My mom

I have a very hard time maintaining relationships with women. As a whole the female species tends to annoy me. They're overtly emotional, dramatic, attention seeking, incredibly sensitive, and most of the time can't stand to hear that you don't think they're perfect (this is an ultra general verbiage, and there are some women whom I adore with every fiber of my being. I'm not anti women, especially since I am one. Just anti drama, and unfortunately they seem to go hand in hand most of the time). I can't stand the idea of bursting into tears because you don't like how someone's acting (or what they've refused to do, etc) in order to get them to do what you want. I can't stand manipulation. Period. 

All of this being said, probably the most complicated and best relationship that I've ever had with a woman, is my relationship with my mom. Mom's can be messy. Let's just face it. If you grew up feeling like you didn't get something you deserved from your mother, you tend to be a bit resentful and angry. It doesn't really matter if you want to be close. Mom's have the power to permanently scar, or to immaculately heal. It's really, what I would consider to be, the most powerful relationship in any person's life. 

My mom wasn't perfect. Yes, she falls into that category of chick's who don't like to hear that. Yes, she is incredibly sensitive. Yes, she probably has a good majority of those female attributes that annoy me. So why am I so close to her? I can tell you it isn't out of obligation. It isn't out of any sort of ode to my childhood. I think it's simply because I have always seen in her a desire to be something bigger and better than herself. And I have always wanted to be like that.

My mom has a hard time with change. She would probably argue immensely with that announcement, but the proof is in the pudding and she does. She has a hard time with staying motivated to change. She wants to change, but how does one keep themselves going when they feel so little reward for their efforts? I understand that. I relate to it. 

Second to my husband, my mom is my best friend. I can tell her anything and she'll hold it. I can be enraged with her and fight horribly with her, and she'll still love me. I can cry harder than I've ever cried in my life, and she won't see me as weak. I can have irrational fears and she'll pray for me. I can announce crazy things (like getting married in two weeks) and she won't judge me. I can complain about the awfulness (and let's face it, there are a lot of awfulnesses) of being a mom, and she won't question my undying love for my children. I can talk about all of the medical problems that my children are experiencing and she'll brainstorm, remember to follow up, and help me through it. I can complain about my own physical health, and she'll encourage me to seek help without nagging me. I can have my children call her, and every fiber of her being lights up (and it is to such a degree that without being able to see it, we can hear it) on the phone. When I'm scared she tries to comfort me (even though she's terrible at the deployment scared stuff, but I know she wants to make me feel better). If I don't talk to her for months (because we all get busy) it doesn't mean I don't love her. If I need help, she drops everything and comes to help.

My mom has not really been the stereotypical June Cleaver mom. She taught me and all four of my sisters to be critical thinkers, argumentative (which I'm sure she sometimes thinks was her greatest error. haha), and somewhat mistrusting (a trait which some people might see as bad, but I think is amazing). She is immensely complex, has the most insane sense of humor (busting out in to song at any given moment, I kid you not. And this is apparently genetic because Lolli seems to have inherited this trait), and is incredibly difficult to write about in any one setting. I don't know how to do her justice. She is battle scarred. And maybe a little bit traumatized. But she's beautiful. And I love her more than I know how to say.

Who's your daddy?

My son wants to be exactly like his dad. I have never heard him say this overtly to anyone but the proof is in the pudding. Case in point:

My son used to love Stuffing (I know some of y'all call it dressing but I call it stuffing, even if it wasn't 'stuffed' in the bird). He would gobble it up as if it was oxygen. To be clear, he is obsessed with food and he'd probably gobble up anything but he was particularly fond of stuffing. Then one thanksgiving day, I was serving my husband his dinner (don't get snippy. Yes, it is still possible to serve one's husband without being barefoot and pregnant and beaten down all day long...) and I asked Would you like some stuffing honey? His response No thanks. I don't really like stuffing. In that exact moment, the stuffing sparkle fell from my son's eyes and now he "doesn't like stuffing." Seriously. He won't eat it.

I realize that you might be sitting there saying to your sweet self Maybe the kid changed his mind! Maybe he used to like stuffing but he doesn't anymore. This is not a case of the wannabe dad clone. I see you will not be easily convinced. That's fine. I have more ammunition in my arsenal.

My husband does not enjoy running. It's not one of those things he's excited to do. But he does it. He does it a lot. Not just because the Army makes him do it. The boy hasn't heard him say that he hates running, mostly because it doesn't really come up in conversation. So yesterday, I took my kids for a run. Apparently three out of four of my children did not get the memo that running sucks. They love it! They had the time of their lives running and running and running. Now in my opinion, good for them! I'm happy for them. Run all you like! (On a side note, the child who didn't like it literally ran for twelve seconds stopped, looked at me and said, "Um. I don't really like this mommy." In my heart I was saying "I feel your pain kiddo. Two peas in a pod.")

So this morning, the boy got up and despite that it's pouring rain outside and incredibly windy, do you know what the first thing he said was? Mom! Can we go for a run? I said, It's raining so probably not. His response? Well Daddy does it!


What is the moral here? Well, there are a couple. For starters, your son's really are diligently paying attention to what you're doing out there Dads. At the end of your life, what book is your child going to write about you (maybe it'd be titled Things I Learned From My Dad)? What did you teach him? What kind of man were you?

I am glad that my son mimics his dad. Why would I not want him to copy someone who puts his wife above all others (seriously), loves his children more than his job, serves (I mean really serves) others, and gives of himself daily to the world and those in need. I am thankful that he looks to Chief for the idea of what a man looks like, rather than the many foolish males that pretend to be men roaming around the world. I just find it kind of funny that he won't eat stuffing and now wants to run, even in the rain.

Note: Fathers are equally being watched, studied and analyzed by their daughters. A daughter looks to her father to learn her worth, value, and the type of individual she should give her heart to. I, in no way, seek to disparage the importance of a father in a girl's life. My dad is an incredible hero to me. He's not perfect, but when I needed him he was there. Many components in my life, I learned from my nightly father-daughter talks. For the sake of this post, I'm merely pointing out the relationship between father's and sons.

hm

One of my favorite memories from my pre-children days was being able to sleep in. It might be disgusting to admit it in terms of laziness, but Chief and I would sleep until lunch time, snuggle in bed, watch tv, get up and eat, and head back to bed. No, not in a dirty way (for any of you gutter minds), but really because beds are comfortable and we like ours.

When children show up in a household, one can say goodbye to sleeping in. It's just not going to happen anymore. Even if you're spouse gets up with the kids, your ears are still tuning in to the chaos that is ensuing outside of your bedroom door. How can anyone sleep when children are running up and down hallways, or crying, or doing a myriad of activities? You can't. So you get up.

This morning, the hubster woke up early and I was apparently so tired that I didn't even hear our children screaming and carrying on. When I finally did awaken, there was some component in me that ached for those moments when we were younger. So from my sleepy haze, I texted the hubster to come here (nicely). When he did, we just snuggled. For like three hours. The kids came in and snuggled too. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of dogs trying to participate, a lot of precious time together. When we were laying there, he brought up how it was before we had the kids.

It's weird because when you are dealing with young children, your brain is so tired that it can barely comprehend moments beyond the current one you're dealing with. As I have now entered in to the phase with children who are much more independent and self sufficient, I am enjoying it tremendously. I love them being able to problem solve on their own. I love being able to have more precious moments with Chief without having to constantly monitor their cries and needs. I love them being able to come in our room and say "Hold me!" as they climb up in our bed for some snuggles. I love playing games with them, and laughing with them. I love asking them questions about things they'd like to pursue and then figuring out ways to help them pursue them.

When the triplets came into our world, everything was thrown upside down and launched into complete chaos. It's really wonderful to have these moments now where everything has become so much more of an adventure than just survival.

This Saturday has been one sweet one.

Blinking

I love watching my children play together. Now that they're older, they can participate in activities in completely different ways. We have officially entered the engaging play phase and have left the side-by-side phase. As I write this, three of my kids are playing a board game. It's interesting to see how they interact and how they work together. It's interesting how the younger two are asking questions of the older one.

These are the moments I love. These are the moments when the sun hits everyone in the right way and I find myself feeling sad. Because five seconds ago the triplets were intubated and fighting for their lives in the NICU. Ten seconds ago Lolli was screaming at the top of her lungs while Chief was soldiering through her first bath in the hospital. Fifteen seconds ago I was that completely young faced girl sitting on a futon next to the boy I was going to marry. Where the heck did eight years go?

I remember when we lived in virtual seclusion while the trips were little. Leaving the house was such an enormous task, and they were so fragile and sick, that their pediatrician didn't want them going to church for a year (the risk of contamination...). I remember how every single one of those days was a struggle to just keep going. I was so physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted that I didn't know if I was coming or going. I have lists and lists of feedings and diapers and all of the things I had to make sure got accomplished because I couldn't remember. They had so many medications they were on. They had so many medical problems. I was so angry with myself for not holding them in longer, for being so eager to give birth to them. For being so tired of being pregnant.

Back then I couldn't fathom being in a place where those four children were walking and talking and having goals and dreams. Back then I couldn't fathom a place where they would be in school, or asking to sign up for Karate or Ballet or Horse Back riding. Back then I couldn't allow myself to believe or think of comprehend anything further than the next hour. If I tried to it would overwhelm me.

I remember when it was just me and Lolli, all alone in Kansas, with Chief deployed. I remember when I was a brand new mom figuring out all of this mom stuff, and this baby stuff, completely by myself. I remember being so tired, and so scared of screwing this kid up, that I was trying to do everything perfectly. I remember the moment when I listened to some well meaning people and tried to force her to sleep in her bed. Two weeks later, I had a sort of mompiphany and finally grew my mom balls. I took my exhausted, terrified, mommy needing baby and I slept next to her. I nurtured her the way she had been used to through the whole pregnancy. It was she and me together. To try to change that dynamic at this point was ridiculous. She was eventually ready to go to her own bed. I remember the moment when I knew. It was about a month and a half later and she just gave me this look that said "I'm ready. I can sleep in my own room now." And sleep in her own room she did. Perfectly. Now this kid is sitting here across from me reading a novel (seriously) and about to turn seven. WHAT!?

That boy I met was so young. His hair was pitch black and there wasn't any lines on his face to show the passage of time. We were both so naive to what life would throw at us. We were both still innocent in regards to the tortures, scars and damages of war. We were just two kids crazy in love. We just knew we couldn't be without each other. We'd faced life apart and it sucked. So we jumped into this marriage contract. I think he needed to know that I would be legally required to be there in the morning. I had always been a bit of a flight risk. I think I still am, just in completely different ways. It takes an incredible amount of work to get me to stick around. I tend to love 'em and leave 'em. In that regard, I'm a completely stereotypical dude.

Now that boy is no longer a boy. Now I sleep next to the greatest of all men on this planet. His hair is peppered with gray and his face is filled with lines and wrinkles. We both bear the physical and mental burdens of an incredible amount of life challenges. We both have grown. We both have changed. But we're both still insanely in love with each other, and we both still can't imagine a world without each other. We both still don't function well when the other isn't around. We're both still stitched together as one.

This year will be the year of a new decade in my life. This year will be what brings about an incredible amount of change for me. This year is going to be phenomenal. I just know it. This year is going to be hard, I know that too.

I'm off to lead my four little troops in some more adventures.

Can I be your copycat?

Block leave is officially over and we're now back to the grind of living the life where he is always either gone or preparing to go away. Soon (literally days away), Chief will board an airplane and take off for a month to California. 

I woke up this morning feeling sorry for myself. I woke up feeling angry and frustrated and just fed up with living this lifestyle. I went to sleep last night not wanting this morning to come. I didn't want him to go back to work. I don't want him to go to SoCal. I don't feel like sharing anymore.

Then I had this moment where my whiny, ungrateful, military focused mentality sort of sickened me. I'm so sick and tired of feeling like the Army dominates my existence. 

The kids all woke up angry too. I wonder if we're all sort of feeding off this sort of underlying resentment. I wonder if all five of us feel jealous of the Army. Maybe. We hate when he goes away. We hate being away from him. Truthfully it sort of dominates our lives, and if we don't resist it, the urge to be consumed by his impending absence (or current absence) can cause of to be miserable. 

Learn to be content. Cherish the moments. Those are two things that I have always held dear to my heart. The vast majority of the time I revel in them and I lean on them. Constantly, I lean on my God and my Creator to keep me functioning. There are a great many days when every fiber of my being wants to just surrender to the misery that is constantly knocking on my mind's door. 

You see, block leave was both devastating and amazing at the same time. It was devastating because my damn body is beginning to really piss me off. It was amazing because Chief was (and is) every bit of the man I need him to be: supportive, concerned, encouraging, helpful, gracious, compassionate. He got up with our kids almost every single morning of block leave. He made lunches, helped homeschool, helped me and on and on. He is the epitome of a servant's heart. In fact, I don't believe I've ever seen a person who more perfectly exhibits the servant's heart than him. That's why I can say with complete certainty that he is the greatest leader. To lead is to serve. 

With every aspect of myself I want to be like him. I admire him that much. I want to love like he loves and give like he gives. He is so much more than my hero. He is the person who shows me what God looks like. He doesn't preach it, he doesn't speak it, he doesn't force it. He just shows it. Man, I want to be like that.

So this morning... The kids were all screaming at each other. I found myself wanting to throw in the towel on the day. So I called all of them in my room. We read the scriptural readings today and then we prayed together. Yesterday at Mass, there were two things that sort of sucker punched me: 1. Stop wanting to be someplace other than where you are. God has you here for a reason. and 2. Pray. Pray all the time. Pray about everything. Pray! 

After we prayed, we talked about a few things and then started our day. And here I sit feeling different. I feel more energized. I feel excited. I feel compelled to give out to other people. I feel like this self centered focus that has been dominating my frustrated mind is fading away. I feel renewed.

Maybe my love gauge is filling back up. Maybe it was depleted. Maybe life sucked too much of it out of me and I didn't have anything left to give.

I say all the time that Chief helps me to function and I'm fairly certain that no one really believes that. I think they see my externally dominant personality and they think that no person and no situation will ever be what I need. Not even close. I'm lost without that man. I'm depressed, unhappy, angry, helpless. I am weak. So being with him is my favorite place to be. Being with him is what I always want to do. I'd rather be with him than anyone else. My idea of a relaxing day is being alone with him. My version of the perfect day is a day alone with him. Period. It's always been that way. When I'm stressed, I don't want to go be with the "girls" I want to be with him! I want to be with him minus the children, the cell phones, the busyness that tangles and strangles us both. 

I love the Army. I love that he has a job. I love that we can feed our children. I love that we have insurance, and a home and food. I love that he has a job which pays him to spend 30 days at home with his family. I love that he gets major holidays off (most of the time). I love that he knows how to handle a weapon, and can wake up from the deepest of sleeps when I'm scared, fully alert and ready to fight. So if sharing him is what helps to have these things, then share him I will do. And if sharing him reminds my heart that I love him this much, then share away I will.

So all of this confusing banter to essentially say that block leave is over. We are heading back to "normal" life. At least, normal for us! :)

Detox day feels like eight hundred

Who knew that detoxing from steroids would feel so awful? Or is it that feeling this awful is what's been hidden under a wave of steroids? I don't know. Either way, I feel like crap.

I am so thankful that Chief is still on block leave because I genuinely don't have any energy to be doing anything. I slept this morning until eleven o'clock which is unheard of in momsville. I feel itchy unendingly. To define the type of itchiness I feel it is the kind where you've had a bug crawling on you and now you feel like you have bugs crawling all over you kind of itchiness. Not terrible, but really annoying. My stomach isn't quite happy either. It hurts. My head still hurts. I feel dizzy and spaced out.

All of this isn't what I would call the greatest experience. However, it's all for the cause, right!? I need answers! 

What are you taking?

Yesterday was a day of tremendous awakening for me. I have been experiencing increasing medical concerns over the past three years. These issues have been increasing somewhat steadily, and over the past few months have essentially climaxed in: I can't ignore this. I have to get it taken care of. I WILL get this figured out.

Yesterday I finally saw an endocrinologist (AKA a hormone doctor, and no not just girly hormones, we're talking ALL hormones). He looked at my thyroid (which was what I was believing to be the culprit of my misery) and he said that it's not swollen at all. He said it does not think it's my thyroid. Then he started looking at my medicines. Let me be frank, in the last five days, I have gained five pounds. Yes, I said gained. Let me tell you what I've eaten for the last five days: nothing but raw and cooked vegetables, with lean protein, and an occasional piece of whole wheat bread. Nothing fried. Nothing fattening. Nothing unhealthy. In addition to this, I work out every day (with one day of rest after a five day workout period). I do this religiously. I even keep food and workout journals to document everything I'm doing. There is NO REASON why I should have gained weight. If anything, I should have lost weight. He said, "The fact that you're gaining weight so quickly is a very severe medical concern. This is the gravest concern of all."

He asked about my diet (which I had my food journal, so we were good to go). He asked about exercise (it's with the food journal, so again, good to go). Then he reviewed my medications...

To explain, let me take you back almost 20 years. A long time ago I started having crazy allergy attacks. My eyes would swell shut, and then my throat would follow, cutting off my airway. This is called Anaphylaxia. After a couple of near death situations, I was sent to an allergist. I was then placed on Allegra. Allegra was changed to Claritin, then changed to Claritin-D, then changed to Flonase, then changed to Astelyn and Veramyst plus an additional steroid cream for eczema (these last three are my current allergy meds, and I must point out that I was aware that the cream was a steroid). ALL of these lovely medications are steroids. They're in a class called Corticoids (or cortical steroids). ALL of these medications build up the steroids in your system over time. Steroids do "bad things" to people.

Yes, these steroids are all in very small doses. And yes, these steroids do not all do the same things to the same people over very long periods of time. However, Dr. P said that steroids should only be given incredibly sparingly as they destroy one's Adrenal Glands. He believes my adrenals are totaled, but we can't be certain until I have been OFF of all steroids for ten days. You see, steroids screw up ALL hormone tests. That's right, I said ALL. He said that any bloodwork I've had done while on these medicines are inaccurate because steroids lower the levels of your hormones in your blood. So could there be something wrong with my thyroid? Yup. Could it be my adrenals? Yup. Could it just be that 20 years of steroids has so wreaked havoc on my body that I'm now dealing with the long term side effects of the majority of my life being on a steroid? Yup.

I don't know what will happen in the next few months. But I can say that detoxing from steroids has been awful. I'm exhausted. I have a horrible headache (which started yesterday when I began detoxing). My whole body just feels like crap. Is this my system rejuvenating itself? Is this the process of my body saying "Hey! We get to do some work now instead of that stupid medication doing it!"? I don't know. It's been so long since I've been off of steroids that I don't remember what it feels like.

He also believes I'm allergic to some food item that I'm unaware of. He essentially said (paraphrased) "What the heck is your allergist doing!?" The acne I thought was acne turns out to be a "rash" which is probably some sort of reaction to food (which I'm itching, because they itch, so then they look like acne).

I left his office yesterday incredibly upset. I feel so betrayed. I feel so lied to. I have had gastric bypass shoved down my throat for the last three years by all things Army physicians and not ONE of them said, "Hey! Did you know you're on a lot of steroids for your allergies?" Now I know that I should have known, but in my defense, I specifically ASKED the allergist if these new medications he put me on were steroids and HE. SAID. NO.

So we'll see. The verdict is still out. I don't know what the answers are. After I finish detoxing from steroids, I have to go get a bunch of tests done to try and figure out what's happening with my body. Then I have to wait for those results, and then we'll see what he says.

In the meantime, it's incredibly depressing to work so hard, and eat so maticulously, and still gain weight. It's enough to make me cry, to be perfectly honest. I hate what is happening to me. But, ultimately, who can I blame but myself? No one held a gun to my head. I took those medications willingly. I didn't research them as much as I should have. This is my body and I let it down.

So why am I writing this? Because I want you to be informed. I want you to think about the long term effects of the drugs that you're taking. I want you to think about how this could effect you in 20 years. I want you to advocate for yourself, and wait it out. Just because a doctor gave you a medication, it doesn't mean that you NEED to take it. Be educated. Research. Ask questions. Fight for yourself. Fight for your body. No one else is going to do it. And the solution to the complications that arise 20 years later from all of the crap that you put into yourself is not necessarily to do more crap to yourself. Make informed decisions about what's best. Sometimes that means that you take steroids. But be aware that it could cause horrible things to happen to you down the road.

Note: I am not anti medicine or medications. I have a passionate love for the medical field. I also recognize that there are things that people need to do/take in order to remain healthy. I am upset that very few physicians talk about long-term effects of the medications/surgeries/procedures they're "recommending". It is up to all of us to ask questions, research, and think long term. I am incredibly inquisitive with my physicians and yet this situation has occurred in my life.

Imperfect Prince Charming

There are moments in the experience of marriage that just totally suck. I make an honest effort to forget those moments. I try really hard to focus on the good parts of being Mrs Chief. The majority of the time he is an amazing husband. The majority of the time he is so encouraging and loving. But randomly, out of nowhere, these asshole days appear and you're left wounded and hurt, curled up in a ball feeling sorry for yourself.

I know he can't be perfect. I recognize that he can't always say and do everything right. But there are real moments when you are expecting him to be that perfect guy that he almost always is, where you are actually needing him to be that guy, and he falls so far from even close that you're left kind of silent.

I mean, what is there to say? Of course, the usual, that really hurt. This really sucks. Yada yada yada. And of course moving past it and refocusing one's attention on what really matters is critical. But in the moment, in the thick mire and grit...

It's amazing how the female brain immediately turns the slightest disappointment into grand gestures. If he heavy sighs that must mean: a, b, or c. If he looks away it's absolutely d. It's really a sickness to be so insecure and uncomfortable with oneself. It's really quite disturbing to be so ultra dependent on him being what I know him to be the majority of the time...

The truth is, love has made me crazy. That's the simple way to break it all down. Love has turned me sappy, girly, codependent, needy, and into a complete shadow of my former self. And I love it. I love every minute of it. I love that one random freaking imperfect person crept into my completely bass akwards brain and turned me into something else. Or at least became the platform from which I could jump beyond myself. And I love that I need him. I love that I ache for him. I love that he can hurt me. I love that he can really hurt me. I love that he can hurt me more than I can hurt myself because that's... that's the picture that I always wanted. That's the dream that I always had. That I would learn to need someone. That I would learn to love someone. That I would want someone more than I wanted an illusion. And that I would be completely aware of all of their flaws and all of their bullshit and that wouldn't be enough to make me say "F" it. That I would be completely invested, even with my eyes wide open to their weaknesses and their flaws. That I would have the one person that chose never to manipulate or hide from. The one person that didn't have to peel back my layers, because I would just expose them. The one person with whom I couldn't help but stop hiding...

So when all of that gets blended up and mixed with months of frustration and aggravation, in one random moment, he didn't do the thing I most needed him to do. And I am sitting here curled up and feeling so hurt and so sad and it kind of feels good. I am experiencing the vulnerability of love.

Surprise! from the Chief

Today was one of those days of ugliness for me. No, I don't mean ugly in the physical sense, not that I'm saying I'm beautiful. I just... Oh my gosh... There is no correct way out of the hole I've just dug. I could delete this diatribe, but I'm keeping it in. Gotta keep it real! :) Today my attitude was ugly. I was so grumpy and irritable.

Yes, this posting is totally a brag box about Chief. I gotta admit, that dude knows me. I mean, he perfectly, immaculately, amazingly knows me. And it always happens in these random moments when I am feeling so sorry for myself, and so unknown (because let's face it folks, I'm really complicated. And not in that typical stupid girl who wants to imagine herself as complicated but isn't really, kind of way...) that he throws me some sucker punch shock that just blows my mind.

Tonight I was yelling. I was ugly yelling. I was snapping at everyone. I had no patience. No kindness. No compassion. I was sort of like that crazy stereo typical picture of angry chicks: I was on a hell path and anyone in my way was going to get burned. It. was. ugly.

The lobster? Do you know what he did? He told the kids "Mommy needs you to leave her alone right now because she's feeling frustrated and she doesn't want to say anything to you that will hurt your feelings." and he proceeded to play parent interference for the rest of the night. He kept me away from the stare downs they do while I make dinner. He bathed all of them, and brushed their teeth without asking me to participate. When they jumped in with their usual barrage of questions, he answered them and saved me. He came into our room and lovingly talked to me after I stormed off and slammed the door. He knew (and had enough self control to do it) that I needed him to man up and take care of things while I figured out what the heck was going on in my mind.

I thanked him for doing all of that. I thanked him for giving me mercy, and not yelling at me (for yelling at the kids), and for knowing exactly what I needed him to do without me asking him to do it (single guys, NUMBER ONE important thing for the girl you're "with". Seriously. If we have to ask it's not special...). I also apologized to my precious children for my ugly outburst and my unkind behavior. I hate eating crow, but the truth is, when we're wrong we're wrong, and even parents have to confess and say sorry. Important lessons for the kiddos to learn: even their parents struggle with self control, and even their parents screw up and have to apologize.

I rarely have these freak out moments. I'm usually good at controlling myself and calming down. But in this fragile moment, he was the man I needed him to be. It seems to be so common that you might think I'd be used to it. But the truth is, he still surprises me. As much as I understand about him, he still surprises me. He still magically sweeps in and saves me from myself. My heart is overwhelmed by his love. Even I don't know how amazing he is.

Precious Moments

I swear in my mind it was six months ago that Lolli was born. Seriously. I can't believe I'm wrapping my brain around the fact that she will be seven in about twelve seconds. Okay, not twelve seconds literally, but I think it'll feel like it is.

Time is blowing by so fast! I think my months of sickness and overall disintegrating physical health (and quite honestly, emotional state as well, because when your body starts falling apart, it doesn't take long for one's brain to be "sick of it"), has created a state of complete growth with my children. In a sense, I have had to check out of my daily activities (because I had to! People aren't really all that excited to hang out next to a person who is quite literally hacking up a lung. It's just not exciting!), which has enabled an environment where I have checked in to theirs. It sounds disgusting, doesn't it? What kind of mom needs to be sick so that she'll realize her children need her?

To be honest, I'm not a touchy feely person. I'm not girly. I'm pretty harsh, and incredibly strict. The last deployment brought about a change in me. My kids are getting older. They don't need so much micromanaging. They need a much greater freedom and range to make decisions (and fail sometimes too!) and see what happens. They need less of me telling them what to do and more of me just accepting their choices. I am not talking about letting my children run the house. I'm talking more in the context of problem solving, challenge partaking, making choices (this class or that class?), communicating with others...

Lately, I have been forcing myself to snuggle with my kids. I have to confess, that is hard for me to do. Touch is difficult for me. I feel so uncomfortable and paranoid and I don't enjoy it. But the thing is, I don't want to pass down my touch problems to my children. I don't want my children to feel like I don't love to snuggle. So I made an internal pact that I was going to physically spend time with them (playing with dolls, etc) and snuggle/hug/sit next to them every day in some format.

The change has been amazing. The children are completely soaking it up. They love the extra close time. They love feeling more important than phones, computers, calls, or anything else. They love having me playing with the dolls. To be honest, a good deal of the time, they just want to watch. They think it's like a performance or something and they want to see how the characters will play out. They are loving the snuggles. Charchee (the kid that's probably the most similar to my personality, especially in regards to the anti touching stuff) has become a touch-a-holic! She is constantly coming over to me for hugs and kisses. I almost don't recognize this kid! I don't recognize myself either. I feel so different. I feel so connected to them. I feel less quick to snap at them or make them feel judged. I feel my heart being overwhelmed with compassion when they do something wrong, as opposed to frustration that they didn't do it right. I also feel more at peace with allowing them to struggle (example, lolli and learning to tie shoes...). I feel like I trust their opinions more. I am learning to really listen to them. It's amazing that I have never really done that. I have heard them (cries, whines, requests, etc), but I don't think I ever really listened. They all have some pretty beautiful minds. They think about and process such amazing things!

I feel embarrassed by this experience. I wish I could say that all of this stuff was easy for me. I wish I could say it comes naturally. It doesn't. Mothering is hard for me. It was not what I planned on experiencing, and truthfully, I don't really like kids that much. But these kids are drawing all these neat things out of me. They're making me girly and emotional. They're teaching me to stretch beyond myself.

I am thankful for this time with them. These moments are magical. These children are amazing. I am in awe of their strength and gentleness. I'm so humbled that we are all one family and one unit.

The story of music.

When I was young, my grandfather used to play nightly "concerts" for all of us when we'd go to visit him. He would carefully select pieces of classical music and play them. I remember thinking it was boring, but I wanted to humor him because I loved him so much. I can still so vividly see his face: head tilted up, eyes closed, is mouth displaying the emotions of the music, arms conducting the orchestra...

It has been a long time since he died. I still remember every detail of the moment I found out. I still remember his face as if it was yesterday that I last saw him. I remember his stories (killed a bear with his bare hands because it "threatened [his] girlfriend"). I remember his pears. I remember the death grip on the wrist, which he wouldn't let go of until you say "please". I remember the laughs.

Tonight I was listening to Opera music with my children. You see, one of my most favorite aspects of my mother (and her family) is that she taught me to love music. I'm not talking about the synthesized crap that is carelessly passed off as "music" today, I'm talking about classical music. The kind where a violin leaps in to your chest and tells you a story that words cannot describe. The kind where a piano can bring tears to your eyes, or a flute, or a cello, or a voice... A voice that is singing in a language that you don't understand, but yet the sound tells you all you need to know. THAT, my friends, is music.

We were listening to an Italian opera, and right as we crested the mountain, the music perfectly soured with the environment and you know what popped into my head? My grandpa. His face. His spirit. His presence. And before I knew it my arms were raised and I was conducting the CD. Before I knew it my eyes were filed with tears because I finally understood why he played those CD's. I finally understood the lesson he wanted to convey: Learn music. Understand music. Be moved by music. Recognize music. LOVE music. Let music tell you a story.

It amazes me how at least 15 years later, my soul remembers these things. Maybe it's because his spirit was in the car. To be honest, it felt like he was. It felt like he was there with me. I didn't want the moment to end. I was lost in the sound of the story. I was lost in the memory of him. I hope that with me limited knowledge of music, I can teach my children to love the sound of the story... even if it takes them 15 years to finally get it.