Tuesdays with the Lab

My dog is a fake lab. I'm almost positive of this. He hates all things water (lakes, rivers, swimming pools, sprinklers, the list goes on and on), he loves birds (not loves to chase birds, I mean he really loves birds!), loves rabbits, and has almost no kill instinct (except unknowing children on skateboards, cats, chihuahas, and German Shepards). He weeds my back yard. Now I know with that last statement you probably think I've either lost my mind or am making things up, but I kid you not, I have seen with my own two eyes that labrador pulling weeds out of the grass and throwing them in a place that he does not venture. He is bizarre. Despite these shortcomings, and one perk (that weeding thing is pretty awesome!), I adore him with all that I am. He truly is such an immense comfort to me and our children.

I suppose my Monday was just going too wonderful. I think he must've felt some sort of urging to come in and shake things up a bit. The lobster and I were enjoying an evening film when we were overcome by a disturbing smell (side note: in a completely weird coincidence, we happened to be watching a show about a disgusting smell in an office at the exact moment we smelled our disgusting smell). We almost immediately said the smell was that of a skunk. We knew that we would quickly need to discover this smell, so the lobster jumped on the mission.

He wandered the house, checked outside, and roamed about and finally came back and delivered his verdict: there is no source of the smell and it's fading away anyway so I'm sure it's gone. Now, I don't like to be labelled as a pessimist, but I wasn't quite content with his analysis of the data. I do, however, want to be agreeable with my handsome husband, so I shrugged it off, put it on the shelf, and we continued our film.

When the film was over, we decided to have a glass of wine outside and enjoy the cooler weather. After walking outside (he was finishing something up in the house and was coming out "any second now"), I was immediately struck by the same smell we had smelled earlier. Then my beloved Labrador came up to me with an agitated demeanor and was pointing at something in the yard. He went over to the "something" and sniffed it when I immediately commanded him to come away. I think he was quite satisfied to do that. He just wanted to point out to this lady what fowl creature had so viciously attacked our peaceful domain. His point was made. I saw it...

The "it" that I am referring to, was a baby skunk. The tiniest thing I could ever have imagined. It was about the size of a small mouse, but it's white stripe and bushy tail were distinct. My lab went to war with a skunk. Now, I will have to say that he won the war because the skunk was dead, but the skunk put up one hell of a fight because he/she sprayed my lab...

So what did I so unhappily do for my precious labrador at one o'clock in the morning? You guessed it! I donned rubber gloves, an online skunk smell removal recipe, our hose, and went to work. I scrubbed and cleaned, rinsed off, and started the process all over again. After about five cleanings, I then gave him a real bath and got him all fresh. So here I currently sit, at almost two in the morning, waiting for his hair to dry so we can go to bed...

I hope he has learned his lesson. I quite honestly have never seen him so embarrassed and upset. He actually tolerated the cleanings (which is a shocker in and of itself) without putting up any sort of fight.

So my Tuesday has started off quite interestingly. You'll have to forgive me if I smell skunky for a few days...

Thankful Thursdays

Today has been a crazy busy day in my household. I spent the day sewing/repairing furniture, reorganizing my daughter's room, hanging up decorations, playing with children, and purging stuff we no longer need. All of these activities have me a bit tired, but I still want to take some time to sit around and think about some of the things that I am thankful for.

• My husband loves me more than he knows how to say and he daily encourages me, challenges me, and leads me. While doing those things, he takes into account my weaknesses and my passions and helps to press me forward into a better version of who I was created to be.
• My children are alive, despite a thousand different illnesses and medical conditions that have worked so hard to take them from our lives on earth. They are beautiful, intelligent, and immaculate human beings. I am blessed and amazed by how compassionate, driven, and open they are. I strive to always create an environment where they will know that I am their mom and they are safe to bring their thoughts, struggles, and ideas to me. 
• My friends. I have spent an enormous amount of time being put through emotional hell while here at this duty station. I have been slandered, lied about, attacked, demonized, and almost completely emotionally destroyed (almost all of this by "Christian" women). I have been taken for granted and completely unappreciated. I was almost to the point of emotional shutdown, until God brought two of the most amazing women into my life. They have made my time roaming around in the desert to be entirely worthwhile, and I will cherish them all of my life. They are the truest example of friendship and I am so thankful to have them here.
• Electricity. Lets face it, this is something we take for granted. I am so grateful that I have lights to turn on, an air conditioner to cool, and a refrigerator to keep food fresh. 
• My dogs. Despite all that I say about they annoy me and how the Spaniel is exceptionally aggravating, the truth is they are such a huge aspect of my life that I love them dearly. Even the Spaniel is utterly wonderful when a person isn't feeling well, and needs lots of cuddles and snuggles. She will literally just climb up on your lap (or next to you if you're laying down) and stay there until you tell her to leave. Despite all of her aggravations, this is one thing that I truly adore about her.
• My husband having a job. As much as there are a thousand times when the Army makes me feel so frustrated and angry beyond my ability to communicate, I am grateful that we have medical insurance, and a salary to pay our bills. 

So these are just a few things. What are you thankful for today?

The list

Okay folks. Since I have been married for a while now, I thought it best to bestow some of my "How to Be Happily Married" wisdom on you all. Here is one of those posts. :)

List of things to NEVER ask your husband because you don't really want to know the answer:


1. Do you pee in the bathtub/shower?
2. Did you do anything that would cause that yellow stain which is surrounding our toilet on the floor?
3. Did that waitress look hotter than me?
4. On a scale of 1-10, how good was our sex last night?
5. Was that wet spot on the toilet seat due to you not lifting the seat?
6. Have you ever picked your nose and flung your booger's in the trashcan?
7. Do you pee outside in the backyard?
8. Have you ever picked your nose and eaten your boogers?
9. Have you ever slept with a prostitute?
10. Do you drink out of the milk carton?

To be continued... LOL

NOTE: My husband asked me to write this post. I realize that it is usually not on par with my normal postings, nor things I think about. However, he has NEVER asked me to write anything ever, and he thought this one would be hilarious. Also, please be aware that he thought up almost all of these questions...The only one I contributed to the discussion was #10, because I was quite hilariously shocked to discover the answer to that one. :)

Sunsets

I'm sitting outside in what is universally accepted as an ugly place to live. It really is. I mean, sure, we can make an argument that even ugly places have their own version of beauty, and I suppose that's true in this case. But over all, in a completely general way, this city is ridiculously ugly. My eyes don't look outside here and think wow! Look at that view! I'm so glad I get to see this every day!

There comes a time in the day where the brown ugly sandy-ness disappears under the shadow of the sun hiding behind the mountain. The brown ugly mountains put on their masquerade mask of the night time and I tend to find myself smitten. This place is beautiful...but only at dawn and dusk.

I love watching the mountains morph from this ugly brown to a deep dark blue. They stand so majestically against the pale blue sky and the orange glowing sun. Everything seems so peaceful at this time of day. Everything seems so simple.

The world is beginning to drift off to sleep and the night time crazies have not ventured out yet. The world is settling down. At least, the world as I know it from my back porch. In this random of moments I am content.

Mama presents

I think it's interesting the things we hand down to our children. For me, my oldest child is basically a carbon copy of my genes. She and I look exactly alike. Seriously. There is no mistaking that she is my child. Not only do we look alike, but we also have the same personality. I understand the whole nurture/nature perspective and I don't really know which side of that fence I stand on. This child, though, is my carbon copy. Except better.

All of this gene talk does have a point...just stick with me. :)

So today the lobster and I took our four kids to the dentist. Today was the day my oldest got her panoramic X ray of her whole mouth. They do this once a year in order to check the status of whether or not she is ready for braces (she is not...). Well guess what was discovered!? My oldest chicken nugget is missing six permanent teeth! That's right! Born without them! And guess what!? They also think she was born without wisdom teeth too (it's they think because they can't be certain until next year because they could just be delayed in starting to form). So she might really be born without ten teeth!

Apparently, this is genetic. And guess who she gets it from? That's right folks...ME! I was born without two wisdom teeth. I have all the rest of my pearly whites, but I was only born with my bottom set of wisdom teeth.

So it turns out I have bestowed upon this most precious of creatures, even more of my genetic anomalies. Poor kid. :)

Sleep...

"They" say the human body cannot survive with less than four hours of sleep a day. We need it in order to repair damaged tissue, and strengthen our bodies to do the functions required for the day. Sleep has to happen. The majority of people take it for granted as something they just do. The majority of women think that they don't get enough of it, especially if they have children. For a lot of Army wives, sleep is a dirty word.

I remember having such a heightened sense of the house when my children were little. I would sleep, but it was almost as if my mind was constantly ready to be alerted, my body was instantly ready to react if necessary. My husband says that's how it is in combat...he is always ready to react, defend, protect, if necessary. 

I was thinking about how so many soldiers think that while they're barely sleeping over there we are peacefully dreaming away the night, while here. I'm going to have to call BS on that one. You see, Army wives just don't sleep that much when their men are gone.

It's not that we don't want to. I promise you, we desperately do. Our bodies need and crave sleep. It's not because we don't have peace that God will protect us. We don't stay awake because we're afraid. We stay awake because we are always on high alert.

For example, your phone could ring at any second of the day or night. An Army Wife is vehemently attached to her cell phone. She is almost a nazi about it. We intentionally and purposefully avoid places where we have no cell phone service. The phone's are with us while we shower. They are near us when we're at church. They are there at the doctor's office. They are on at almost all times. Just in case the soldier calls... It is a sure fire way to completely ruin our days, to miss a call from our soldier down range. Especially because with each phone call is an ever present notion that this could just possibly be our "last one" and we'd better make it count. 

We are also on high alert should anything possibly happen in the night. When your husband is home, you always know (even if you have a jerk of a husband who does little to no parenting at night with your kids) that you have back up should it be required. You know that if your house catches on fire, your husband can grab two of your four kids and you the other two. If your spouse is deployed, it's only you who will be around to get all four kids out of the house. If someone gets sick, or wets the bed, or sleep walks, or falls out of bed, or any of the thousand of things that can occur in the middle of the night, it's all on you to fix it, clean it, change it, and lead them back to their bed's safely. This causes an Army spouse's ears to be passionately tuned in to the sounds of the night...

We also don't sleep well because sleep isn't pretty, when it finally does show up. The dreams that come are enough to cause us to fight it off as long as possible. They're not all nightmares either. Truth be told, it's the beautiful dreams that hurt the most. It's the dreams where he is laying next to me in the pillow, or that he is laughing and playing with our children, or where we are sitting on our couch talking that cause the most pain. To be lost in a moment where my mind is in its most favorite of moments, and then to be jerked awake by reality is exhausting. To come back to the world with him not in it sucks. 

Of course, the obvious is always looming... By obvious I mean what seems to so permeate the thoughts of those who pity us....if our soldier dies. Now I know the crap that everyone says (and I am honestly guilty of doing it myself): everyone dies. We could die driving to the grocery store. We will go when it's our time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. But the truth is, for the majority of people, that's not really a part of their consciousness. You don't wake up in the morning going, hey! It's really possible that my husband will die on his way to work today! Most people don't have that as an actual possibility in their minds. It's not that it isn't possible, or true, it's just not a part of their daily reality. Maybe if it was more marriages would be successful...I don't know...

So when you hear an Army wife say they're tired, don't say stupid things to them like, "Well maybe you should go take a nap. Or you're ALWAYS tired!" Um...you would be too if you were in my shoes. I am tired. I am messy and crazy and emotional and strong and beautiful and carrying on. I am walking the longest freaking ruck march that anyone has ever walked. My pack on my back is the weight of my soldier + my four kids + our household responsibilities + all the normal aspects of life.

They say our bodies need four hours of sleep to survive...

storms

In every action movie that I can think of, there is a period when some massive explosion is occurring and everything starts to move in slow motion. I think it's kind of hollywood's artsy fartsy way of saying, "look at all of this destruction...soak it up..." 

It's funny how when a deployment is heading your way, it almost feels like a natural disaster. It's kind of like a hurricane, or a tornado, with a little bit of earthquake stuck to it. With hurricanes and tornadoes, people usually have warnings. The sirens go off, the world comes to a stand still. Of course, you have the crack pots who go chasing down the storms, just to watch the destruction in its full force (this is immaculately accurate with deployments too...you would be amazed how many people all of a sudden are so concerned about being in your life when you are experiencing the heartache of a deployment. I think it makes people feel American or something...). You can hear the rushing of the storm as it heads your way. You are helpless to stop it or prevent it from showing up. You can hide in the basement all you want, but it's still coming, and the destruction that it leaves in the wake its path cannot be denied.

The earthquake portion is very much so based on the shock of it all. You see, with earthquakes, there are no warnings. They just show up at two o'clock in the morning, shaking and roughing you up (sometimes violently), while you basically have to sit and ride it out. It doesn't really matter if your house is built on a rolling foundation, or if you have everything bolted to the wall (in preparation for the impending action), it will still rock you to your core. 

I have a friend who calls her husband's deployments the dreaded D. I like that. I think it's the best way to refer to it. A deployment is, for almost every family I know, our version of D Day. It's depressing. It's painful. It's shocking and ugly and disturbing. It is, in and of itself, enough to keep you awake in the middle of the night. 

My own D Day is fast approaching. The soldiers do all this preparation to make their mind's handle the battles that could appear before them. It's funny how this chick is preparing for her own version of war...me versus the universe...alone...

Seven Years

I have this theory that a man begins to get comfortable in his marriage after seven years. Allow me to explain...

The lobster and I celebrated our seven year anniversary this year. Of course, with my silly sense of humor, I built up to that moment by continuously telling the lobster how itchy I was. :) He would just laugh or roll his eyes, or do one of the several things he does when I am trying to make him laugh. I was completely taken by surprise, though, when he started to reveal things to me that I previously had not known.

Everyone who knows me knows that I have a long standing, quite passionate (but completely sarcastic and filled with humor), disdain for the "Irish". Yes, to continue this joke, I refuse to even write the word "Irish" without quotation marks. LOL. A couple of days before our seven year anniversary, my most wonderful and handsome of husbands, ANNOUNCES to me that he is part "Irish". I. was. flabbergasted. To be perfectly honest, I didn't believe him at first. I think he literally rendered me silent. I can remember the moment like it was yesterday. We were in our room, I was laying on my stomach in our bed, he was on his back. The lighting was bright. The kids were playing...and he says, "Did I ever tell you that I was 'Irish?'" (did you see how I still kept it in quotation marks!?) Completely out of the blue. After he had convinced me that he was not in fact lying, I started in on "I don't even know you anymore!" He of course was laughing hysterically and then he started saying "Kiss me! Kiss me!" Now, any self respecting Scotsman (or woman) would absolutely NEVER kiss someone who is "Irish". So I said, "Absolutely not!" He said, "You can kiss the Indian in me!"

After barely recovering from this tidbit of mind boggling information, which I might add, he has now happily pointed out that he has forced me to love someone who is "Irish" (I vehemently disagree...I say I still despise the "Irish" that is in him, and LOVE all the rest...the "Irish" must be his gassy part, or his snoring part, or the part that sets alarms in the morning and then doesn't get up when they go off part...), he has started slowly divulging other little snippits of things that I never knew before "Oh! Didn't I tell you that I used to drink a shot of Tequila every single night!?" "Didn't you know about XYZ?" "I know I told you that I did that!" Um...No honey...you never mentioned these pieces of information to me... "Oh...Well...I thought I did." Uh huh...

So this has awakened me to the seven year information awakening. Perhaps we could call it the sort of Informational Revolution within a marriage.

So buckle up ladies! When seven years arrives at your doorstep, you might be shocked to discover long lost dirty secrets like an affiliation with "Ireland" or Tequila...

Note: This is entirely a sarcastic and silly post. I genuinely adore that man to the very core of my being, with ALL that I am. With the exception, of course, of his "Irish" genes...LOL!

summer nights

Here we sit...enjoying the smell in the air, the gentle warmth on our skin...a glass of wine in our hands. It's just you and me. The kids are asleep and we've enjoyed our movie together. I love sitting and talking with you. I love being close. I love sharing what's on my heart and mind. I love being vulnerable with you.

Sometimes I am surprised when I think about how we still have so much to talk about, despite our endless conversations. Sometimes I am surprised that I can still sit up with you until five o'clock in the morning, pouring out my passions and diving into yours.

I am honored to be your wife.

My mind wants to sneak away to this tear-filled place about how you are leaving and these beautiful moments will go away. I find myself struggling against them. Not because it isn't true, but really because I would rather revel in you, revel in the elation that I feel right now while I'm next to you, than to focus on that day...

Thank you for letting me sleep in this morning. Thank you for filling this day with an enormous amount of laughter and creativity. Thank you for taking initiative and for getting things done, without me saying anything. Thank you for inspiring me to be a better version of me, and for allowing me days like today, where my work load is minimal. Thank you for holding me the way you did on the couch tonight, with the afghan wrapped around us. In that moment, I felt so comfortable and so warm, and despite it hurting your back, you stayed there anyway.

I wish you could see the way you light up our lives. I wish you could see how deeply we adore you. I wish you could watch you, the way that we do, and experience what it is like to be immersed in your presence. I know that you know we love you. I know that you deeply know that I do. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that I am insanely in love with you! It's funny but I don't really care what they think.

Listening to the wind ruffling the leaves on our tree, I am thinking about beauty.

I will so miss seeing your face. I am looking up at the moon right now. I know that we always say, we're only a moon apart, but it ends up seeming like it's a gazillion worlds apart. Your face, your voice, your touch are what soothe me. You are the only man I have ever known with enough balls to tell me when I'm wrong, and enough love to do it without making me feel worthless or like a failure.

I just love sitting here with you, hearing you talk, and sharing ideas.

Yay's and Nay's of block leave so far

Things I have not found so exciting about block leave so far:

I got pink eye
I got an ear infection
I had a crazy allergy attack
Not being able to camp because of the fire hazards :(
The news about my second oldest child's eyes, and the heartbreak that is washing over the lobster and I about what will very likely be hers (and our) reality...
The moment, that I had this morning in church, when I started thinking about the fifty weeks that I will be sitting there alone, with our four children, broken hearted, but yet exactly where I need to be.
The cloud of sadness hanging out about a mile from my happy fortress just waiting to show up when we have to say goodbye...

Things I have loved about block leave so far:

The hilarity of packing up our vehicle, kids, and dogs, and driving to the mountains, even though the camping situation was a bust. It ended up being the most expensive ice cream cones our kids have ever gotten, and we will always be able to say "Remember when we went to go camping and there was no room for us to camp!?" and have a wonderful laugh.
Having my husband here to watch the kids while I went to the ten thousand doctor's appointments (okay, just one, plus one ER visit, but whatever!).
Making cupcakes with the lobster to surprise our kids, and being creative about how to make neat creations on top of them.
Grilling with my friend B at her house.
Staying up until 2 o'clock in the morning talking to my crazy friend who seriously cracked me up for the first time ever, and having the lobster right there with me.
Finding a church that I like and feel like I belong in.
Snuggling with the lobster as much. as. possible.
Washing the cars with the lobster and the kids. The laughter was amazing, and the sunburns hilarious (the lobster has his first sunburn that he can ever remember having).
Playing in the sprinklers in the backyard with the kids.
Taking walks with the whole family.

Song

There is this song called "Always" by Kristian Stanfill. It's sort of my deployment song. Well, I suppose it's sort of my everything going on right now song too. This afternoon has been riddled with tears. This isn't a great thing when a person has pink eye and they're trying to avoid giving it to their children. Four hours at the doctor has been exhausting. It's even worse when the news isn't good and when you're trying to figure out to handle everything.

"Troubles surround me, chaos abounding, but my soul will rest in You. I will not fear the war. I will not fear the storm, my help is on the way."

always you.

I think I could play back your heart beat for you. I think my ear is just automatically attuned to it. I have it memorized. I love the sound of it beating against my ear. There is something magnificent about the boom booming of your mighty heart underneath the weight of it all. I think I have it all memorized...that moment, where my head is resting against your chest... I think my skin could paint a picture of the experience. My forehead, pressed against the scruffiness of your five o'clock shadow...my ear next to the warmth of your skin. My cheek relaxing into the sound of the low grumble that your lungs make while you dream. The rhythmic thumping of your heart. Your arm is wrapped around my back holding me. My arm is draped across your chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath.

How do I describe how I love these moments? How do I communicate so that it's enough to have it all memorized, permanently, on my heart and on yours? How do I make it so vivid and so powerful so as to last me for a lifetime? What if in the dust of that hell hole your beautiful thumping stops?

The idea of it seems so far removed from me and yet so present. As I pour my eyes out over the news like a hawk watching its prey, and as my ears memorize and analyze the current data that is going on over there, tell me how I should feel. Tell me how I should think. Tell me how to be okay. Tell me everything is going to be okay and you're going to come home alive...both physically and mentally. Promise me that. Lie to me.

Okay, don't lie to me. It's not the lie that I really want. It's the promise of a notion that I don't think I know how to believe. This is just too many times. This is just too many years. This is just too hard.

So I write. I write over and over and over again. I write so that on those random days when you have the internet, and those random days that might come when I need to remember our version of beautiful, I have this documented. I write so that you will always know the depth of my love.

You have been my heart's greatest beauty. I didn't know I was capable of loving someone like I love you. I didn't know I was capable of letting someone love me, like you do. I didn't know I was capable of laughing, and smiling, and enjoying a life that is so beautiful without constantly waiting for the hammer to drop and the agony to pour in. I didn't know that I would ever have children. I didn't believe I would ever enjoy the experience of it. I didn't believe I would be able to survive the demise of this beautiful picture that we had, and the rebirth of it. I didn't believe that I would get to enjoy life. I didn't believe it would ever come.

Your heart beat is relevant to me. What haunts me is the idea that in the moment when it stops, you won't be surrounded with love, with my love. It haunts me more than I know how to explain. What haunts me is the idea that when it stops beating, mine will stop being surrounded with yours.

Suddenly the grumbling of your breath stops for a moment and you hold me tighter. Maybe it's the wetness that has poured out of my eyes onto your skin. Maybe it's the reality that these moments are about to stop for a long time. Maybe you heard my silent tears.

Truth is I am mad about you. Truth is I'm smitten beyond any ability to communicate that. Truth is in love is such a tiny pin drop of words into an enormous ocean of emotions. Truth is you're my best friend. Truth is, the idea that your heart will stop beating, scares me awake. Truth is this could very well be the end of the world as we know it. Truth is I don't want to get up from this moment, from this experience, and let you walk away, get on a bus and leave. Truth is I don't want to be some stupid pillar of strength when it feels like my whole freaking universe is crumbling around me. Truth is, I don't want to be thinking about and worrying about the other women in that place who are crumbling too. Truth is I don't want to smile and be brave and supportive when I am so. damn. angry that you are going over there again. Truth is my heart is breaking more than I know how to say and I feel so helpless and so angry over this weakness that I have when it comes to you. Truth is some sick aspect of myself would rather stop loving you under some dumb guise of a notion that it means it wouldn't hurt me so intensely to let you go there... Truth is, it doesn't matter how angry I am or how much it hurts me, I will still love you like a lunatic until the sun falls from the sky.

When you ask me why I'm so angry, it's because it is so much easier to be angry than to be crying. It is so much more convenient, and it doesn't force me to face the fact of this upcoming moment. It's so much easier to shout at you because I can't shout at the Army, or the idiot who decided you should go again so soon...even though I hate doing that to you. I shout at you so that I am not curled up in the fetal position crying over and over again like a crazy person. I shout because I can't wash you out of me, or cry you away. I shout because it hurts in more ways than I am capable of saying. I shout because it hurts you in the exact same ways and that hurts me even more!

But right now I don't want to be angry. Right now I suppose the root of the agony is coming to the surface. Right now the thump thumping of your heart beat is beating away the screaming in my mind, and your rib cage is holding me up under the weight of this all. Right now your skin is wooing me to sleep. Right now the low grumbling of your breathing is fighting away my fears. Right now your arms are keeping me safe from the dreams that scare me awake. Right now the scruffiness of your five o'clock shadow is tickling me to smiles. Right now you are here, next to me. Right now we are tangled up in the mess that is each other. Right now is something beautiful, and I don't want to let it fade away...

begging

I hate weakness. I hate crying. I hate crumbling. I hate being sad. I hate begging. I hate admitting my failures. I hate apologizing. I hate repenting, especially out loud to someone. I hate fighting. I hate sleeplessness. I hate loneliness. I hate waiting. I hate hurting. I hate hating.

Under the weight of all these "hates" lies a thousand definitions for what I so desperately want in you. It seems like the undertones of everything within me is this piece of you that scarcely exists anymore. Or is it that it's so prevalent that I no longer know where you end and where I begin? Who is it that I love to this degree and can barely even communicate with?

What is it that you expect me to tell you when you ask me these questions? What is it that you want me to say? I mean, within my very limited view of the plethora of intricacies that you're dishing out on my lap, what the hell do you want from me? Where do I fit into this equation that you have carefully created? What is my purpose? Or have I always been the wrench in your picture? Have I been the scar on your face?

Hours will tick away and eventually my emotionally bruised self will fall asleep. I'm tired of your washing machine, and yet, I don't want to be. I hate the confusion of you, but yet I love it at the exact same time. I hate needing you, but yet I adore it. I hate loving you.

Some days I wish I could be a better example of the equation of normal that the world holds. Some days I wish I wasn't so intricate or perceptive, or aware of the crap the world has created. Some days I wish I could be more naive. I wish I could be more blinded by humanity. Some days I wish I could be a better version of sheep. On other days I wish I could be less. And isn't that just the complete irony of how you and I work? I mean, you get to hold all the playing cards and all the answers and you get to have everything that is in me and that is me and it doesn't really matter whether or not I want to? I mean, I get to love you to this sickening degree of loyalty and yet know almost nothing about you except that which I cannot explain.

My love is illogical. It's unrational and complicated and messy and immensely confusing. Yet I so desperately want it to be beautiful and wonderful and everything that you've imagined for it to be. I want to be stronger than I am. I want to live up to the expectations that you have placed on me. I want to be worthy of the enormous amount of work that you have placed on my shoulders. I want to be more than I am capable of.

It's true that I want people to like me. I think you have known that about me always. I think you feed on it.

Is it possible to lust after you? I mean, when we look at the definition of "lust" it isn't sexual. Lust is a "strongly held desire." Can I sin by lusting after you? I mean, is that possible? Aren't I supposed to lust after you? Aren't you supposed to be my most strongest held desire?

Why do you keep telling me things I don't want to know? Why do you keep answering questions I haven't asked? Why do you tell me? Why do you trust me with the information that my breaking and shattering heart isn't capable of holding? Why do you want me to be willing to give up that which I adore? Is it the willingness you seek or the treasure itself? Why do you trust me with such sorrow? What if I fail? What if I fall and I can't pick myself back up? What if you don't show up in the moment of immense agony? What if I really do end up all alone? What if you become someone I hate? What if everything that you have told to me, and to those around me, ends up being true? What if it stops being some illusion of an experience and it becomes my reality? Will you really be big enough to handle the mess I become? Will you really promise to always stick around? Or do you just want me to be willing to let it go? Because the last time you did this...I lost what I loved.

I hate begging...

Friends

Babies and I don't get along. I think they're cute and cuddly and I am more than happy to watch a mommy snuggling and cuddling her little one. I'm just not the type of woman who oogles and desperately wants to hold babies. I had a hard enough time doing that on my own children. Don't get me wrong, I am tremendously happy for people who have babies. I am completely compassionate to the immensely exhausting task that they have just taken upon themselves. I know that babies are a gift from God. I understand all of that. I'm just not on the oh babies are so wonderful bandwagon. Or maybe it's just that they're not on mine.

Truth be told, babies hate me. I am that kind of person that a completely content and quiet baby gets around and then they're crying and unhappy and miserable. The lobster is the baby whisperer in this family. He has always had the special touch that little ones love. Me? I couldn't even get my own babies to quiet down...

Maybe that is a part of my issue. The last time I delivered babies was a nightmare...it was the type of experience that haunts the dreams of pregnant women. To deliver sick, dying, babies that you cannot touch, cannot hold, cannot nurse...the tears don't even begin to explain it. My body delivered a nightmare. So I have to admit, that has deeply effected my opinion of delivering children.

A couple of months ago, I was blessed with the most amazing of experiences: I got to watch my friend's body deliver a healthy, beautiful child. I was lucky to get to stand there and hold her hand through the emotionally exhausting, physically excrutiating, mind numbingly draining experience of delivering a human life. I got to stand there and watch this healthy, beautiful friend of mine give birth to this immaculate little girl. I got to see it all play out in an environment that wasn't laced with deployment goodbyes, or children fighting for their lives. I was blessed to have my memories of heartache replaced with a memory of beauty. For that alone, I will always adore this child.

"M" is the most amazing of babies. I have to admit, I am smitten. She is the only baby who adores me. Okay, maybe I'm tooting my own horn with the word "adore" but she genuinely likes me! I can get her to stop crying when I hold her (this is a miracle in and of itself). I can get her to fall asleep even though she fights it. She does this thing where she snuggles and nuzzles her cute little face into the crease of my neck and goes to sleep. She babbles and talks to me in her most adorable of two month old ways. I am literally in love with this child. She LOVES the cat voice. Seriously. When she is crying and grumpy and moody, I start talking in the cat voice and she quiets right down and starts listening. She loves it! 

I think this is the only baby on God's green earth that I wouldn't be terrified to be left alone with. Seriously! And for me, that is saying an awful lot! I love that I can help my most wonderful of friends by holding her beautiful child and giving her arms a break. I seriously know how much that can help in and of itself! 

Tonight I was thinking about the many losses that I have experienced. I was mourning the sadness of my own little one that isn't here with us. Then that wonderful moment, shared with my most precious of friends came into my mind and a smile washed over my heart. My friends have softened such rough and tough edges in me. They are helping me to become so much better than I thought possible. They have softened me to little ones, eased me into circumstances that I would have otherwise rejected. I wish I could explain them to you...I don't have words to say how the people I have met here have effected me. Forever I will appreciate and care for them. I hope you all know that you will always have a friend in me...

All my love...always... :)

The beloved hooks

The Army, quite generously, pours out upon all unsuspecting housewives an enormous amount of items that must be kept at home. Seriously. On any given day, your soldier will come home to your house carrying duffel bags filled with items: gloves, clothes, boots, random things which you don't know what they are, and on and on. You are expected to preserve, protect, and maintain said items when your soldier is gone. This beautiful gifting on behalf of the Army, has created a situation that I do not care for: my closet has disappeared. Seriously. I can't even walk into it!

A couple of weeks ago, I had a random peaking into one of my very dear friends' garage. They had put up hooks out there and stashed the Army's "presents" on the hooks. I. fell. in. love. I quickly rushed out and purchased my own hooks, all the while having dreams and visions of actually being able to walk into my closet!

Today, the hooks went up. The bags are freshly on them, and I have seen my closet's carpet. I am in shock. When I walked into it I swear my closet grew fifteen fold in five seconds! So my army wife tip of the day is: buy bicycle hooks and have the duffel bags hang up in the garage. They're protected from foul weather (and an angry spouse who is  trying to get to her items on the shelf of the closet) and it keeps things looking nice and neat.

churches...a criticism and hopefully an eye opener

I am so sick and tired of people saying "We are a Bible believing church" and going on and on about how they  are doing things "right," etc. I am mostly sick of it, because when you really start to analyze the conduct of the church that is tooting its own horn, it isn't.

For starters, if you have a woman leading a Sunday school class, or a bible study, or an anything where men are present, then you are NOT following the Bible. If you are constantly saying how the "Pastor" is so great or is leading the church correctly, etc etc, then you are not following the Bible. Scripturally, the church is not "led" or "owned" or "controlled" by anyone other than God (if the Holy Spirit has actually condoned it). Scripturally, we are not to call anyone teacher or leader (or pastor if you want to throw that in to the mix), because we only have ONE teacher and ONE leader: Christ. Additionally, women are not to speak (in a church setting) with men present. That is pretty darn clear. It's not sanctioned if their husband is included in the "taught by" category, or if their man is approving it. There is no instance in the Bible where it says: A woman may lead men in biblical study if her husband is attending the class and agrees with what she says. It isn't allowed.

It also ISN'T a biblical church if it is not constantly, unceasingly, and outpouringly reaching out to, and caring for, the homeless, widows and orphans. You can't sit there from your pulpit, or your air conditioned building, and say "well we send people on mission trips to Africa..." and think that is enough to be obeying Christ. American churches have so allowed their focuses to be thrown off. The focus has turned to rock style "worship", butts in seats, and tithes in offering plates, and has been turned away from what Christ repeated over and over and over again: take care of the widows, orphans, and the hungry.

I am so disturbed by this reality that I am ashamed. The lobster and I are so disgusted with the self indulgent, pride inducing, "comfortable" attitude of Christ in American churches. Do you really think you honor God when you pour vast amounts of money in to your savings accounts, your jewelry, your clothes, your children's toys, your grown up version of toys, your fancy cars, your enormous house, your tattoos, your activities, while people are starving to death!? We "save" for emergencies, well is starvation not an emergency!? Is my kid having the hottest new toy more important than someone having water?

Start researching it...what is your "church" really doing to obey Christ? Or is it actually just saying it obeys God's word, while ignoring what Jesus Himself said time and time again. Has your church turned Christianity into a Sunday morning ritual, or an establishment of unified people working together to make the greatest amount of change in the lives of the suffering? Is the building more important than the poor? Where are the priorities? Is your "church" focused on making you fit a cookie cutter status quo of what they believe "Christians" look like, or is it pushing, prodding and encouraging you to give up your comforts in order to save others EVERY day? Is the "church" sacrificing niceties in order to give of itself to the needy? Is the church practicing what it preaches?

letters

When I was younger, my grandfather was very concerned with making sure I knew how to write with an actual pen and paper. I think he saw the computer age beginning and he was concerned that the art of sitting down and writing a letter would be lost on my generation. He was constantly telling me how I needed to write, and not type. It wasn't that he was anti technology, I think he just appreciate the specialness that comes from someone sitting down and laboring (even if it was just fingerly) at writing a letter.

I love getting mail. To go to the mailbox and open a letter written just for me is the most exciting of experiences. It can turn a day from a sad and somber occasion to a chipper and happy moment. It has the ability to make you feel special and loved. Letters are powerful.

My hands have already begun to get an enormous amount of exercise. You see, when the lobster deploys, letters are where I take my experiences. I write. The evenings, when we normally spend our detox time together, becomes the time I detox to him on paper. I pour out the experiences of the day and cry to him and lean on him. He has gotten many a letter laced with tear drops. He has also gotten many that are filled with laughter as I write each word. He brings them all home, and they have really ended up being like journals of the deployment.

I don't really know how to wrap this post up. Maybe I should go write a letter about it? hehe

Everest

When I was young I thought I was going to climb Mount Everest. I wanted to be able to say, with complete pride, that I had conquered the largest of mountains, all by myself, and lived to tell about it.

It's strange when you're standing at the bottom of a mountain, how you can have completely conflicting feelings. It's strange how on the one hand, the very genuine and heart breaking emotions of the sheer physical, mental, and emotional experiences that are headed your way, are very overwhelming. On the other, a peace abounds and comfort washes over.

Perhaps after so many times of saying goodbye, I have learned to lock my jaw, stiffen my upper lip, and soldier on. Perhaps I have learned the lesson of not allowing myself to step back and wallow in the sheer enormity of the scenery before me. Perhaps I have learned to concentrate my gaze and my thoughts on the individual step in front of me. Perhaps...

On the other hand, maybe I have learned that fighting and crying and begging and pleading will not change the task before me. It's not like once you get to base camp 3 on Everest that you can just quit. Even if you try to, you still have the task of getting yourself back down off that mountain, and by the time you're at that point, it's hardly worth the effort it takes to quit without accomplishing the goal of reaching the summit. Maybe my heart has broken so many times that to feel whole has become the abnormal and it's the shattered aspect of loneliness that feels like comfortable skin to me. I know what it is to be lonely.

I have thought, with each goodbye, that it would get easier. To tell you the truth, it doesn't. Mountains are mountains and Everests will always be Everests. It will never matter how much my psyche has tried to turn it into a molehill. Just because I may have reached the summit and come back down from it alive, doesn't make the next journey any easier.

I could lace this climb with a thousand what ifs. I could fog up my brain with anxiety and exhaustion and depression. To be honest, I have legitimate reasons to do so. I suppose I'd just rather pick up my pieces of angst and put them in the only Hands that I know are capable of dealing with them, and revel in the excitement of the journey. He has already taken care of so many pieces that my heart has begged and desired for earnestly. I am not alone. As each step comes, and as exhaustion overtakes me...as the emotions of the sheer loneliness of the journey comes, as my mental fatigue washes over from lack of oxygen as I near the top, as my mind plays tricks on me, and my heart begin to consider cessation of beating...I have people who will grab me by the arms and tell me to pick myself up out of the snow and just keep walking. I have ropes anchoring me to the earth as the winds blow and the storms come to knock me off...I have people there to catch me if I lose my footing. I will make it to the top, and then I will turn around and I was drag my tired, weary, emotional, drained butt down off of that summit until I am back where I started from...changed and completely different, but back at the starting point...

When I was young I wanted to climb Everest...

To those who have been loved much, has been given the ability to love much.
To those who have been forgiven much, has been given the ability to forgive much.
To those who have been given agony in the midst of solitude, has been given the ability to penetrate the loneliness of others and embrace them and walk them back into the light.

Engraving memories

As my family is all sitting together chatting and laughing, my daughter tells my husband: "Daddy, you need to take me out on a date for father's day." The lobster responded: "I do huh? Who's going to pay? You?" And she said, "Well, I only have $26 so I don't think that's enough for a date." Already our child has expensive taste. She then added to the conversation that he needed to take her for a drive in his "race car" (the race car is an extremely old Toyota Camry). After she said that statement, she started to laugh so hard she fell on the floor. Then my son said, "I'm going to take mommy on a date and I'm going to drive the van." This statement had the lobster laughing so hard that he almost fell on the floor.

So here in front of my my husband and my oldest child are in hysterics. This is a moment I don't want to forget.