On the move - the blog

I've MOVED!!! If you subscribe to me here, follow we over to HERE -----> http://themanicmilitarywife.wordpress.com/ Same great fun, more of me to love :)

Volunteering - It's my thing

I've been pretty unmotivated lately when it comes to this blog. I think it might have something to do with the fact that I'm not really doing anything. I'm not exactly sure how to define myself; I'm not a volunteer, or involved in derby and I've come to the realization that my life doesn't have enough interesting characters in it to sustain such a cleverly written, witty and entertaining blog such as this. I think I'm kind of like, floundering. I am making daily weekly(sort of) updates at my wordpress blog - mywholefoodslife.wordpress.com, so if you're into food, you can check that out. I think really, I'm just bored. I don't have a lot going on, which is just weird for me. And I'm not all that entertaining without an audience. Who really wants to read about me getting up around 7, making coffee, getting the kids off to the bus stop, kissing my husband goodbye? I could talk about those first heavenly moments of silence as I walk back into the house after waving goodbye to the bus, and the motorcycle the DH is on... but after that, it's basically me wandering my house doing random things like laundry, or cleaning toilets or wasting the day online checking out blogs. I think I may have overstayed my welcome in housewifeville. I had a luncheon at the school that my younger two attend (a school I DO NOT volunteer at, despite my advocating for volunteering) and as I'm waiting for the show to start, I can't help but look around and think to myself how much smoother this would be going if I had been in charge.I then immediately think, "Oh know! I've turned into Erica!" Erica being one of my dearest friends, who is simply a natural leader, but is also highly competitive, regardless of the task, and always outdoes herself in anything she takes on. She has been known to "rework" other peoples dinner parties in her mind. She can't help herself. I love her anyways. After texting my husband to tell him my thoughts on the luncheon,and admit I was an asshole, I remembered a more recent event where my control issue reared it's ugly head. While out on a run with the hubby, he chose to go farther than our predetermined route. I disagreed. I ran to the already-decided-upon stop sign, and turned around. He went on. Later when he caught up with me, I made the declaration that I was a "leader not a follower"... I also said some other pretty mean stuff that isn't relative to this story. Huh... I'm a leader? When did this happen? I don't know, but it did. Sure, I might not look like your typical "A" personality, but I can take charge of ___________ (insert whatever here) and get it done. I might be quiet about it at first, but that's just the wheels starting to gain momentum. Remember Radar from MASH? That's pretty much my style. I might not command a room, but I have the answers and the gumption when you need something done. I think I miss it. Oh my God... I think I miss PTA and derby meetings. A schedule book that needs four colors of pen to organize all the goings-on. Proof?

Is that crazy or what? I went from at least 3 different meetings a week... to TWO in a MONTH.I won't lie, I was experiencing some burnout by May, and happy a few things would be over come June. Funny, those are the things I'm now missing in November. Sure, my husband would say I'm the "leader" of the house.Which is true, since nothing gets done around here with my input.But it's not like the kids rally even listen to me anymore, and they're all pretty much old enough to fend for themselves when it comes to food/hygiene/homework.So really, I'm the leader of grocery lists and making dinner and housework. Who want to be the leader of dirty underwear and dust bunnies? What kinda effed up stuff is that? I think I should be offended at that remark my husband didn't even make but I know he's thinking!! He might even say I'm just bossy. And I can't really take offense to that. My dear friend Erica once said, as a response to being asked why she didn't go into business making one of the numerous things she is ever so talented at,"because it isn't fun anymore when it's "work". I lose the love for it". My resume would put most stay-at-homers my age to shame. But more than half of the things that are on it were all done as an UNPAID service. As a Volunteer. I now understand exactly what Erica meant. I'm damn good at being a volunteer, and I have prestigious awards to show for it. I don't think I would choose to do any of those "unpaid" things as my "job". But... I'm starting to believe there isn't anything else in the world I love doing more. Re-working that luncheon in my head is proof of that.

You can't always get what you want

You know the Rolling Stones song? It's one of my favorite Stones songs, yet I don't have it in my Itunes library. But since moving to Virginia I don't really need it to be , since I've heard it weekly on the radio. At first I was all like "score"!! Since it's one of like a handful of good songs playing around here. But then, as the weeks went by, I thought it was weird I was hearing it so much. Then, I finally realized, I might be hearing it for a reason.

I really, honestly believe that everything happens for a reason. Now, some call this divine intervention, and some believe it's all written in the cosmos. Others will say hindsight is 20/20. Whattheeffever. All I know for sure, is that everything always works out, whether is was the plan or not.

I've been doing some reflecting lately. October was kind of a month full of "bad news", and in true big-girl style, I went on a pity - party bandwagon.
Being a military family we have very little control over some major aspects of our lives, and when we're offered a little control, and buy into that fantasy it can be hard to accept different outcomes. Sometimes it works in your favor, and other times, it works in your favor, but in a less enjoyable, less instantly gratifying sort of way.
So aside from a few personal, non-military controlled crap-bombs,we have had a major Army induced let down. Now, before I tell my pathetic, cry-baby tale, let me infer that this is about what we WANTED Vs. what we GOT. And what we GOT was a far cry from "bad". It just wasn't what we WANTED.

Derek recently had his branch interview, where you find out what duty stations are available to you, per positions needs and blah blah blah. We had kind of made a TOP 5 list of places we wanted to go (Hawaii, Alaska, D.C., Colorado,Germany) based on people who had attended the classes previous to Derek. Well, big blow #1 was that when Derek's list came down, only one of our TOP 5 places was on the list; Ft. Carson, CO. I'm not going to lie. I wanted Hawaii REALLY REALLY badly. And we actually thought we had a good shot to get there,based on Derek's deployment history.Sure roll your eyes. Is it a paradise? Yes. But the pros also included things like:I know my way around the base, I know the area, I know people there.The transition will be easier on my kiddos. These are all things to take into consideration when your new to a duty station and your husband is going to deploy. So, after trying to take in that news, we looked over the list and made a decision of a NEW Top 5. One choice really jumped out at Derek, and after some discussion on the topic, weighing the Pro's and Con's, made it to our #1 slot.
JAPAN.
Yes, Japan, the place that recently had a major catastrophe. The island nation. The foreign country. As we weighed the Pro's (overseas,beautiful,perfect timing as far as the kids are concerned, great opportunity, cultural experience) and the Con's (not really knowing anyone there, not knowing the area, emergency situations might get tricky, Hope might have to stay with my dad) and talked to people who had been stationed there, the good definitely outweighed the bad here. Another plus? we were the first to pick it, and Derek was told he would be high on the order of merit list. We were also told the Ft. Carson, wasn't going to happen for us. It's highly coveted, and already had several requests by the time we had our meeting. Fine. We realized we only picked Carson because it wasn't awful, kinda like picking the lesser of 10 evils.We wanted to be coastal, and warmer. We wanted Japan, thankyouverymuch.
We googled and discussed. We talked in depth to a couple that just moved from there. We made plans and started mentally weeding out our household goods. I even looked up gymnastics schools and houses. Although we ere told orders would come down 4 NOV, Derek checked daily. DAILY.
Well, never name a stray puppy. We got Fort Carson. Ugh. Look, don't get me wrong, Fort Carson is beautiful. EVERYONE I know who has been there wants to go back, or stay. People try their whole careers to get there. I completely get it. I really do. I have no business complaining about this duty station. I'm even a little embarrassed about it, really. And I know my list of reasons why I don't want this duty station will get just as many eye rolls as my reasons I wanted Hawaii.

Ft. Carson brings with it many of the attributes for an easy transition, just like Hawaii; I know people there, the kids will acclimate nicely, I'll have a better network if Derek deploys soon.

Reflecting back on our military life, and just life in general, I realized, that no matter what, we make the best out of our situations. Everything happens for a reason. ... So no matter how much I want to flip the bird at fate, or send that branch manager a picture of me sobbing while bundled up to my nose in outer layers,or suggest me and the kids moving to someplace warmer and tropical while just Derek goes on to Colorado, I can't help but hear it playing in the back of my mind... "and if you try sometimes, you just might find... you get what you need".

HALLOWE'EN = SHE'S CRAFTY

So,much like the Beastie Boys inspiring me to let my Jr. High badd ass out once in a while and uhhhget funky, Halloween brings out my inner crafting nerd. Those close to me know I'm a novice crafter for sure, but each Halloween I get a little further out of my creative comfort zone.
Every fall, I pick a handful of crafts to add to my growing collection of decor for my FAVORITE holiday.Some family friendly for the kiddos, and some all me. This year, adding a training schedule, a new duty station and the Rangers making the playoffs AND into the World Series has really put a damper on me getting this blog posted sooner. Needless to say, my priorities are a little wack.Usually I have a theme for our crafting, but this year it was kind of willy-nilly, picking and choosing things I thought looked cool. Last year, we went in a Day of the Dead direction (Check out the archives section --->) and those cool crafts made a cameo in this years decorating.

With just a week to go 'till trick-or-treater's grace my doorstep, I have finally had to stop myself and just be happy with whats been done thus far. After all, I don't need to add to my too-many-storage-bins, and this post is temporary.

So one of my favorite crafts this year was this Craft Pumpkin OWL

Isn't this adorable?? I started with a black craft pumpkin, found at most craft stores (like Micheal's, Hobby Lobby).
I used fake flowers I had for the eyes,first piercing the craft pumpkin with a nail, and pushing the stem through. You may need to glue the flowers in place.
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For the beak and ears, I used the leaves that were on the flower bunches. I folded a larger leave almost in half, and glue-gunned it into place. I then glued the "ears" to a toothpick, folding the bottom point up, so the bottom was flat. I pierced the craft pumpkin with a nail and pushed the toothpicks into place. SUPER EASY AND SO FREAKING CUTE!!! I wanted to make more, but the kids stole the other two craft pumpkin from me :(

Decoupaged TV Trays

I had two crappy TV Trays I picked up from a thrift store that I had high hopes for, but alas, they just sat in a corner, in all their ugliness. Once we got settled in the new house, i thought, " this is the perfect time to make these TV trays less ugly". The original idea was to decoupage them with pin-up pictures, but after spraying them with a black primer, I thought they would make a great Halloween prop.

I had this picture form an earlier craft. It's actually from an old calendar and I love the old school charm it had, plus it's a thicker paper, whch makes it perfect for this craft.

Finished product after about 6 layers of Modge-Podge.I think I did this during a play off game that went into extra innings, giving me plenty of time between coats to let it dry. Since I only used one tray, the other will be something spectacular soon (she says with determination).

Bottles of Potions and Poisons

I'm sure you've seen this done a hundred times in all the Halloween magazines, or October issues of whatever you subscribe too. We HAD to make this one to compliment our new computer-cabinet-turned-bar.
I found the two decorative bottles at a local thrift store, cleaned them out and added some stickers the kids picked out. We filled them with Good'N Plenty candy for the "pills". The smaller jar is actually an old spice jar we filled with gummy worms (that keep disappearing!)The goblet is an old decoration we've had for years, with (plastic) spiders and snakes crawling out of it, and in the far back, I have an older Partylites vase with votive holder filled with one of our favorite treats:candy corns.It's all resting on a shiny silver charger (from the Goodwill) This is not a very good picture, but it serves it purpose.

Banister craft as seen in Halloween Trick and Treats 2011 magazine (Better Homes and Gardens special interest magazine, couldn't find a link)
These were supposed to come out much fluffier, but, I did let the kids do this one after experimenting with what worked best for us. I really tried to use what I already had, but found the original idea was a bit too involved for little hands, so we changed it up a bit and came up with this:

I meant to take pics of the step-by-step process, but I can break it down for you here
We used paper doilies and coffee filters. I spray painted the smaller doilies black for added detail. We layered the items as seen,experiment to find a looks you like. I suggest using way more filters for a fuller look. We secured them all together with a large embellished brad for ease and to finish the look, and I affixed them to our small banister with double sided heavy duty tape. The kids LOVED doing this. They really took their time and it was cool to watch them problem solve, and get creative with their pieces.
TIP** I would use a hole bunch or scissors to punch/cut a small hole in the middle of each layer to make it easier to get the brad through.

Poison Apples
This is less a craft and more of me stealing something I saw in a catalog and LOOOOOOOOVED. My kids love apples. It seems we always have them in the house, so i thought this was just too cute to pass up.

So, basically this is my trifle dish, without the stand and some fancy font in word, cut out and taped on to make the kids "treat" a "trick"! More goulish paper would have been cooler, but all that craps still packed away and I wasn't about to go digging in piles of boxes for one piece of paper.

Also, in this picture is a beautiful old lace tablecloth I picked up at the post thrift store, and added 4 sheets of laminated scrapbook pages ($1.99 at Micheal's) to set our table. My tab;e is rectangular, but the tablecloth is more oblong, which gives the set up an old, vintage look.

Stuff not seen are the really cool lace curtains I used as swags ($3 at the post thrift), some random decorations, and my porch, but nothing really very crafty. I had to put the curtains up, since we don't actually have any window treatments. Derek gave me the "no-go" on that since our time here is limited. I affixed the swags with reusable adhesive tabs and some old plastic shower curtain hooks. So, take THAT "minimal decorating".

If you're crafty, leave a comment with your favorite craft this (or any) year, and if you just love to decorate with all the cool stuff in the stores, post what your favorite purchase is/has been! I love getting new ideas!! It's never to early to start thinking about NEXT year .... (maniacal laughter...)

Empty calories, or feelings... I'm not sure

Do you know what this is? Besides 360 empty calories? It’s a Krispy Kreme chocolate frosted crème filled doughnut. It was also my lunch. Why would I do such a thing? Why would I knowingly eat something so bad for me, when I have plenty of nutritious food for me in my kitchen?I write a BLOG on whole foods!!! Why was this effing thing stale?!?!

After paying for this with cash, to not leave an electronic trail, and stuffing it into my face in the car, in the parking lot of the place I purchased it of course immediately feeling guilt, I pondered on what brought me to such a low point at only 11:00 in the morning.

For starters, we have been waiting a month for our internet to work. A MONTH. Sure, some people find wi-fi a luxury, but in this house, it’s a necessity. I have queries to submit and writer’s guidelines to research. We’ve been using our phones wi-fi hotspot function since August to do everything from banking to school help for the kids. It’s slooooooooow to say the least. So when you’ve made 7 different appointments, used 2 different companies and have intermittent internet usage, it’s frustrating to say the least. I missed two deadlines this morning. One was a personal goal; one could have been a paying submission. Both we re equally stressful.

Maybe it’s the lack of lower numbers on the scale, despite all my running and calorie counting and whole foods diet. It’s like a punch in the stomach every time I get on that scale and see the 4 lbs I lost last week back on there… over and over. Then again, I guess if I wasn’t shoving cupcakes and Krispy Kremes in my face, this would be a non issue.

Maybe living in Virginia is taking it’s toll? I miss good customer service – this is nonexistent here. We have had issues with EVERY major utility AND purchase since we moved in. It took 2 tries (and two companies) to get our washer and dryer delivered, 3 visits to get our cable hooked up, 7 tries (fingers crossed) for our internet to work. We’ve been stood up, hung up on and “whatever”’d. And there is nothing we can do about it but complain.

Or… the lack of a good radio station. It’s Gospel, Country, R&B and a station that loves the Eagles and ZZ Top a little too much. Sometimes you just need to crank up the music to a really good song. But really, who still listens to the radio? I should just plug in my phone/Ipod like every one else.


But the crescendo, or maybe the only REAL issue here, is that one of my kids is having a really tough time in school. She’s miserable. New school, new curriculum, new way of doing things. The south is a little less…err, liberal… than the west coast. Teaching styles are different. She’s used to being “the good kid”. Teachers knew her, and they knew me. Here, she’s just another new kid. It’s not abnormal for her to get an F. Not to them. And it certainly doesn’t warrant a call/email/note home, as it would have before. Her self esteem is affected, she’s embarrassed to ask for more help at school and unfortunately, Derek and I don’t know jack about Virginia history. So, this morning, after letting her stay home an hour due to “an upset tummy” I tried to talk to her about why it was she was avoiding class today. Total epic meltdown ensued. It was awful. She was crying and pleading.
“ I hate it here…teachers are mean… home school me”
And I did the typical thing of getting frustrated with her –after I asked her to open up to me- and yelled at her out of frustration.
“This is our life now”. I said. “Washington is gone, it’s in the past, and you need to deal with this change”.
I felt like a total jerk. I tried to make up for it on the ride to school, but she was done with me, and I didn’t blame her. It’s hard to see our kiddos in pain. It’s hard to not be able to fix it right away. But I also have to let her learn things on her own. To fix things on her own. To adapt to change.

In all honesty, I can say I was eating my feelings, dealing with stress by comforting myself with chocolaty pastries. But in reality I had been coveting this stupid doughnut since I saw them in a package of 8 at the commissary. The only reason I hadn’t really given in was because I didn’t want a whole pack, I just wanted the one. And once I saw that I could purchase just one at the local Class Six the decision was made. It was just a matter of time before I made one of these my biotch.I was just waiting for the perfect excuse.

To try to even out my bad decisions today, I talked to the school counselor, made a conference appointment with Ru’s teachers AND parked super far out in the lot when I went to the commissary. That's all the fixing I can do for one day.

2:07:41

Is it strange that my time for the ARMY ten miler is eerily close to my birth date?
Is it stranger that I completed the Army Ten miler? I mean, after all, it was TEN miles. Ten miles of mostly jogging, mixed with some serious running and less than a 1/2 mile of non-consecutive walking. It was amazing. Amazing for so many reasons, but mostly for the reason that I FINISHED IT. I have a coin, a shirt and a certificate to prove it, and although 30,000 people trek to this event each year, I am still in a small group that can proudly claim " I was there".
ARMYTENMILER CLASS OF '11.

We arrive Saturday late afternoon. We head directly over to the D.C. Armory, where race packet pick up is being held and I marvel at all the refurbished row houses and the open air markets in this cute neighborhood. I also take notice that despite the Indian Summer we seem to be having, the leaves are starting to tint orange...red...yellow. The Armory is also the site of a health expo that coincides with the race.I hop out to get the packets while Derek finds a place to park. Seeing static displays are second nature to me,so I think it's really cool when I hear people get excited about the helicopter, stryker, soldiers. I also think it's really cool that I get to bypass the long lines to enter the expo by showing my military ID at the side door. Membership has it's privileges.

Packet pick-up is super organized, and each line I need to be in seems to be the fastest moving. I quietly hope it is a sign of how my running will be. I laugh at myself for having such ostentatious fantasies. Derek and I pick up our race shirts, then head over to the merchant booths to see if there's anything we can't live without. I find a few shirts with witty slogans ("in my dreams, I'm a Kenyan", " This seemed like a good idea 3 months ago", ) and I get my first real wave of nervousness.
As we drive through the city to our hotel, I try to navigate the area from memory. It's been several years since we explored here, and some things have changed, but I still know my way around. We pass the Watergate complex,and I make a joke about being deepthroat. Derek seems unimpressed, but I know he thinks it's funny.
We check in, get up to our room, only to realize OUR room is actually someone else's room, and thank God we didn't walk in on someone having a little late afternoon delight, or getting out of the shower, or picking their nose. Back down the oldest elevator in the free world, new room, up elevator, room is free of other people. We forgo a late reservation at the Italian place across the street for a walk a block over to Whole Foods to pick up dinner. I get brown rice, mac&cheese and a salad, and later lament " carbs... why did I load you?!?" I take a warm bath, center myself and head off to bed while Derek watches the Rangers game get delayed. In a few short hours, I will put my training to the test.

5am comes early, and I am not a morning person. Banana and almond butter for breakfast, followed by coconut water and really shitty coffee. I make a mental note to stop at Starbucks on the way to the metro, but immediately dismiss that thought in fear of throwing it up, or worse, having to poo in a port-o-potty. No thanks.
Running skirt? Check! Wrist sweat band? Check! Totally lame sunglasses? Check! I decide not to wear a long sleeve shirt, even though the morning is supposed to be chilly. I figure my fear of the metro, and nervous energy will keep me warm enough.
It actually ends up being surrounded by hundreds,thousands of runners that does the trick.
The metro is packed (and surprisingly clean and well-lit), standing room only. It takes about 15 minutes to get out of the Pentagon station once we arrive. The lines to the port-o-potties are so long, we fear missing our start time. We finally get to the starting area, and I realize I'm terribly thirsty. WHY DIDN'T I BRING WATER??? It's 20 more minutes before we start moving, and even then, it's a 1/2 mile walk to the starting line. I'm stretching, getting crazy loose and my nervous energy subsides into excitement. While I'm sure there are "elite" runners here, they are waaaaaaay up ahead of me, their start time already on the clock. Most people around me seem pretty normal. Except the one douche bag making fun of people for having water belts/GU/supplements on them. "It's only 10 miles" he says. Ok, cool guy... I'll see YOU at the finish line. I also regret Derek not having his water belt, my throat is so dry.
And we're off. To a slow and steady pace. We had trained on a 10/2 system of running 10 minutes, walking 2. We decide to run for 2 miles, then see how we feel. I feel like walking,and 2 minutes later we're heading towards mile three. We have already passed the Lincoln Memorial, Arlington Bridge, two water stations (amen) and are heading towards Watergate. I ask Derek if we can just go back to our hotel. He laughs at me. My lame sunglasses keep fogging up. I hate them. But it's bright, and squinting sucks.
The goal is to get to mile 5 before the 1:20 mark, because that's when they cut people off, shorten the course and you don't get to complete the full ten. We get their in plenty of time only to hear someone shout we have 2/10 of a mile to go (ummm... did they change the rule?!?! The course?!?! WTF?!?!). I break into a run. It probably wasn't fast, but it was much faster than my current pace AND my training pace. I was not about to get cut off now. I pushed past mile 6...

...then I drank the Gatorade. I knew not to gulp. On all the previous water stations, I swished and spit, taking just enough water in to hydrate and not cramp. But this time, my fatigue and thirst got the batter of me (it was SOOO hot!!). I didn't mean to do it, I had no control over my actions. And the next thing I knew, three cups of Gatorade were gone. It was time to walk. I begged Derek for a 1/2 mile to let the fluids... I don't know, disappear, maybe? Just time to not have them sloshing in my belly. I was sure, if I started running, that Gatorade was going to make a second appearance. He gave me 1/4 mile. That's all I needed. We got back to a comfortable (slow) pace, and watched as mile marker 7, then 8 went by. We joked and talked to other runners as we jogged up the ramp to the George Mason Memorial Bridge. We were almost done.
Then, we came into view of the wounded warriors. How do you quit (or slow down) when you see persons with one leg, no legs, running? How do you tell yourself, it's too hot, it's too hard, it's too far? You don't. Because these guys are still going. There was a moment, when one of these warriors with a running prosthetic had to stop and take a minute, and he was apologizing to his (two legged) team mates. And I wanted to say, " Do you know how amazing you are? You have one LESS needed limb for running, yet you're still doing it." That is my only regret of the day, that I didn't actually say it. Instead, I dug a little deeper, ran a little straighter, complained a little quieter. Became a little prouder. Not of myself, but of humanity. I ran the last three miles of this race, not stopping,no 10/2 training plan, because I knew I could.
Mile 9 marker goes by... just one more mile. Literally, this time. Derek starts to get giddy. He's cheering me, but I'm still focused on my pace. I'm hot, so hot, and sore already and a mile is still pretty far. I want the finish line, and water. We can see the Pentagon, the finish line balloons.I say out loud that I think I have pulled my uterus. Derek grabs my hand and I think to myself, "I actually did it". Hands clasped, arms up, we pass over the finish line. I think it's 2:30:and change because that's what the clock says. I forget that we started way after the time clock. I'm elated, exhausted, thirsty. We have to walk FOREVER through the chutes, passed piles of empty water bottles and discarded water pallets. I'm feeling woozy and I swear it's getting hotter. We walk passed shade and into blacktop parking lots. We get our coins, then, miraculously, water. I take two.
We start to make out way back to the metro. All I want is a juicy hamburger then a cupcake. I deserve it. My legs are so sore, and I have chaffing and aches in unusual places. WE hop a fence, then some concrete barriers and I'm amazed I can still command my lower half to function. I stop and stretch. I need to stop, but I'm afraid if I do stop, I won't get going again. I stretch some more.We see the masses heading down into the metro and I fear I will starve to death before we make it back to Foggy Bottom.
After a series of both fortunate, and unfortunate, events, we finally sit our sweaty, stiff selves into cushioned seats for a burger. We see people who recognize us from the 6:30am metro ride,they, too still have their race bibs on. They appear less sweaty, less taxed,more comfortable than I.
As we walk back to the hotel, people congratulate us. I want to shower, then sleep. But we have 45 minutes to be out of the hotel, and Derek has promised me a trip to Georgetown Cupcakes for my race award. I get the chocolate coconut,Derek gets the red velvet. We pick carrot cake to share later, and three more for the kids makes it an even 1/2 dozen.
As we make our way back towards the highway, we decide we would love to live here. And we start talking about "next year". Making plans to come back to D.C. before our 6months is up. Making plans for our next race,I tell myself 10 miles is the most I will ever need to run. By Monday, I will have contemplated training for a half marathon. By Tuesday, I will decide my recovery period is over and make plans for a 2.5 mile run Wednesday morning.

You don't have to be thin, or an athlete or even have two legs to run. You just have to do it. 2:07:41 says so.

Get Your Kicks...

Hello world and sweet readers!!I'm here (waves hands)!!! For those of you who thought I died,let me put those rumors to rest. In actuality, we have relocated to Virginia via the good 'ole Army and military schooling. We left our beloved Fort Lewis in early August and took a 30 day walkabout (or drive-a-bout, if you will) coast to almost-coast summer vacation (read blog for deets) visiting family and landmarks along the way. I had planned to blog about our escapades as we traveled, but like so many good intentions, things (like shitty hotel wi-fi, kids bouncing off the walls, funner stuff) kept me from a nightly/weekly/monthly update. But I am mostly settled and so happy to get back to making random thoughts and experiences public forum on the world wide web. Oh... how I've missed my blog.

The interstate. What can I say about this many lane-d deathtrap, other than I hate it? The interstate was invented to get travelers from A to B quickly, and with as little fun as possible. It's fast, usually packed with non-courteous drivers and there's nothing to see except the random outlet mall, kooky 18-wheeler driver or dead armadillos. As I'm sure many of you learned from Cars and Lightning McQueen, this dastardly thingy we call an Interstate mostly killed off small town America.It turned once bustling vacation stops into ghost towns and slums. Ever heard of Route 66? I'm sure you have... but have you ever DRIVEN it? You can barely drive the whole 2,448 miles, in its original entirety anymore without the help of websites, or following historic marker. According to Wikipedia, and The Mother Road the original highway has been altered and even abandoned, disappearing into the horizon. How about the 101? It's also called the Pacific Coast Highway - for one because it runs along the rocky coasts of Washington, Oregon and California. It is literally the most beautiful strip of two lane blacktop I have ever taken. Evergreens, ocean, tiny forgotten towns. And so much to do along the way.How about HWY 285? HWY 380? HWY 460?

Well, I, for one, can't pass up a good detour. Ever. It's become a little joke-sky in my family that I can't ever just go from A to B. It's just not in me.The largest Rocking Chair? I saw it. Meteor Crater? Been there. And I've got the magnets to prove it. So... when we were planning our PCS (move), I got to looking at an atlas(not google maps, but the real paper deal) and realized quite a few things. First - there are several ways to get from A to B; a lot of them awesome, fun packed ways. Secondly - there were ALOT of things in our area we hadn't done yet. And thirdly - we had done this almost exact same drive 5 years earlier when we moved from Maryland to Washington. We needed a different route. We had to make this one better. I talked the hubby into taking some much needed leave,and making an even bigger adventure out of the already wacky thing called the military PCS. 30 days of travel. THIRTY. In some states, that's a month. We mapped out routes; places we HAD to see before we left the Pacific NW, places we had to see along the way, and all the friends and family in between that would offer to put us up. What we got at the end was the adventure of a lifetime, some good quality memories, and a new appreciation for our own beds.
Don't get me wrong, not every moment was fun (like when Hope pooped in the car), not every outing was worth the money (the Sea Lion Caves were MEH) and not every hotel was worth the "deal" (Econo-Lodge in Oregon). There were plenty of times I wanted to (did) scream at the kids to "keep it down/stop fighting/shuttheeffup" and I took baths in some pretty seedy tubs, just to have a 20 minute break from the craziness. 5 people and a dog should never co-habitate in the same motel room, but we did it and lived to tell the blog worthy tale. The next few posts will be a time line of the adventures - or mis-adventures - of the Foster Family. And the next time you're headed west (or east, in our case) Grab an atlas and make your own adventure. Lifes too short to just take the Interstate.

Slow mileage

Running BLOWS. BLLLOOWWWSSSS!!! I'm a tubby bitch and I'm short. I'm like one hairy mole away from the the non-runner trifecta. I literally dislike every second of running. I've cried on a run lasting less than two miles. Yes,cried. I've been mistaken for an asthmatic... by my husband, while running. And to be honest, I'm really misusing the word "running".People who run move from point A to point B at a quick pace. Their lean legs carrying them on long strides, their feet barely touching the ground beneath them. I am neither quick nor lean. I think I'm more of a jogger. A chunky,wheezing,ground pounding, crying jogger. At best.
So why am I doing something that makes me so miserable? For one, I forgot to mention I'm dumb. Secondly, I let my "I ran a marathon" husband sign me up for the Army 10 miler in October (YES, 10 FREAKING MILES) and lastly,I'm addicted to the way I felt after running my first race. I don't run far and I don't run fast, but I don't quit. And that is quite an accomplishment.
I've always wanted to be a runner. I've envied the ladies, in their little shorty shorts and their sports bras without the back boobs, seemingly effortlessly gliding through an hour on the treadmill. Or the toned legged cuties who run 6 miles "just for fun". Pshhhhh. Whatever. I can think if 25 other things more fun than running. Maybe that's' my problem... my attitude towards running sucks. So along with my husband signing us up for the million miler or whatever it's called, I also said yes when a friend invited me to an all woman's 4k. Sure, a 4k (or just under 2.5 miles) may seem like a breeze, and if you're an avid runner, it is. A 4k is probably your "rest day" run, or what you do to "warm up". But for Tubby McSlowlegs over here, 2.5 miles is like a loooooong way. It was over twice as long as I had ever run, consecutively in like my adult life. A mile was always my goal, and I abruptly would end my run at a mile. No further. I told myself I couldn't go farther, so I never did. Until my husband decided it was time to start training. Running with " a runner" sucks. They've been where you are now,and they know you CAN do it, so they make you. When you run with a runner, there is no quitting. You can slow down, you can complain, you can even cry. But you can't quit. Running with a runner also turns your breathless one mile into 2.75 miles of " I can't believe I just did that".
So I trained for about three weeks, (even by myself a few days and I didn't cheat) progressively adding distance until I had surpassed what I needed to run for the 4k. On race day, I was totally nervous. I mean, I get it was only 2.5 miles, but I was running these 2.5 miles. Alone. And I didn't even really have a cheering squad. It got in my head a little. I glanced around at all the other "runners", with their bibs dangling from their shirts, and I realized there were a lot of regular chicks just like me there. And there were a lot of walkers, so I knew I could at least come in BEFORE most of them.
TIP* Always check out your course before you race. I did not. There were hills. Hills are stupid.
"AND GO!" is how this race started. I think. I was kinda a nervous wreck and I was so busy jacking with my running app on my phone I actually missed the start signal and just started moving with the crowd. We rounded the track and entered a trail. It was like a cattle call, not a lot of space to move, and at first I was playing it safe, not really moving passed people, and clinging to the very far right in case someone needed to get around me. Then, all of a sudden, a crazy thing happened. I was closing in on this woman wearing a tulle petticoat, and I can just assume she heard my heavy breathing behind her and she got nervous, but she tucked her skirt into her arms and said "all clear". To me. I was passing another runner. And this began the epic mind control that I used on every other runner I passed. I passed a few more people who had stopped to walk (the trail was very hilly)and thought to myself I was glad the hubs made me do some hills on the trail we trained on. ("hills are speed work in disguise", he would irritatingly say while I was dying)
I was feeling pretty good as I cleared the trail into a neighborhood. Quite a few people had started walking by this point, and the jerk inside me thought "quitter!!", although that's so far from the truth. I stayed slow and steady in my pace. Even when this lady started using me as her gauge and would walk fast until I passed her, then she would run, staying right behind me, only to walk once she passed me again. She kept this up for about 1/2 of a mile, until my slow and steady pace left her in the dust. My heavy breathing intimidated people to move out of my way as I crept up on them. I was kinda like that asshole in the fast lane that just rides your ass until you finally move over. Only I wasn't speeding, I was just going slightly faster than the people directly in front of me. And it felt awesome. I wasn't going to put this in my blog, but I like to just let my nerd flag fly, so here goes - after each person I passed, I said (to myself, not out loud) " I'm stealing your power". I know!! TOTALLY LAME, but mentally, I needed it. It manifested physically for me. It made me work just a little bit harder as I came up on someone. As I finished the last of the street and headed into the parking lot towards the trail we started in, I realized I was alone. I had just passed the last person that I could see in front of me. Hitting that trail all by myself, hearing just MY breath, MY footsteps on the dirt was so peaceful I almost got emotional. I was less than 1/2 a mile away from finishing my first race, running the entire time, by myself. And as I was nearing the end of the trail, I heard one of the volunteers yell out to me " Great job... you're at 21 minutes and change!". WHAT?!? I thought for sure I had gone past my 30 minute goal already. I picked up the pace, practically threw myself down the last hill of the coarse and tried my best to hall ass onto the track. And then my legs reminded me that slow was more my style. I could see the finish line and I just wanted to make it there before any of the people I passed up saw how slow I had gotten. I did sprint the last, oh... seven steps or so. And there, waiting for me was a silver platter full of chocolates.
TIME : 27:37 - 92 out of 195 . Not too shabby for a new runner. And God, did it feel good. Maybe that's the runners high people talk about? Until that moment, I thought it was just something runners said to encourage non-runners to punch them in the face.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank those people who helped me get that moment.
Thanks Dania Bandas, for taking my joke about running being gross to the next level and inviting me to participate. I honestly appreciate you picking THIS race as my first of many to come.
Thanks to the ladies who didn't dress all uber cool runner chick, and showed up in yoga pants, baggy t's and even jeans.
Thanks to the lady in the martini costume who was slightly ahead of my up the hilly street! Nothing more motivating than chasing a drink.
thanks to the lady who run/walk raced me. You only made me feel more confident in my pace each time you passed me. I watched you run through the finish line well after I had gulped my Gatorade, eaten my chocolate and stretched
.No hard feelings.
Thanks to my free app RunKeeper for allowing me the freedom to just run while you do the hard work like track my route, miles and time.
And of course, THANK YOU to my husband Derek. Thanks for encouraging me, pushing me (even when I cried and said I hated you)picking trails instead of the treadmill and telling me my 11:37 minute mile was really good, even though we both know it's mediocre at best. Thanks for jogging along side me at my slowest and not leaving me behind even when I know it's not a good workout for you. Thanks for always being that one person who encourages me and believes in me, ESPECIALLY when I don't believe in myself.Thanks for leaving the pepper spray in my car for me after I told you I was nervous to run the trails solo. I still think that long ass hill on day 2 was total bullshit, but I apologize for laughing when that snake freaked you out.
Thank you to myself for taking my desire to be a runner from theory to practice.

The worst day of my life

Have any of you seen Office Space? Hilarious movie, but this scene kinda sums up my mood lately. Only it should start with, " Ever since I found out my daughter isn't graduating with her class."

So if you've been wondering where I've been, or why I'm stressed, that's the reason. Wondering why I'm not at derby practice, the gym, or returning your texts? Because I have been in a total funk. I have been in "failure as a mother" land, "how did this happen -ville", " WTF city". I have been having the worst day of my life. It's very sad in these places.

Disappointed barely begins to describe the range of emotions I've been experiencing. People say there are 5 stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.
I'm somewhere around anger and depression, and I really don't think I'll ever get to acceptance, the reason being, is that she LIED about it. She lied to us for over a year, probably longer than that. She lied all the way up to the 11th hour, honestly thinking someone would feel bad enough for her to let her walk with her class, even though she hadn't done the work. "The work" being finishing two online classes of English she failed as a Freshman and Sophomore. Yes, I realize she had two years to get these done. I KNOW she knew this, because I harped on her about it weekly. She actually tried to get these done in three days. AFTER telling us it was done. Lying about why the tests hadn't come in. Blaming everyone but herself. Never actually taking responsibility for it. She failed.

I had the proud duty of calling my parents, who had already booked trips out here, to tell them that their first grandchild wouldn't be walking with her class, and there would be no graduation celebration. A celebration we had all been looking forward to. This was, after all, 17 years in the making. Patience was going to break the cycle of non-graduates on my side of the family. I guess I set my standards too high. Sadly, plane tickets are non- refundable now-a-days. So everyone decided to come out anyways, as planned, for one last trip to the Seattle area, since we are moving very soon. You know, my step-dad was the ONLY person to take the situation and the mood into consideration. He actually asked me how I felt about having family come out. He gave ME the option to bow out.That meant quite a bit to me, knowing, that this was a difficult time for ME, as well as our family.He offered to come at a later time, or even hold off the trip until we were in Virginia.
But just like all stressful things, it's always better to deal with them in the company of your parents. So the weekend that was to be graduation packed fun days were spent being grieved in the company of family.

Luckily, no one really brought it up. I think everyone could tell I was in no mood to discuss it. Or they took cues from the tense conversations I was having with Patience. I really think EVERYONE was holding out hope she would pull it out of her ass at the last minute. Derek and I had already decided, that even if she passed the classes (which she had NO TIME to get the test results back on anyway) we weren't going to let her walk. Neither of us felt she deserved it. WE deserved it, because WE sacrificed for this moment. But SHE did not.

This entire last year here was for her. Derek made sacrifices in his career to be HOME for her graduation. We were supposed to be on to our next duty station, but Derek fought for stabilization orders for her to finish high school here. With her friends. Like normal kids get to do. I'm quite positive she took none of this into consideration as she was doing everything under the sun EXCEPT the one thing that she needed to do to graduate.

I guess I'm so disappointed for two reasons. Obviously, I wanted to be a part of the pomp and circumstance that a graduation ceremony brings.I wanted to yell and scream as her name was called out and she walked the stage. I wanted to snap pictures of her in her cap and gown and I wanted HER to have those memories, hugging freinds and sharing in the pride of a right of passage.
But even more upsetting was the lying. I'm not proud of her. And that is a terrible feeling to experience. I have been disappointed by her actions before, don't get me wrong. But in the 17 years I've been her mother, I don't think I've ever been this kind of NOT PROUD, totally ashamed of her actions. It hurts. It is a tangible ache inside of me, knowing that the person I raised could be so selfish, so uncaring, and so self involved to take no ones feelings into consideration, to be so disrespectful to every person that made her who she is, and helped her get to where she is today, that her thanks to all of us - TO ME - was to lie about a situation over and over again, and then to rob us - ME- of this moment. A moment we will never get back.
But, it is what it is. The day has come and gone. The moment we all looked to has passed. Now, nothing but a circled date on the calendar,a brightly noted box in my day-planner, all the "TO -DO's" left undone.

My beautiful, intelligent daughter, who had every opportunity to be special, chose to be mediocre.

My heart is broken.

ch-ch-ch-changes

So, for those if you wondering "where is that super cool, totally hysterical chick that writes this amazing, Pulitzer prize worthy blog?". I'm here!!! (waves hands).
I had a few, rather irritating, issues arise with the blogger site, and it kept me from A) being able to blog and B) being able to enter my blog site. So during the lockout, I did some investigating AND I started a 30 day Paleo challenge. I decided to marry these two things and I started a wordpress blog . I'm not giving up on the Manic Military wife by any means,so stay tuned for random babbling and shenaniganizing. But for now, you can get you fix of me being a blogger by clicking on the above link:)

see ya soon fellow wackadoos <3

becoming a celebrity

Since my last blog entry was kinda suckish, I'm gonna make it a twofer week. I had some issue with my netbook, then with blogger, then with rushing, and I realized after posting I was missing huge chunks of writing, so really the whole ramble just sounds like I'm being a bitch. I'm not denying that self accusation, but it also wasn't my total intent. Let's just all chalk it up to not being my best work and move on. I feel better, don't you?

So I recently had the privilege of being featured in my towns free newspaper The Hometown Clipper (see Heather Foster:Rolling with the Bettie Brigade).It happened quite by accident,as most important moments in my life do (see pregnancies, FRG leader, PTA board member). A fellow volunteer-er, Beth, writes fantastic articles about local goings-on and I thought getting her in the know of my kick ass derby league would be a great way to get other military chicks within the community involved. I think the topic of roller derby came up naturally, Lord knows I'm a talker, and Beth actually asked if she could do an article about us. "US". As in I thought it would be about the league. I only have myself to blame for the silly picture taken in the bathroom enlarged for all my neighbors to see. I guess I thought the TWO HOURS I spent talking to Beth in the cafe(in my defense,they make a damn good latte) across the street would end up being a blurb on one of the pages, sandwiched in between JBLM traffic, and the SHSD school board meeting. It was a Facebook message that alerted me to the reality of my new found popularity.

What a totally humbling experience.

Imagine my surprise when I walk in, all haggard and grumpy mind you, to the office at school to get some PTA work done, and I am met with cheers and excitement and even autograph -seekers! Is it weird to have the people you sell popcorn to call you Smut Peddler, you ask? Yes...yes it is. But it is also freaking AWESOME. My very own paparazzi in the Secretary staff of an elementary school. I'll take it!
I was already pretty popular in my community. Being the "popcorn lady" has it's perks. But I also know that fame is fleeting. Sure, they love you on popcorn day, but the rest of the month, you're just "in the PTA".
Oh,but the stardom didn't stop here. I had people telling my kids they read about me in the paper, parents that know me were stopping me at Target and Ross to chat me up about my "other life". The secretary at the primary school I volunteer at told me she "wasn't surprised" and then asked me all about joining a league! And so many people made the same comment over and over again... " I had no idea you were into Roller Derby". This leads me to believe that A) people tune me out, and B)ROLLER DERBY IS AWESOME!!
While I know that "A" happens all the time (see my kids for a reference), "B" has become more and more obvious since I was thrust into the spotlight. I wasn't the only person in the news. Our bout had press there to cover the event. The article was in 3 major newspapers that week with huge photos of our derby girls in action. It was like a domino effect, every time we turned around, someone else was alerting us to another article,another source. And just this week, a friend deployed overseas alerted me of the article and coverage of the JBLM Bettie Brigade league in the STARS AND STRIPES!! Yep - takin' it International, baby.
Should I let it go to me head? Meh... like I said, I was already a pretty big deal around town anyways. Kids here wear a t-shirt I designed, for crying out loud! But then again... It's pretty freaking cool when you're name comes up in a google search. And I DO give autographs :)

links to other JBLM articles:

http://www.army.mil/-news/2011/05/05/56078-members-of-the-jblm-bettie-brigade-roller-derby-league-bond-together-and-build-character/

http://www.thenewstribune.com/2011/05/01/1647770/queens-of-bases-bettie-brigade.html

http://www.theolympian.com/2011/05/02/1637027/women-rule-lewis-mcchords-bettie.html


NEED MORE JBLM BETTIE BRIGADE INFO? - BETTIEBRIGADE.COM
OR JUST GOOGLE!!

Fairness and other B.S.

* I was overwhelmed by the response of my last blog entry. First, by the fact that more than 5 people read it (click “FOLLOW” to follow manicmilitarywife), and secondly that so many people connected with my rant. I guess it would make sense to discuss Army life, as my blog is titled The Manic Military Wife. I half assedly promise to include at least one military-esque blog entry per month. Let me say that I was not using my blog to complain about the ARMY, as being an Army wife I am PRO-MILITARY. But I will entertain you with random shenanigans that only other Mil-spouses can truly appreciate.
THANK YOU SWEET READERS!!



Ever heard the phrase “it’s not fair”? Of course you have. Everyone says it. My kids say it daily. But then again… they’re KIDS
This is how it’s played out in my house:
KID - “It’s not fair that ‘sibling’ gets to take a bath”
ME- “It’s because I love ‘sibling’ more”.
This usually works for most scenarios and they have learned that this means DROP IT. Is it nice? No. But I’m a parent, and my job isn’t really to be nice, it’s to teach my kids life lessons and to help them be productive adults when they go out into the world. If I could be nice AND make sure they don’t pick people off with a rifle from a clock tower, then great. Most days niceness isn’t the path that works.
Lately, I have noticed this phrase being used more and more by grown people. I’ll even go as far as to say “adults”, although for some I use this term loosely. “It’s not fair” you say? That’s right, it’s not freakin’ fair… because this is REAL LIFE, where fairness is relative, and expectations are real and there are consequences to your actions. Sometimes you don’t get what you want, sometimes you’re told “NO”. Sometimes (hopefully every time) you are held accountable for your actions.

Fairness and equality are two terms that are very often used for one’s own agenda.
(And this is where the OPINION disclaimer needs to be entered, as I’m sure I will offend.)

Remember the days of having to try out for a team? Or the MVP getting the trophy? Now-a-days it's a free for all, because we can't hurt anyone's feelings, and EVERYONE get's a trophy because somewhere some mom who thought her kid,who picked weeds in the outfield,was just as good as the kid who had natural talent complained enough to disrupt the system. We celebrate mediocrity. Everyone is equal. It's a "team effort". While I agree in team efforts, I also believe that the person who WORKS HARD, PUTS IN THE EFFORT and EXCELS should be celebrated. It gives the other kids (or adults) on the team something to strive for, to set goals, to become better.
Now, if your kid (or you) is the weed picker, you will disagree. If your kid (or you)is in the "natural talent" section, you're giving me a virtual high-five. BUT... If you're weed picker kid is in a different situation... let's say they are asked to participate in a program that you feel their skills have surpassed, well, THEN equality is thrown out the window. EXAMPLE (for those not tracking)... Last year, our daughter was asked to be put in a split class of second and third graders. She was in the third grade. Many parents (including me, for honesty's sake)went ape-y over this. The second grade parents were concerned about the third graders negative influence , the third grade parents were concerned about their kids not being challenged with the second grade curriculum. Let me point out not very many parents were concerned with WHY this was happening *coughbudgetcutsthanksbiggovernemtcough. Two of these parents, who's kids were in the third grade, had just come to a PTA meeting all aflutter about the PTA giving out awards to the "winners" of a certain contest. "We should send the message that we are all winners", they said. Well, yes, but some of us are better winners than others. I guess this would include third graders, as opposed to second graders.


Recently, my youngest kiddo was picked to be on the pre-competition team in the gymnastics program she's in. This was like a huge big deal. She had only been taking classes (the first in her life) for about 10 weeks. She and her sister started in the same class, and when Gracie was asked to try out, and then was accepted, we thought Ruby would be upset, even though she had already stated she wasn't interested in the pre-comp team. At first she praised her little sister for such an awesome accomplishment, but I could tell there was a little jealousy. I talked to Ruby about it, and how she had stated the pre-comp team wasn't really her thing, but that it was OK to change her mind. The next 4 weeks Ruby worked really hard to improve her skills. She practiced at home, flipping off the couch, kipping up the side of her bunk bed, spending recess getting callouses on her hands from spinning around the playground bars. Her determination paid off, and she was asked to try-out for the pre-comp team last week. She never once played the "fairness" card. And you know what else? She was PROUD of herself.
Now, I could have been the mom that complained about the program, or put her in a class that she would never feel the need to challenge herself in because at the end of the session everyone got a medal. None of us Moms want to see our kiddos hurt or feel left out. But not "making the cut" is a life lesson. It's how we rebound from the disappointment that shapes the athlete or scholar.
Think about it: How many times did you QUIT something because it got hard? Or you weren't master of the universe? I can easily raise my hand in shame. And I'm sure I thought it "wasn't fair".




These blabbering and horn tooting examples are just my way to express my frustration with the amount of people I hear complaining about their lives. It's not always going to be rosy, and while I don't except everyone to always have a smile in the face of adversity, don't use "it's not fair" or "I'm not being treated equally" if you're just pissed off because you A) lost, B) were put in your place, or C)life happened. There are a slew of woman, African Americans and Gays that could tell YOU about "Fairness".

MAKING SACRIFICES

Let me start off by saying I woke up with an urge to punch someone (anyone, not a specific person)in the face today. This blog will most likely by angry rantings, but as it is MY blog I am taking this time to give my OPINIONS on things. This is not an opinions column, and if you disagree with whatever it is I am ranting about, feel free NOT to comment. This is also fair warning to not read this weeks edition of The Manic Military Wife. Thank you.

Yesterday, someone said to my husband " sometimes you have to make sacrifices." Just typing it sends me into a rage. I am a fucking Army Wife( there goes my adsense approval). Don't even talk to me about sacrifices. I could fill a lake with the sacrifices this family has made in the last 6 1/2 years. Back to back deployments, having to FIGHT to get one year stabilization, being counseled on said stabilization, rumors of marriage troubles because my husband requested, simply, to be home for 365 days in a row, as promised by his battalion AND the CIC. Was he trying to get out of a deployment? Nope. Just wanted his 365, or a week and a half after deployment date. Derek had to SACRIFICE a family camping trip to go home for the death of his grandfather, feeling the need so desperately because he's missed three already. We have SACRIFICED birthdays, holidays , firsts, lasts, sex, money, moves, wants, needs, sleep, time (we will never get back), bedtime stories, kisses awards, plays, conferences. The only time I've seen Derek get an award or promotion was when I pinned his 2LT bar on him at OCS. He is now a CPT. With a chest full of accolades. We have a daughter who was just a few months old the first time Derek deployed, and is now 7. He has been to 3 of her birthday parties. We sacrificed 18 months, then 3.5 months, then 15 months, then 12 months of our life with only ONE full 365 days at home EVER thrown in there. Don't fucking talk to ME about sacrifice.

This isn't me wining about my husbands job. We read the fine print, we knew about the war going on. We knew about deployments. We new we would be making SACRIFICES. This is more about how OTHERS perceive said sacrifices in relation to themselves.

We are PCS-ing (moving) at the end of this summer. Derek is tasked to do a training exercise on a different continent this summer. A 6 week exercise smack dab in the middle of when we need to be packing up, and clearing out. For my non-mil readers -6 weeks may seem like time o'plenty.HA! PCS-ing is an involved process that includes making appointments well in advance to have your household goods packed and shipped to an address your not even sure of yet. And paperwork paperwork paperwork for out processing. 5 days worth just for him. I have to make sure medical records are all accounted for in the electronic system,all shots are up to date and in our possession and NOT PACKED, find housing in a different state, hope you get on the housing list before arrival, and that housing is available when you get there, book accommodations for your last 5 days in this state and your first 5 in the next.PLAN and Pack for a road trip across the country, with at least two kids and a dog. Don't even get me started on the older kid and what she'll need. All this and a hundred other things have to be taken care of. And it looks like it will have to be done by ME. Which sucks because you can't take a shit in the Army when your soldier is gone without a SPECIFIC POWER OF ATTORNEY.

Question: why would you send a person who is essentially down to less than 90 days at BN on a training exercise for the BN?!?!
Also - why did you keep his name on the roster when you KNEW three months ago his orders were coming?

So this summer, instead of easing our kids into a transition (they will make TWO next school year), we will be pressed on even making it to school before it starts. No time to make friends in the neighborhood, or get unpacked, or to even miss where you left, really. They will most likely be living in a hotel when they start school and we can only hope that the school they start in will be the one they stay in.
*Also, if you're a relative and reading this - don't make any plans for us. We'll basically be driving in,sleeping and leaving again. Sorry.

It will be fine, because we're a military family and we've dealt with this kind of crap before. You put your big girl panties on and you get shit done. We know about sacrifice.

But what I really want to say to that motherfucker who made that statement to my husband is:
If we sometimes have to make sacrifices, why don't YOU make the sacrifice? Why don't you take one for the team so that my kids don't have to? Just this time. Because this isn't really Derek who is making the sacrifice, it's his kids. And you are a total buttfuck for even making a comment like that in the first place.

girls camping 101

An extremely busy month has kept me from my cobwebbed blog. So sad. I didn't even realize that I hadn't posted in April yet. I have so many failed moments to invite you into to, but I think tonight, we'll try a story by the campfire...

Months ago, we planned a camping trip. By "we", I mean the hubby and I. Take note of that, it will be important later. The kids had been begging to go camping, but as you locals know, it was freezing balls this winter and there was no way I was taking a trip to the coast when I could still see my breath in my car every morning. As we looked at our schedules, we decided on Spring Break. The little girls would be out of school, I wouldn't have any volunteer stuff going on, and Derek could take leave, plus, we figured it would surely be warmer come April (insert laugh track here).

Unfortunately, plans have a way of changing. Derek had to fly to Texas to attend his grandfathers funeral somewhere in the middle of what would be our camping trip. When the girls learned daddy would be going to Texas, they assumed we were canceling the trip. Actually EVERYONE assumed we would cancel the trip. Except me.

Let me take a break from the story to share an epiphany:
Mil Wives, upon telling a friend/relative/hobo that your husband is deploying, have you ever been met with "what will you do?" or "how will you get by?"? Yeah, me too, and it effing sucks when everyone in the room with me feels that I turn into an infant when my husband leaves. I am actually quite self reliant. I've had some practice "holding down the fort". This is one of those things , that as a mil-spouse, sends me over the proverbial edge. We are all strong, independent women who have had to deal with and take care of more issues during a single year, than some people deal with in a lifetime. So camping? I got this.

return to story...
The kids thought the trip was off, even Derek brought up, more than once, postponing. My Dad second guessed my decision to go, and my mom even asked me several times if I was going "by myself". I wasn't phased. Girls Camping Trip '11 was on. And it was doomed from the start.
I wont go into how I had to shop, cook and pack solo all the while listening to the kids second guess what I was doing, even though I usually do this same crap any other time we go camping.Or how I had to open storage box after storage box in the garage because someone re-organized and didn't bother to A)make sense or B)tell anyone else what they did. Instead of boring you with that.. let us jump straight into it.
Thursday morning - load the kids up in the car to head over to Adventure center to pick up the pop-up trailer we rented. Derek had made these reservations, but luckily I had the confirmation info. We were running an hour late already because the kids "forgot" to take showers the night before. I wasn't going three days with unwashed kids. Just as I arrive at Adventure Center to confirm the pick-up, the power goes out. No power means no computer. No computer means no checking my reservation. Grrr. No worries, they should have a paper confirmation, which took 20 minutes to find, filed in the trash can because the date on it was wrong. Of course, that's the exact moment the computer system came back up. Reservation confirmed. On to the trailer lot where a very nice, but slower than molasses, older gentle fellow proceeded to help me out. First, he had to get (find) the canopy we rented, incase of rain, much like the heavy drizzle I was standing in at that very moment. After a good forever, he found the correct size canopy frame, but strangely, no actual canopy tarp. Hmmmmm... where could it be? After he checked every nook and cranny, he eventually found it by accident when he went over to the main building to ask for help.( I should point out now, that this tarp didn't even go on the trip with us) At this point we were almost an hour into the "pick-up time" and hadn't even gotten to the pop-up trailer yet. I was getting frazzled, but the kids were still in good spirits so I put my game face on. Derek had called to check in, and they were giving him a play by play.
Next, the pop-up. which is literal, because they only had the one, and it was NASTY. Whoever had it before us forgot to use common sense and manners. It was filthy, wet and smelled like gross. I don't know why it hadn't been cleaned before our arrival, but it hadn't and Mr. Molasses took one look at it and stated he couldn't give me that one, it just wouldn't be right. Sadly, we had to make it right, because after popping up two others and realizing they were broken, this was it. He told me to hold tight and he was going to spruce up my only option. One hour and forty minutes after arrival,and after noting several broken features, we were finally ready to hook it up to the car. After changing some light bulbs, getting an adapter for my hitch, and filling the propane tank (that was supposed to be full),signing all the paperwork and going through a tutorial of how things worked, the girls and I pulled out of the parking lot and headed on our way... home. We still had to pack all our crap into the pop-up and car. Over three hours behind schedule and we still had stops to make. But we just kept saying our Mantra: Girls Trip!
The first " are we close?" came an hour into open road travel.I laughed it off and all the other inquiries of where we were. Keeping calm and relaxed was my goal. Until I had to cross the bridge into Astoria. Christ that thing is scary. I am terribly afraid of heights and that SOB is tall. And long. And scary. I think I freaked the kids out with me labor breathing. I actually told them, "No talking while we're on the bridge". It was crazy town.I think that was the first moment I actually second guessed my enthusiasm to camp alone with the kids. The second time came as we pulled into camp, with only a few hours of daylight left, and I realized I couldn't back the pop-up into the space. Panic. Luckily my camp neighbors noticed (after 6 attempts) and took pity on me. They went so far as to back me in, help me un-hitch ( since I realized the release wheel was stripped) and yell words of encouragement over the bush that separated us. I did manage to get the electricity hooked up on my own, and had the heater warming the pop-up while we realized the beds were damp, the fridge smelled like dead things and the stabilizers were broken. I also had to screw the door into place with my leatherman, tape the velcro that keeps the door covered, fix the door lock,and dry off our sleeping bags from the undrained sink water that spilled all over them in transit. Oh... and we missed the wood cart. Thank God for GPS and tourist town grocers.
Ever try to make a pit fire in the dark? With matches? And hungry kids? Just don't. We decided to call it a night, and headed into the pop-up for some triscuits and cheese and a good game of Yahtzee. The saving grace was that the pp-up was toasty, as we snuggled into our sleeping bags.
I redeemed myself that morning. Fire:started, Pancakes:made, day:planned. It was a sunny wonderful day for exploring. I never got the hang of making a fire, or keeping it going for that matter, but overall, we had a really good time just hanging out. Until the day we had to leave. Ruby spilling my last Monster should have been the harbinger to the cluster that would surround our departure.
Remember how I told you the release wheel was stripped? Well, that effects how you hitch the pop-up back onto the car. But before that...
*the pop-out bed refused to slide back in
*the sink had actually been broken, and had to be propped for closure,
*we had to crank up and crank down at least 20 different times to get all the canvas in properly
*the stabilizer got stuck in the down position
* I'm 5'2" and there are things in a pop-up that require you to be taller to assemble/disassemble/lock/work properly
After finally compacting the pop-up, I had to use my jack to get it to the height I need to attach it to the muthereffing ball, just to have the release wheel lock up on me. In utter frustration, sweating and near tears, I kicked it and viola'! the release cranked down, I locked that bitch in place and we were ready to roll.
The upside? We had clear weather the entire time, we had fun together and we kept a sense of humor about (most) things. I also got a gift certificate from Adventure Center for a free rental after telling them about our issues.

My advice for girl-time camping?
Take a hatchet. You may only use it to look tough, or to show you know how to swing a potential weapon, but it does come in handy.
Mace yeah, I'm talking pepper spray. It's good to always have a small can on hand.
A freakin Lighter I am aware of this being a no-brainer, but mine was supposed to be in my camp stuff and it wasn't DOUBLE CHECK
Maps of the area GPS doesn't always work in the woods. Get maps from the visitors center when you check in.
SMORES GALORES you can never have enough chocolate, or marshmallows!
Put the food in the car If you don't, raccoons will steal your delicious pancakes you woke up an hour early to make.
ALWAYS have : duct tape, bungee cords, rope and a utility tool in your car.
A good attitude While having the guys around for the tough stuff is nice, It's not a necessity. Be a team, and keep the faith. Laugh off the goofs and hiccups and it will all be OK.

We might just make this an annual thing, me and my gals :)

What's my motivation?

Do you remember the first time you got a compliment? I don't mean your aunt praising you for be a good girl at the grocery store, either. I mean a REAL, compliment as an adult, by a stranger, that made you feel good about yourself. I do. I was in Target, I was about 20 and a young male employee told me I had a great butt. I think he actually said, " don't take this offensively, but you have a great butt". He wasn't creepy about it, and after my embarrassed and confused "thanks", he went about restocking the shelves. He didn't follow me around the store breathing heavy, or try to get my number. It was just a highly inappropriate, yet completely self esteem boosting compliment that has followed me for years. While I don't have that 20 year old ass anymore, I often think back to that compliment when I need a little pick-me-up.
I had terrible self esteem as a teenager. I got boobs in the 5th grade. Like, need to wear a bra boobs. I was relentlessly made fun of by the boys, and often by the girls too. I remember one day, while walking home from school, a few boys followed me home singing "you stuff your bra!!" until I lifted my shirt and said "does this look stuffed?!?!". After that I was the 5th grade floozy, by rumor alone.
That loathing and taunting of my prematurely mature body made me awkward and insecure and followed me into high school, where curves can be a fickle friend.
Body image has always been an issue with me. Old habits die hard.
The last year I've been on this constant body loathing rampage. I'm the heaviest I've ever been. EVER. I was already chubby, then I quit smoking and packed on a good 15 lbs. Then Derek came home and on came another handful. I'm 5'2" (on a good day) and my frame just can't handle that kind of weight gain. And I have been stuck, no matter what the diet or exercise regimen, at the same weight for almost a year. No loss, no gain. It's frustrating. And that attitude spills over into other aspects of my life. Let's just say there's a lot of "light off" sexy time at my house. And the "nice ass" compliments from strangers are few and far between these days.
So today I took a friend up on an invitation to take a spin class. It was out of the norm of the treadmill/intervals/elliptical I've been doing. This wasn't my first trip on the spin bike, mind you. I'm familiar with the taint crushing aspect of this cardio craze. And it sucked just as much as I remembered. But you know what didn't suck. Having a friend there to motivate me. Gym buddies are awesome. I had one of the best around a few years back. She was motivating, competitive and FUN. But she PCS'd ... I guess her family was more important than my waistline ( I hate you El Paso). I realized my motivation wasn't cued by a dress a size smaller, or random compliments, but from the good old fashioned female bonding in the gym experience. That's probably why I love derby so much. And that's probably why my gym time has been so blah. Doing something semi suckish is always less suckish when you do it with people you enjoy being around. Being accountable to someone else is always better for me than being accountable for just myself. I have zero problem letting myself down. I'm already self loathing. So plans were made for more gym fun. Kickboxing, maybe some yoga... who knows. My attitude is shifting a bit, and I know my goal is to be more fit and not a slave to a number on a scale.This is usually easier said then done. You know whats almost as good as a compliment on your hind end? Putting on your comfy pants and realizing their slightly baggier than they were a few weeks back.
All of a sudden spin class doesn't seem so bad.

bowchickawowow

If you are related to me, either by blood or by marriage, or you just don't care to hear about my sex life, feel free to skip this installment of Manic Military Wife.
For those sweet readers brave enough to stick around, what happens in the blog, stays in the blog. Unless, of course, you find it hilarious and need to tell all your friends.
Sweats aren't sexy. Neither are spiky legs and granny panties. but they are a necessary evil in womanhood. Sometimes we're tired, or it's winter, or we're bleeding. Sometimes we're just not in the mood, for anything. It's not a conspiracy against you, men. It's just... being a chick.

Since I am a stay at home-er/chronic volunteer-er many of my days start off with a sports bra and yoga pants, and they aren't even the sexy kind from Victoria's Secret. I've been known to let a week go by without hitting the legs with a razor, and if it weren't for wearing tank tops to derby, my pits would get the same treatment. I rarely wear make-up and my hair spends a lot of time back in a ponytail.I get busy, we all do. Some days I'm running non-stop through out my days from one school to the other taking care of PTA business, or taking the kids to gymnastics, or getting my ass to practice or rushing home to get dinner ready. Some days I'm at my laptop reading about writing, blogging, derby and Google-ing my heart out. Some days I'm just plain lazy.
But this laziness rolls over into other aspects of my life. Such as my sex life. There are times when the hubby and I look at each other and ask ," Do you even REMEMBER the last time we... (insert euphemism here)".
We've been married 14 years. We both have schedules and obligations, and then there's the kids and all the attention they need, and bills and work functions and TV shows and the internet and Angry Birds and all those other things we make time for, that sometimes the really important stuff gets put on the back burner. And we all know that sex is REALLY important. But let's be honest, would you wanna tap that ass if what it's attached to is scraggly?
Today was one of those days where we realized we had been too busy to get busy.
About four o'clock, I was sitting in my sweats after a day of Google-ing and researching and random housework feeling blah, and I know I was looking blah. Blah doesn't make for sexy sexy time. So I jumped into the shower and shaved my Sasquatch-esque legs. I flat ironed my hair, put on make-up and got dressed in something other than yoga pants/sweats. It's amazing how much sexier mascara can make you feel! You know what else makes me feel sexy? Lacey panties and a non cotton bra! They aren't just for special occasions. What better way to package up the goods, than to put them in something that helps them look good? I even fabreezed the bed. I know, it's not really that sexy, but I love the clean smell and I don't wear perfume, so it'll do in a pinch. All this, and on a Tuesday, no less. Now all I have to do is wait for our usual Tuesday night couch date, and the kids to go to bed, and this kitty is gonna pounce...
meow.
So take some tips from me. Get off the blog (after forwarding it to everyone you know and having them follow me), freshen your face and practice your naughty smirk. Lets all make Tuesday night a little more productive and leave those sweats on the floor ;)

New 'Do

If you happen to be a male sweet reader who wanders onto my blog now and again, take notes. If you're ever in doubt on what to get your special lady friend for a gift, think SALON.
OK Ladies, let's talk hair.
What is it about a new cut or updated color that makes us feel so...Va-Va-Voom-ish? Is it the softer than usual tresses? The way the blow out always looks better than whatever we attempt at home? Is it that no matter what the box promises, the color NEVER looks as lush and glamorous as when we pay someone else to do it? Whatever it is, my new colorist is my new BFF.
It has been five long years since I had my hair professionally done. Crazy right? But like a good OBGYN, or Chinese take -out, finding a stylist you love is tough. All it takes is one bad experience (post yours below in the comments!), and the relationship is over. I'm quite fickle when it comes to salons and usually rarely see the same person three times in a row. I do have a great stylist here in town, within walking distance actually, who does an amazing job on my hair cuts. She always tells me the truth, and has even talked me out of a few cuts. She is a little pricey (for me), but I only see her every 4 -5 months, and it's so worth it. I always leave her chair feeling the need to shake my head from side to side as if in slow motion and tousle my full bodied locks every few minutes to show off how fantastic my hair looks. But, I've never let her color me. Not even when she pointed out my gray "highlights" weren't doing me any favors, and that I was too young to show them off with such audacity. Never having developed a love of the expensive salon coloring, I was happy to DIY my hair with whatever box I had a coupon for. This had been working, with less effectiveness in the last few years until i realized that I hadn't even made it 3 weeks since coloring and already my face was framed with sparkling silver. And I was two toned to boot. It was time to call in the professionals.
I had been sitting on a gift card for over a year and a half for a fancy shmancy salon in the local mall. I just didn't feel right going there. It seemed so up-ity. Often, while walking passed the salon on various mall excursions I would see the women in the salon, dressed in robes, sipping their complimentary beverage, thumbing through a magazine while waiting to be led back to an overpriced hairdo. I usually laughed at these women for being so predictable and cliche, because I'm tragically hip that way, and I'm all about avoiding the high maintenance stereotype.
Unfortunately, my premature graying thrust me into a whole new territory. I wanted to be one of those high maintenance cliche chicks. I wanted a complimentary beverage.
Upon making my appointment, I blurted out how terrible my hair looked from my own hand and that I would wear a hat when I arrived so as not to upset the other clients.While I was reassured this wasn't necessary, I wore one anyway. With a super nervous tremor in my voice, I announced my presence to the host, who was overjoyed that this was my first time there and thanked me, repeatedly, for trying this salon out. What do you even say to that? It was like three minutes of "thank you", "No, thank you". Awkward. He led me to my changing room, to don my smockish robe and check my sweater. I felt silly, but kinda swanky too. I mean, they thought my $20 Target sweater was important enough to check. I immediately lamented standing in line for 10 minutes at Starbucks for a machiatto when he asked if I would like any coffee, or a "water with lemon, perhaps". He actually said "perhaps".
As I was seated in the reception area, waiting for my turn at an overpriced hairdo I couldn't help but mock myself and the situation I was in. Sitting there, one of those high maintenance women I make fun of, with my robe, and my magazine. And then my name was called and I was given access to the promised land. The colorists are in the back of the salon, and this salon was huge. They have a day spa, stylists, tables to wait and sip your coffee, or water, perhaps. I saw primping everywhere and for a split second I felt as if I belonged here in this place of adult women who make time to get facials, and high end haircuts and Brazilian waxes.
But as I sat in that super comfortable salon chair,I started to feel like a fraud. When asked what I wanted to do with my hair, I panicked. I mean, I had already told the receptionist... was I being quizzed? I let out a long breathe and confided that my premature gray had led me to this point. It had been 5 long years since my last professional color, and I had never, NEVER, in my adult life had my hair highlighted. I'm 36 for craps sake. I felt it was time. I don't know if it was the high from walking through the salon, or the adrenaline, but when she asked what color I wanted for my highlights, I blurted out red, like fire. We discussed hair color and technique and the foils started to line my head.
We talked about other things, the colorist and I. We talked about what we do for fun, and roller derby, and pets. We talked about how to handle friends with douchey husbands, and Botox.
And then the foils came out, and as she was blow drying my hair perfectly, as if she had known me forever, adding a curl here, and volume there and talking me though the entire process, I got a glimpse of what other women see when they look into her mirror. Transformation. My silver was gone, the color was perfect and my fire red highlights were sexy. I looked, and felt, 5 years younger. I seriously almost teared up.
I can't explain the self esteem boost a great trip to the salon gives us. But I can testify that that's why we spend the money. I will do it again. I am a believer in the colorists now. I can't go back to the box. I just can't.
I strutted out of the mall that day, my head high, my face aglow, my hat in my purse. I'm now officially "high maintenance".