Posts
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.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
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 :)
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 :)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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 ;)
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 ;)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
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".
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".
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Mom, mom, MOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!
Well, I thought I was ahead of the game, as it is Wednesday and I'm a-bloggin'. But then I realized I didn't blog last Thursday. Please forgive my offense, as it was Gracie's birthday, annnnnd she was sick all week which means mom didn't get much done but snuggling on the couch.
So today as I was on the elliptical, catching up on some DVR, Gracie walks downstairs and informs me she needs immediate help with her homework. I find this odd for two reasons; the first being she had already told me her chores (including homework) were done when she was planted in front of the television getting her 'Good Luck Charlie' fix not 20 minutes previous to this new discussion, and secondly, because every time I get on the elliptical (or net book, or telephone) she needs my attention. Immediately. So just like any other day I'm on the elliptical and she tries to interrupt, I tell her " This is my time. In 45 minutes you can ask me all the question you want, but you have to wait". Big frown. Because, of course, her need is immediate.
She isn't the only one in my house who is guilty of this offense, so I am left asking myself, where in the heck did I go wrong in the parenting I do, to make my kids so dang insensitive to my needs and my time.
Of course, I know that I'm the perfect parent, so it can't be MY parenting skills {looks over at husband}.
I realize, it's kids in general who are self involved, because that's just where they are in their development. Even Patience, who is 17, is still very much self centered and oblivious to respecting anyone elses time. When she asks for something, she needs it 10 minutes ago, and she expects everyone to comply. I can't even begin to describe how annoying it is. Even more annoying is after fighting with Gracie for a good 2 minutes on why she needed to skip the area in her homework she was having issues with and move on, when I did go up and help her, she could actually do it on her own. Big frown again, only this time from me.
Sometimes I want to scream "do you even realize how much time I spent doing things for YOU today!?" Sometimes I do actually scream that. And then everyone looks at me like I'm a crazy person, because of course they don't know how much time I spent doing things for them, they were too busy doing there own thing. They don't see the hours put in at PTA, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, planning, organizing schedules. That's just what MOM's do, right?
I think, by far, the most frustrating thing, though is when I am clearly in the middle of something, be it typing, talking,cooking, what-have-you, and Derek will be in THE SAME ROOM and the kid(s) will shout "Mom". "Mom, can you (insert dumb question here). Mom! Mom! Mom! Are you kidding? Why don't they ever shout "DAD!"?
We try so hard, when they're cute little balls of baby chub, to get them to say it. Constantly repeating "mama, maaaama, ma-maaa", and always so dejected when they inevitably say "da-da". Ohhhh, but not to worry, as they will spend the next forever years shouting "MOM!" There are days when I really think I can't handle one more mom call.
The funny thing is, I can't remember a time when I wasn't "mom", because I've been one for so long. And no matter how frustrated I get at those little shenaniganizers,
my world revolves around their goofball antics.As much as I'd like for them to use "Dad" more, we all know it just won't happen. I'm mom. I make things happen, I get shiz done, and I answer when they shout out.
Hey, out of all the things I've been called, "Mom" is by far not the worst.
So today as I was on the elliptical, catching up on some DVR, Gracie walks downstairs and informs me she needs immediate help with her homework. I find this odd for two reasons; the first being she had already told me her chores (including homework) were done when she was planted in front of the television getting her 'Good Luck Charlie' fix not 20 minutes previous to this new discussion, and secondly, because every time I get on the elliptical (or net book, or telephone) she needs my attention. Immediately. So just like any other day I'm on the elliptical and she tries to interrupt, I tell her " This is my time. In 45 minutes you can ask me all the question you want, but you have to wait". Big frown. Because, of course, her need is immediate.
She isn't the only one in my house who is guilty of this offense, so I am left asking myself, where in the heck did I go wrong in the parenting I do, to make my kids so dang insensitive to my needs and my time.
Of course, I know that I'm the perfect parent, so it can't be MY parenting skills {looks over at husband}.
I realize, it's kids in general who are self involved, because that's just where they are in their development. Even Patience, who is 17, is still very much self centered and oblivious to respecting anyone elses time. When she asks for something, she needs it 10 minutes ago, and she expects everyone to comply. I can't even begin to describe how annoying it is. Even more annoying is after fighting with Gracie for a good 2 minutes on why she needed to skip the area in her homework she was having issues with and move on, when I did go up and help her, she could actually do it on her own. Big frown again, only this time from me.
Sometimes I want to scream "do you even realize how much time I spent doing things for YOU today!?" Sometimes I do actually scream that. And then everyone looks at me like I'm a crazy person, because of course they don't know how much time I spent doing things for them, they were too busy doing there own thing. They don't see the hours put in at PTA, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, planning, organizing schedules. That's just what MOM's do, right?
I think, by far, the most frustrating thing, though is when I am clearly in the middle of something, be it typing, talking,cooking, what-have-you, and Derek will be in THE SAME ROOM and the kid(s) will shout "Mom". "Mom, can you (insert dumb question here). Mom! Mom! Mom! Are you kidding? Why don't they ever shout "DAD!"?
We try so hard, when they're cute little balls of baby chub, to get them to say it. Constantly repeating "mama, maaaama, ma-maaa", and always so dejected when they inevitably say "da-da". Ohhhh, but not to worry, as they will spend the next forever years shouting "MOM!" There are days when I really think I can't handle one more mom call.
The funny thing is, I can't remember a time when I wasn't "mom", because I've been one for so long. And no matter how frustrated I get at those little shenaniganizers,
my world revolves around their goofball antics.As much as I'd like for them to use "Dad" more, we all know it just won't happen. I'm mom. I make things happen, I get shiz done, and I answer when they shout out.
Hey, out of all the things I've been called, "Mom" is by far not the worst.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
getting organized
This week has found me in full manic form, bouncing from room to room, purging and piling, recycling and shredding and in all senses of the word : ORGANIZING.
I remember the days of my early adulthood, when I was quite the organizer. Files got filed, boxes got labeled. A place for everything and everything in it's place. What the eff happened to that girl? Now I'm in constant "pile search" mode. I can't keep track of anything, and clutter is having it's way with me. I would like to say that the good housekeeper in me has decided to crack the whip and get her house in order because it's her job, but...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Sorry... what was I saying? I just lost track of my thoughts laughing hysterically at that last statement... oh yeah, getting organized. It isn't pride, it's the looming PCS. DUN DUN DUN For any of you non mil - peeps who might read this blog, a PCS is a Permanent Change of Station, or Army speak for moving. We will most likely be PCS-ing this summer, and after being stationed here at Ft. Lewis for an unheard of 5 years, we have accumulated a shit ton of unnecessary items. On top of the military gear, (three deployments worth), my dad invading my garage and filling every nook and cranny, and three kids worth of stuff, my immediate household has taken to unorganized chaos from the hours put in at PTA, Roller Derby, activities for the kids and shear laziness. But I am reclaiming my once tidy home, one trash bag and Ebay pile at a time.
But why freak out about a PCS that's nearly 6 months away, you ask? Well, for one, it's never too soon to start preparing for the Army to send you somewhere. Ever.
Secondly, and the most important reason , really, is that our little darling Patience will be graduating from High School in June and we will be so busy with her shenanigans that I don't want to be pressed for time or a slave to getting a house organized and ready for a move.
Thirdly, we are doing a partial move. Our move is only for 6 months, and from there Derek will get his next assignment and duty station, so we don't think it would be smart to move all of our stuff when we know we won't be able to fit it and /or use it and /or need it. Better to sort through what we don't need at all now, then step on over to what we won't need for the move and let the Army store it for us.
In all honesty, lastly, I think it's also about control. I have lost a bit of control over my household in general, but I am also losing control over major life events. My baby is moving out of OUR house, spreading her wings and becoming an adult and on top of that the rest of us are also leaving behind what is comfortable (we've been here a long time) for the unknown.
Both of these things make me nervous, but the former has me losing sleep.
So I guess my best way of coping with both situations is to organize the hell out of my house, get back to pile-free living, try to earn a few bucks on the backside from all my unwanted "treasures" and free up the time to enjoy the last months here in Washington and also as the Foster-party-of-5.
Soooo... In the true Heather tradition, I'd like to give you a few links to help you get organized, sell your crap and get s jump start on Spring cleaning!
AS you know, Goodwill and Thrift on Post are great places to DONATE
but did you know our JBLM Thrift takes consignments? Heck yes! Check them out T, W, TH 9:30 - 2 for details. Earn some money on your gently used items.
Also a great place to find items to organize your life for a fraction of the retail cost.
HALF PRICE BOOKS
I can't say enough awesome things about this chain. We have one here, in Tacoma, by the mall. They BUY books/cds/dvds/video games/bluray/games/ etc.
http://www.hpb.com
Ebay and Craiglsist are great, but have you bookoo'd?
Bookoo - it's like an online yardsale. Look for one in your area
http://www.lewisyardsales.com/
Check out some organizing Blogs for FREE tips
http://orgjunkie.com/
Involved in a moms group (MOPS, PWOC, co-op daycare)? Box up your reusable "treasures" and have a swap.
A few years ago I went through all my cleaners and pared down to a few basics, but I had hundreds of dollars worth of still nearly full bottles of cleaners, solutions, even mops and brushes.I didn't want to just toss 'em, so I took a box in to a PTA meeting and those items lasted about 10 seconds. I also do this when I have all the leftover food/supplies when a friend clears housing.
I remember the days of my early adulthood, when I was quite the organizer. Files got filed, boxes got labeled. A place for everything and everything in it's place. What the eff happened to that girl? Now I'm in constant "pile search" mode. I can't keep track of anything, and clutter is having it's way with me. I would like to say that the good housekeeper in me has decided to crack the whip and get her house in order because it's her job, but...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Sorry... what was I saying? I just lost track of my thoughts laughing hysterically at that last statement... oh yeah, getting organized. It isn't pride, it's the looming PCS. DUN DUN DUN For any of you non mil - peeps who might read this blog, a PCS is a Permanent Change of Station, or Army speak for moving. We will most likely be PCS-ing this summer, and after being stationed here at Ft. Lewis for an unheard of 5 years, we have accumulated a shit ton of unnecessary items. On top of the military gear, (three deployments worth), my dad invading my garage and filling every nook and cranny, and three kids worth of stuff, my immediate household has taken to unorganized chaos from the hours put in at PTA, Roller Derby, activities for the kids and shear laziness. But I am reclaiming my once tidy home, one trash bag and Ebay pile at a time.
But why freak out about a PCS that's nearly 6 months away, you ask? Well, for one, it's never too soon to start preparing for the Army to send you somewhere. Ever.
Secondly, and the most important reason , really, is that our little darling Patience will be graduating from High School in June and we will be so busy with her shenanigans that I don't want to be pressed for time or a slave to getting a house organized and ready for a move.
Thirdly, we are doing a partial move. Our move is only for 6 months, and from there Derek will get his next assignment and duty station, so we don't think it would be smart to move all of our stuff when we know we won't be able to fit it and /or use it and /or need it. Better to sort through what we don't need at all now, then step on over to what we won't need for the move and let the Army store it for us.
In all honesty, lastly, I think it's also about control. I have lost a bit of control over my household in general, but I am also losing control over major life events. My baby is moving out of OUR house, spreading her wings and becoming an adult and on top of that the rest of us are also leaving behind what is comfortable (we've been here a long time) for the unknown.
Both of these things make me nervous, but the former has me losing sleep.
So I guess my best way of coping with both situations is to organize the hell out of my house, get back to pile-free living, try to earn a few bucks on the backside from all my unwanted "treasures" and free up the time to enjoy the last months here in Washington and also as the Foster-party-of-5.
Soooo... In the true Heather tradition, I'd like to give you a few links to help you get organized, sell your crap and get s jump start on Spring cleaning!
AS you know, Goodwill and Thrift on Post are great places to DONATE
but did you know our JBLM Thrift takes consignments? Heck yes! Check them out T, W, TH 9:30 - 2 for details. Earn some money on your gently used items.
Also a great place to find items to organize your life for a fraction of the retail cost.
HALF PRICE BOOKS
I can't say enough awesome things about this chain. We have one here, in Tacoma, by the mall. They BUY books/cds/dvds/video games/bluray/games/ etc.
http://www.hpb.com
Ebay and Craiglsist are great, but have you bookoo'd?
Bookoo - it's like an online yardsale. Look for one in your area
http://www.lewisyardsales.com/
Check out some organizing Blogs for FREE tips
http://orgjunkie.com/
Involved in a moms group (MOPS, PWOC, co-op daycare)? Box up your reusable "treasures" and have a swap.
A few years ago I went through all my cleaners and pared down to a few basics, but I had hundreds of dollars worth of still nearly full bottles of cleaners, solutions, even mops and brushes.I didn't want to just toss 'em, so I took a box in to a PTA meeting and those items lasted about 10 seconds. I also do this when I have all the leftover food/supplies when a friend clears housing.
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