I Am the Adult

I wrote this while Big Guy was away this past summer... When I wrote this, we still had two and a half weeks left until he came home.  

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My husband teaches ROTC at the local university, and while I think this is an “easy” job in the grand scheme of things, he still has to go on Army Adventures. I am still at home with all three children, two dogs, a house to run in this state, and a house we own in a different state to worry about. Without fail, several things go wrong each and every time he leaves. This is a very common story throughout military life, and among military spouses. However, what goes wrong changes from “bye-bye” to “bye-bye”. Let’s talk about the things that have gone wrong in the three weeks my husband has been gone.

• ·         The middle child got a fever, and became a clingy, whiny sobbing creature that dripped snot all over my shoulder.
• ·         The in-ground sprinkler system in the backyard sprung a leak somewhere, and water began to pool in odd places. That one isn’t so bad I guess, but I worry about water conservation – we do live in the desert.
• ·         Middle child, after recovering from the fever, decided those toilet bowl refresher things you can clip to the side of the toilet would be perfect to flush! It caused the toilet to clog, massively, and I had to call the plumber. He later told me, “I was just trying to make it smell so nice.” Yup, it smelled super fresh in there, but I did not enjoy paying that unforeseen bill.
• ·         The garbage disposal broke, and leaked water all over the cabinet under the kitchen sink. The water damaged the particle board cabinet, and disintegrated anything cardboard… I had to wash dishes in the children’s water table outside, because I was desperate.
• ·         The littlest one got the fever the middle one brought home. Tiny then started complaining his tooth hurt, and crying intermittently for no apparent reason. I scheduled him to see the dentist, but he had new symptoms pop up, and when I called the dentist they recommended he see his primary care doctor first. Off to the pediatrician I went, all three kids in tow, and learned Tiny has Hand Foot Mouth Disease. This highly contagious, and super nasty virus has forced us into quarantine. 
• ·         I have filled out an order at Domino’s and Pizza Hut, and submitted neither because I am trying to save money and not order out. Yet, I am so desperate to see another adult human person after being in quarantine with these kids, that I might just order the damn pizza… or maybe Chinese would be yummy.
• ·         The vacuum became so clogged, I had to disassemble the machine to get the clog out… it was actually clogged in two places. My husband was like, “No worries, we will get a new one when I get home.” I was like, “Yay! I still need to vacuum over the next two weeks you are still gone.” So, I fixed the vacuum, and then decided I should shampoo the carpets while I was at the whole business. The damn carpet shampooer is not functioning properly either, and I have sent the company yet another email to complain.

Honestly, there are so many little things throughout the day that happen that I don’t think would happen if he were home, that I can’t even think of them. Someone once told me that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. And I just laugh, because my understanding is of course he does, because he is God and he does what he wants. I am, however, reminded that God gives you the people you need when he has given you too much, and luckily I have had some pretty amazing neighbors and friends to give us love… from a far, of course, because we are all contagious right now.

I need an adult.

And I am the adult.

And Today sucks.

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For the record, today, the day I am posting this article, does not suck. Today is delightful.

I still need an adult though.

And I am still the adult. Go figure.  

How Can You Tell if Someone is Vegan?

Don't worry, they'll tell you!

My sister is a vegan. My brother-in-law is vegan. My nieces are vegan. They are a whole damn vegan family. Their cats are not vegan though - they might be vegans, but they aren’t insane. And they aren't those vegans insisting we should all be vegan, they just accept the omnivores in their lives and move on.

I had no freaking idea what the crap a vegan was. To say I understood, or even thought it was a good idea would be a big fat lie. I thought it sounded like a totally weird thing to do, like a cult or something… after all, why would someone actively NOT eat a cheeseburger? To be honest, I still have a hang up with that, but I manage it much better these days.

I remember the first time I went out to lunch with my sister, and she ordered a vegan meal. It was around Thanksgiving one year, and I was up visiting with my father and stepmother. I was still in college, and I liked to think of myself as liberal and open minded. Yet, when my sister told me her and her boyfriend, now her husband, did not eating anything that came from an animal I was shocked. Just absolutely shocked, and I am pretty sure I tried to talk her out of it.. What a jerk! After all, this is my sister - the very first person I ever loved more than myself; I should have been supportive right away.

Her husband, my brother-in-law, has been a vegan for fourteen years! In his senior year of high school, he chose to take an Environmental Ethics course at a local community college as an elective. He told me through a text message, “The passionate teacher, who I’d go on to take two other courses from, put some emphasis on the impact of animal agriculture on our environment. Whether intentional or not, the suffering of animals also became apparent through this instruction.” With all evidence in hand, he quickly made the decision to live without animals as a part of his diet. He spent five months as a vegetarian, learned to love hummus, found courage to try tofu, and never looked back.

The main thing that bothers him is when people ask him if he “can” eat something, or when a question is phrased in a way that suggests his morals, the way he is in his heart, changes from day to day… like, if he is hungry enough, he is just going to overlook all the evidence he has found, and just eat the cheeseburger. I think, like so many things we encounter in life, their choice makes us uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable is not a state of being most people want to exist in, so we decide to become defensive. I cannot tell you how many times my sister has told me about people saying she can just eat the cheese, because no one will even know. I cannot express how heartbreaking it was to hear about the time my niece, with tears streaming down her face, asked my sister if they were still vegans because her veggie burger was cooked in bacon grease. My sweet, tender hearted niece knows other people chose to eat meat, but being a vegan is at the core of her soul. She loves it, and I think that is perfect.

According to the website, The Vegan Society, “The vast amount of grain feed required for meat production is a significant contributor to deforestation, habitat loss and species extinction. In Brazil alone, the equivalent of 5.6 million acres of land is used to grow soya beans for animals in Europe.” It doesn’t take a genius to know deforestation is kind of a bad thing, especially when this is the only planet we can live on right now. They go on further to say, “[...] considerably lower quantities of crops and water are required to sustain a vegan diet [...]” and you can't deny the truth of that. I also don’t even have time to talk about just how poor animals raised to be eaten live, even organic and “free-range” animals are not happy. Would you be happy if you were raised for slaughter?

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I am not here to convert you to a vegan diet - I am not a vegan! For some reason, there is a weird mystique about being vegan though. It’s like one of those things that no one is really interested in unless it affects them directly. Yet, we should all be very interested in what it is, and we should learn some things from them. No. I am not saying we should all forgo our cheeseburgers and bbq chicken. I am saying open your ears and listen; be brave and check out some vegan cookbooks - my favorite is Thug Kitchen, and their stuff is delicious.

I always have my sister’s back. When people make fun of her weight, I am there to defend her. When she needs someone to be mad at, I am there for her to rage at. When she needs to be reminded of funny things she said as a teenager, I am there to shout at her “It’s My Way Or The Right Way!”. We laugh until we cry, and we cry until we laugh. Forever, and ever she is mine and I am hers and that is that.

Even if she is a vegan.

I guess I Write Now

A funny thing happened, and I suddenly had one thing published to a favorite online news media outlet. It's called My Parenting Style Isn't For Everyone, and I Am Not Embarrassed To Admit It . Funny thing, that title.... I actually was deeply embarrassed when it popped up - thrilled that someone thought I was worth reading, but so embarrassed also.

Like, welcome to my messy fucking life, world.

Anyway, I have since sent several things to them that have not been selected for the site. Sad, but whatever. I remembered I had this blog, and while they might not want to read and publish everything I write, it doesn't mean I can't publish it here. On that note, I present my thoughts on pooping at a friend's house.


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By far the hardest thing to do while managing a nomadic life as an Army Spouse is making friends at the new places you are moved. This is made even more difficult when you are moved somewhere there is no Army post. Occasionally, as an active duty member, you can get some pretty sweet jobs around the country - it’s cool, but it just means your built in network of people who “get it” are far and few between. The current place we live is delightful, but I have struggled making friends. I am not a ray of sunshine, and have a fairly good case of RBF. I counted it a lucky thing that I had made THREE friends, and then I was not surprised when two of the three moved away. Such is our life.

Before my best of the two friends moved away we all decided to do a pizza night at her house. I was like, “Yes, friend. Carbs and wine… that’s heaven.” She made the pizzas from scratch, and I made the sangria. Husband and I packed up the goods, made the children go potty before we left, packed swimsuits, and set off four house up the street to have pizza night.

The evening was going amazingly. All three of my kids, and both of her kids were getting along wonderfully - no fighting, no crying, and they all ate fairly well. They played in their swimsuits, and threw water balloons at each other, and their dog. I actually felt relaxed, and was able to put my worries aside for a moment.

Big mistake.

The three younger children wanted to come inside, and change back into clothes so they could play with the toys upstairs. They go upstairs to change, and all four of us adults think nothing of it - they are all over the age of three, surely they can put their clothes on. The older two stayed outside to play for a little bit longer before going upstairs to change.

Now, this is where things go horrifyingly hilarious and annoying. My friends kid goes upstairs, and he suddenly says, “Umm… you guys? Can you, like, come up here?” We are all like, “No?” “Wait. Why?” He says, “There is poop on the toilet.”

My heart sinks. Like, yes, of course there is poop on the toilet… but I was feeling optimistic that is would be an easy clean up job, maybe it is just A turd. Oh how I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I get upstairs to discover MY three year old with poop in his underwear, on his shirt, on his shorts, and it is SMEARED all over the toilet seat and down the side! Like, DOWN THE SIDE?! Why? How? What? I call my husband upstairs, and I am like “Help me.” He is like, “No way, I cleaned up J when he did this at X’s house.”

Oh. Did I forget to mention? The middle one did the exact same thing at someone else’s house the month prior. I was unaware of the situation, and my husband had to clean up all the poop off of middle child, and the toilet solo. That instance required the throwing away of underwear…

So, with shallow breaths, I strip down Tiny. To his credit, my husband goes down stairs and explains the situation to our friends. Suddenly all three of them are standing there looking at me, I have tears in my eyes, and am trying to get poopy clothes off a squirming three-year-old. Our friends are laughing, husband is kind of laughing, the other four children are looking on horrified, and I am trying to not throw up all over the place. At this point, I have to add that this is the first time we have ever had dinner at their house, and I want to crawl in a hole and die.

I get all the poop soaked clothes off Tiny, and wash him thoroughly in the shower. Husband cleans the toilet, God Bless that man, and our friends bring bags for the clothes. Some of those clothes there was no saving from the sheer amount of poop on them, and they were thrown away. Goodbye, Paw Patrol underwear! The tee-shirt we managed to save. My friend comes back with lime green girl panties, tiny booty shorts, and a bright green and blue tee-shirt for Tiny to wear. Somewhere amongst all the poop is when it was decided that our families were now friends forever... a pact sealed with laughter over a poop smear toddler.

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True mommy friendships are hard to find, and worth the fight to keep. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss my friend, and I feel that way about all the true mommy friends I have made over the last eight years of being a mommy. There are lots of people I fell out of contact with for one reason or another, but some that I still have the absolute privilege to remain friends with. These women are the ones that have helped me laugh when I feel like crying; they have helped lift me up when I have felt I couldn’t go on.  

After all, the one thing mommyhood is always teaching us is that $#*! happens. Literally.