This is all about a fictional world called Grey's Anatomy

Spoiler Warning

I just watched the finale.

I've been crying for ten minutes.

I never cry about TV. Ever.

For those of you that don't watch, you are missing out on the best fictional show on television. Any show that can make fictional people so real and use life themes, streeeetched a bit, but still poignant...all I could think of is finding that one love that makes your head spin and losing that person. Random rambling thoughts will now follow:

I'm pissed at who they killed off, I don't even want to write it. He is the patient-who-shall-not-be-named. Katherine Heigel (spelling?) is the most amazing actress, I hope her career expands to the big screen, she's amazing. Who would of thought that "My father the Hero" star would get here? Amazing.

I am sick and tired of Derek and Meredith. What they've now done is unforgiveable. If the writers were trying to make us love Addison, they have succeeded. She has now become the victim in this love triangle. I admire her balls to come back to the husband she cheated on and face the music and take all the humiliation in getting him back. If Derek didn't want to be with his wife then his chance was waaaaaaay back when she put those divorce papers in his hand. Meredith is going to break the Vet's heart and his heart has been broken and smashed to smitherings already. How can they do this to him!!!! They are like sick, twisted Voodoo doll controllers when it comes to the Vet and Denny.

George and Callie's love thing scene was completely akward. She could probably take him in a fight and that's just not sexy. Sorry. Although she is really pretty. I love her face and hair and all but the full body shots with them. Yeah. Might wanna rethink those, producers/directors. But as far as their relationship, I'm not feelin' the whole "You rock my world George" and George saying, "You have to love Meredith even though I hate her, if you want to be in the family." Screw Meredith, I'm still pissed at her for what she did to George. Crying during sex and asking him if he's done is just about the most humiliating thing you can do to a person. Ask my husband.

Kidding!

Let's see who else do I need to offer my unsolicited opinion on?

Oh, I la la love "The Nazi." She does angry/strong/funny woman very well. And Burke is right up there with Denzel on the eye candy scale. People really underestimate Karev, I see him getting back together with Izzie now that, well, I can't talk about it I'll start crying again.
And now I'm adding the Grey's Anatomy writer's blog to my sidebar. *bowing before the writers*

Me, manic Monday morning and mentally mending

What I've accomplished by Monday 11am:

• Get child off to school on time
• Check mailbox
• Read overdue bills from dentist and get angry that they don't know how to bill an insurance company, call and leave message
• Read letter from Bassett Furniture after five phone calls and one letter to get my $800 chair repaired. (Note the typo. They were so quick to fire off this letter after they decided they didn't want to foot the bill to move the chair since it can't be repaired in my home, they didn't even bother to spell check the document):

Our technician was out to your home on Arpril [sic] 13, 2006. His inspection of
your chair found it to be heavily used with spills, etc. The seams of the chair
are pulled out of place causing the fabric to separate. Based on the above
information, we will not be making any repairs to your item.

This is the chair whose seams they won't repair -

Filthy huh?

• Call JAG
• Speed to JAG office
• File paperwork for Attorney General's office.

What I've NOT done:

• shower
• use bathroom
• eat
• exercise
• breathe

I think I need to get my priorities straight! And I sure do hope that this is not foreshadowing my week. I have an MRI on Thursday so I hope this is not a week for bad things to happen. I need it to be a goooooood weeeeeeek, with ggggoooooooooood neeewwwws! (Don't worry I'm not seizing or anything, it's probably just stress but the neurologist wants to rule out my fear - MS. it was kind of funny actually, she goes, "Ok, what are you worried about?" I said, "MS." And she was like, "ok, let's do the tests so you can stop worrying about that." I made the mistake of Google-ing my symptoms and multiple sclerosis was what popped up. It was just amazing to me that she not only listened to me, but did exactly what I wanted to do. I was crying when I left her office and she gave me a hug. How many doctors double as counselors? )

In other news, I spent Mother's Day curled up like a baby on the couch, downing Sudafed and blowing my nose. It must have been the flu because there wasn't a spot on my body that didn't ache. My children ran amok, and the house was destroyed, but I managed to get us all fed even better than normally because I was like, "Ok, I'm sick but I can't let my kids starve" so each meal hour on the dot I would peel myself off the couch and make something edible. By the evening I was feeling much better and my mom and sister called to say Happy Mother's Day, which made me cry because I miss them and my mom was crying cause she wished she could be here to help me and we had to turn off the waterworks or we would both be depressed :)

Feeling better I cleaned my entire house. I even did all the laundry! I had an urge to get it done before Monday, which, haha, turned out to be a good thing. I also had an obsessive compulsive urge to do all the laundry so I could finally solve the mystery of the ten unmatched socks on my kids' dresser. I know. I need help. :)

I forgot Survivor was on last night, but thank goodness I Tivo'd it a long time ago so don't tell me who won, I need to watch it. I was FREAKING OUT watching Grey's Anatomy. Anyone watch that show? Izzy? Denny? the heart transplant? the shooting? Oh dear lord can I grow up and write for that show!??!! No one better call me tonight unless it's the rapture 'cause I'll be chained to Grey's to watch the second half of the finale.

So I'm really happy that the illness was short lived and I'm just hoping I didn't pass it to the boys. Crossing fingers for a good week!

Military Spouse Appreciation Day

She said "Some days I feel like sh**,
Some days I wanna quit, and just be normal for a bit,"
I don't understand why you have to always be gone,
I get along but the trips always feel so long,
And, I find myself tryna stay by the phone,
'Cause your voice always helps me when I feel so alone,
But I feel like an idiot, workin' my day around the call,
But when I pick up I don't have much to say,
So, I want you to know it's a little f****d up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', at times debatin',
Tellin' you that I've had it with you and your career,
Me and the rest of the family here singing "Where'd you go?"

I got this new song thanks to Julie Anna. (You can hear it on her blog) Perfect timing too, 'cause it says exactly what I feel right now.

I'm angry because I'm tired. I have been surprised at the energy it takes to get through the day. The toughest part lately has been bed times. I spend at least an hour putting Asher back in bed. (I hear thumping and jumping as I write this) He shares a room with Gabe and now that he sleeps on a real bed it's easy for him to creep down the stairs and sit there until he is discovered. Tonight he was discovered when I sneezed and a little voice from the stairwell said, "bess you mommy!" It'd be cute if it wasn't that night time is MY time if you know what I mean.

Yet, every night I take the time to recognize that we are one day closer to this ending.

Friday is Military Spouse Appreciation Day. As a Reservist the biggest sacrifices were time he spent away on drills, inhaling the musty BDU smell hovering in the center of the living room where his gear was dropped, and sex. But every woman has to give in once in a while, right ;) Now that we're active and deployed...this day means something new entirely. Mil spouses are appreciated not only for the sacrifices made, but the power we hold as motivators or distractors. I've been both during this deployment.

If JJ Abrams or M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong had my kind of thinking time they'd be cranking out ten plot twisting, hair-raising screenplays a year. Naturally that kind of time drags the waters of the mind for emotional baggage. And then you have to sift through the wreckage to determine what issues are legitimate and what can be drowned by a gallon of ice cream. I haven't eaten much ice cream lately.

So, here I am feeling like a bad person for not being able to sustain happy joy joy conversations anymore and letting my frustrations fly over the sat phones. I'm sorry for that.

A reporter interviewed us about what military families are like today. Did I already mention this? Well, after the interview I was compelled to email the reporter later. I said, the truth is that most of the wives I know have struggled with depression and we don't like to talk about it.
Several take antidepressants. I've opted for counseling and excercise, but I have the list of licensed prescription writers on hand in case I can't shake it. Now, I think that is a very personal decision, but I feel such a stigma when I even consider it. (I feel like I'm outing us as I write this actually.) We want to be the strong Army wife that becomes Superwoman when the man (or woman) goes off to war because we know that whatever we're going through, they are feeling ten times the stress and half the resources to get through it. So we feel guilty reaching for that help and admitting that we can't get it together.

So, to not end on a bad note, thank you to all the military spouses on the right side of my blog for making me laugh or cry, helping me to know that I'm not alone, and how proud I am to be part of our special sorority. Some I know have made the ultimate sacrifice and nothing anyone can do can make it better, but I appreciate you also, you know who you are. You've displayed to me a new meaning of grace and strength that I am constantly humbled by.

Send Terry a message

This post will stay at the top for a while, check below for new stuff, if you're interested...

At the risk of showing that my husband is human and not an invincible warrior I'm asking that you all send him a positive message in the comments area. He's getting close to the end, but war has taken it's toll so tell him IT'S ALMOST OVER AND YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT!!!

Terry, look beyond this, you'll come home and it will all be a bad dream. We love you and can't wait to see you.


Monique, Gabe, Ash.

My day

Mondays are always my chance to start fresh. If my Monday is good, usually the week is manageable.

Last Monday I planned to begin my training for a race I signed up for. I only had two miles to run. The night before I laid out my sports bra, shorts, tshirt. I woke up on time and had Asher strapped in the baby jogger. Just as we stepped off our porch I heard running water. I turned my head to see my neighbor's window open and water pouring into the basement. I figured a pipe had burst since they had just moved out the place was completely empty. I ran Gabe to the bus stop and ran back to try and stop the water. The front door was locked so I ran around the back and found the basement unlocked. I charged in and what I saw took my breath away. The carpet was soaked, water streaked the walls, and I could hear it coming in from upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time and when I reached the kitchen I saw the faucet spun around to face the carpet and water pouring out. I turned it off and realized someone had done this on purpose. I ran back to my house surveying the damage all the way and called my old neighbor to let her know what I found.
"You might want to call your realtor and let them know"
"Call the police," she said, and gave me the non emergency number.
The police came, the contractor who was fixing up the house came, the realtor came, the neighbor came, my NEW neighbor came out of her house. It was crazy. Turns out there was water turned on all over the house, running all night long. I saw one kid sneak in the backyard the night before, a little brat who runs around the neighborhood throwing his used wrappers and Slurpee cups on the ground.

Turns out he and three other little hoodlums vandalized the house the night before. I spent all day talking to the police, doing my own detective work ;) and basically stood in awe at the damage that was done. My entire week was a mess because of that one day!

Today, after a short two hour delay I finally got on my treadmill and pounded out two miles. Then, I actually ate lunch (a rare event in my schedule) and met Gabe at the bus on time AND got Asher down to nap in time. Then, I completed one lesson and one assignment from my Dreamweaver class, something I was dreadfully behind in. And to round out the day, I actually made a delish fennel, thyme and red onion salmon dish, which Gabe found disgusting and Asher wolfed down. Kids in bed by 7:30. Doesn't get any better than that for me these days. Here's hoping it's a sign of a good week.

Deployment anniversary

Exactly one year ago Terry reported for his deployment. And I started this blog. I wish I could think of something beautiful to write, but 365 days of single parenting, worrying and counting days has kind of taken it out of me :)

I will say that it's strange to find that I made my life "normal" through it all.Today is a good example. It didn't even dawn on me that today was the one year mark until we were on the way home from the baseball game.

Today was Little League day at the Major Leagues. Gabe had a blast! We got to walk the perimeter of the field and have our LL division announced before the game and then he ran the bases (with about 10,000 other rugrats) after the game. We had only two other team mates show up but it was so much fun anyway. I got to speak with another human being who was not under the age of ten, which is always good, and thanks to my neighbor I didn't have to chase Asher all over the stadium, which was even better! I was bummed to miss SIX of Terry's calls though. With all the noise in the stadium I didn't even hear the cell jingle. :( I hope he reads this and knows that I'm not dead or anything!


On the big league grass


What's baseball without cotton candy?



running the bases

Random thought: Did you know that baseball games draw an incredibly diverse crowd? I saw a woman in very chic jeans, a cute, white top perfectly draped in a black pashmina, all perched on a pair of trendy wedges. And then I saw a man with a beer belly in cut off jeans and a wife beater. Now if that isn't a PR ad for affirmative action (and Extreme Makeover) I don't know what is.


Super Asher


And tonight feels particularly strange because my "wife" is going to see her husband on leave in Germany and she is not here for our Sunday night DH, Grey's line up :(

Got a busy week coming up...so it may be a while before I write again. But it's awesome to know that we're almost done with this incredible journey.

I am a good mother

When you become a parent, it's impossible not to compare yourself to your parents. I was still young and immature enough to have a firm grip on all those angry feelings towards my parents when I had Gabe. I promised to break the cycle of daily oatmeal. I swore I would never give him a bedtime and wake him at 8 am on weekends to do chores. I would look him in the eye and say, "THAT is a p*n*s" and act all normal about it instead of blushing, shushing and giving it a ridiculous name like, tweeterbird.

Of course I now know I had weekend bedtimes because my parents wanted me out of their hair, delegating chores does help teach responsibility but mostly it's cheap labor, and I like oatmeal now but I don't force it my boys (I draw the line at sugar cereal though and I'm sure Gabe and Asher's children will be eating Trix and Cocoa Puffs daily in rebellion to my draconian ways.) I plan to break out the medical dictionary and go straight to all the ugly details of sexuality, so they will avoid it until I'm dead and I don't have the mental image of my babies being poisoned by some hussy.

So as you can see I'm a much better mother than mine. And I made a particular reform yesterday by bravely attending another elementary school event. Sounds innocent enough, but my mother NEVER took me to school events and at the time of course I hated her for that. I missed out on all the dances and parties and open houses and had to hear about it from my friends the next day. One memory stands out. I was supposed to bring a dress for another girl who didn't own any for our seasonal performance but the night of the event my mom wouldn't take me. I would have rather died then face this girl the next day. She embarrassed me by yelling at me in front of our friends because SHE was embarrassed to be the only girl in pants for the all-dress performance.

So yesterday, with the "don't be your mother" badge burned into my soul, I took Gabe to his school's book/math/science fair. After spending almost $50 on books and software we headed over to the math fair. It was eerily quiet (except for Ash squealing my arms like a baby pig of course.) I peeked my head in and thought, "Hey this isn't so bad!" We approached the first activity booth and we learned that this was no ordinary math fair. Gabe could earn money at each booth and was suddenly determined to complete every-single-one. We played math beach ball, decimal bingo, measured posters and guessed the distance between DC and Houston. And I actually had fun! I was so proud of Gabe. He was eager to do even the activities that were over his head. He wanted to LEARN (for pay, but whatever, the information made it into his head. Beggers can't be choosers!) After an hour and thirty minutes of every conceivable activity to teach the love of numbers we cashed in at the Chuck E Cheese like store with his plastic coins.

We headed home with his erasers, bookmarks, and pencil sharpeners, promptly lost them in the car during the five minute drive home, never to be seen again, and I realized the evening was a success. We all had fun, except Asher after he was strapped to a stroller, we learned about math and some new games that we could play at home. ( I highly recommend math beach ball. Get a cheap plastic ball and write math equations all over it. Toss the ball back and forth with a partner and you have to answer the equation that your thumb is on when you catch it. It's edge of your seat action!)

Bleary-eyed we read "The Giving Tree," one of my favorite books that, thanks to the book fair, was finally now part of our collection. It was past nine but Gabe wanted to read his new Sponge Bob chapter book and I couldn't say no. He fell asleep reading to Asher.

Oh, you know why my mom didn't take me to all those events? She was a young, single, working mother of two little girls and she was tired. Feels familiar. While I don't blame her I won't be her either.

Class in America

Oprah's show today was about class in America. No, she wasn't talking about the avalanche decline in public behavior with Paris Hilton as the resident expert. It was an eye opening, frank discussion about the rich, the poor and the rest of us, who apparently are quickly being absorbed into one of the two extremes.

I caught only half of it, but the most interesting guest was the granddaughter of Warren Buffett. You know, the second richest man in the world? Worth $40-something billion? After college, his heirs are cut off. They get no money. She works for a family less wealthy than hers "organizing things" for them (whatever that means) and painting. She seemed very well spoken, smart and maybe a little embarrassed at her situation. Juxtapose that with Jamie Johnson, of the Johnson and Johnson family, who is rebelling by making documentaries such as The One Percent and Born Rich, exposing his tight-lipped world of the wealthiest one percent in society (using his father's money of course). Daddy Johnson is none to happy with him about that, but apparently not upset enough to go all Buffett on his, uh, butt.

A few things about the show disturbed me. One was this hint that the very wealthy are to blame for the very poor being poor. The expert made a good point, that the old money continues to pass down to the heirs and continue to make money, so it doesn't exactly trickle down to the middle or lower class. But if you are hinting that our country should MAKE people give their money to the poor...well that's just unthinkable. I'm going to work my butt off and no one should be allowed to tell me what to do with it. I believe in philanthropy, but I'm not going to legally punish those who don't. Make sense?

The other was a black man who when asked if he thought there was a chance for his son to be rich in America, he looked at his son and said, "He got no chance to be a rapper. He got no chance to be rich." So sad and so GOOD that Oprah pointed out that his view of wealth was limited to 50 Cent. Why couldn't his son be an entrepreneur, a biologist, an architect, a cop, a soldier, a businessman, an artist, a lawyer, a doctor, a teacher, etc? I disagree with any notion that you can't get to where you want in America. Sure, we all have challenges, but we also have choices. I had the same opportunity as my sister and brother (the two right below me in our family of six kids, ages 24 and 18, respectfully) yet they made choices that lead them to be sans high school diploma and I made the choice to go to grad school.

That leads me to my last point. I was actually scared by the expert's statement that the biggest determination for what class you'll end up in - are your parents. It seems obvious. They determine where you go to school as a child and that leads you to a certain quality of education and the odds that you'll go to college (or the value you see in college). But it's so scary that millions of kids will fall into the cycle of their parents lives. Not so bad if you're born rich, but daunting if you're born poor. And that's not just about money. It's about quality of life.

For reasons I don't know, I wanted more than six kids and a trailer. I wanted more than making ends meet and my siblings so far, haven't. I don't get it. That's why I think poverty is really a state of mind. I don't think of myself as poor. I want more out of life for myself and my kids.

Alias - the final season of Jen kicking ass...and giving birth?

I'm watching Alias, the two hour special, and I realize that, while I love Jen, she has only one cry. Seriously, watch the show (she cries and runs a lot on that show). Her eyebrows go up and in, her lips protrude and her nose goes narrow. It's weird, I mean, I've been watching this show since it first started (but missed the last season because Terry deployed and I couldn't focus on anything, not even television) and when she really gets the chance to stretch those "I'm in pain and sadness" acting muscles during a birthing scene, she grunts out a baby with a whimper about missing Vaughn.

Puh-thetic people. You're in a building on a super secret mission, nine months pregnant and you suddenly go into labor (duh.) There's J.J. Abrams' version, above, and here's mine.

"What the heeeeeeeelll!!!!! Whyyyyy, whyy am I here? Why did I let you DAD talk me into a mission the day that I'm due? Why MOM do I keep believing that you are NOT a spy and -

OOOWWWWWWW This hurts worse than the time that Asian dude pulled my teeth out without any anesthesia. Son of a B**** take the thing OUT so I can kick Vaugnh's ass for knocking me up and then dissapearing on me!!!"

That's more how I would have done that scene but, whatever, I suppose that's why she makes the big bucks and I'm pounding away on a blog.

Blogging obsolete?

So I read that bloggers paid to write snarky comments will be obsolete in ten years. I say if they keep producing content like this they'll be in a Newseum :)

An excerpt:

From Brad Pitt to Ben Affleck to Luke Wilson, it was a delight to watch
Gwyn date. Brad called her his “angel.” They wore matching hairstyles. And you
just know that Ben called home and said, “Ma, I’m seeing a real lady.”

When each relationship inevitably crumbled, I waited for Gwyneth to be “just like
me.” To show up at Brad’s house, tear-stained and wearing footie pajamas. Or
perhaps drunk-dial Oprah, or rebound with someone wildly inappropriate — like
Flavor Flav.

The blogger from whom this article was written resides here http://make-you-hmmm.blogspot.com/ Read her blog. Make your voice be heard. We smart ass bloggers will never retreat!!!!!

No news is good news

So, I'm doing better. I'm really motivated to get some things done, make that final push to the end and be more active with the FRG duties I've taken on, get my house in order and prepare for Terry to get home (3-4 months, not that I'm counting. Right.)

Anyway, one of the side effects of this deployment is that I can't watch the news. My body physically reacts to the stress that seeing bad news inflicts on me. Isn't that weird? I get tics in my eye, numbness in my face and headaches. I can count on it when I see another bombing or hear about bird flu. I just have to not watch the news at all, since you never know what's coming. I even changed my homepage from MSN to something else because I always caught the headlines. So I say all this because I feel like I live in a cocoon now! I want to know about the news that is going to affect me you know? Ok, so it's mostly the weather and I can get that online, but it brings up the debate about what's newsworthy.

We all complain about the negativity of the news, but we all know we need to know some of those negative things too. And by the time we've seen too much, it's too late. This discussion in my head led me to thinking about news like the genocide going on in Darfur. I don't want to turn away from these stories because it's like saying, "I don't care."

If I'm anything, I'm compassionate. It's the one emotion I can always count on and it's served me well in this deployment. It puts my life in perspective and I don't want to be sheltered from news/issues that I care about or can actually DO something about you know?

And you can't talk about bad news like death and destruction and wonder how in the world we can watch shows like CSI, or movies like Titanic, Saving Private Ryan or Schindler's List (saw in three times). I'm strictly limited to Survivor, Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy and other reality shows I will have to confess to on another post. I can't find enjoyment in death, crime and natural disasters anymore - real or not.

Right now I do have to survive emotionally so I've turned off the negativity for now. I breeze through my national and local sections in the paper to the Style, Food or Weekend sections, but it's hard. How much do YOU want to know about your world? How much can we take on?

Why the US Navy is better than the Iraq Navy

So un-PC, I had to share

The United States Navy






Iraq Navy

I am Carrie Bradshaw

I took the poll Nicole did. Which Sex and the City character are you most like?
I'm most like Carrie, 30 percent like Charlotte. Yawner. Except the fact that at one point she was making $4 a word writing for Vogue. That's pretty cool.

You scored 40% Carrie
Your answers peg you as a Carrie-type, much influenced by the Air Sign qualities associated with Gemini, Libra and Aquarius. Like confident Carrie, a sex columnist, you're curious and perceptive, always seeking answers and never satisfied with the superficial. An Air Sign influence can lead to indecision and an avoidance of tough issues, like with Carrie and her on-again, off-again attachment to Mr. Big. Forward-thinking, incredibly intelligent and witty, you just exude quirky charm. You'd be utterly bored by someone who's just a pretty face or hot body -- though you don't mind looking and flirting! You're more turned on by an equally smart and funny mate, someone who challenges your mind and makes you laugh. You love to talk, so you need a good listener who's open to playful and eccentric ideas about love and lovemaking.

Act III in "The deployment insanity and the desperate housewives it creates"

I think I'm over this blog. I have no desire to write in it at all. This is probably mostly due to the second funeral I'll be attending this week. From what I hear, it's true that only the good die young.

What I should have done is be anonymous, then you'd REALLY know what I thought about this deployment and how it really feels.

Now for streams of conciousness...

I've also idealized my relationship. All you think about is getting your soldier home alive, until the end, when you start thinking about life afterwards. Our relationship is not perfect. Maybe it's good enough to last forever, but when you set yourself up to think that you'll overlook the "small" things because he/she is home alive, you're wrong. You'll start thinking about them again. Not as much, but they are there. Then you're confused as to how you can be thinking about all the old nuances of the relationship when they're not actually home safely yet.

Plus I've become a royal bitch. I walked out of my son's pediatricians office after waiting for over an hour for an appt. On my way I stopped at the counter and kindly, but firmly said, "I just want you to know that I'm leaving. I've been waiting for over an hour for Dr. X. You guys do this all the time. Making customers wait for 30, 40 and 60 minutes when they have an appt is bad service - and we are customers. You tell Dr. X that we're gone and we're not coming back." I shove the glass door open and stomp off to my car. My son never even was seen. So today, I go to the new Dr. He's nice. He's Jewish and recognizes Asher's name. His office is in an exam room. He asks about Asher's birthing history, full term? weight? normal pregnancy? yes, 7.7 lbs and yes. He asks why I switched and I tell him. He knows the docs at our old place. He offers a defense for them, "Pediatrics is unpredictable, long appointments, etc." I say, my other son is seven, we've been doing this for long enough to know what we should expect. My time is valuable (can you see I'm still pissed?) You know what he does? He shakes my hand and says, "Well, we'll be sure to go above and beyond for you. But please let me know if you have a problem. We want to try and solve it." Sold! We have a new doctor.

And I lash out at everyone in my head. You see I've tried to tame my tounge, but in my head the conversation is downright vitriolic. I have to step back and say, ok, calm the heck down!!! It's just a cookie!!! or whatever. And for some reason, I really want to smoke! I never smoke. I hate cigarrettes. I also have a strong desire to shoot a gun (at a target, people). I need to channel all this anger and frustration and what better than a speeding bullet? And if you're getting ready to prescribe the usual excercise, eat well and sleep. Well, I do that, except the sleeping part. I run, I swim, I chase my kids around and I eat at least a good dinner every day. Sleep is just impossible when you're body still expects another warm body to be in the bed when you get there.

The military (Reserve) wife

I read this on a military wives support board today:

Who is the military wife? The military wife is molded by sacrifice. She is a woman who loves her husband. A woman whose contribution to the military is never compensated and whose presence is rarely officially acknowledged. The military wife doesn't deal in hypothetical. She deals in realities. And the reality is that in most countries in the world, life is still about honor. In the military, questions of life and death are not rhetorical. They get answered every single day.

That was the last paragraph of a much longer tribute to the military wife and whenever I read these I think, what about the Reserve and Guard wives? Here's my tribute:

The military reserve wife doesn't know that much about the military and most of us don't care. We're lucky if we know our husband's unit, but we probably have no idea the difference between a battalion and a brigade. We don't choose a career to mold around his career. We don't know what PCS means or how to read an LES. We don't know to stop and put your hand over your heart when taps is played at the end of the day on base. We don't know to tip the bagger at the commissary. We don't know what the chain of command is. We don't know who to call in case of an emergency. We don't know how to use TriCare. We don't know what to do if we don't get paid by the Army. We don't know that spending a couple weeks away from your partner while their on business is NOTHING like a yearlong deployment, as most civilians don't realize.

And one day, your Reserve partner trades in the suit and tie for BDU's and an M16 for a year. You live hours away from a base or the other Reserve wives. You probably have kids, and a job. And you have to learn it all.

We do have more respect for the active duty wives. We do know that mil wives don't get the respect or recognition they deserve for raising kids alone and supporting a soldier. And we leave a piece of our hearts with the active Army when it's all said and done.

p.s. I'm screwing around on the blog because I'm putting off doing my taxes

Taming the tongue

Pyrrhic victory (PIR-ik VIK-tuh-ree) noun

A victory won at too great a cost

No. This is not about the Iraq war. This is about my tongue, my very own personal weapon of mass destruction. I've tamed it a little in the past few years, but my tongue has sliced through the hearts of those I love the most. I win the war by whittling down my opponents self-esteem to pink dust. A pyrrhic victory not ever worth it.

It hasn't happened lately because I keep these words swirling around in my head before I spit them out. Now those words flood through heated blood, swirling and baking in my anger and then return to my brain where they are transformed to eloquence and executed like gold medal winning quadruple axel on Olympic ice. So no one gets hurt. Except my brain of course.

Three years of war, ten months spent missing our soldier

...and 150 days left to go.


I started this blog to document our life while Terry is deployed to Iraq and the messages have strayed a bit because, well, no one, including me, wants to hear me pining away for my man everyday : )

But it's time to share this photo. It's from my friend who took some incredible pictures of us when we said goodbye last time. He was home on leave for two weeks. That was in Feb, but feels like a hundred years ago. This one always makes me catch my breath a little. Asher knows something is up and Gabey didn't really know what to do with his emotions that day I don't think. I went home and slept for four or five hours after that.

We saw him on web cam last night and he looked so good, but said he had a mission coming up. I hate hearing that, but I guess I want to know at the same time. He just looked so good and we all had a good time talking to him, made us remember what we miss the most about having daddy around; fun family times.

I'm missing him alot today on this, the third year anniversary of the war in Iraq.

Live blogging Gonzaga v. Indiana

There are three times that you will find me caring about sports; the Summer Olympics, World Series, and when Gonzaga enters March Madness.

The score is 52-46 Gonzaga and we're just into the second half. I'm so nervous. Oh, did I mention that I'm following on the link provided with this post since I don't have access to the game?

k, moving on.

52-48 Dammit JIM! This is so stressful! Terry couldn't even watch back in the day when we actually lived there, he couldn't handle the pressure.

TV Timeout. This live blogging thing is fun for me, is it for you? It must be a little strange since you can actually follow along with the professionals who know all the stats like, "The Bulldogs have never lost on a sunny day when Coach Few is wearing red socks..."

Whoo hoo. We're back and we scored! 54-48 Bulldogs baby...

58-51 Still GU. I'm getting stressed out here.

Indiana timeout.

I never played sports. But a couple of days ago a guy asked me if I ran track in high school. Three things ran through my mind as I paused that lifetime of a pause that actually only lasts a microsecond; Is he going to hit on me and say how great I look for having a kid, which I'll, of course, very coolly add that I also have a seven year old thinking he'll be even more impressed by my strategically hidden flaws, but he'll actually think I was a teen pregnancy case and he'll awkwardly walk away embarrased that he hit on a slut? Does he think I just graduated from high school? He's a lieutenant in the Army, what a perve!

Oh crap I'm falling behind, some free throws yadda yadda...we're still ahead 64-55. Whew.

Back to my story. Then he says, "I ask because your son took off pretty fast there" and chuckles. Asher ran away from my lunch date ( a woman people) while I was taking a call from Iraq. I see her dashing after him a little panicked and I'm laughing my butt off because he does this to me all the time. Asher thinks it's hilarious to see grown-ups panic. The officer had a toothy grin and looked a little old to be an Lt. ( I know these things because my husband's been in for, like 100 years. Ok 12. But it's cool to know this stuff. Hey we all need to feel smart!)

Indiana misses a freethrow, we rebound, time out. Still 64-55.

We're back and Morrison sinks one. It's 65-55. 7:43 left people...let's seal this deal!

72-60 5:31 left
74-63 Does anyone see that they're creeping up on us?
Indiana calls a timeout.

Ok, I need to finish my story. So the Lt walks away and I turn to my friend like, "WTF?" why did he even talk to us? I mean, don't men only talk to women when they want to hit on them or they know them, or both? Do you mean to tell me he just wanted to say something to us for no reason whatsoever? I don't know. It was just weird. It mostly bugged me that he asked about High School. Why didn't he ask if I ran track in college? Do I look THAT young? I don't think so. I mean it's good to look young but as my kids get older I just get -

74-69 Bulldogs

- people doing silent math after I tell them the ages of my kids. Ah well. Better a slut than an old hag I always say. Yup. That's my motto, put it on my tombstone.

Oh we're on timeout btw. Does this actually qualify as live blogging since I'm not actually watching? If a tree falls in the forest....?

GU is 28-3 entering this game and Indiana is 19-11. I'm assuming nothing about this game though. I met Mark Few a couple of times. Both in the gym. Once he shook my hand just a leeetle too long, youknowwhattamean? Nice guy though. I could tell by those two encounters where no more than five words were exchanged. My brush with fame. sigh.

2:47. Almost there...

I feel kinda bad for women's college bball. Does anyone watch that?


2:36
69-77
GONZAGA
Derek Raivio missed Free Throw.
2:36
69-77
GONZAGA
Derek Raivio made Free Throw.

How does that happen?

81-72 1:15. Whooo hhoooooo!
85-
86-
87-

89-80
90

This is taking for-ever.

Count with me 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. Bulldogs!

So what happens next? Well, we're either gonna play the Alabama Tide. Wow. They sound about as fiersome as the Syracuse Orangemen (who, btw used to be PINK.) Or, we'll face off with UCLA. Gulp.

Dammit, now I'm live blogging Tide v. Bruins. It's 58-60 Bruins and seconds from the end of the game. 59-60, lordy I wish I was watching this game it must be insane...59-61. So we're playing UCLA. Oh well. I believe in the Bulldogs!!!

A virtual picturecopia

See, even God thinks he's a jerk.


Gabe says piano is easier


They love each other. It warms my heart.


Me in happier days.

Tagged

I'm it, thanks to MaryAnn

Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. Pizza store cashier
2. Retail clerk
3. Radio station front desk girl
4. web content manager/marketing writer

Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. Pride and Prejudice
2. A Few Good Men
3. Anne of Green Gables
4. First Wives Club

Four places you have lived:
1. California
2. Washington
3. Pennsylvania
4. Oregon

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Grey's Anatomy
2. Desparate Housewives
3. Survivor
4. Project Runway

Four places you have been on vacation:
1. Disneyland
2. Reno
3. Lake Tahoe
4. Canada

Four websites I visit daily:
1. MSN homepage
2. At least one of my blog buddies
3. A celebrity gossip page. I know, I know, but it's right there on MSN, I can't help it.
4. ???

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Mexican Food
2. Godiva Key Lime Truffle
3. Poody snacks
4. A good filet and merlot

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. On a beach
2. With my family, Terry
3. Touring Europe
4. Disneyworld

Four friends I am tagging that I think will respond.....
Everyone linked to my blog

Oh and one more thing...

The latest results of my political beliefs put to test...
Looks like the end of the world as we know it. Don't tell my mom. She'll cry.

You are a Social Liberal (65% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (30% permissive) You are best described as a: Democrat Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Art

I'm standing a foot away from a watercolor version of Cezanne's bathers. I turn to my friend and say, "If one my kids painted that, I'd probably throw it away."

I appreciate art of all kinds. Well, let me be more specific, I appreciate the the mind of an artist. Someone who takes a word, a vision, a note, a piece of cloth and makes it come alive. It all takes talent that I can only meagerly relate to. And while it's subjective there's got to be a line somewhere that we all agree - is crap. And in American that line looks like the heart monitor readings of a schizophrenic crackhead. We're all over the place.

Yes, it shows how diverse we are but don't you think a lot of times we pretend to "get it" just because everyone else is? The emperor and all that? I think the gum that kid stuck on the $1.5 million painting looks better than the actual work of art. Mostly what I find to be mathematically impossible are the odds that millions of people will see the artist's vision in any piece of art.

Now I'm not saying Cezanne crap, but among the Cezanne in Provence works currently on display in DC the only painting I liked was the huge bathers oil on canvas one. (Those bathers impressed me because I couldn't believe those women had boobs so perfect back in the day, without Dr. 90210. Clearly they knew something we don't.) Let me repeat: it's good. I can barely draw a straight line so I'm not one to judge really, but my lack of emotion to the work reminded me of a trip I took to the Met in DC NYC where I wandered through the modern art section with a WTF look frozen on my face. The Father of Modern Art sure did spawn some simple and freaky minds.

Although, all the bad writing out there does give me hope...so maybe there is a purpose in crap art after all, to inspire attention whores pimping themselves out on a blog. Like me!

Donald would date his daughter

You may be knocked unconscious by plummeting Apprentice ratings...
Please, someone come up with the joke that I can't without being vulgar. I know it's out there somewhere. Jess Riley? Anyone?

Monique's Oscar highlights

The Oscars. I watched all 25 hours of the ego fest because, let's be honest, we all like to criticize celebs. It makes us feel better about ourselves to know that they may be filthy, stinking rich, gorgeous, and never have to scrub a toilet bowl, but us average Americans have something they don't - anonymity. I can piss off the clerk at the bank, cut someone off in traffic or go out in public having not showered for two days, wearing a baseball cap and a mumu and no one will think it acceptable to subject me to brutal truth like, "Hey MONIQUE. I loved you in [insert film here]. You look like crap!" But if anyone would like to pay me 25 million a year to be verbally abused, I accept.

Ok let's get started.

John Stewart.
I was nervous for John, I gotta say. His political humor would surely clash with Team-America-Is-Not-Funny George Clooney who was up for two awards. John did the best he could at making jabs at them without pissing them off, but it just wasn't as funny. His scripted jokes received barely a chuckle or golf clap, but his off the cuff quips were hilarious! Let me back up - the "Good Night and Good Luck. That's what George Clooney says to his dates the morning after" joke was pretty funny. I laughed out loud after the Hustle and Flow song, "It's Hard out Here for a Pimp" (Yup, folks, that's a title I would have predicted to win an Oscar) won: "For all of you keeping score. Martin Scorsese - 0. Three 6 Mafia - 1." Someone had to say it.

Reese Witherspoon
I love her. I want to adopt her, make her my new BFF, drink mochas, swap tips on how to outpower and outearn your husband without forcing him into the arms of the young, air-headed nanny to make him feel like a man again, (er, did I write that outloud?) and watch her re-enact Election. So, I was glad when she won. But I was holding my breath (along with her husband) to see if she would forget to thank him. (::Choking back tears:: They've been to marriage counseling you know. ) And she remembered. Sigh.

Charlize Theron - my friend said, "Charlize Theron looks mad." Pause. "At her dress." I couldn't have said it better. It looked like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting had sprung to life and implanted itself on her shoulder and she couldn't get it off in time for the show. Or she was thinking, "I knew I shouldn't have played ugly for an Oscar again. Stupid, stupid, stupid!!!" [Banging head on dress]

*INTERMISSION BEFORE LAUNCHING INTO CLOONEY AND OTHER POLITICAL TALK. PLEASE TAKE THIS TIME TO USE THE BATHROOM AND GRAB A BEER. READY?*

George Clooney - After reading a review of Syriana in the Post which read in part,

"The most pernicious element in the movie is the character at the moral
heart of the film: the beautiful, modest, caring, generous Pakistani who
becomes a beautiful, modest, caring, generous . . . suicide bomber. In his
final act, the Pure One, dressed in the purest white robes, takes
his explosives-laden little motorboat headfirst into his target. It
is a replay of the real-life boat that plunged into the USS Cole in
2000, killing 17 American sailors, except that in
the "Syriana" version, the target is another symbol of American imperialism in the
Persian Gulf: a newly opened liquefied natural gas terminal."

And summarized the op-ed with this chilling line, "Osama bin Laden could not have scripted this film with more conviction," I'm not into Sexiest Man in the World George. I guess having a soldier at war kinda jaded me against him. He won for best supporting anyway.

I want to grab George, pet his head and say, "Shhhhh, just stand there, make romantic comedies and look pretty. There now." Instead, lest he make an acceptance speech without a political overtone and throw the world into chaos, I get something like: "Yes, I know I am the enlightened one and I'm damn proud of it. We [the movies] have changed the world for the better."

And when he mentioned civil rights being one of the causes Hollywood championed when no one else would (I guess he forgot about MLK, nameless faceless students at sit-ins, and old women walking to work during the bus boycott) I couldn't help but think um, wasn't 2002 the year a black woman first won for leading actress? Yeah. Progressive. Yes, yes, Hattie McDaniel won a best supporting for Gone With the Wind, but she played a mammy in the slave south! It WAS 1939, and she was amazing (I actually love that movie) so that's pretty huge but talk about typecasting! (John Stewart made funny after a montage of clips from movies about the issues of their respective eras saying, "And there are no more problems in the world.") Ahmen.

I much preferred Crash's producer's thanks to all those who stand up for injustice when the cameras aren't rolling. I confess I did not see Syriana. I save my $10 for art that doesn't piss me off, but I did see Crash and that touched the same general issues of racism and intolerance that George rams downs our throats. Humility can also get you an Oscar, Clooney.
Crash - 3.
Clooney - 1.

And just to show that I have a sense of humor, the Dick Cheney joke topped my favorites too. "Bjork couldn't make the show because Dick Cheney shot her when she was trying on her dress."

Next year I hope to see Paul Giamatti, Selma Hayek just because she's freaking gorgeous (I'm an equal opportunity oogler), Kiera Knightly, Terrence Howard, and I'm sure Tom Hanks will be in there somewhere with Spielberg. Again. Could we just give them their lifetime achievement awards and call it a night?

I guess I should stop complaining and be content with Jamie Foxx not breaking into a Ray Charles song. And now that I'm all out of snarky comments, until next year, folks!

Weakend

Since this weekend is a wash due to perpetually sick children, this is what I have to hold on to until Terry gets home, because lord knows I won't get out again for another five months, give or take. I will be reliving last weekend......

My sister in law (SIL) was here, visiting from the Netherlands and recovering from taking the Bar exam (in the States). I was looking forward to having family around and chomping at the bit to get out and have some fun.

Friday
We prefunked at this place where you can get THE BEST Thai food, mixed drinks and a view in a hip and cozy atmosphere for about $30 and then we went to a popular Irish pub where two old men tried to charm us with their stories of 23-year old girlfriends and Navy days. SIL and I just accepted the free drinks and played along until they realized I was married and she wasn't interested. Apparently these guys thought they were an older, but just as hip, Sex and the City type. They weren't.

The Irish singer/guitar player made my night by telling some guys standing near me that he saw me in a Victoria's Secret catalogue, the point at which we needed to leave because it wasn't going to get any better than that. But it kinda did...

I mistook a woman for a gay man.

SIL broke the heart of a young Marine for whom we created a Sliding Doors scenario about the what ifs surrounding SIL's possible responses to his attention, all of which involved him dying of syphilis from either a broken heart or unmet expectations. I guess you would have to be there to get that one....

My tolerance level is rising. After one of these

a beer and one mixed drink, I was stone sober. Seriously. That's a bad thing right? Well, I guess it was spread out over six hours. But I let SIL think I was drunk to explain why I was videotaping her laughing her ass off on the loo.

Saturday
My swimming lessons (yes, swimming LESSONS) were frustrating enough without my discovery later that evening. I could not master the underwater flip. Every time I bubbled up for air I was on my side and water was filling my ear and draining into my nose and mouth. I was determined to get it (the flip, not a brain) but ran out of time because we had to get to our overpriced facials at Aveda. After 75 minutes of having a stranger rub my face and extract blackheads I didn't know I had (all wonderfully relaxing of course) we ate underwhelming food at La Creperie and went home to relax for the evening out.

We met up with friends of hers in DC who took us to this new Italian place on U street. When snapping photos of each other, I discovered video. Of Me. On SIL's camera. Failing to perform the underwater flip. I holler and berate her to the annoyance of the snobby patrons while she fails to deliver a believable apology through her laughing. It's ok, someone wine spilled on her new shirt. Karma baby :) (Love you KO!)

Sunday
Skipped church and slept in. SIL took Gabe too see a movie and Asher and I grocery shopped. Great weekend.

**************************************************************************
Earlier today:

The scene: A stretch of road, recently finished, that leads directly to my neighborhood. Once cops figure out that everyone goes about 20 over the 35 MPH speed limit, they'll be able to pay off the national deficit.

The crime: My car could swallow this sweet Corolla in front of me so, like a schoolyard bully, I ride it's butt, urging it on. "C'mon Dude! You're going like," I glance at the speedometer, "35." Oh.

The punishment: I have to pay my sitter an extra dime. Jerk Corolla.

Black actors who should be A lister's but aren't

This should liven things up. Hehehe.

I've noticed that those I'm going to list are people I've seen many times mostly in "black" movies. They've worked, we've seen them, but for some reason they don't get into movies that are mass marketed. I don't know much about Hollywood, but, in honor of the Academy Awards, these are the actors I would like to see in more major motion pictures. In no particular order...

1. Sanaa Lathan - Maybe you caught her in the recently released Something New. I had a civic duty to see it, being in an interracial relationship, and I was wary after watching Guess Who with one eye open and one finger on the stop (and destroy) button on my remote control. I love Bernie Mac, but if you've seen the original with Spencer Tracy and Sidney Poitier, Guess Who is an embarrasing piece of crap. (OK, there were two funny moments. One being when they thought they were being audited when they saw the white guy.) Sanaa was also in Love and Basketball, one I loved that no one saw of course.

2. Jamie Foxx - Now, you're all going to say, "Hey he won an Oscar, it doesn't get more mass market than that!" I beg to differ. Oscars are awarded to the most obscure movies (or the blockbusters you can't ingore, like Titanic and Lord of the Rings) just so the enlightened ones can continue to feel enlightened and proclaim, "Oh my GAWWD. You didn't see blah blah blah?" Yes, he won an Oscar for pretending to be Ray Charles. And he's never stopped. He's incredible, versatile(Collateral) and yet all we see is Ray Freaking Charles. If he goes on Oprah one more time and sings, Georgia on my mind I'm going to throw a brick at the TV. I look forward to seeing him in Miami Vice, although I admit, I'm more looking forward to Colin Farrell, rrrraawwwwwrrrr.

3. Laurence Fishburne - (Matrix) He may play serious better than anything else due to his looks, but still he's amazing. We need to see him outside of the sinister/serious role.

4. Kerry Washington - Just gorgeous. Google her. And then watch her again in Ray. Lovely.

5. Golden Brooks - I love Girlfriends and I've seen her in other movies (Beauty Shop, Something New) and she's really good. She pulls off intelligent, urban, funny perfectly. And she's beautiful. What's not to like?

6. Terrence Howard - Nominated for an Oscar this year for a movie I'm not really interested in seeing, Hustle and Flow, but I CRIED my eyes out at Crash. What an amazing, gripping film. So, so good. And it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes.

7.Cuba Gooding, Jr. - This is probably his fault for making movies that don't appeal to all of us (Snow Dogs, Boat Trip anyone?), but damn he was good in Jerry MacGuire, Men of Honor and stole scenes in Pearl Harbor. Hell, he was probably the ONLY thing some people liked about that movie. PLEASE someone cast him in a movie we can like, I mean, he's half the show, give us a good story.

Rabid dogs

Yeaaaaaahhhh! One of the Few *wink, wink* things I liked about being forced to transfer to GU to finsh my BA was their celebrated basketball team. I was always intimidated by the walking, talking Abercrombie ad students. Not. (And then I was introduced to the fervor of Syracuse Orangemen.) Whatever, this headline on MSN made me laugh...

Gonzaga Fans intimidate refs

"Jessie Evans, coach of San Francisco, complained Tuesday about the home court
advantage the Zags will have in this weekend's conference tournament. He also
complained that referees are intimidated by the raucous sellout crowds at
Gonzaga.

He thought the tournament should be held at a "neutral" site, which Evans defined as San Francisco, Los Angeles or San Diego, where six of the eight WCC teams are based."

You're in the Kennel, what the hell do you expect? What a sore loser...

GO BULLDOGS!

Stress; does it ever go away?

What I read this morning over breakfast

One third of Iraqi war vets report distress
Excerpts:

"Iraq veterans are far more likely to have witnessed people getting wounded or
killed, to have experienced combat, and to have had aggressive or suicidal
thoughts, the Army report said. Nearly twice as many of those returning from
Iraq reported having a mental health problem -- or were hospitalized for a
psychiatric disorder -- compared with troops returning from Afghanistan."

My thoughts: It's not that I want to take away from what other troops experience in other parts of the world, but you can't help the comparison. Those who live in Kuwait have a hell of a better life than those in Iraq. As Terry exclaimed when he was on his way home for leave, "They get to have SEX for god's sake!" (I had to laugh at that being the barometer for the difficulty of a tour).

"The war in Iraq has also set off a debate over how to define trauma itself, and whether it is appropriate to distinguish those who see combat firsthand from those who do not. The traditional definition of post-traumatic stress disorder, a diagnosis developed in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, involved directly experiencing or witnessing a horrifying event, but some experts are asking whether the constant fear of being killed in places such as Iraq might create problems both for people restricted to bases as well as for those who head outside."

My thoughts: Duh. There is a difference between a constant fear of death, nearly dying, and dying. Each deserves a diferrent response.

"There is no front line in Iraq," said Col. Charles W. Hoge of the division of psychiatry and neuroscience at Walter Reed Army Institute of Research, the lead author of the report published yesterday in the Journal of the American Medical Association. "Individuals who are patrolling the streets will be at higher risk of being involved in combat, but folks who are largely located at one base are also targets of mortar and artillery, and everyone in convoys is a target."

"Upwards of 80 to 85 percent of people serving there have witnessed or
been a part of a traumatic event, including engaging the enemy, killing people,
or friends or themselves being involved in IED attacks," he said, referring to
improvised explosive devices. "In Vietnam, there were safe areas where people
could go to rest and recuperate. That doesn't happen in Iraq; every place is a
war zone."

And this guy (Steve Robinson, who heads the National Gulf War Resource Center, a nonprofit organization that advocates for veterans) was talking about the Gulf War.

This is something Terry and I discuss often. He never feels "safe." I suppose he isn't. I can't wait until he comes home, but I wonder if in five, ten, twenty years, the memory of all this will be any less salient than it is now. If it is, will we pay less attention to our troops, or those home still suffering from the stress of that part of their lives?

Greased back hair look

What a good big brother!

Thinking of us

Getting to know me 2006

Getting to know me 2006
1. What time did you get up this morning? Um. I'm still in bed. Is that bad?

2. Diamonds or pearls? Diamond MINES
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? I'm still thanking Koel that she took Gabe to see Doogal.
4. What is your favorite TV show? Shamelessly I say: Dancing with the Stars
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? waffles with a side of guilt
6. Favorite cuisine? Anything I don't have to cook that won't harden my arteries upon contact.
7. What is your occupation? MOOOOOOOoooooooom/Lego distributor/Cash Machine/Taxi
8. What color is your underwear? pink
9. What are you listening to right now? Dora the Explorer. My child's brain liquifying
10. What is the last thing you ate? Waffles
11. Do you wish on stars? No
12. What is your middle name? Won’t say, but it’s a catholic virgin. My mom thought it would be good for a laugh one day.
13. What food do you dislike? Raisins, Calamari among others
14. What is your favorite CD at the moment? The mixes I make at home; sad, mournful love songs.
15. What kind of car do you drive? A black SUV that hasn't been washed in months and where Morgan Spurlock was inspired to add the segment called, "The Smoking Fry" to his documentary Super Size Me. I'm still waiting for my royalty check.

16. Favorite sandwich? Chicken bacon ranch at Subway
17. What characteristic do you despise? Pretentiousness. Anyone who thinks they're better than me, 'cause they're not.
18. Favorite item of clothing? This very sexy swimsuit I bought when I was still preggers with Gabe. I always get a good laugh when I see it.
19. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? I hear Iraq is lovely this time of year.
15. What color is your bathroom? Um. White. What a stupid question.
16. Favorite brand of clothing? Brand? Can I afford brands? I wear what's clean, comfortable and closest to my hand after I shut off my alarm clock.
17. Where would you retire to? My bed.
18. What was your most recent memorable birthday? I try not to remember my birthdays, but if you MADE me choose one the most RECENT and MEMORABLE would be last year on my 21st birthday. What? ::indignantly:: I could be 21 with a seven year old. I mean, it's possible...
19. Favorite sport to watch? One parent carrying twelve bags of groceries, one toddler, a purse the size of Texas and pushing a cart while beating another mother with her hockey stick. It's edge of your seat action.
20. Furthest place you are sending this? A Google cache in China, where it will remain until we invade and take over their country.

21. Who do you least expect to send this back to you? I don't expect anyone else to do this, it's long as hell.
22. Person you expect to send it back first? Maybe one of my blog buddies will do it.
23. Favorite saying? “Mom, I have a full ride scholarship to Harvard and you can keep all your retirement money.”
24. When is your birthday? In the Fall
25. Are you a morning person or a night person? NIGHT! Hello I'm still sleeping....
26. What is your shoe size? seven
27. Pets? I HAVE CHILDREN, who needs pets?
28. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I'm pregnant! Pizza for everybody!!!
29. What did you want to be when you were little? Big.

30. How are you today? In a silly mood.
31. What is your favorite candy? I don’t mess around with this question– Key Lime truffles from Godiva. My address is...
32. What is your favorite flower? Lily
33. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? The day Terry gets home.
34. When is the last time you cried? Last night when Drew Lachey won DWTS

35. What is on the floor of your closet? Shoes and empty beer cans

36. Who is/are the friends you have had the longest? Ben and Jerry.
37. What did you do last night? Watched the finale of Dancing with the Stars of course! Ate pita bread and garlic hummus. Drank sparkling pink lemonade and poody snacks courtesy of Shannon. If you don’t ask what poody snacks are I’ll know that you aren’t reading all of this blog!!!
38. Favorite smell? anytime dinner is cooking and I’m not in the kitchen.
39. What inspires you? Women who can yell at their children in public while smiling and clenching their teeth. That takes talent.
40. What are you afraid of? Joan Rivers without makeup. ::Shudder::

41. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers? These questions are really random, I don't have time for this. Cheese.
42. Favorite car? My family's old Pinto. Good times.

God and war

I was raised as a Christian, but I'm the first to admit that my faith has wavered during this deployment. A friend sent this to me and it made me cry for a couple of reasons. One, of course I thought of my husband and how fervently we pray for his safety and despite a couple of close calls he's 99.9 percent whole (some hearing lost due to one IED he was in). Two, I wonder where God was when the 2,200 plus soldiers and Marines were killed and the thousands of others wounded. Wasn't someone praying for them too? I know, I know, this is war. I guess having strength in God doesn't mean you'll live a perfect, safe life. I think prayers are for us mere mortals, so we can have some peace of mind in this crazy world.

Music for my heart

I'm listening to music incessantly. I'm feening for an emotional catharsis.

I was talking to my brother-in-law on the phone last night and started crying. I was trying to explain though, that I'm ok. I just need to cry once in a while, like exercise. And when I listen to certain songs it's the same thing, it exercises my heart without the embarrassment of tears. I hate crying. (Guess that's sort of contradictory towards this post) ::sheepish::

I've never been one for sloppy, silly romance. (See Manic Mom's perfect day - that's mine too.) And I am fully aware that the last time I made "mixes" was in high school, hiding under my covers pushing play and record on the dual cassette tapes of my boombox, creating something for some dance like Tolo when I had no idea what a relationship even was. Silly.

Music is free therapy right now. (Wait. I take that back. It's 99 cents a song.) I make these mixes for Terry, making his third CD right now, and I make a copy for myself. I think we're connected by listening to the same things. When he was home on leave we listened to the first CD I made him and we were both nodding our heads like, "yeah, these are OUR songs." (We didn't have a "song" at our wedding.)

It's strange how the simple act of making a thoughtful selection for a mix puts a personal stamp on an old song. So from now on, everytime I hear any of these songs I'll think of us and this time. Hmm. ::scratching head:: That could backfire later. Oh well.

The words to these songs mean the things I can't say because I'm out of vocabulary to capture the purgatory that deployment is. So here are a couple of song lyrics that say what I can't right now.

Terry, hope your reading. Three packages are in the mail tomorrow; food, letters, music :) xoxo
"If you can promise me you'll never die, I'll sleep with you right now."
"I. will. never. die."
-Team America!

Keith Urban - Making memories of us. You must understand that it takes courage for me to publicly proclaim a country song. The only country I do are the love songs, happy love songs I should clarify. Terry forces me to listen to the patriotic ones, which I find a bit cheesy sometimes. Anyway, love the lyrics to this one. I'm sure you've heard of it. Here's an excerpt:

I'm gonna be here for you from now on
This you know somehow
You've been stretched to the limits but it's alright now
And I'm gonna make you a promise
If there's life after this
I'm gonna be there to meet you with a warm, wet kiss

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you
And I'll earn your trust making memories of us,


Des'ree -Kissing You - So beautifully sung. She has a voice that you have to sit down and close your eyes to, just to drink it all in. This is from a terrible movie, the remake of Romeo and Juliet back in the 90's, but this song alone redeems it.


Pride can stand
A thousand Trials
The Strong will never fall
But watching Stars without You My Soul cried
Grieving heart is full of Pain
of, of The Aching

'Cause I'm Kissing You
I'm Kissing You, Love
Touch Me Deep
Pure and True
Gift to Me Forever
'Cause I'm
Kissing You, oh I'm Kissing You, Love
Where are You now?
Where are You now?
'Cause I'm Kissing You

By your side - Sade Normally Sade reminds me of elevator music, but this song, mmmm, it's so beautiful. Says it all and in a drizzling hot fudge on - pick your platter or person ;) - kind of way.

You think I'd leave your side baby?
You know me better than that
You think I'd leave down when you're down on your knees?
I wouldn't do that
I'll do you right when you're wrong

If only you could see into me
When you're cold I'll be there to hold you tight to me
When you're on the outside baby and you can't get in
I will show you, you're so much better than you know
When your lost, when you're alone and you can't get back again
I will find you darling I'll bring you home

If you want to cry I am here to dry your eyes and in no time you'll be fine

Coldplay - Fix you Sometimes it's hard to separate your feelings for the person behind the song you love, from the art. I'm afraid Coldplay is guilty by association to Gwyneth Paltrow, but I make an exception for this song. I think it's actually more the sound of the song than the words that I like, but hey it's my list...

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lastly, I must give a plug to Jeremy Camp. Christian music has evolved so much. I will actually listen to it by choice now, instead of forced by my parents back in the day...So, go here and listen to the first track, Restored.

And share your favorite songs. I'm always looking for more...

Tuesday two

Inspired by the two word poems I edited for my son’s second grade class, here is my day in twosies

Ouch, neck!
Hot shower
Longing food
“School, mom!”
Bye food
In Car
Ice, damn!
Cold fingers
Scrape window
On time
Miracle one
Kiss Gabey
“Bye, Mom!
Donate items
Broken VCR
Embarrassed laugh
Peeling rubber
Ash Daycare
Pay fines
Argue schedule
Anger secretary
Kiss Ash
“Bye Mom!”
In car
Good cry
Peeling rubber
Starving husband
Shop Commissary
Stop home
Ship tomorrow
Lose sunglasses
Search franticly
Brand new!!!!
Bought yesterday!!!
Running late
Cursing quietly
In car
Peeling rubber
Miss yoga?
Why god?
On time
Miracle two
Tree huggers
I'm new
Unroll mat
Breathe deeply
Girl farts
Franticly look
Not me!!
I Swear!!
Men grunt
Women sweat
What the...?
Finally relax
Almost sleep
Namaste, Bye
Oh, Bye!
Find bookstore
Eat soup
Stare window
Read, read
Run car
Friend’s house
Feed cat
Bye cat
“Hi Asher!”
Gabe chess
"Hi Gabe!"
Home again
Check machine
No friends
Cry again?
No. Breathe
Dinner next
Steam carpets
Sleep deeply?
Hopeful miracle

Thursday Thirteen

Yes, I'm copying Jess Riley again, because she's cool and makes people laugh...

Thirteen things I should be doing right now but I'm not because I'm sleep deprived from having a sick two year old all week..

1) Bills - they are piling up like snowdrifts, but I figure I can wait a couple more days before I have to send a search party for my children.
2) Calling my sister - it was her birthday two weeks ago and I haven't called. I know. I am such a bad sister, but I sent her a check so I figure she probably hasn't missed the phone call.
3) Drying clothes - this is actually something that is going to make my house smell soon. I've had clothes in the washing machine for several days now. (WARNING - poop story ahead) Asher had the runs all over my bathroom floor on Tuesday as I was rushing them out to school/daycare so I could get a much needed massage. Towels, clothes, floor, my shoes, everywhere but the toilet. Why not in his diaper you ask? Well, because being the good mother that I am I saw him give me "the look."

"Do you have to go potty?" I ask him.
"Des," he says through his binki
"Let's go!" I cry, grabbing him, holding his body at arms length away from me (just in case) and leaping up the stairs two at a time.

I rip off the diaper. It's too late. He's going. Everywhere. I'm thinking, maybe it's just a couple of squirts. No. It continues until God's message that I will NEVER get a break this week, is repeating itself in my head like a Britney Spears song.

4) Researching for the article that up to this point I've been so diligent with - I'm stuck.
5) Watering Terry's plants - If they die while he's at war, he may divorce me
6) Hey, how about good old fashioned quality time with the kiddies? - Naw. They got the best years of my life. I don't owe them anything. :) Just kidding.
7) Writing beautiful words of thanks and love to all the people begging for photos of Terry in the field - I have actually printed the photos (a month ago) and I'm looking right at them. There you are. Be patient. You're low on the priority list.
8) Take the mountain of crap out of the trunk of Terry's commuter car - It's filled with stuff to go to the Goodwill. Since I don't drive it, it's become a storage unit. And the real bummer is I actually have to do something with that stuff because my neighbor is borrowing the car next weekend and some crap she gave me is in there. HAHAHAHAHA!
9) Groceries - we're getting low and my children are eating old b-a-n-a-n-a-s- (Think Gwen Stefani)
10) Make a doctors appointment - I'm being vague on that one...
11) Reading my new book Vanishing Acts - I need an escape from reality and the blog isn't cutting it.
12) Writing a letter of complaint to Bassett Furniture - I've called twice, my husband once while he was on leave. The overpriced chair we bought LAST YEAR is literally ripping at the seams. They keep telling us they'll repair it at no cost but right now they can't even pick up the phone. My manual on me says that it's the nagging to-do things that are the most damaging kinds of stress. Can I sue Bassett for undue hardship?
13) TAXES - I have far too many tax related documents on my desk. If for no other reason, say for example it's the law to file them, the paperwork cramping my usually OC style.

TaDa!

The Mommy Test

A friend sent this to me:

I was out walking with my 4 year old son. He picked up something off the ground and started to put it in his mouth. I took the item away from him and I asked him not to do that. "Why?" my son asked. Because it's been laying outside, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty and probably has germs" I replied. At this point, my son looked at me with total admiration and asked, "Wow! How do you know all this stuff?" "Uh,"...I was thinking quickly, "All moms know this stuff. It's on the "Mommy Test". You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mommy." We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but he was evidently pondering this new information. "OH...I get it!" he beamed, "So if you don't pass the test, you have to be the daddy." "Exactly" I replied back with a big smile on my face and joy in my heart.

My continued psychosis and acceptable events for men to cry at

Oddly enough, those two themes are related. Ask Terry.

Anyhoo.

I've been really busy feeling sorry for myself. My aching back from sleepless nights brought on by nightmares. My mouth wants to be crunching, munching or slurping on a snack but I've cleaned the nacho dip and candy out of my kitchen and replaced it with Trader Joe's healthy alternatives, most of which you must plug your nose and swallow as fast as possible. Ok it's not that bad, and it's not that I'm even craving the bad stuff but that, like a smoker I suppose, I want that hand to mouth exercise and it's just not the same with cauliflower and hummus.

The nightmares were throwing me for a bit, but I realized that it's just the emotional cycle of deployment - again. When Terry left the first time, I resolved to thrive. I was going to tackle ambitious writing projects, train for a marathon, and volunteer with family readiness groups. (Some, quit, and did, respectively.) But the nightmares crept in and stole many hours of my sleep by waking me up in sweat and scaring me from closing my eyes again lest I return to the scene of the crime.

Nine months later, it's just as frustrating to wake up cold and clammy, but at least I know why. And the thing is not all of the dreams are Terry-related. The last one was (Canary, forgot to write you about this) about this guy from my high school who dated a friend of mine and turned into a stalker after graduation. In reality he didn't go to our reunion, which we were both relieved about, but he showed up in my dreams where he stalked me, followed me home one day and broke into my house. I call 911 and I get an answering machine. I dial again and again and again. Finally I pull out my gun and the police race up to my house just in time to see me shoot him. Pleasant.

I did have one war related dream. Terry was wounded and I went to Iraq for him, to finish his tour. I came home wounded in three places, my stomach, right leg and right arm. Each 'wound' was two criss crossed scars. Bizarro.

Anyway, enough about that. Oh wait one last thing. Reader's Digest featured an article about dreams and while it was better than Newsweek's pathetic attempt to convey all the "BREAKING NEWS ON THE MEANING OF YOUR DREAMS" (desperate bait and switch I thought, after reading the article) it didn't give me what I wanted, but told the plain old truth. There is no canned symbolism in dreams, but each symbol or recurring color theme has a meaning unique to the dreamer. You have to track your dreams to figure out what symbols may mean to you. Of course there was the usual yadda, yadda, yadda on solving a problem by focusing on it before sleep. Also helpful was it's sidebar on how to "upgrade" your dreams, but it bordered on teaching how to cheat on your spouse in your subconscious. Interesting...

Ok, done with that topic. Moving on.

The Olympics. Terry loves the Olympics. I swear sometimes he is a poster boy for the Army. He is your all-American, Old Glory flyin', National Anthem cryin', free speech believing, wanna prosecute the bad guys and put 'em in jail, family loving, Go AMERICA, TEAM AMERICA (loves the movie, which shows he can laugh at himself too) kind of guy. So every time the five coloful rings are emblazoned over NBC's logo, we watch the Olympics. (And with Valentines Day tomorrow and the Olympics heating up, I miss him a lot right now.)

I've tried to watch a couple of events and happened to catch the Flying Tomato's gold medal ceremony. (Some guy who won the gold in the half-pipe.) Having been strapped to a snowboard, dragged up a mountain twice by my husband and shoved down the diamond run by his overconfidence in me only to be lapped twice by a four-year-old and carried down by the ski patrol, which was more frightening than just toughing out the run myself, I can appreciate a talented boarder. But I can better appreciate a man who cries.

This fiery red headed kid who is worth more than my entire extended families' net worth, was choking up during the national anthem - fighting it. And it made me wonder, if a man can't cry unabashedly during the national anthem at his OWN gold medal ceremony then when can he?

I can name three. Tell me if you agree:

1) At birth - no, not his childrens', his own.
2) On Oprah
3) Winning the Oscar, but then he's just acting so I'm not sure if that counts.

WDYT?

What brown did for me

I have brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin. When I was a child I wanted blue eyes, blond hair and white skin. My skin was the color of poop (as one kid told me) and dirt; blue was the color of the ocean and the sky.

I think this mental self-deprecation started when my mother moved my sister and I from all of our family in San Diego to a tiny Oregon town not too far south of Portland where we joined a cultishly conservative, mostly white church. It was where I have my earliest memory of knowing that I was black (at least that's how I was always identified at school, only to ask more questions later and realize that I am multi-racial, including Irish!)

My mom is Hispanic but passes easily for Caucasian, but my father is black (and not involved) so my sister and I usually caused a head turn when we were with our mom. More than once people asked if we were adopted. To this day I've never spoken to my mother about these issues of feeling ugly and not like I belonged to her. She married and cranked out four kids that look nothing like me . But I'm digressing into familial issues that we all have on some level.

My mom would bring home those bulky, old film projectors from the school she assisted at (I knew how to wind and load an actual movie film strip!) We watched The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman and it spurred me to read more about black history (didn't know it was a book, at the time and like many others I thought it was a true story). I was already a nerdy reader so it was no big deal to pick up a children's biography of Martin Luther King Jr. I still have it. Inside the cover my full name is written in the best cursive my learners hand could muster.

I cried when I read MLK's story. My eight year old brain felt for little Martin when he reached a certain age and his friend's mother told him they couldn't play together anymore. His mom explained it was because he was black and his friend was white.

I may have better appreciated my roots from the exposure to black history, but I would still wish away my curly hair to be straight like my friends'. I wanted to get feathered bangs and run my fingers through my hair. Instead I usually had a halo of frizzy, wisps of curls, which my husband now calls angel hairs. ( I know, I know sappy sharing here). I wanted my eyes to sparkle but they looked like black holes to me. And I had a skinny body that elicited cruel comparisons to the children who suffered in the 1980's Ethiopian famine. (Seriously)

I think if child/teen body hatred had been christened Body Dysmorphic Disorder as it is today I would have been diagnosed and put on some medication. LOL. I say that not to show how bad my self loathing was, but to point out how ridiculous it is that we label everything a "disease," because I grew out of it just fine.

High school and beyond dramatically changed the way I view myself though. I embrace both of my primary backgrounds. I may not look like one or the other, or speak like one or the other, but I'm a well put together combination if I do say so myself.

It's ironic that women paid hundreds of dollars for bad perms in the 80s and I hated my curls, which I now see as having the best of both worlds. I can straighten it easily with an expensive flat iron or wear it curly depending on what In Style declares is "in" LOL. I don't have to tan or worry as much about skin cancer. My husband and Gabe have identical shades of brown eyes, and Asher and I share a tone as well so how can you look in those and think anything but beautiful thoughts, huh? And being skinny, well, let's just say it gave me an edge when I had my kids. The average woman keeps five pounds of the weight she gains from each child. I am no different only I started at just about 100 lbs so I probably could have used the ten extra I now have. (Ladies, please don't hate me.)

I started thinking about all this when I heard that MLK's wife Coretta Scott King had passed away. With her and Rosa Parks now gone, I feel like it's the end of an era. They and MLK gave me any kind of pride I had in being identified as black. I cried when I heard of each of these women's passing. They had a strength and determination that I think many people with social grievances today have replaced with self-entitlement.

My MLK biography sits on Gabe's bookshelf now. I'll catch a glimpse of it's torn binding now and then when we're picking out a book. I look at my family and I'm amazed at how times have changed from two little boys who couldn't play together because of their skin to a family like ours; two little boys who could very well be that one white boy and one black boy that MLK and his friend represented, but in our family, they are brothers.

I accept that I'm neither one or all of another. I don't fully experience the depth of either race, either. But that's my experience and that of many who are multiracial. We are a new group that can't be put into a box on paper or in someone's mind, and that's what people like the Kings and Rosa Parks fought for, for everyone.

Read about a side of Coretta Scott King that you don't often hear.

Emote now, blog later

If the blog looks different, had a bit of a lecture about security recently...no one told me to, just thought I'd be more careful.

Why we do, what we do...