15 December 2010

The Crossover Episode

I’ve been putting it off, writing this damned blog. I wish it were just for one reason. Unless you pile the stress, lack of time, daily grind, dog, cat, dirty kitchen, clogged vaccum and paralyzing fear on top of each other. Then you might be able to consider it one reason. And if you can compartmentalize like that, rock on. That’s a gift.

I’ve been putting it off for a few reasons, but now seems the best time. Partly because I’ve got lukewarm coffee, I’ve got candles burning, I’ve got my trip-hop in the background, the kid is in a Benadryl coma…but mostly, because I have to kick start this burgeoning creative outlet, or I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
Anywho, there are a few phrases that wives of servicemen hate to hear. The range of anger can vary, however, we’re pretty used to hearing the following:

“Don’t get mad, but…”
“But honey, YOU get to choose the next post!”
“The orders say….”
“Have you seen my flak vest?”

And, the mother of all phrases doesn’t actually have one phrase. It can be something as simple as:

“Honey, are you on the FRG phone tree?” (especially if it’s not near a holiday).
“Guess what? That poster board you’ve been saving? I know what you can use it for in a year!”
“Have you seen my flak vest?”
(Trust me, this is ongoing.)
“We’re going to be able to save so much money!”

But those last few? They all mean the SAME DAMN THING. They’re getting’ on a plane. And they’re not going to Detroit, people.

And all of you reading this? You’ve just fallen into the Reclass/PCS/Deployment rabbit hole. You don’t have to read it. It’s probably going to be about two years of ricocheting thoughts, rants, tears, and fears. And I mean it, you really don’t have to read it.

But I’m going to write it, just the same. It's just who I am.

If you'd like to follow the journey, exit link right.

11 October 2010

The 500 Thread Count Invasion

Everything spun out of control on my day off.

I wanted to spend some time with the spawn, so I kept him home from daycare and brought him on my morning errands. He followed me around the house as I cleaned, and managed to be cute enough to keep me from throwing his toilet water soaked train at him (the fifth time it took a swim). Evening-ish time rolled around and… ahh, time for dinner, a shower, and the sweet, sweet release of sleepytime…right? Yep, you guessed it: WRONG.

I was so very, very wrong.

11:15. 12:25. 2:00. 3:03. 4:15.

4:15 is when I broke.

Pulling the 2 year old ball of screaming and clinging from behind the baby gate and into our room, he morphed into a happy, playing alter-ego. Then he altered (yet again) into the smallest thing in the world to take up an entire queen sized bed.

I’ve never been an advocate of children sleeping with their parents. Sure, bad dreams happen. Once in awhile, most things are excusable. I always figured moderation is the key. But now…I mean, I’m still sure that moderation is the key. It’s just that the meaning of moderation seems to have changed lately. It’s not so moderately turning into every other night. Or every night. And just when I think the pattern has rearranged itself…it hasn’t.

Is this a phase? Is this the intangible parent figure’s way of punishing me for judging those who’s kids slept with them? Am I screwing my kid up? And when (fortheloveofgod) will I get to sleep without something in Thomas the Train jammies in my personal space?

27 June 2010

I Like Free Stuff, too, but Damn...Part Deux.

For those of you new to my little slice of the blogosphere, this is how this piece came to be...

Don’t get me wrong, there are some people who are perfectly fine with Craigslist. I just don’t happen to be one of them. It might have something to do with living next to Baltimore, but who knows?

Craigslist also irritates me.

That’s right, it irritates me. I seem to have a hard time figuring out why someone with a puked on, cigarette burned (yes, I’m speaking from experience) Graco BABY SWING can feel justified in trying to sell it for fifty dollars. It’s insanity.

In lieu of Craigslist, I’ve found Freecycle, which is a Yahoo group that only allows the giving up or receiving of goods. No trading, no selling, and no offering of or asking for any type of service. It’s a nice little group, and it seems to really have weeded out the crazies and undesirables.


Here are some that have been posted in my local area (as you can only join the county you reside in).

I am still looking for a kitchen aid stand mixer since mine broke. If anyone has one that they never use or taking up to much space I would love to have it and would put to good use. Thank you in advance –

Yes, I often feel the need to purchase kitchen appliances that cost more than my car payment. I then feel the need to either not use it, or give it away.

please need a couch and a chair for my living room...i let my sister and her kids live with me and after they moved out they let there bed bug be hide and now i got to get rid of my kids beds and our living furniture ...so if anyone has some i dont care what it look like as long as it got no hole PLEASE help me and my family thank u and god bless --

Are you sure the bedbugs aren’t there to help you learn how to type without sounding like you have a cold? And I have news, they probably did not restrict themselves to the kids’ beds and living furniture. They’re notorious for traveling. Seriously. Ask your sister.

I have about four bras all 38C, cami body shaper XL, Flexes girdle large, confident and beautiful brown girdle large, 3 pair of coffee colored pantyhose, and four cotton underwear size XL. All are in great condition some have never been worn. Quickest pick up preferred. Must pick up

ewEwEW!!! Some have never been worn? Some? It’s nothing personal, it’s just that I don’t feel like we’re on that level where I’m able to comfortably wear your (albeit in “great condition”) used chonies.


working treadmill/exercise bike. -- Found: Sidewalk.

any kind of athletic/gym mats. – Found: Grass.

heavy bag/punching bag in decent condition. – Found: The sister that left the bed bug be hide.

any unused appliances (washers, dryers, refrigerators, stoves, etc.) -- Hmmm…

any decent sized scrap metal. –Wait, what?

will come and pick up. -- All that stuff, I’d friggin’ hope so, Matt. I’d friggin’ hope so.

thank you,

im in need of a computer to use to git on line thank u Ernie --

I’m not gonna lie to you, everything I’ve tried to think of to go with this pales in comparison. It just pales.

Wanted: Ariel Rug 21921 Any kind as long as its it good condition. Thank you, any help would be great! --

Any kind of Ariel rug? How many types of Ariel rugs are out there? I’m sure that her father, King Triton, would be sad to know his little girl’s rug isn’t one of a kind.


Howard, I think I fell in love with you a little bit when I read this.

Plastic bag full of socks, all different colors. They have been worn but are not worn out. Womens size 9-10
Sue --

Sue, just bite the bullet and throw the f-ing socks out. Just take the plastic bag, and instead of placing it on your porch, place it in the dumpster. Please. Otherwise, I see an intervention in your future. Or maybe lots of cats.

wanted a car 21921 need one for some one lost hers in a fire it do not have to lock good i will fixs it up for her –

I’m very, very sorry for the car fire. That’s a terrible thing to happen, and anyone who giggles at this may want to stand one lightning bolt’s distance away from me at all times, but…well…damn. Again, all of my thoughts are paling in comparison. Super pale. Like, ecru. Or Eggshell. Or something else reallllly pale.

in need of 50 in or bigger tv for my mom she is having troble seeing small ones –

I’m having troble seeing, too. I have troble seeing how on earth I’d hand over a TV that equals the same as a mortgage payment.

Ahh, I love Maryland. So many rednecks, so little typing ability.

17 June 2010

Why I Kissed My Husband In The Grocery Store Parking Lot

We’ve all been there…the freeway traffic slows to a crawl, and seconds tick by like hours as the MPH indicator hesitates to rise above seven. We shift uncomfortably in our seats, change the radio station, roll our eyes while sighing heavily. Clearly, this inconvenience was created to make our day difficult. Dammit!

And then, suddenly, the seven miles an hour seems too quick, as we pass the flashing lights and multicolored emergency vehicles. Sometimes, people are sitting on a hill or in the back of ambulances. Sometimes they are standing, glassy eyed, staring at the twisted remains of their former mode of transportation. We all stare, destruction and grief fascinating everyone within eyeshot.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to be humbled. As I pulled the truck into the parking spot in front of my son’s daycare home, I kicked the emergency brake into submission. As far as I figured, it had it coming because I’d had a bad day at work, and had decided my truck owed me something. As I turned the ignition off, I watched as two uniformed police officers walked toward two women. One woman yelled, and I took a moment to reflect on the situation, internally thinking to myself how I would act differently if approached by law enforcement. But then, clearly, if someone is yelling at an officer, said yeller must have done something wrong. Right?

As if in slow motion, the officer reached for the woman. Rather than grabbing her, he laid his hand on her bicep, and I watched as her face changed to a color Crayola wouldn’t dare create. She crumpled, as everyone watching on the street simultaneously shrunk. Over and over, she screamed “NO HE ISN’T”, and rocked the rhythmic rock of the distraught. Again we stared, but this time in disbelief. So many people aching with kind words and hugs for this woman we’d never met. The minutes ticked by, and we all stared at each other, silently tearing and thinking of our loved ones.

All night and this morning, my thoughts have gone toward my family and friends. I stopped on my way in and picked my coworkers up some coffee. I gave one of my supervisors a peanut butter cup I’d been hoarding. I didn’t flinch when someone told me to have a blessed day, and picked up slack I’d normally be pissy over.

Today (whatever today you may read this), hug your significant other. Play with your kids. Remember that work is work, traffic is traffic, bills are bills, but life is precious. Roll down your car window, turn up the radio, soak up the sun or the rain, because it makes no difference which it is. From now on, I’m going to take a moment to pay happiness forward, and remember that whatever it is, I can take it with a grain of salt. Because (flinch at the word or not), life is a blessing. And in the blink of an eye, your blessings can change drastically.

12 April 2010

Today, I Will Remember To Feel Lucky

It’s easy to be pissy today.

It’s Saturday, and I’m stuck at work. Instead of being at home with my family, listening to music and barbecuing, dancing with my son and husband, I’m typing and answering phones, all alone.

Its chilly today, and I can’t find my cardigan. I’m in a sweater that doesn’t match, and doesn’t have a button or zipper closure.

After I made myself an egg sandwich this morning, my son thought he could eat it all. Damn kids.

Do you want to slap me yet? Because it’s this train of thought that made me want to soundly whack myself in the cheek. If I were the super amazing DJ I wish I were (yes, I’m a grown woman who’d love to be a DJ), you’d hear that Fat Man Scoop rewind sound right about…now.

It’s Saturday, and I get a fairly (as it’s rarely completely calm in real estate) quiet work day to catch up on some stuff. Stuff that needed doin’, darn it. I’m able to take a few moments during a busy work day and recognize my blessings. And I have a job to be stuck at on a Saturday, which not everyone is lucky enough to possess. The barbecue and family will be there when I’m done.

It isn’t even really that chilly anymore. It’s gotten up to the high fifties, and the sun is shining. The wind has died down, the trees are dancing in the awesome sunlight, which is shining down un obscured from the gorgeous blue sky. And my sweater fits, is comfortable, and has kept me warm when I was lots chillier.

I was able to make breakfast this morning, and sit to enjoy it with my offspring. Who cares if he got yolk on my pant leg? That’s why the Brawny paper towel man is in existence. At least, one reason.

When I get home, I will get to enjoy dinner with family and friends, wash my yolk-ey pants, put on flip flops, and go to sleep safe and sound. I will wake in the morning, and remember that I am lucky to have these things, in addition to much, much more.

Today, I will remember to feel lucky, happy, and blessed.

27 February 2010

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Contraceptives....

My kid has pink eye.

No, stop it, that wasn’t a sympathy fish hook. It’s just the beginning part of the explanation as to why I was in the Rite Aid medication section today.

Why is this:

Above this:

And this?

I just feel like you could have named this aisle better. Maybe "Family Prevention" or "Sperm Deterrents". Or maybe just plain 'ole "Seventeen ways to avoid making a trip to Planned Parenthood".

Anyway, Rite Aid, if you’re reading this, I’m super confused.

21 February 2010

Into That Good Night....

Dear Sergeant Husband,

I need to get this out, and I couldn’t in good conscience write you this letter and put it in your bag before you left. I feel a little whiny and self serving, and you know how much I hate admitting that I’m anything less than a halo-wearing rockstar who makes a kick ass meatloaf.
Anyway, here’s the thing:

I hate when you leave.

Every time I have to watch you pack a bag, even if it’s only for a week or a month, it puts a knot in my stomach until the second you return from playing Army. It makes me petulant, even. Sometimes I want to take your sneakers or your boots or your razor and hide them, so that you can’t leave. Now, of course, I understand that wouldn’t actually keep you home, but it makes me smile a little bit, and that’s something that I feel a bit short of lately.

It didn’t take the baby long to realize that you’re gone, either. He walked around the house calling you, and when he didn’t get an answer from you, he came and called for me. Thank god I answered him, because he looked really confused. I even tried to explain it to him, but he got distracted and tried to feed me his sock. You know how he gets. It’s probably better, anyway. You being gone makes me teary, and when I cry, he head butts me. At least when you’re gone, your logic and genetics are here.

Now, I know I’m not the only one. I know that there are people who’ve had it much worse…long deployments, deaths…. I really shouldn’t gripe at all, but I can’t keep from throwing myself a teeny, tiny pity party, so that I can get it out of my system and move through the next little while at least a little productively.

Since you usually don’t read my blog and I’ll probably want to back out of these offers later, I’m going to make a list of things I’d do if you were just at home when I get there:

I’ll clean your clothes up out of the bathroom without a word, or even any silent seething. I’ll make you lasagna, pop your back, and not look at you sideways when you want to watch “Pardon the Interruption” instead of “Iron Chef”. If it snows again, I’ll shovel the driveway, and if the snow magically melts, I’ll mow the lawn. I won’t wake you up when you snore, I won’t get mad when you make an inappropriate joke, and I’ll totally let you pick out the ice cream flavors for the next six months.

Just come home safe and soon.

I love you.

Snips And Snails And Kitty Food Popcorn

Know what’s gross?

Cat food.

Know what’s grosser?

Eating cat food.

And right now, you’re probably either scratching your head in confusion, or wishing you hadn’t clicked on my article. But you did click on it, and let’s be honest: some tiny, nosy part of you wants to know why I ate cat food.

See, I didn’t choose to eat the cat food. I made the mistake of dozing on the couch while my terror…I mean, toddler, sat mesmerized by Linny, Tuck, and Ming Ming, too. Unfortunately, he did not stay mesmerized.

Please, don’t misunderstand. I do NOT make it a habit to fall asleep while my kid is loose. Hell, I can’t even pee while he’s awake without him trying to make an open-bleach-bottle-ginsu-knife-hot-oven-rack art piece in the middle of my living room. I really do pay attention to my kid. I hardly take my eyes off him. But this particular day, if I had to hear how “Sewious” saving the baby dragon was for one more instant, I was going to have to google “how to cut like an emo kid” to relieve some of the suffering.

Rather than googling, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, it was because something small and gritty had been shoved in my mouth. I sat up, and watched as my son popped a piece of cat food into his mouth. Then he tapped my mouth, and smiled, “Fankoo”. I gagged on the fishie shaped realization that I’d just had cat food shoved into my mouth. Scoob laughed.

Now, in all fairness, he was being very kind and gracious. He loves cat food in a big way. So much, in fact, that I’ve ceased every attempt to keep it away from him. I figure eventually he’ll either stop doing it, or his first girlfriend will not visit our house more than once. Either way, there will be a ray of sunshine poking out of that raincloud.

For now, however, I am stuck without that ray of sunshine, because I’m too busy picking twice processed salmon leftovers out of my teeth.