Medicine for my soul

I have a daily life goal to make Chief laugh. It's the highlight of my endeavors to find something that he will laugh about. His laugh is the greatest sound on the planet. His smile is my favorite thing to look at. His joy fills me with joy, and so this has become something about my life that I work hard to bring him.

So much about life makes us feel worthless. So much about what we experience on a normal Monday afternoon can make us feel beaten down and exhausted. Look with all your might for the hilariousness about it all. Look hard. When you find it, when you find that ridiculous stuff that happens constantly, laugh out loud. Laugh! And then share it with others so that they can laugh too.

I promise you that in the midst of even the worst case scenarios, there is something funny. My life has been filled with a thousand worst-case-scenarios and I have had many, many adventures filled with enough tears to fill the grand canyon. But I've also had enough laughter to give me a six pack. I've had enough smiles to permanently mark my cheeks (laugh lines ROCK!). I've had enough random moments where something completely unexpected caught my eye and made me laugh.

Laughter is incredibly powerful. Even in the middle of a nightmare, laughter brings a strength that helps you to carry on. It is reviving. It is healing. It is my absolute favorite.

So every day I do my absolute best to make people laugh. Because I want to laugh too.

gifts

The body is a powerful tool. It can be so instrumental in everything we do. It can also be the curse under which we bury ourselves in a thousand pounds of guilt, shame, and failures. I needed to be a failure. I needed to permanently purge the demons of self loathing, starvation, and enjoying the physical suffering that comes with it. Sounds sick to probably most anyone reading this, but it was (and in many ways still is) a huge aspect of myself. I like self denial. I like it far too much. I like telling myself that I can't have something that I "need" and then forcing my body to comply, whether or not it wants to. It makes me feel alive. It makes my head feel clear and my flesh feel free.

I can't stand addiction. I can't stand the idea of something dominating or controlling me. Food, weight, size, cigarettes, caffeine... I suppose you could say I'm addicted to not being addicted. So I smoked. I smoked the hell out of some cigarettes for years. I smoked packs and packs of cigarettes a day. And then one day I said to myself that cigarettes were not going to dominate me and I quit. It was as simple as that. I didn't care that my body, my brain, my hands craved a cigarette. It didn't matter to me. I was going to purge myself of this "need" that I didn't want to have and I did...

Because the reality that we all seem so hell bent on completely ignoring is this: we "do" what we want to. Period. There are no ifs ands or buts about it. If you genuinely do not want to do it, then don't. It's called self control and it's a notion that seems to be so completely lost on society. My body is mine. It isn't a cigarette's or a coffee bean's, or even food's. It's mine. I tell "it" what to do. Not the other way around.

I'm so often confused by the number of individuals who tell me that adultery "just happened". I can't even tell you how many times I've heard "well... I fell it love. I couldn't stop it." I love how the idea of our choices being some avalanche hurling towards us at the speed of sound, and that we are so helpless to prevent is so popular these days (enter sarcasm here). I'm going to have to call bullshit on that. If you don't want to cheat, then you wouldn't. If you don't want to abandon your child and move across the freaking world and claim that you "believed" it was best for her, then you wouldn't. If you don't want to treat your husband like complete trash and resent and blame him for all of your own failures, then you wouldn't. If you don't want to live in a perpetual cycle of self abuse, or self loathing, or self pity, then you would make it stop. But the real hard cold thing to accept is that so many of us genuinely don't want to. We find the loathing comfortable. We find the drama of a marriage falling apart comfortable. We find the misery inviting, refreshing, and comforting... or we would change it.

My body has been a powerful tool in my life. And I allowed the physical aspect of a thousand pounds of guilt, shame, resentment, and self loathing to bear itself out on my bones. I allowed my skin to stretch and pull because I didn't believe I deserved anything different from that. I punished my flesh for failing my children. I buried my muscles ten feet under pounds for not saving me from Awful, or from the loss of our unborn children, or for not carrying our three babies for longer than I did. I was angry. And someone had to pay. The failures were mine. The fault was mine.

It's amazing how many demons seek to rear their ugly head as the pounds fall away and my muscles and bones begin to breathe a sigh of relief. It's powerful how much of myself was under ten feet of pounds and is now exposed to life again...

Our priest said last week "Let food be a gift, not a problem." Finding freedom from my need to punish myself is intense. Finding the ability to accept and forgive myself is a journey. Finding the reason to put on my dancing shoes again and to completely let loose in front of a room filled with mirrors is freeing. To tell my story with motion is terrifying, but it's the most beautiful gift I can ever give to myself.

Chief

I have a very dominant personality. I am a fighter to the core. I thrive from a fight. I thrive in battle. It's when my thoughts are at their clearest and my body is in its prime. It's also the format in which I learn and grow the most. But I can say this with the absolute most intense certainty in myself. There is one person on this whole planet who constantly, consistently and relentlessly drops me to my knees, makes my mind cloudy and foggy and unable to process. One person who renders me to a giggly mess of crazy girl stuff. One person who has always made me want to be pretty and flowery and the rest of that girl stuff. This guy sucker punched my world of chick power, and chick might and whatever the hell else I was thinking, and turned me into a fumbling, bumbling mess. And I love it! I love every minute of it. I love being weak in the knees for him. I love falling apart in his arms, and being a basket case when he's deployed. I love when he walks in the door at night and I love when he looks at me. I love making him laugh, and I love hearing him talk. Honestly there are many moments where I ask him to talk just so I can hear his voice. It's the most soothing sound ever. I love needing him. I love loving him. I love being loved by him. I loved that right now I can't stop smiling because his face is playing in my mind like the most beautiful painting I've ever seen. He is the most beautiful person I've ever seen. He's the most amazing human being I've ever met. I am in awe of him. I'm completely baffled by all that he's overcome. I'm amazed by the fact that this amazing dude chooses me! I'm humbled that of all the girls in the whole world he spotted me from across the United States and said "I want YOU to be my Mrs."

Dang. No, SUPER Dang.

Gus-Gus, Dancing Extraordinaire!

We have a crazy pup named Gus. He's the strangest animal phenomenon I have met. He is all personality and insane in many ways. One of the ways that Gus-Gus (as we affectionately refer to him) cracks me up is that he loves to dance. We're talking, hands (or Paws...) on the waist, waltzing, two-stepping, slow-dancing kind of dancing. And he's particular about his music choices too! He prefers the 40's genre (Andrew Sisters, etc etc), but he'll tolerate some Frank Sinatra tunes.

I turn on "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" and this pup is right in the thick of some pretty cool dance moves. Cracks me up!

So if you're ever at my house and we're listening to music, you've been duly warned... He just might invite you to dance!

Three Cheers

There are a thousand tiny moments in our lives that define us. A thousand tiny moments that collectively add up and total us up to the sum of the individual that we are, not who we want to be. There are these spectacular explosions of realism that show their faces for a split second in between those moments where you can actually see someone experiencing something powerful. It's like watching the entire essence of who you are in the blink of an eye, and if you're lucky you'll get to see it happen.

Last night I stood in a crowd of so many beautiful individual explosions. I watched Some beautiful people who have had glimpses of a presence in my life stand in a sea of reunions with no one there waiting for them. Perhaps they wanted it that way. Perhaps they have plans to meet up on a later day. I don't know. But there was a split moment where you could see them thinking frick... this sucks. They disappeared as quickly as they could. I don't blame them.

For others there was the moment between tears and the world's biggest smiles when your whole universe is standing there in front of you, away from danger, the distance is gone, the time apart over. You can watch their whole selves relax, revive, and come back to life. If you've ever seen someone stop breathing, there's a moment when it appears that their entire body re-inflates with air. That's the best comparison I can give to those of you who haven't seen a redeployment, or lived it. It's like watching people re-inflate. It's like watching life come back. Love is home and you can breathe free...

I was able to watch this experience for children in a way I never have before. I watched this one little girl stand still, almost frozen in time while her Daddy stood in front of her. You could almost experience everything that was going on in her mind while she processed it all. You could almost see months of resentment for him being gone, months of strength that she was trying to display for her mom, and this overall feeling of finally being able to relax. You could watch all of this explode all over her face while she stood still staring at her Dad. And then in an instant, the in between ended and she ran to her Daddy, lost in a moment that no one could adequately define. He was home.

I understand those feelings well. I have lived these beautiful experiences. I know I've had the in betweens wash over my face. I've lost all reserves and ability to maintain composure. I've been that person completely hung up on a soldier finally being home.

I can tell you that for me, there has not been a single moment in my life that has ever topped it. Not my wedding day, the birth of our children, or any other spectacular experience. Nothing has ever compared to the moment when it feels like my entire self re-inflates after months of holding my breath. Nothing has ever compared to the moment when I can feel every single muscle in my body relaxing, or to the ability to actually get a good night's sleep. Nothing can compare to no longer giving a flying frenchman about whether or not you might miss a phone call. Nothing can compare to rolling over in your bed and seeing that person you are crazy in love with lying next to you...

Homecomings are amazing. They're incredibly powerful. They are spirit reviving. With my whole heart I was caught up in the moment of these beautiful soldiers coming home. I lost my reserves and I screamed, cheered, and acted crazy. They deserve that. They deserve to have people rooting them on, cheering for them... They deserve to have people screaming their names at the top of their lungs. They deserve to have people looking for them, even if they don't expect to. They deserve it because they're heroes. Real live heroes. They're brave. They are sacrificing. They are strong. They are willing to go out and do what no one else is. They are home.

Valentine's Day

We couldn't have possibly known that very first Valentine's Day together what that day would mean. We couldn't have possibly imagined what our hearts would be celebrating every single Valentine's Day from that point onward.

I was always one of those closeted Valentine's fans. I loved the sappy imagery of it: the idea that on one day the person you adore with all of yourself showers you with love and adoration in return. I was always the "tough broad" and I highly doubt that anyone believed I cared about such sappy things.

The first Valentine's Day that Chief and I spent together, was actually a couple of years after we met. We had already been engaged and broken up. We were back together (but not engaged or married) for good this time. He did not know that my whole life I had always wanted two things: a giant teddy bear, and a diamond cross necklace. He did not know because I didn't tell him. I had long given up on those dreams of cheesiness. But on that beautiful day, he gave me those two gifts that I had always wanted. A giant teddy bear with a diamond cross necklace around its neck. It was exactly what I had always imagined. It. was. perfect.

Fast forward to one year later. I was 9 months pregnant with our little Mele. We were going into the hospital at midnight to be induced. That beautiful Valentine's Day was the last day that we were ever going to be "just the two of us." Our dinner was filled with nervous emotions, and overwhelming fears. How would we ever raise a human being!?!

The year after that, we were preparing to celebrate the one year anniversary of our child's life. We were knee deep in emotional toils that are too difficult to convey, but our relationship was over the hump and heading towards total healing. That Valentine's was filled with immense challenges, but great hope. We had experienced hell, and we had also experienced resurrection. We were rising from the ashes of destruction. We were together. We were still breathing.

One year after that, our three immaculate creations came in to the world. Yes, America, our triplets were born on Valentine's Day.

This year has been one where I've spent a lot of time reflecting on Valentine's Day for many reasons. I've been thinking back to six years ago when every minute was up in the air... Every breath was not guaranteed and the frailness of life was staring me in the face. I've been thinking back to that very first moment where Chief and I were sitting in his barracks room, nervously exchanging physical manifestations of our love and devotion to each other. Little did we know what would become of our lives. Little did we know what we would be facing.

When I hear/read people bashing Valentine's Day it stings my heart a bit. To me, the day is not about what "hallmark" has made it. To me it's about dreams. It's about love never happening the way you've planned or envisioned. To me it's about new life, rebirth, and devotion. Valentine's Day is about pouring yourself of all that you have, to the betterment of someone else. On Valentine's Day, I poured myself out to Chief. Then again to Lolli. And then again to our three tiny babies.

I love February 14th. I love it because that day is the day when I get to look out at our four amazing children, and then look over at Chief and think look what God has done! Look at what we have. Who could have ever thought that LOVE would be as beautiful as all this!?

Last night I was a part of a difficult conversation. I re-lived a memory of something awful. The kind of awful that was so hideous it repainted my world view. The kind of awful that I don't really know how to talk about.  The kind of experience that is impossible to discuss without a massive flood of overwhelming emotions. The conversation was with my daughter and the questions were ones I promised not to evade or avoid. I always swore to myself I would equip and prepare my children for what could happen. And I knew that in those equipping conversations, questions would eventually arise.

I did my best to remain calm and collected. I laid it all out, the entire event. More than I have ever been capable of doing so before. I answered every single one of her stinging questions.

When it was all over, I felt like I had just experienced war. I felt so caught up in emotions that I had so long thought I had learned to cope with. They aren't the kind of emotions you let go of... they're like ghosts that follow you around. You know they're there... they're always there. But they don't haunt you like they used to and you eventually get to a place of contented presence. Apparently I wasn't as content as I thought. I have forgiven the awful. I truly have. But as hard as it is for many to understand, you can forgive a demon for ripping apart your flesh, but that does not erase the scars from the attack.

Chief did his best to wrap his human decency around my tortured mind. He knew that a sort of PTSD was going on in my head. He understands what are my fights and he allows me the freedom and courage to have them. But he also doesn't abandon me to them. He reminds me that Love is there too. Awful isn't the only thing that lives in me. His love lives there too. And he wrapped my angry and hurt brain up in his healing love.  Nestled there in that place, I fell asleep.

It's astounding how much punishment I pour over myself because of what awful did. I am thankful, eternally so, for my dear friend who reminded me that awful doesn't hold all of the cards. And that it still hurting doesn't mean I'm trapped in perpetual misery. I'm thankful for her allowing me the freedom to be angry, vulnerable, and scared. And I am scared. I am scared that an awful will show up in any one of my children's lives and I'll be unable to protect them from it. I'm scared that our country will continue to perpetuate the type of situations that make awful's seem "okay" or "not a big deal."

But right now, my brain is wrapped up in eastern light. Right now my eyes are resting on the love of my life who calls me home to safety. Right now my heart is resting in the joy that awful didn't defeat me or destroy me. I exposed it. I expressed it. And I hope with all of my heart, that my daughter can glean something good from my nightmare.

Jake the pill resisting Jedi

Jake hates taking pills. In his Labrador universe, pills are the "man" trying to oppress and hold him down. He is a master at not swallowing them. I've given quite a few four legged animals pills in my lifetime, but Jake takes first prize at successfully avoiding them.

Due to his recent Arthritis diagnosis, he now has a lovely plethora of pills to take daily, one of which is fish oil. I called him in to the kitchen the way I always do (cue higher pitched voice and excited talking): Jakey!!! Do you want a treat!? Do you want a treat Jakey Bear!?!?! His ears perked up and he excitedly limped in to the kitchen. It's strange how much he has learned to communicate with his face and ears now that his body can't jump up and down like it used to.

In the kitchen I opened the pill bottle and showed him the fish oil. He sat patiently, ears still engaged, but when he eyed the pill he immediately looked away. I'm telling you his face said it all: Look lady, I know what you're trying to trick me into doing and it's not going to happen. I basically stuck the pill in his face trying to get him to sniff it. He was not interested. I figured his rock star dog smelling capabilities would smell the fish oil deliciousness encapsulated in that gel, but apparently not. He did not smell the yumminess waiting inside.

We began our usual you're-going-to-take-this-pill dance. He always remains seated while we play this dance, he just starts moving his head around like a lunatic. You go one way, he goes the other. You finally catch his squirmy face and he clamps his mouth shut so tightly a tornado couldn't get it to open! Even WITH his floppy lips (which is also manages to make rigid) and the holes between his dog teeth, you can't get the pill in! He sticks his tongue forward so that all of the spaces between his teeth are filled! (this is proof positive that he is a genius...)

After enduring what I lovingly called "operation challenge" if I am so lucky as to actually get the pill in his mouth, he has a jedi tongue trick where he immediately grabs the pill, sticks it under his tongue, and swallows so I think it's gone. Even if I open his mouth to inspect and see if he actually swallowed it, he will keep it hidden. Then when I have released his face from my grasp, he'll spit out the pill. He has also been known to actually swallow pills, only to regurgitate them seconds after you've released him.

I am not joking when I say this dog hates taking pills!

Last night, after six attempts of getting the pill down his throat (and after explaining to him over and over again about how it will make him feel better and reminding him of how much he loves fish--and stop thinking that he's a dog and he doesn't understand me. When he had the world's worst ear infection, he stopped resisting me treating it after I explained to him that it would make him feel better. It was nasty too. Lots and lots and lots of bleeding. He understands what I'm telling him... OKAY!?) and him proudly spitting it out on the floor, the pill actually broke on his tooth when I was trying to get it in for the seventh time. The gooey fish smelling oil spilled out of the capsule and Jake froze. I could almost see his brain processing: this. is. delicious!!!! He immediately started licking like a mad dog. He licked my hand for a good five minutes (some of the oil spilled out on my fingers). He licked up the pill, chewed it, put it back on the floor so he could lick it some more, picked it up again and repeated this a few times until he finally swallowed it.

Perhaps this will make our pill taking endeavors end. Maybe tonight he won't participate in operation challenge! We shall see!

Jake

It was supposed to be a typical check up. It was supposed to be his annual examination and we would get his tags, renewal of his prescriptions and be on our way. It was supposed to be anything other than what it was.

He came into my life during a crazy period. I was completely screwed up by the weight of carrying, birthing, and caring for three tiny babies. I was buried under mountains of guilt and helplessness and I was not "okay".

We walked right past him at the pound because Chief wanted a German Shepard. The dog Lolli was wanting to play with was currently the subject of a custody dispute and was not available for adoption. The employee suggested we meet "blue" instead.

He didn't even acknowledge us. He was laying in the back of the pen looking like he had almost given up on life. He looked so sad, completely defeated and devoid of all motivation to keep going. We had to coax him a bit to come over to us, but he finally did. I said What do you think Lolli? She said Let's play with him!!! (not too surprising of a response from a 2 year old).

He came out to the yard pretty calm and collected. The second the click of the leash being removed from his collar sounded he took off like a bullet from a gun. He ran! He ran like a lunatic. He ran and didn't stop running for ten minutes. It was almost like watching a caged bird go free. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Lolli took off running after him. She was laughing hysterically. We called him over to us and I thoroughly tortured him. Okay, not tortured in the way you might be thinking, but I had to be certain he wouldn't bite a child if they tugged his ears, pulled his fur, or stuck things in his mouth. He never batted an eye. He was gentle as can be and he was going to join our family. He would leave that place no longer "blue" but Jake, named after Jake the Pillowsnake in Lolli's favorite book.

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The vet came in and asked me if I had any questions or concerns about him. I mentioned that he seemed a bit slower when getting up in the morning. I could tell his age was starting to come into play. I figured they would say we'd need to start arthritis meds soon and that we should start to look into it. She started examining him. One thing led to another and another and another. And then she started talking. She starting saying things like "the end of his life" and "quality of life" and "permanent neurological damage" and "final days".

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When we brought him home from the pound he was a holy terror, but only to my stuff. I couldn't keep a bra or a pair of underwear (and it didn't matter if they were in my dresser or not). He destroyed ALL of my clothes. Chewed them to shreds. We had a thousand theories as to why he did that to only my stuff but who really could ever know? He made a thousand attempts to destroy the vacuum. In his world it was the devil sent to destroy. You try cleaning a home with a 100 lb dog chasing after you and barking like rabid dog! He wasn't allowed in our bed, but the second I'd leave the room, he would be right up there in my spot, under the comforter (whether the bed was made or not) with his head on my pillow.

He always wanted to be held. I still remember the first time he decided I was going to hold him. He jumped up on my lap and then looked so embarrassed. I actually loved it so I grabbed on tight and we sat there cuddling for a while. I was so lost mentally and he seemed to understand that element of myself. He cut through the darkness in my mind and loved me fiercely, even if I resisted it. That was the one and only time he ever jumped in my lap though. He's always had a concern of injuring me (and others as well). It's not something we've taught him, he's just done it. NO ONE and no "thing" is allowed to hurt me in his world.

This dog came into my life to save me. I know that he did. He came to help me, to love me, to rescue me. I'll never forget the moment where I was so completely exhausted and Brun wouldn't stop screaming. She always cried and it was so mentally defeating. I hadn't slept in months and I don't know how I was living. I was sitting on the couch crying (it was like 3 in the morning or so) and I was thinking I can't do this anymore. I don't know how to make her stop crying... and all of a sudden Jake got up and put half of his body on top of her in her bouncer (the trips slept in bouncy seats the first two months of their lives because of it helping with breathing). She immediately became quiet. She fell asleep. He started doing it all the time. She would cry and he would go lay on her. It was like a miracle brought to us in a four legged animal.

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Tears were pouring out of my eyes. It was the last thing I ever expected. I know that labs get arthritis and I was prepared for that. But the end of his life? The thought had never crossed my mind. Contemplating my home without him is torture. Spaniel has been protecting him lately. She's been clinging to him and hovering over him. She's been mothering him. Gus is preying on his weaknesses and the only time that Jake will go after him is if he plays too roughly with me. Even in pain, he still refuses to allow anyone to hurt me. Maybe he sees Gus as the passing of the torch. He's been so hell bent on teaching him the ropes and the rules of the land as he sees them. Chief said he thinks that Jake is preparing Gus to take over. He knows his days are short.

I can't fathom it. My heart can't handle it. I still remember the moment when I went to sleep with the dog on the floor, and I woke up spooning him, the beginning of a ritual that has been our "thing" ever since. He LOVES to be spooned or to spoon.

I am working on treasuring every moment. I am playing through so many memories of this crazy dog that stole my heart. I am trying to prepare for the moment when I will have to let him go, though the thought sends me into tears. Who knew a person and an animal could be so bonded, so intertwined? There will never be another Jake.

It was just supposed to be his annual check up. It was just supposed to be getting new tags and renewing his prescriptions. It wasn't supposed to be the beginning of goodbye.