and beautiful. She matches my typical friend MO. She is also extremely kindhearted and would never in a million years be cruel. She never intended anything hurtful during the pie incident. It was me hurting myself once again. In my mind it was the tall, thin, beautiful girl laughing down at her stumpy, fat, homely friend because of her over exuberance for baked goods. That day, overweight = humiliating.
On the flipside of that I also have a very profound memory of a conversation I had with my friend Bettina back in the Schwab days. Bettina is also thin, gorgeous, and fashionable. I always admired the way she looked, dressed, spoke, and lived. I remember telling her about how much I hated my body and lack of style. I told her how I longed to be more like her and her fancy Scottsdale friends. When I was done rocking out at my own pity party Bettina looked at me and said, “The things that you don’t like about yourself are all things that can be fixed. Weight can be lost and you can buy surgery or new clothes. Those things are easy to get. But Chelle, what you have cannot be bought. You have an amazing personality and you are smart and hilarious. My fancy friends can never buy that.”
That struck a deep cord with me. I already had something great. I am indeed special. Maybe those fancy people were a tad bit envious of people like me…just as I’d been envious of them. That day planted the seed that I could change what I did not like, overweight = temporary.
It has been a long road and I have tried many times to lose weight for the wrong reasons. I am starting again during a new phase of my life. I am doing it for me this time. It is part of this new journey that I am on. I am sharing it with you because I want to be transparent. I am ready to examine my past, identify the lessons that I missed, and finally lay them to rest.
I am fat.
I am 5’1” tall and weigh…weight for it…ha ha weight…I’m so funny…180.4 pounds. There.
This is what fat me looks like right this very second. I did not crop out my face so you can see how um, happy, I was to take my own phat photo. Phat photo…hee hee I’m on a roll today! Very biggest looseresque of me don’tca think?
Monday I started Weight Watchers again. I used Weight Watchers about 8 years ago to drop 45 pounds. I used the past 8 years to get divorced, remarried, have 2 babies, and eat my way through most of the northern hemisphere. I had a great time, but alas, I am sick and tired of being a little round girl.
Besides the improved aesthetics of losing weight my reasons are 3 fold:
1. Improve my healthfulness (ie energy, mood, stamina, longevity, etc)
2. Improve my self esteem
3. Concentrate on something that I actually CAN control
So far so good, I have had more than enough points to eat whenever I want and not feel hungry. Plus, a lot of things have changed food wise in the past 8 years. Fat free cheese actually melts and fat free mayo does not taste like weird sweetened gelatinous sludge. They even have 1 point ice cream fudge bars. Woo Hoo!
Here is a picture of my yummy Monday morning breakfast. It consists of a 3 egg white omelet (with spinach, onion, and fat free cheddar cheese) and a whole wheat English muffin with a yogurt fruit spread. It was huge, extremely filling, and only 5 points.
I think about many things when I contemplate my weight.
I remember my Father always giving my Mom a hard time about her weight. He would point out her size, how her clothing fit, and what she was eating. I remember my Mom secretly going through the drive-thru or hiding in the kitchen eating “bad” food just to spite him. My idea of overweight = unacceptable came from that.
I remember growing up that I always had girlfriends who I believed to be prettier and thinner than myself. As if somehow, I’d be thin and pretty by association. In reality, I ended up making myself feel like the fat ugly friend. No one ever pointed out to me that I was either of those things…it was just how I felt…overweight = unattractive, unpopular, unwanted, mostly tolerated.
As an adult I recall a pot luck office party when I worked at Charles Schwab. I remember getting so super excited about the deserts, especially the pie. I told my friend Tami something like “OMG, yeah, hooray, WE HAVE PIE!!” Tami chuckled and said something like “Wow that’s a lot of excitement over pie.” The mental picture of me being a whopping 190+ pounds at the time doing the happy dance over pie is embarrassing. My friend Tami is tall, thin, blonde, and beautiful. She matches my typical friend MO. She is also extremely kindhearted and would never in a million years be cruel. She never intended anything hurtful during the pie incident. It was me hurting myself once again. In my mind it was the tall, thin, beautiful girl laughing down at her stumpy, fat, homely friend because of her over exuberance for baked goods. That day, overweight = humiliating.
On the flipside of that I also have a very profound memory of a conversation I had with my friend Bettina back in the Schwab days. Bettina is also thin, gorgeous, and fashionable. I always admired the way she looked, dressed, spoke, and lived. I remember telling her about how much I hated my body and lack of style. I told her how I longed to be more like her and her fancy Scottsdale friends. When I was done rocking out at my own pity party Bettina looked at me and said, “The things that you don’t like about yourself are all things that can be fixed. Weight can be lost and you can buy surgery or new clothes. Those things are easy to get. But Chelle, what you have cannot be bought. You have an amazing personality and you are smart and hilarious. My fancy friends can never buy that.”
That struck a deep cord with me. I already had something great. I am indeed special. Maybe those fancy people were a tad bit envious of people like me…just as I’d been envious of them. That day planted the seed that I could change what I did not like, overweight = temporary.
It has been a long road and I have tried many times to lose weight for the wrong reasons. I am starting again during a new phase of my life. I am doing it for me this time. It is part of this new journey that I am on. I am sharing it with you because I want to be transparent. I am ready to examine my past, identify the lessons that I missed, and finally lay them to rest.
I am ready to move on.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I Was Wondering...
If I spill a bunch of Cheerios on the floor and some of them roll under the dryer...do I still have to clean them up?
Isn't that what they mean when they say "out of sight, out of mind"??
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
What April 15 Means to Me
Everyone has pivotal days in their lives; days you can pinpoint that your life took a sudden and irreversible turn. The first of these days that I can remember was April 15, 1991.
Historically, April 15 is a day that seems to be cursed. It is the day that Abraham Lincoln died and the Titanic sunk. It is also tax day in the US.
Monday, April 15, 1991 was the day that I lost Lori.
I was 15 years old, she was 23.
This photo was taken almost 2 months to the day before she died.
The view from where she rests.
Historically, April 15 is a day that seems to be cursed. It is the day that Abraham Lincoln died and the Titanic sunk. It is also tax day in the US.
Monday, April 15, 1991 was the day that I lost Lori.
I was 15 years old, she was 23.
This photo was taken almost 2 months to the day before she died.Up until that point I had been a normal teenager full of typical teenage angst and drama. On April 14, I made my Confirmation in the Catholic Church. Lori stood by my side as my sponsor. We had a big family party and had lasagna for dinner. I remember that Lori and I had made plans to go shopping on Wednesday because I had a half day at school.
The very next day, Monday, April 15, 1991 at 5:00 p.m., a man, Paul Blades, walked into the tanning salon where Lori was working and brandished a gun. Of the six shots fired, three hit and ultimately killed my cousin. You can read the events of that day in all its judicial clarity here.
This event shook my family to the core. She was 23 years old, innocent, and full of life. In one tragic instant, evil walked into our lives and took a piece of our future.
As an adult I have pinpointed this day as the day that I became broken. Lori was like my older sister. I loved her more than anyone in the world. I admired her for being so genuine, kindhearted, and sweet. She often marveled at my brazen outspokenness and propensity for mischief. She was the good one and I was…not so much. Since the day I was born she was always with me, teaching me the ins and outs of life. Without her I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally. I’d lost my role model, my compass. If the world was just, I should have been the one who died that day.
I don’t think I have ever said those words out loud. I believed it then and part of me still believes it 18 years later. Sitting here now, writing about Lori and what happened that day the pain is a raw as ever. She deserved to live so much more than I did. She never would have made the selfish mistakes that I have. In my life I have willfully lied, cheated, stole, hurt people, and hurt myself. She would have brought so much happiness and light into the world where I have only left patches of darkness. I still don’t know how to reconcile this. I still mourn the fact that I have been forced to live this life without her.
The very next day, Monday, April 15, 1991 at 5:00 p.m., a man, Paul Blades, walked into the tanning salon where Lori was working and brandished a gun. Of the six shots fired, three hit and ultimately killed my cousin. You can read the events of that day in all its judicial clarity here.
This event shook my family to the core. She was 23 years old, innocent, and full of life. In one tragic instant, evil walked into our lives and took a piece of our future.
As an adult I have pinpointed this day as the day that I became broken. Lori was like my older sister. I loved her more than anyone in the world. I admired her for being so genuine, kindhearted, and sweet. She often marveled at my brazen outspokenness and propensity for mischief. She was the good one and I was…not so much. Since the day I was born she was always with me, teaching me the ins and outs of life. Without her I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally. I’d lost my role model, my compass. If the world was just, I should have been the one who died that day.
I don’t think I have ever said those words out loud. I believed it then and part of me still believes it 18 years later. Sitting here now, writing about Lori and what happened that day the pain is a raw as ever. She deserved to live so much more than I did. She never would have made the selfish mistakes that I have. In my life I have willfully lied, cheated, stole, hurt people, and hurt myself. She would have brought so much happiness and light into the world where I have only left patches of darkness. I still don’t know how to reconcile this. I still mourn the fact that I have been forced to live this life without her.
Whenever I am in Burbank I visit her grave. Every time I visit I end up lying next to her headstone sobbing. She is resting on a hill near a tree at the Forest Lawn Cemetery in the Hollywood Hills. It is so beautiful and peaceful there. Many times I’ve gone there and wished that I never had to leave. If there was a way I could have dug a hole right next to her and crawled in I would have.
The view from where she rests.In 1993 when I graduated from high school I went there. Before I left California in 1996 I went there. At the beginning of our honeymoon Eric and I went there. I went there many times while I lived in Arizona and was self destructing. I went there when I decided to leave Arizona and divorce Eric. I went there when I met Robert and we got married. I went there when I found out I was pregnant with Vincent. I went there over and over, time and time again to pour out my soul to a patch of grass that is now all I have left. I’d never planned to live this life without her. Her absence has been the hollow ache I’ve felt in my heart during every joy and sadness I have experienced since that day.
I have not lived my life in testament to what she taught me. Instead I started walking down a path of self loathing that I have allowed to contaminate almost every experience of my life. It is only when I reach deep within myself and am totally honest that I feel hopeful. Writing all of this has been painful and it has taken me a long time to get it out.
As a wife, mother, and woman I want to honor her memory. I want to cast all my daemons aside and truly realize who I am. I want to be a person that she would be proud of. Most importantly however, I want to be a positive role model for my daughter, her namesake, Vivianne Lorraine.
In her I've found hope.
I have not lived my life in testament to what she taught me. Instead I started walking down a path of self loathing that I have allowed to contaminate almost every experience of my life. It is only when I reach deep within myself and am totally honest that I feel hopeful. Writing all of this has been painful and it has taken me a long time to get it out.
As a wife, mother, and woman I want to honor her memory. I want to cast all my daemons aside and truly realize who I am. I want to be a person that she would be proud of. Most importantly however, I want to be a positive role model for my daughter, her namesake, Vivianne Lorraine.
In her I've found hope.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Learning New Things
Vivi found her tongue this morning.
When I went in to get her from the crib she was sticking it in and out just like a little snake.
Vincent was showing Vivi the ins and outs of the jumperoo this week. We had to cram her into it with a blanket to help her stand upright. She really loved how Vin explained all the colors and the toys.
She is in love with her brother and watches him play all day long. She will even stop crying if he comes over to look at her. He keeps watch over her but rarely ever touches her. He will poke her with is finger when he thinks no one is looking though. He is a great mimic so whenever she is crying he copies me by saying "Oh, oh, Vivi what's the matter? Why are you crying? Are you sad? Don't be sad baby." It is so adorable.
Vincent is learning how to remove his pants and diaper. (Woo hoo potty training time is on the way!) Earlier this week he stripped off all his bottoms and went bare butt horseback riding. I have some awesome video of him shaking his bare little groove thing all over the living room too...but alas I cannot share that with the world. It was hilarious to say the least. Can't wait to show that to his prospective girlfriends in the future.
Happy Morning Kids
Vivi is so cute and happy in the morning that I just had to take a video to share.
Thankfully both of our children are morning people like myself and not grouchy grumpy in the morning like Daddy.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I Was Wondering...
If the baby is crying in the nursery,
and the monitor accidentally
got turned off so you can’t hear her…
is that still neglect?
To Sleep, Perchance to Sleep
I spent two hours yesterday fighting with my son trying to get him to lie down and take a nap. He fought me tooth and nail because he just wanted to play. I fought him because if he does not sleep he is a whiney pain in my ass. He finally did go to sleep for about an hour but I guess he missed the official nap window because he was still a whiney pain in the ass for the rest of the evening. Then, even though he was tired he still fought going to sleep for the evening for at least a good hour. Why do they fight it? I mean when does sleep change from being some dreaded horrible punishment to a blissful yearning? Dare I even say vacation?
I would give anything to sleep. As I am writing now it is 1:45 a.m. and I have just finished feeding my mini female boss. That is a whole other sleep story to tell. I swear she just taunts me. Here’s how that goes down: she squeaks, I wake, go pee, silently curse my sleeping husband, shuffle across the hall, change her diaper, quickly shuffle down the hall so thing #2 does not cry and wake thing #1, warm a bottle, get situated with the Boppy pillow, start feeding her, she drinks a mere 2 ounces, and then slips into a mini coma with her eyes rolled back and tiny mouth agape. I sit there with a nearly full bottle staring incredulously at her wondering how long it would take for the MPs (military police) to find me if I just got in my van right now and started driving. I shuffle back down the hall with the sleeping babe in my arms all the while knowing that this island is so small that they would hunt me down and drag me back within 2 hours, because that is how far I can drive in either direction before I hit ocean. I wearily crawl back into bed next to my still sleeping, never stirring husband, close my eyes, and silently curse him some more. This usually happens twice a night if I’m lucky.
The second wakening occurs sometime right before 6:30 a.m. when my dear husband’s alarm clock goes off. That’s a joy. It starts beeping at 6:30 and he hits the snooze button for an hour before he actually stops sleeping and gets out of bed. In the meantime my son will wake up for the day and crawl into my bed and lay on my head with his stinky butt in my face. So my day starts off with a buzzing in my ears and suffocation. I used to be a morning person, now I’m barely a person.
The two things I want more than anything, call these selfish Mommy dreams if you must, sleep and sex. I want sleep to recharge, relax, and have some peace. I want sex to connect with my husband and to feel better about myself. Maybe I don’t want either and what I am really yearning for is a more intense relationship with my bed. My bed is so snuggly and warm. It does not want me to change its diaper or make it food. It just sits there waiting to hold me….hmmm…but I digress.
My sweet husband gives me Sunday mornings off so that I can sleep and he can have one on one time with the kids. Even when I am allowed to sleep I can’t even do that like a normal person. I need to have the hallway door closed, the bedroom door closed, baby monitor turned off, and earplugs in before I can fall asleep. Otherwise I lay there wondering why they are screaming, if they've had their diapers changed, if they've eaten, and what is that banging? I swear once you give birth you get instant PTSD with the full on lack of sleep, hyper vigilance, mood swings, and nervous twitch. My husband has been deployed to Iraq three times yet he can fall asleep instantly, anytime, anywhere...how is that fair? Earlier this week he did just that in the middle of a work day afternoon.
For some reason he came home for a 2 hour lunch break. I made him his lunch, he ate it, set the plate on the sofa, and then slipped into a mini coma with his eyes rolled back and mouth agape. What the hell? The man slept for a HOUR smack dab in the middle of the chaos that is our living room. Then on cue, without the benefit of an alarm clock buzzing buzzing buzzing, he popped right up, kissed me goodbye and went back to work. I am still baffled.
I want to sleep more than anything and that is the reason why most days I wear my nightgown all day long. I am exactly like an eager rookie begging to get into the big game…put me in coach, I’m ready…see my uniform…don’t mind the puke and peanut butter stains…I can do it coach, let me prove I can crawl in there and sleep like a champ…I know I can do it!! I do not wear my nightgown all day because I am too fat and can’t fit into my clothes anymore. It is not because I haven’t been able to figure out how to take a shower without help yet. It is a professional choice that I have made in order to be ready for when I get called up to the big show, that’s all. Perhaps though, my ensemble of late is what is keeping me from my second fond desire, sex. Taking an objective look at myself I can see why my husband would not be all enthused to get with this.
Ok, life plan #1: Tomorrow I will wake up, take a shower, put on actual clothes, slip into a mini coma (no wait I mean), and take my children outside where the sun shines and the wind blows. Fresh air & sunlight, that’s good for kids right?
I would give anything to sleep. As I am writing now it is 1:45 a.m. and I have just finished feeding my mini female boss. That is a whole other sleep story to tell. I swear she just taunts me. Here’s how that goes down: she squeaks, I wake, go pee, silently curse my sleeping husband, shuffle across the hall, change her diaper, quickly shuffle down the hall so thing #2 does not cry and wake thing #1, warm a bottle, get situated with the Boppy pillow, start feeding her, she drinks a mere 2 ounces, and then slips into a mini coma with her eyes rolled back and tiny mouth agape. I sit there with a nearly full bottle staring incredulously at her wondering how long it would take for the MPs (military police) to find me if I just got in my van right now and started driving. I shuffle back down the hall with the sleeping babe in my arms all the while knowing that this island is so small that they would hunt me down and drag me back within 2 hours, because that is how far I can drive in either direction before I hit ocean. I wearily crawl back into bed next to my still sleeping, never stirring husband, close my eyes, and silently curse him some more. This usually happens twice a night if I’m lucky.
The second wakening occurs sometime right before 6:30 a.m. when my dear husband’s alarm clock goes off. That’s a joy. It starts beeping at 6:30 and he hits the snooze button for an hour before he actually stops sleeping and gets out of bed. In the meantime my son will wake up for the day and crawl into my bed and lay on my head with his stinky butt in my face. So my day starts off with a buzzing in my ears and suffocation. I used to be a morning person, now I’m barely a person.
The two things I want more than anything, call these selfish Mommy dreams if you must, sleep and sex. I want sleep to recharge, relax, and have some peace. I want sex to connect with my husband and to feel better about myself. Maybe I don’t want either and what I am really yearning for is a more intense relationship with my bed. My bed is so snuggly and warm. It does not want me to change its diaper or make it food. It just sits there waiting to hold me….hmmm…but I digress.
My sweet husband gives me Sunday mornings off so that I can sleep and he can have one on one time with the kids. Even when I am allowed to sleep I can’t even do that like a normal person. I need to have the hallway door closed, the bedroom door closed, baby monitor turned off, and earplugs in before I can fall asleep. Otherwise I lay there wondering why they are screaming, if they've had their diapers changed, if they've eaten, and what is that banging? I swear once you give birth you get instant PTSD with the full on lack of sleep, hyper vigilance, mood swings, and nervous twitch. My husband has been deployed to Iraq three times yet he can fall asleep instantly, anytime, anywhere...how is that fair? Earlier this week he did just that in the middle of a work day afternoon.
For some reason he came home for a 2 hour lunch break. I made him his lunch, he ate it, set the plate on the sofa, and then slipped into a mini coma with his eyes rolled back and mouth agape. What the hell? The man slept for a HOUR smack dab in the middle of the chaos that is our living room. Then on cue, without the benefit of an alarm clock buzzing buzzing buzzing, he popped right up, kissed me goodbye and went back to work. I am still baffled.
I want to sleep more than anything and that is the reason why most days I wear my nightgown all day long. I am exactly like an eager rookie begging to get into the big game…put me in coach, I’m ready…see my uniform…don’t mind the puke and peanut butter stains…I can do it coach, let me prove I can crawl in there and sleep like a champ…I know I can do it!! I do not wear my nightgown all day because I am too fat and can’t fit into my clothes anymore. It is not because I haven’t been able to figure out how to take a shower without help yet. It is a professional choice that I have made in order to be ready for when I get called up to the big show, that’s all. Perhaps though, my ensemble of late is what is keeping me from my second fond desire, sex. Taking an objective look at myself I can see why my husband would not be all enthused to get with this.
Ok, life plan #1: Tomorrow I will wake up, take a shower, put on actual clothes, slip into a mini coma (no wait I mean), and take my children outside where the sun shines and the wind blows. Fresh air & sunlight, that’s good for kids right?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
What is the meaning of all this..
OK, here’s the thing…I have stuff to say and I want someone to listen. I enjoy writing, always have, and I have had many people over the years tell me that I should write. I’ve been told I write well, that I am funny, and that I have interesting stories to tell. I keep thinking that if I write this blog it will become like the audition phase of American Idol. I will be like one of those people who have had family and friends tell them that they are a good singer but in all actuality have a voice that can make dogs howl. I’m positive that if I write I will get blog comments from the likes of Simon Cowell telling me that the drivel I am writing is just pure rubbish.
I have a voice and I want to write. I’m not sure that anything I have to say will be inherently interesting or profound but I have had an overwhelming desire lately to just get it out there. I’m not sure if it will speak to anyone but I know that it will be a growing process for me.
I’ve been writing for a long time but have always censored myself because I was afraid of what someone would think if they read it. I have not been true to myself. As I am getting older I am learning that it is okay to be whoever I want to be. In the past 10 years as a “grown-up” I have had the amazing pleasure of meeting some fantastic women who I believe are my true friends. No matter the time, situation, topic, whatever, they have always been there with their words of wisdom or voice of confrontation. I love these women and I think that putting my stuff out there is a huge step for me because of them. They have taught me that even if I put my foot in my mouth or step out of some conventional line, they love me anyway. It will be a process for me to write and be completely honest but it is something I have always wanted to do.
I am officially starting this blog so that I can put my thoughts “on paper” and hopefully find someone out there who can identify with or even challenge me.
I am not going to officially announce to my family that I am writing this. I think that their opinions are part of the reason I censor. I will however send an e-mail to the strong female friends that I have made over the years and invite them to join me as a wonder.
This is going to be a trip for me. It will be very random. Sometimes I want to share something as simple as a recipe I’ve tried or something silly I’ve seen. Sometimes I get a “bee in my bonnet” and have a lot to say. Then sometimes I just wonder.
When we were kids we would say to our Mom, “I was wondering”, to which she would reply, “Don’t wonder too far or you might get lost.”
The ultimate point of writing for me has now become wondering so I don’t get lost.
I have a voice and I want to write. I’m not sure that anything I have to say will be inherently interesting or profound but I have had an overwhelming desire lately to just get it out there. I’m not sure if it will speak to anyone but I know that it will be a growing process for me.
I’ve been writing for a long time but have always censored myself because I was afraid of what someone would think if they read it. I have not been true to myself. As I am getting older I am learning that it is okay to be whoever I want to be. In the past 10 years as a “grown-up” I have had the amazing pleasure of meeting some fantastic women who I believe are my true friends. No matter the time, situation, topic, whatever, they have always been there with their words of wisdom or voice of confrontation. I love these women and I think that putting my stuff out there is a huge step for me because of them. They have taught me that even if I put my foot in my mouth or step out of some conventional line, they love me anyway. It will be a process for me to write and be completely honest but it is something I have always wanted to do.
I am officially starting this blog so that I can put my thoughts “on paper” and hopefully find someone out there who can identify with or even challenge me.
I am not going to officially announce to my family that I am writing this. I think that their opinions are part of the reason I censor. I will however send an e-mail to the strong female friends that I have made over the years and invite them to join me as a wonder.
This is going to be a trip for me. It will be very random. Sometimes I want to share something as simple as a recipe I’ve tried or something silly I’ve seen. Sometimes I get a “bee in my bonnet” and have a lot to say. Then sometimes I just wonder.
When we were kids we would say to our Mom, “I was wondering”, to which she would reply, “Don’t wonder too far or you might get lost.”
The ultimate point of writing for me has now become wondering so I don’t get lost.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
In Honor of SSgt Daddy
Typically this blog consists of exciting topics like “Vincent can spell thesaurus but can’t take off his socks” and “Oops Vivi puked again”; but not today folks.
Today’s blog is dedicated to the accomplishments of Daddy.
Yesterday I had the privilege of watching my husband get promoted to the rank of Staff Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. We were hoping to have the ceremony on the beach but the weather would not cooperate. This is the first time I have ever seen a promotion ceremony. Though it was simple and brief; I was pleased to see the number of Marines who voluntarily took time out of their day to attend and show respect for my husband’s accomplishment.
I’ve been doing research online to try to explain rank structure and the promotion thing to everyone and it is all pretty complicated. If you are really curious about what it all means click here.
The most interesting fact I found was this: of the approximate 154,348 enlisted active duty Marines only 9.6% hold the rank of SSgt (E-6). That makes me feel pretty proud.
The Ceremony
Reading the Order
Pinning the Chevrons
Presentation of Certificate of Promotion
Re-affirming Oath of Enlistment
I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. That I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.
Obligatory photo with the Colonel and the wife so she feels included!
Let’s hear a big OORAH! for
Staff Sergeant Robert L. Schrock Jr.
Semper Fi Marine
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