Rebranding

I do not make New Years Resolutions per se. However, I do set one goal that I will strive towards all year long. Last year, I decided I was going to learn to bake bread - and what a crazy year of baked bread it was. See, all my bread started out dense, and they all resembled paper weights. While not great for eating as sandwich bread, it all made excellent breadcrumbs. So, I learned from the mistake and made a change the next time. Each time I tried to make bread, it got a little bit fluffier, a little bit more delicious, and a little bit easier to do. 

This blog started out as my way of putting my thoughts out there. At the inception of the blog, it was just geared towards other mom's, with no other audience in mind. I felt like men already had all the advantages in the world, why should I give them yet another platform? However, that is quite cruel. The one place men are perpetual outsiders is in parenthood. 

With this in mind, I have decided to rebrand the blog, and the Facebook page. Much like the name says, we want all the real parts. We don't want to just be another mommy page vying for everyone's attention. We want to be a page that commands respect from all, because we include all.

-C

Things I Whisper To My Daughter

I was delighted to find I had, at long last, been published by POPSUGAR again. Despite the numerous edits, and changes, I still think it is a lovely piece. You can read it here: How to Encourage Your Daughter. I would love for you all to share the piece to anyone with a daughter, or anyone expecting a daughter. 

I also want to encourage you to submit your own work here... we will do minimal editing to your pieces, and allow your voice to be heard. 

Please send all submissions to: alltherealpartsblog@gmail.com

Thank you to everyone who has supported this from the beginning, and I cannot wait to see what this year brings for the blog, and for the Facebook Page. 

-C

Wayward Child

Our latest post comes from someone I personally have known since I was in sixth grade. Through the power of Facebook, we were reconnected some years ago. Her situation is not talked about often enough, and I am honored to have a space for her to express her art. She wrote this beautifully haunting poem about her oldest child, and I hope it touches your heart the way it touched mine. - C

Kate was born in Colorado. She has two sons that are now teenagers. She hosts a YouTube channel called advoK8great, where she is a burgeoning lifestyle change coach. Kate firmly preaches the ideals of Believe, Practice, and Evolve. You can also see her work on her Tumblr page.









An Ode to My Child


Encouraged to write About something more.
So here I am to say aloud There are many things of which I am not so proud. What happens when You were a child yourself when you began? To birth a child at 14 seems absurd... But you persevered, Year after year, Only to find that child had a different idea in mind.

For it’s life and future, One that you NEVER thought you’d have to endure. I can’t seem to find the words to say That I feel I failed this child at some point, some way. How do I say Secrets I’ve kept from society? All in an effort to prove, I’m just as good as you. With a child that seems to prove otherwise... Disregarding all you taught, The things you stood for and showed them to NOT - Disobey. Betray. Yet, You see the regret. You feel the shame, the hurt. And by this point ran yourself into the dirt.
Feeling alone. Depressed. Your actual self regressed By ideas and opinions imposed By those whom will never know your path, Or the child’s path. You just hope for self love at last. At some point I may disclose, The hurt that has been imposed. But for now I’ll hang low, Feeling alone in the misery, That is apparent day after day.
I seek the right words to say, That my child chose a life in gangs. And my heart hurts, my stomach pangs, Knots in my throat A sure loss of hope. Will "my son" ever be mine again? Or is he trapped in this stupid fucking cycle of shit sin? Sentenced to 3 years in a juvenile facility.
It breaks my heart to see.
On our first visit the truth to our “system” made evident. When he enters with tattoos on his face... I feel nothing but utter disgrace. Sick to my stomach, Knots in my throat, Holding back tears, I feel I lost hope. How did this happen? He was suppose to be “safe” in this prison. Yet I see the fallacy.
And I’m disappointed - Full responsibility, to myself I've appointed. And I don’t know what to do. Hurt each time I see you, For the face I once knew. Is it never more, never more? My heart is so damn sore. Was this a matter of survival? Backed into a corner?

-K8

You may not take this poem with out permission from this page, or the author. Thank you!

Poop-tastrophe

Well, I am beyond thrilled to share our first contributor piece. The response to and for this little project has been overwhelming, and has brought me such delight over the past couple of days. Please make sure you share the page, share the Facebook Page, and also make sure you follow us! So, without further ado I present Genevieve.  - Caitlin

Genevieve  is mommy to two kids and one of the bloggers from That's What She Crafted.  She spends much of her week keeping her busy household running as smooth as she can while dashing back and forth from various volunteering tasks at her kids' schools.  After the kids are asleep,  she fullfills the itch to be crafty through sewing or knitting while binge watching a variety of movies and shows.  Each day is a task in trying to find her inner super mom and taking it one "hurry up we need to leave NOW!" at a time.

Poop-tastrophe

For those of you who have read Caitlin's "I Guess I Write Now", you'll know that there was an incident with her youngest and poop. That was her version, and her take on the delights of having a three-year-old with a mind of his own... Now for the very first time you'll get the other side because, that's right folks she was at MY house when this poop-tastrophe occurred.

......

Just a quick back story on our friendship - as you know Caitlin is an Army wife, living the nomad life. Me? Not a military wife at all... an Air Force Brat once upon a time, so I understand the dependent side of being a military nomad. I did not marry a service member, yet we move just like they do. My husband is an engineer, and in our 10 years of marriage we have moved 5 times! This does not include the times I moved "back home" to teach on my own during our first year of marriage. Some of you will remember that teaching jobs and the recession didn't mix well. 

In January 2016, we moved to the brown, drab, and desolate desert of the Southwest from the green, perfect lushiousness of the Pacific Northwest. Can you tell that we missed all the green and water?  We knew basically no body. My oldest was in kindergarten, and I ended that school year about the same amount of people as when we first moved to the area. 

Then fall happened - a new school year, and a new routine! We walked to school like we planned, and what do you know? There's this nice other mom who didn't mind making awkward small talk with me! She wore Doctor Who leggings to pick up, I thought oooohh!! someone who could share in my geekiness! She then sealed the deal she wore Harry Potter leggings - she is a Slytherin, but my Hufflepuff heart accepts all, or maybe my Ravenclaw brain knew she wasn't one to let run away. We continued the small talk branching into chats about fandoms and then one day she gave me a post-it note with her name, number, and permission to text "whenever."  Pretty sure we didn't even make it back to the house before texts were flying back and forth.

In any case that was the beginning of the beautiful, but awkward, first friend I made at my kids' school.  It didn't stop at texts, we shared kid birthday's together, went on that elusive forth base mommy date, cried when our husbands were yet out of town again, and had dinner at each other's houses. It was perfect.

.......

We were in the honeymoon phase of our mommy love affair - she even ended up moving down the street from us. We could yell (or text) from our driveways at each other that the garage door was open, or that the dogs were out!

Then we, really I should say I, ruined it... We decided to up and move. Just 8 hours away, but none the less move away. Before we moved away for good we decided on a last hurrah; this was to be an end of the year pizza party with water balloon fun, but life got in the way and we had to cancel. See my mom died, fuck cancer, and through it all Caitlin was a text away. She armed with lemon bars and a solid shoulder to cry on. The end of May was absolutely traumatic. Yet, I needed some fun too and so did my kids.  So, pizza party was back on for June once we returned from funeral services and taking care of various things. 

Pizza day arrived, and it was the first thing I had been truly excited about. Caitlin was bringing Sangria. I had 200 water balloons filled for the five kids. Homemade pizza dough was made the night before, and toppings were in little bowls ready to top dough and get shoved in the oven. We ate. The kids changed into suits and played their hearts out. The grown ups relaxed, chatted, laughed. It really was the perfect family affair. Then the youngest three, ages 3, 4, and 4, decided they weren't going to wait for me to fill the last few water balloons. They wanted to play upstairs in our loft. Cool. Here are your clothes, change, have fun. Big kids, ages 7 and 8, continue to play with the water balloons and squirt guns. Grown ups still blissfully enjoying each other's company. We can hear the kids up stairs playing with the Hulk hands and Duplos. 

Then the big kids are done outside, and come into to change. Suddenly, all hell breaks loose, and my oldest is calling down from the upstairs bathroom, "Umm guys? Can someone come help me?" All grown ups stop, look at each other, and wonder why the seven-year-old needs help?  I call up, "No you can change on your own."  He responds, "Ummm but there is poop on the toilet."

Now, if I could have had a camera and snapped Cailtin's face it would have been the perfect face for utter panic. She knew it was her kid's poop. She. Just. Knew. She BOLTED up the stairs as the other three grown ups in our group sat staring at each other.  Then we heard, "Honey get up here!"  At this point I assumed there was probably poop all over my bathroom.  Toilet, sink, cabinets, floor.  I mean that was the tone of the "get up here".

So her husband goes up, comes back down, and confirms there is poop. So, what can you do? I dash upstairs with some Clorox wipes to see her looking back at me with pleading "OMG how is this happening" eyes with her three-year-old in front of her as she tries to strip him down. The poop, the toilet and the floor? No big deal. Not for this former cloth diapering mama! Poop is poop. I ask about clothes and if she wants a bag for his clothes or to toss them. She asks for baby wipes to clean him down. I laugh and tell her to use the tub and the handheld shower head. Now she's hosing down Tiny.  Her husband and my husband are wiping things down. I'm grabbing clothing of my 4 year old daughter's that might fit and end with a bright yellow "bike for dad" shirt from Thailand, striped undies, and I think pink shorts.

In all of this there is laughter as we discuss how now our lives are forever sealed by poop. For my husband next security clearance, they will be asked, "How well do you know this family?" And they can respond, Poop Level. We are Poop Level friends - we've been in the poop trenches together and made it out. The kids continued to play, and we brought her blood pressure back down with another glass of Sangria. 

Overall, maybe not the perfect evening for us all, but looking back... maybe it was. I mean this was  poop-tastrophe June 2017, I know there will be other poop-tastrophes in my life time. I mean I'm a mom - sh!* happens. This is the one that sealed a friendship between two families, one that is sure to survive the distance from this move, and the moves that are bound to happen in the future.  We will never be more than a phone call or a text away. 

Currently, I'm waiting for her and her brood to come visit. I mean we bought the house with a huge basement for people to visit right? Or if she decides on a mommy vacation and have the basement all to herself, totally game for that too. Maybe our kids can get into some different sort of -tastrophe but at least be in it together!

- Genevieve

My Secret...

In hind sight, I can maybe, kind of, sort of see why POPSUGAR didn't want to publish this. Yet, at the same time... I feel like I cannot be the only one that feels this way. Statistically, it would be an impossibility for me to be the lone person in this category. Now that the holiday has come, and passed, I feel even more comfortable posting this...

Alas, I present another failure - may it make to laugh a bit, and send it off to the people in your life that would appreciate it the most.  

There’s One in Every Family

As Halloween drew to an end, I began to notice Christmas décor popping up in stores. The inner sigh I heaved was as deep as any I have ever heaved… Christmas before Halloween is just wrong. Yes, there is such a thing as decorating too early for Christmas. Yes, there is a “war on Christmas”, but it’s not exactly what you are initially thinking. My war on Christmas is strictly to keep Christmas in December, where it belongs. I don’t want sparkly trees, elves, and the fat man to show up while I am pigging out on small Snicker bars, and wolfing down mini-KitKats! I just don’t. At the beginning of November, I saw people hanging Christmas lights up. I heard some local radio stations playing Christmas music! Discussions of how many Saturdays were left before the big day arrived kept popping up in radio ads. As I deep eye rolled over this I realized, and not for the first time, that I am a Grinch.

There is one in every family.

I am the one in mine.

This actually doesn’t bother me the older I have become. I hate Christmas. There, I said it… I hate it. I won’t lie, pictures on Facebook or Instagram of the piles of presents under people’s Christmas trees make me want to shout profanities. Is it a status symbol to be able to fill the entire underneath of the Christmas tree? I hate it. I hate feeling like I have to buy Christmas gifts. To me, it cheapens what Christmas really ought to be about, and no amount of colored lights, loud singing, or candy canes make that feeling go away. Because I am pretty sure that is all my kids care about, and I am sure that is all your kids care about… the freaking Christmas gifts.

I usually wake up dreading all the bills we will have to pay come the first of the year over all the toys we had to buy for our children. There is nothing more brutal than trying to keep up with Black Friday ad’s, Toys’R’Us commercials, and the children’s little friends whispering about how awesome all their many things are. Last year at Christmas we were visiting family, and I literally cried as I bought Christmas gifts for everyone. It was so bad, that I washed my hands of buying Christmas gifts ever again. My husband is now in charge of gifting at the holiday, and it is honestly the best choice I have ever made.  

As a parent, I always find myself walking a fine line between spoiling our children rotten, and giving them the bare minimum. My oldest is old enough to thoroughly understand the concept of embarrassment, and jealously. As a young girl, there were very few Christmases full of the flurry of brightly colored paper; there were very few Christmases were I felt a feeling of abundance. I don’t want my own children to feel the feelings I have about Christmas, but I also don’t want them to expect the world offered to them each Christmas morning.

Furthermore, I am not sure Santa is really a great idea either. Don’t get me wrong, Santa is a’coming to our house, but I don’t think I like Santa. There is something about a giant fat man crawling down the chimney, peeping to see if you are sleeping, and then leaving gifts that just screams Horror Genre. Then he flies away on his sled pulled by eight tiny reindeer? Please. It’s a believable as the damn Elf on the Shelf… which we do have, and is currently riding in the Millennium Falcon that lives on top of the kitchen cabinets.

………..

The good news is, I am extremely good at faking Christmas cheer. Even more good news is for every Grinch like me, there are literally dozens of others that are exclaiming their love for Christmas from the roof tops… literally, in the form of their many colored lights, and animatronic deer set to Jingle Bells. I guess I am glad for that, because otherwise the world would be pretty drab around Christmas if we were all Grinch’s.

I probably won’t ever like Christmas, but I will continue to fake smile my way through the many renditions of Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, and The Little Drummer Boy. I will trim the Christmas tree in grumpiness, hang the stockings with care, and then wrap the gifts. I will always be an active participant in the season, despite hating it, because I love my children and I love my husband. My hope is that they will remember that, like the Grinch, I was there year after year to catalogue, critique, and be present for each Christmas. I’m their Grinch, and I think they need me around just as much as I need to be around… because nothing makes a Grinch more of a Grinch than being left out.

Btw - your welcome.

Inconvenient Me

I am not sure I have met one person that doesn't doubt their own self worth. Even those very confident people must worry about how they are viewed. Surely they must...

Yet again, this was passed over. I wish they would tell me why they don't want to publish these things, especially when I see things like this posted on Facebook...

So I present: Inconvenient Me

There is one thing I understand about people, and that is, as a whole, they love convenience. It is part of the reason social media is so huge, it gives everyone the most convenient and easy way to “stay in touch”. All anyone has to do is slap a “Like” or “Love” on something, and they now feel a part of your life. It’s actually very voyeuristic, the way social media has made us all. We have all become strangers to each other, just watching what happens from the outside.

While I may have a pretty package most days, I have rough edges. My husband does weird things like Deployments and TDY’s… we live a nomadic, lonely kind of life, and it’s hard for people not in the military life to understand me. Honestly, I am pretty sure it is hard for people IN the military life to understand me! We have three children, and two dogs, and our house is frequently very loud and chaotic. I have no chill, handle things with little to no grace, and I swear like a sailor. Who would want to even be my friend?

I am very inconvenient.

Our boys are only thirteen months apart in age… to say the youngest was a mistake is not accurate, but he sure did arrive a bit quicker than we planned. Our daughter is some kind of old soul gifted to us by the angels, and I often find myself astounded by her. I can see why the children have as many friends as they do, and it makes my heart glad. They are the kind of people that other people will think about when they are not around. My husband is also someone people think of when he is not around, but I am not so sure people think about me when I am not around. I don’t think anyone actively thinks to themselves “I wonder what Caitlin is up to?”

This used to bother me more when I was in middle and high school than it does now. I desperately wanted to be in the popular crowd, be invited to all the parties, and do all the cool things. I wasn’t popular and I didn’t get invited to do the cool things. In middle school, I was frumpy and awkward – I had bad acne and my parents were going through a divorce. The first two years of high school I was still awkward with acne, but now my father had graduated to full blown alcoholic. Who wants to hang out with the girl whose dad is a drunk? No one. That’s who.

After my Ma rescued my sister and me from my father, the last two years of high school didn’t really go the way I had envisioned either. I discovered things like marijuana and alcohol, and let’s just say I made some bad choices. What’s more is I continued to make bad choices all the way until I was 21! My learning curve was kind of on a bad bell curve, or something... Now that I am older, I know many of those choices and actions I did were in a deeply desperate attempt to get people to like me. At best, I think I was tolerated by people. At worse, I think people hated me. I don’t blame any of those people from when I was younger for those thoughts – I didn’t really like myself.

Despite all the growth I have done in my heart and soul, I still have that nagging feeling that people just don’t care. That it is actually too hard to care. That they are too busy with more worthwhile, and interesting people. Everyone wants to be friends with that gal that can complete an Ironman, or has the means to go to Disney World all the time. Everyone want to be friends with the fashionista momma, or the makeup-mom, or the good-at-telling-jokes mom. But what about all the moms that are just wondering if you think about them? What about moms like me… that used to be the desperate girl in school everyone made fun of? Who wants to be friends with us?

.....

I want to be friends with you. I want to see all the pictures from babyhood to toddlerhood and into school age. I want to drink coffee, or a diet coke, with you and I want to laugh at how dumb we used to be when we were younger. I want to hug you when you realize your parents are aging, and we are losing our grandparents. I want to cry with you when you stumble upon that day you realize you are all done having children. I want to go to the gymnastics meets, the cheerleading competitions, the football games, and the band concerts. I want to glory in all of your mundane things you do every day, because to me they are divine.

To me, you are the friend I will always chose. You know how to do real life, and you will always be worth the text message, the phone call, or the handwritten letter. I will always keep trying to be your friend, because I know that like me you feel inconvenient. So, come along, we can be inconvenient together. 

Always.     

     

Being Lonely

I had one response back from POPSUGAR about the piece I am presenting today. But it didn't seem to matter how many times I changed things around, they just didn't want it... It's a shame really. I think there are lots of new spouses, and maybe even seasoned spouses, that need to hear this sometimes. There are people out there that have no idea what military families go through, and maybe they need to read this also. Please feel to share as needed.

How I Survive

Someone asked me how my marriage works, as an Army spouse, and I had to think very hard. Our marriage works because I love him, I love our children, I love our country, and I have figured out how to be lonely. I think when a spouse doesn’t, or can’t, figure out how to be lonely, that is when the marriage hurts. It’s not your spouses’ fault he or she has to leave to do “Army Stuff”, but it will be one of your faults if you don’t figure out how to be alone. You don’t need to be full of grace, and patience while alone. You don’t need to be happy while alone. You don’t even have to smile while alone, but you do have to be alone. Alone, and lonely.

When I was newly married into this life, despite having been an Army brat all my life, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I discovered that part of being a military spouse isn’t a list of grand adventures, or the famous people we have met, or seemingly old-fashioned rules we have to follow… rather it is often times a long list of things we do NOT get to do. We do not get to go home for every Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, or any type of holiday one celebrates. We do not get to have our mother’s and sister’s present at the birth of any of our children, and some cases husbands don’t get to be there either. We do not get to hug our parents during the passing of their parents, and sometimes we do not get to be there for the burial of a beloved grandparent.

My experiences as an Army wife are as varied as the days are long. When my husband is home, the usual strange things happen to us… a kid gets a boo-boo, a dog gets sick, or the air conditioning stops working. However, when he is gone for any length of time, all hell breaks loose upon our household. When my husband deployed to Iraq two years ago, our then two-year-old ran into the corner of the entertainment center, fractured his nose, gave himself two black eyes, and a slight concussion. Later that same week, the washer began to leak, and there was a small flood in the laundry room overnight. The week after that, early in the morning a skunk was run over in front of our house, and instead of dying with grace, it drug itself to my driveway before dying - literally drug itself six feet from the scene of the crime to die in my driveway. This all happened in the first month he was gone!  

At the end of all those days, despite having friends to cheer me up and laugh with, I was alone. And lonely. It is isolating, in a way, that loneliness. It isn’t easy to articulate to people that don’t live this life, and while I don’t speak for every spouse out there, we have common themes among us. We all always have the same looming thing on the horizon - The PCS. A Permanent Change of Station is the term for the moves the military has a service member, or sometimes just his/her spouse, complete. P.C.S.’s always seem to happen right when you have found a few friends that really get you… Like, I finally found my mom tribe, one that didn’t begrudge my Diet Coke fueled crafting, and my mouth that swears like a sailor, then suddenly I swear the next day a crew of strangers arrived to pack my life into boxes.

The last move across the country was with three children, two dogs, and my amazing sister-in-law driving the extra car. My husband was in Iraq. A vast open highway sat before me, my friends behind me, and I was the loneliest not alone I had ever felt. A minivan full of kids and dogs, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I sat mile after mile listening to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, reminiscing about the last set of family photos I got to do with my husband before he deployed, and lamenting the fact I never got enough pictures with my friends. I also kept wondering if anyone would even want to be my friend at the new place.    

When we finally arrived in our new town, and I drove by two Targets in route to the new house! I felt tingling’s of hope start to creep in. I noticed things the locals probably take for granted –a fancy cupcake shop that was on Cupcake Wars, green chili on everything for some reason, and hot air balloons happily listing through the morning sky. I cried after the first week of living in the new place, because the moving truck was still not there. I just wanted to get on with things, and start to set up house. And when everything finally did arrive, lots of our stuff was damaged. Such is life.

Our neighbors were nice, if not somewhat bewildered at how I manage this life. People frequently would exclaim at me to “just ask for help” if I needed anything. I always just say thank you, and know I will probably never ask for help… it’s some type of flaw within me. I just do all the things. Everything was good during the days, and then bedtime would arrive.  All my doubts, fears, worries and loneliness would become all consuming. But, really, my time to dwell on those thoughts couldn’t, and can't, last long… tomorrow is always a new day, full of children with curious minds waiting to see just how high the heavy rock in the back yard can be thrown into the sky.     

…..

I have mentioned before that the only thing I have ever been good at is being a mommy. I am an above average wife, and I can usually admit when I am wrong… although, it might take me a couple days to admit this. The life I have built with my husband is actually the life I want. I have very little to no regrets about the choices we have made, the amount of children we have, and the number of dogs that occupy our home with us. This is my life. This is how many military spouses live their lives. My experience is not new or unique, but maybe it’s not talked about as much as it should be. There might be a young spouse out there right now that needs to read this. That needs to know, it is okay.

So, Little Spouse, you are okay. It’s hard, this life. We are nomadic - our tribe is always on the move, and we leave behind our members often. The first time is always the hardest time, and it doesn’t actually get any easier with each new move, but you do learn how to do it better. At your next duty station, try and find that spouse that seems to be able to do it all on his or her own. That is the spouse that, like me, is probably very good at being lonely. It’s not necessarily a skill we can teach you, but it is a skill we can model for you.

Plus, we usually make really good cookies. 

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.  

..................

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.

....................................

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.  

Three

Dearest Bubba,

Today you turn three, and I promise to write you a letter every year so we can laugh about all you have done in a twelve month period. Lots of it will be silly, and funny, but sometimes it will be sad and heartfelt. So, here we go, my little dude.

Since turning two, you seemed to take The Terrible Twos as a challenge, and you rose to it magnificently. I cannot begin to explain to you how many times I have told you to stop jumping off the couch, or how much I have shrieked at you to get off the baby because he is NOT a horse. You acquired a love for stuffed puppies, and hard plastic dinosaurs. You fell in love with and out of love with homemade enchiladas quicker than any person I have ever known. Cheddar cheese and Greek yogurt became a staple in your diet, and we were pleased to see you eating everything in sight.

We took you to an Orthopedic doctor about your bowed legs, and he told us to switch your shoes to the wrong feet and it would fix you right up. I thought the man was mad, loony, crazy, but to my chagrin it worked. Your legs straighten out, and you started to fall down less when you ran... You still fall down quite a bit, but I suspect that is because you have the genes of a klutz running strong in you. You have had at least two concussions and very likely fractured your nose, or broke it... The ER visits for you are almost as high as Little Baby.

The biggest change in your life has been that Daddy deployed this year. While you are perhaps our most challenging kid, I suspect Daddy misses you something fierce. You are his miniature, and we both went through such hell to make sure you survived. Watching you say goodbye to Daddy at the airport when he had to leave was heart breaking. For days, you wandered around the house asking "Daddy??" in every room. I am not sure what was more sad, seeing you do that, or one day suddenly realizing you had stopped looking for him. It has taken literal months for you to want to Facetime with Daddy on the tablet, and I know for a fact you want to talk to him, to see him, to hear him.. Today, on your big third birthday, you happily chatted with your Daddy and I think we both wanted to cry with happiness.

Bubba, you are such a tough little guy - so naughty, so smart, so sweet all at the same time. The stubborn soul that carried you through the NICU and helped you survive infancy is the thing we love the most about you. Your sheer will and determination for life is amazing to behold. There is not a single thing you need to change about yourself my love, and I hope you grow up knowing that.

Happy Birthday, Jamie.

You are kind,
You are smart.
You are strong.
You are brave.
You are important.

I love you, always.

Fleeting Moments

As a mother, there are some things you feel so deeply, it takes your breath away. Women, in general, have this weird quirk laying under the surface... I just think mothers let it lay at the surface. We cry with joy over first steps, first foods, and first birthdays. We weep with sadness over first concussions, first failed cartwheels, and first vomiting episodes. We laugh ourselves to tears over silly butt shaking dances, accidental projectile snotty sneezes, and the inevitable turn around right into the wall moments.

The moments that take your breath away are not things people without children would even understand. Not really. You can feel moments deep in your heart over your nieces, nephews, and God children, but the way one feels about their own children is so special. You feel them grow inside your body. You labor over them. You watch them breath, and if you are the mother of a preemie, beg for them to breath. You smell the tops of their heads, and kiss them so many times you couldn't possible count that high. It's different, to be a mother. So very different. You can tell your friends that it doesn't, or won't change you, but it is a lie... a bold faced lie.

I tried to pretend having the children didn't change me, and perhaps after we had Sassy, I was basically the same. Bubba was the game changer for me, I think. Something in my heart shifted when he came bursting into life too early. Ah, and then there is Little Baby. Who wouldn't be changed by the kid that almost killed you... I can say that last thing with a bit of humor now, but I assure you.. it is no joke. I love these children. They are mine... for now. One day, all too soon, they will be grown up people, far too busy to call me as much as I want. Far too busy for me to kiss them as much as I want.

That is why we do things like this....

Those are laundry baskets with a pillow inside, a bowl full of popcorn, a cozy blanket, and a movie on. We had a movie date. The boys were so, so, SO excited. My friend, Lovely, is the one who suggested this, and I feel she is the best gal for sharing. This is my fleeting moment today. This moment will never happen again. Not ever. We can try to recreate this moment, but it will never be the same. The joy of this brand new experience will never happen again.

The cruelest thing about having a baby, is that they grow up. My advice, dear readers, is to take joy in your fleeting moments. Cry if you have to, but hang on to these moments.. they are so precious.

One Month Down

As of the 30th of October, we are one month down, eleven to go. The phrase "take a picture, it lasts longer" applies to this life.. So, here is this past month, in review, with pictures.

Here is Bubba after his big crash into the entertainment center... As you can see, he did not care at all, except he did ask "why no lolly?" after we went to the ER. Maybe we go to the ER too much. Also, who looks this good all banged up...?

This is my new gal, Leela. Big Guy was so sweet in encouraging me to get her. Yes, she is a Golden Retriever. Yes, I bought her from a breeder. No, there is probably not a damn thing you can say that will make me feel bad about it - we rescued Egon from the shelter in town, and after Dona Dog... well, I couldn't take the heartbreak of having to put down another of my yellow dogs. Sure, sure. I could have found a rescue, but I didn't. I found a delightful gal who owns the mom and dad, is in the Air Force, and she had two girl puppies left when I found her. I knew Leela was my dog from the moment I saw her - she came right up to me, and hasn't left my side since. She is affectionately called "Pisser", because she pees when she is excited... "happy puddles".

Oh, my Sassy, little girl. I can't believe it - we have a gymnast in our family. Not sure how, or why, that happened, but we are so proud. You can see in the left corner her coach writing something down. This was test day... I didn't know it at the time, and neither did Sass. This was the day she was bumped up from beginner to level two. Next stop is "Hot Shots", or the advanced class, then team. Oooo, then we are talking leotards, and meets, and makeup, and hair... I am excited. And, yeah, if she wants to quit gymnastics, no biggie. We aren't mean!

Have you ever met someone, and knew right away they were for you? Facebook can be such an annoying pit of despair sometimes... It's is very rare to join a "group" and find people you actually like. And then it is even more rare to hang out with those people in real life! I have this fear that when I meet new people, they will immediately see all my flaws and say "No Thanks!" I am a deeply flawed person, but don't hide this from people. This past month, I have had the great pleasure of adding a new little chick to my coop... I seem to accumulate children while Big Guy is gone - I should probably open a daycare. Her momma calls her Beauty, and I will call her momma Lovely. Lovely lets me watch Beauty, and always pays me in the best ways - one time I got a Diet Coke, a handful of cinnamon and brown sugar roasted pumpkin seeds, and a Hershey's bar. Are you jealous? You should be! Beauty is probably the sweetest soul I have ever met, next to Sass. She is beautiful inside and out, and the boys, especially Little Baby, love her dearly. Lovely has become such a dear friend to me, and I honestly don't know what I would do without her, and my other girlfriends around here. They keep me sane when I am feeling like I am loosing my mind...

People. My oven died. And when I say died, I mean the god damn heating element literally melted in half. Like. What? I was without a oven for an entire day... Not too bad really. The guys at our local Lowe's took pity on me, I think, and had my new oven delivered next day. And the dead oven would not have been such a big deal if I hadn't been baking banana bread when it died. Half baked banana bread is the worse.

And finally, I leave you with this. 

Skunk removal consisted of: towel on the head, dish washing gloves, an old outfit, the diaper pail, a can of tomato sauce (duh, that's how you get skunk smell out), a trash bag, and my snow shovel. No. There is no picture of that. And I cannot make this shit up - when I went out there, I could see where it had been hit, then the skunk slime from there to the end of my driveway where it crawled to die.

Life is fun.

......

We aren't sure what I did to the deployment Gods to make them so mad, but it is everyone's firm belief that enough is enough. 

Big Guy is off across the ocean tomorrow - send me good vibes that nothing else breaks while he is gone.. no more road kill... only more happy days spent with good friends and their lovely children.

When He Leaves

There is no other experience quite like a deployment. There is so much paperwork, stress, and tears to be had before it all happens... then your spouse leaves, and the kids are insane, the dogs are insane, and you maybe just want your mommy to come rescue you. But, somehow a new normal happens, and you get on with it all.

In the very short three weeks that Big Guy has been gone, middlest smashed his face into the entertainment center, causing a possible broken nose and a definite concussion. Littlest was stung by a bee, our first bee sting of the family, and was luckily not allergic. Sass graduated from level one in gymnastics, up to level two without even realizing she had been tested. The washing machine has sprung an odd leaks that happens sometimes, and sometimes not. The newest addition, our Golden Retriever puppy, peed on me while laying in bed with me. And I swear to God if one more person comes knocking on our door, during nap time, the house better be on fire, or they better be delivering free case of wine, or be The Rock offering to do topless housecleaning.

.........

I do not handle these kinds of situations with grace. I do not hold on to my dignity, and I am not above bursting into tears in the middle of the Walmart. I stress about money, laundry, house chores, and my own sanity more often than I probably should. I hate when people treat me like I am delicate, and about to break... I just want someone to make me laugh. Unfortunately, the person that makes me laugh the absolute hardest is the person that is gone.

And I suppose that is what hurts the most while Big Guy is deployed... How little I seem to laugh. How little I feel like I smile. It is so quiet with out him, and that's saying a lot considering just how loud or house is... Because, I swear, our kids and dogs can't hear me unless I am screaming at the top of my lungs for them to "please, just come eat your god damn dinner already!!"..



......

Yeah. I miss him. No. It does not go away, or get easier, or any of that rubbish people say. It just sucks the whole time. The. Whole. Time. But, he will come home.. he has to. I told him to, and I am bossy, so I know he will obey me.

Until he comes home, keep him in your thoughts and prayers. Until he comes home, send me chocolate or wine, or just come a visit me, gosh darn it. I will find a space for you to sleep. Until he comes home...

Volleyball and Fire Trucks

Today, middle child discovered a lovely red box with a white lever on the inside. Quite naturally, he looked to see if I was watching him (I was) and if my friend was watching him (she was), and then pulled the lever.

I shrieked out a NO, but it was too late. It was too late to stop the inevitable sound of the fire alarm going off.

Yes. Middle child pulled the fire alarm today. At the gym. When it was full of people. People swimming, people lifting weights, people with their children, and people playing volleyball. All these people had to stop what they were doing, and maybe some of them had limited time, and leave the building. All these people had to stand outside, wait for the fire department to show up, and assess the building with full "battle gear" on.

I. Was. Mortified. And that puts in mildly. I was in tears. The embarrassment I felt over this little episode is like nothing I have ever experienced. How did he reach this magical lever, you ask? Well, we were there to cheer on The Captain's volleyball team. There is a big sporting competition going on right now, and today was volleyball day. There were bleachers pushed up against the wall to accommodate for the surge in people on the gym floor... at the PERFECT height to reach the magical lever. Really, how could he NOT pull it, right? He is two.

....

I get to go to bed early. I already decided. The Captain doesn't know it yet, but I am done child rearing for the day. He can finish out the day when he gets home.

Century Link is Terrible

Dear Century Link Internet Provider for Idiots,

Hi. I am one of the idiots that pays you a ridiculous amount of money for internet that is spotty at best. You won't ever read this, because let's face it... you are a giant corporation, and you will continue to dick us over, because what other choice do we have? Seriously. In my neighborhood, you are the only one with lines into us all - the other providers have to use satellite dishes. Satellite internet is the tech world's lazy solution to get people internet in places where monopolies exist.

I freaking hate you, Century Link. Like, if you were an actual person, and you were on fire, I might, kind of, sort of, actually just walk right by. I mean, I would totally let someone else know you were on fire, but I personally would do nothing about it. I would not go out of my way to help you not be on fire, because you are kind of, definitely an utter asshat. For realz, yes that Z is on purpose, what is the problem here? In 2015, I long for the days of my dial up internet, because at least we knew that is was going to be slow. You know?

My bandwidth is almost like my sanity at the end of the day. I made this really silly, and utterly amazing, choice to stay at home and raise our children. Two of them happen to be under two, preemies, and not going to daycare. They are with me all the time. Pooping their pants, screaming nonsense at me, and demanding all my love and attention. Then I pick up my one and only girl child from school, and then I have three lovely tiny humans wanting all of my love. Frankly, it's exhausting. They go to bed, and I want to zone out to Game of Thrones, Gotham, or Grey's Anatomy. You want to know what, you fucks? Those apps don't work, because the fucking shitty internet tanks at night. TANKS. NOSE DIVE. I am 100% fine with have no internet all day. Like, can you save all my bandwidth from the daytime, and let me use it at night?

I am not really sure how to end this rant. Probably like I end all of my rants to you, which I am sure you didn't read. In case you are interested in reading them, please see your Facebook page, and look within each post of the last year. So here it goes.

Fix my internet. Fix my internet. Fix my internet. FIX. MY. INTERNET. FIX IT!!!!

On the 20th

Friday, March 20th, Middle child will be two-years-old. For some parents, reaching two is not as big of a deal as when their child reaches one. For us, it is somewhat different. Let me tell you why.

Two years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, 32 weeks and 5 days pregnant. My water had broke at 29 weeks and 6 days, and from that day forward, I lay in a hospital bed. My sole job was to grow a tiny human for as long as possible. I was in a city that I had never seen. I was away from my husband, my sweet daughter, and my lovable idiot of a dog. My parents were in a completely different state, and my friends could only come see me a few times, because I was just so far away. To say I was miserable puts it mildly. The quiet that lives inside a hospital is deathly scary, especially when you have an all consuming fear that your tiny human might die... because that can happen, even in the best of hospitals, inside the best of NICU's. It can happen, and it is freaking scary.

I kept middle child in, and growing, until I was exactly 33 weeks pregnant, and out he came that very night. I went from posting on Facebook about how all was well, to posting a picture of us holding the tiniest person I have ever held. He was more cables, cords, and wires than person. Two years ago, something inside me broke, and to this day I doubt it will ever be fixed. I delivered a four pound baby into the arms of strangers, and I was able to hold him for three minutes before I wasn't allowed to see him again for three hours. My son. The first grandson... Tucked away in a plastic case, with life support, and nurses, and doctors, and momma and daddy could do nothing. I prayed. I cried. I raged.

Magically, under the kindness and understanding of the NICU staff, I learned to care for a preemie. I watched him gain weight, keep his body temperature up, and learn to eat. He was feisty. My heart ached and yearned to take him home, but I never, ever asked the nurses when they thought we would be able to leave. I waited. And we only had to wait for three weeks.

Then suddenly we were home with a five pound baby that never stopped crying. I was heartbroken once again - every time he would nurse he would cry, but if he wasn't nursing he would cry. Our daughter was so used to hearing him cry, that it was always the first thing she told people about Bubba... "He sure cries a lot." I remember my amazing mother-in-law coming for a visit, and saying that she made an off handed remark to a co-work about "how bad could it really be?". She said she was sorry for thinking that, because after spending a of couple days with us, with his crying, she knew. The doctors put him on a special formula for milk allergies, and suddenly he was not crying anymore. He was still feisty, but not crying and that was amazing to me.



In the first year, we waited for smiles, for crawling, for walking, and for talking. He reached one and it was a HUGE deal for us. He survived the first year! We did a happy dance.

Then we began waiting for him to reach all the milestones - fine motor skills, gross motor skills, social/emotional... We waited for the day when the doctors stopped adjusting for age, and for them to tell us he didn't need any therapies because of his premature birth. Preemies have until age two to catch up - and he did! He will go off for a consult with Ortho because he has bowed legs, and that may have nothing to do with him being a preemie. He also has under gone some blood tests to see about his food allergies, but again that may have nothing to do with him being a preemie.

He is still my most difficult child - the one I worry about constantly, and find myself wondering just exactly who he is. I can't figure him out, not the way I have Girl Child and Little Baby figured out. He is naughty in an intelligent way. He rarely smiles for the camera. He loves Legos and things with wheels. He loves to eat. He hates being upside down. He screams louder than any person I have ever known. He throws up on me, bites me, kicks me, and then cozies up to me and says "Luufff yoouuu".

So, I have this to say to him -

Dearest Middle Child,

No. Little baby is not a step stool, and neither is the dog... either of the dogs. Sissy is not your slave, so please stop pointing at things and demanding them in one word sentences. Daddy loves you very much, try really hard to stop running head first into his junk - ouchie. Momma desperately wants to sleep past five in the morning, so please try really hard to stay asleep.

You owe me kid. Big time. I aim to collect. I will embarrass you and you will definitely think you will die from it... But you won't. I will always kiss you right on the lips, and I don't even care if you hate it or you wipe it off afterwards. There will always, always be more food - stop acting like you don't know when your next meal will be.

You are mine and I am yours and there ain't shit you can do about that. I love you, James T. Keep growing - keep getting stronger, faster, and smarter.

Your Momma


...................

Happy Birthday, buddy.