Rebecca Yarros's Blog, page 3
April 10, 2014
Word of the Year.
Ah, it's that time of year again... the birthday.
No, it's not yet, but it's soon. Soon like this weekend. Did I mention that we have 3 birthdays in 8 days in this house? 3. But I digress...
One of my very closest friends told me a few years ago that she tries to pick a word for her birthday, a word that she tries to apply to her life. I kinda fell in love with that concept.
Last year, with deployment days away, I chose "grace," and there were so many times I fell back on that, trying to be the kind of woman my husband and sons would be proud of. I like to think it served me well.
This year, however, has been an utter mad house. Jason took on more responsibility at work, I'm still promoting Full Measures and writing a new book, keeping up with other writing commitments, our boys are still running us ragged with hockey, and everything with our Little Miss is still up in the air.
Honestly, there are moments when I'm pretty sure that drinking from the waterfall is catching up with me. There have been more than a few nights where I've been so dumbstruck by all I have to get done that I end up concentrating on the overwhelming list, instead of just doing it, and it ends up looking like:
Did I mention we know we're PCS'ing? We just don't know WHEN, and we're only a wee bit certain about WHERE. And the first thing any military wife thinks about when we're told PCS? Holy shit, we've gained a ton of weight. And no, I don't mean the people, I mean our house-hold goods. I look around this house at the furniture we've accumulated, and the random... um... stuff.... and it's like we're:
Right. We're going to need to purge, because the army limits on what they'll pay to move.
So you add that maybe selling the house, and the stress of not knowing about... anything, and well....
And I turn around, and see that I haven't posted on my blog in like 8 days, and I'm kind of horrified at myself on one hand, and really confused how it's been 8 days in the other.
But to my complete defense, Jason was on TDY for 10 days, and the entire house came down with the stomach flu. Ah yes, the joy of caring for a baby while you're puking. I'd almost forgotten. But she was a champ. So yeah, it's been 8 days, and all I can say to that is:
Right. So where were we?
Ah yes, the birthday. I was snuggled up next to Jason, all of this madness streaking through my brain, and all that could drown out those thoughts was how grateful I am to have him. How his simple presence by my side is enough to calm me, to make me feel like I can handle anything.
From there it spiraled.
I have so much to be incredibly grateful for, and if I concentrate on that, the rest falls in line.
So this year, I'm choosing "Gratitude" as my word. I'm going to cling to the thankfulness that comes for the solution to every struggle, and the process thereof. I'm going to embrace the uncertainties of this year with a full heart and trust that everything is going according to plan.
In my experience, when I take the time to concentrate on the amazing blessings we're heaped with, I'm happier and more productive. I also think our blessings multiply. Responding to stress with gratitude is basically like giving the universe a giant high 5, and thanking God for all that He's bestowed on us. (Hey, we're believers, but if you're not, we're cool with that too.)
If I look at my stress? There's so much to be THANKFUL for in it.
1. Jason's job just got way more time consuming - turns into - wow, he's so good at his job that they wanted him for THAT position. Go, Babe.
2. We don't know what will happen with our Little Miss - turns into - Thank you, for allowing us to have each and every day with her where every minute is so precious.
3. PCS hell - turns into - a new adventure and the possibility of going HOME. To my family, my friends, my home town. Sure, I'll sell a house for that.
4. Writing stress? Well, HELLO, I was begging for this career a year ago. Heck, a few months ago, and now Full Measures has been out for 2 months and is STILL rocking it on Amazon. (Which I still check multiple times a day just because I still can't believe people are buying my book. It's kind of surreal).
5. Kids are driving me nuts? That's too easy. They give far more love than they could ever cause insanity. Most days. The other days??? I drink wine.
I'm also immeasurably grateful for the wine.
Gratitude out the wazoo.
So that's it, my 32nd year is coming to a close, and I'm staring down the barrel at year 33, which I have the distinct, heart-soaring feeling, will be the best yet. After all, in this little home dwells everything I've ever prayed for, longed for, dreamed of....
And it doesn't get any better than that.
So very thankful, blessed, grateful.
Oh, but don't worry... the kids are on Spring Break next week, so you know it's about to get insane around here. And I'm sure I'll tell you all about it. ;)
No, it's not yet, but it's soon. Soon like this weekend. Did I mention that we have 3 birthdays in 8 days in this house? 3. But I digress...
One of my very closest friends told me a few years ago that she tries to pick a word for her birthday, a word that she tries to apply to her life. I kinda fell in love with that concept.
Last year, with deployment days away, I chose "grace," and there were so many times I fell back on that, trying to be the kind of woman my husband and sons would be proud of. I like to think it served me well.
This year, however, has been an utter mad house. Jason took on more responsibility at work, I'm still promoting Full Measures and writing a new book, keeping up with other writing commitments, our boys are still running us ragged with hockey, and everything with our Little Miss is still up in the air.
Honestly, there are moments when I'm pretty sure that drinking from the waterfall is catching up with me. There have been more than a few nights where I've been so dumbstruck by all I have to get done that I end up concentrating on the overwhelming list, instead of just doing it, and it ends up looking like:
Did I mention we know we're PCS'ing? We just don't know WHEN, and we're only a wee bit certain about WHERE. And the first thing any military wife thinks about when we're told PCS? Holy shit, we've gained a ton of weight. And no, I don't mean the people, I mean our house-hold goods. I look around this house at the furniture we've accumulated, and the random... um... stuff.... and it's like we're:
Right. We're going to need to purge, because the army limits on what they'll pay to move.
So you add that maybe selling the house, and the stress of not knowing about... anything, and well....
And I turn around, and see that I haven't posted on my blog in like 8 days, and I'm kind of horrified at myself on one hand, and really confused how it's been 8 days in the other.
But to my complete defense, Jason was on TDY for 10 days, and the entire house came down with the stomach flu. Ah yes, the joy of caring for a baby while you're puking. I'd almost forgotten. But she was a champ. So yeah, it's been 8 days, and all I can say to that is:
Right. So where were we?
Ah yes, the birthday. I was snuggled up next to Jason, all of this madness streaking through my brain, and all that could drown out those thoughts was how grateful I am to have him. How his simple presence by my side is enough to calm me, to make me feel like I can handle anything.
From there it spiraled.
I have so much to be incredibly grateful for, and if I concentrate on that, the rest falls in line. So this year, I'm choosing "Gratitude" as my word. I'm going to cling to the thankfulness that comes for the solution to every struggle, and the process thereof. I'm going to embrace the uncertainties of this year with a full heart and trust that everything is going according to plan.
In my experience, when I take the time to concentrate on the amazing blessings we're heaped with, I'm happier and more productive. I also think our blessings multiply. Responding to stress with gratitude is basically like giving the universe a giant high 5, and thanking God for all that He's bestowed on us. (Hey, we're believers, but if you're not, we're cool with that too.)
If I look at my stress? There's so much to be THANKFUL for in it.
1. Jason's job just got way more time consuming - turns into - wow, he's so good at his job that they wanted him for THAT position. Go, Babe.
2. We don't know what will happen with our Little Miss - turns into - Thank you, for allowing us to have each and every day with her where every minute is so precious.
3. PCS hell - turns into - a new adventure and the possibility of going HOME. To my family, my friends, my home town. Sure, I'll sell a house for that.
4. Writing stress? Well, HELLO, I was begging for this career a year ago. Heck, a few months ago, and now Full Measures has been out for 2 months and is STILL rocking it on Amazon. (Which I still check multiple times a day just because I still can't believe people are buying my book. It's kind of surreal).
5. Kids are driving me nuts? That's too easy. They give far more love than they could ever cause insanity. Most days. The other days??? I drink wine.
I'm also immeasurably grateful for the wine.
Gratitude out the wazoo.
So that's it, my 32nd year is coming to a close, and I'm staring down the barrel at year 33, which I have the distinct, heart-soaring feeling, will be the best yet. After all, in this little home dwells everything I've ever prayed for, longed for, dreamed of....
And it doesn't get any better than that.
So very thankful, blessed, grateful.
Oh, but don't worry... the kids are on Spring Break next week, so you know it's about to get insane around here. And I'm sure I'll tell you all about it. ;)
April 2, 2014
Mean people suck.
Okay, peeps, this one took me a while, so forgive what's about to ensue.
Mean people suck. Honestly, if you ask me my number 1 pet peeve, that's it. I can't stand people who just can't be nice. It's pretty ironic then, that the biggest challenge this family has come across this year hasn't been that deployment, but of bullying.
I was never the popular kid in school. My junior high years were spent in tears, hiding from the boys who made my life a living hell. I can't tell you how many times I curled up in my dad's lap, bawling, begging him to let me transfer schools, or how many times I came up with any excuse not to go to school. But he'd retired from the military, we weren't going anywhere, and I had to learn how to deal with it. My idea of dealing with it was really to turn red with mortification, get down the halls as fast as I could, and ignore it when one of those bullies grabbed my yearbook and ruined it by calling me demeaning names all over the "sign-me" pages. I just choose not to look at that year.
Luckily, I grew up. I went to high school, made the cheerleading squad, grew a thicker skin, and found some of the best people that I am blessed to still call my truest friends today. I survived it just like countless other people do. It doesn't make me brave, or special, or even a victim. It's simply what happened. It's something I try really hard not to think about.
I generally hate bullies. Seriously, there's nothing worse in the world to me than someone who has to rip someone apart just because they can. There's nothing honorable or humane about it. It simply makes you a bitter, angry little person if you build yourself up by tearing someone else down.
I swore up and down when I became a parent, that the same would never happen to my kids. But that's the thing about parenting, you can't control the actions of other kids, and sometimes, other little kids suck.
This fall, our second son, The Hulk, came home from school with a bully problem. This one kid wouldn't leave him alone. He called him fat, stupid, lame, idiot... you name it. Of course, our little man is none of these things, but it's hard to tell that to a kid enough to have them believe it. Parents can build a kid up so high, but it takes only a few cruel words to knock them down. The bully tripped him, pushed him, kicked him, and ridiculed him. I have never felt so powerless as a parent, and my biggest concern? Don't let it turn violent. The Hulk is known for his temper, and when I called the principal for not the third, but the FOURTH time, I finally told him, "one day he will snap, and you will wish you would have done something." Agree with it, or don't - my boys are taught not to start a fight, but they're sure-as-hell allowed to finish one.
Nothing I did as a parent work. Not calls or notes to his teacher, not calls to the principal. Even when I asked to meet with the bully's parents face-to-face, I was given the run around. They were "working on it." They were "changing seats at lunch." They told me they'd move The Hulk to another class, which I vehemently opposed, because when you're the victim of bullying, you shouldn't be the one forced to leave your favorite teacher ever.
I pull the "be the bigger person," speech. You know, where you look for the excuse on the other kid, like bad parenting, a wretched home life, but what it came down to was me turning all Mama-Bear.
Because then the kid does the stupidest thing ever. When he can't provoke The Hulk, this massive third-grader turns on Thor (our first grader), and bullies HIM, knowing it would get The Hulk's attention. Well... it did.
One thing about our boys? They may drive each other mad at home, but you mess with one outside of this house, you'd better bet the other three are coming for you. So the bully goes after Thor, and the next thing you know, it's The Hulk in the Principal's office for retaliating violence. Now, I have to say, at this point, the other kid swung first, so I'm kinda like:
Because... well... I've called, multiple times, begging you to do something. Anything, and you haven't. The kid got violent, my kid ended it. If you have a problem with that, you should have paid attention for the last few MONTHS that I've called you. Yup.
Then the crazy thing? They still don't do anything, and this kid just keeps coming back for more.
Right. But The Hulk is holding his own, he's putting up with it and not retaliating when part of me is begging him to just knock the crap out of the other kid ONCE. Does this make me a bad mom? Maybe. But man, am I just sick and tired of the school doing nothing to protect my kid, and then punishing him when he protects himself. Luckily, but the time Christmas comes around, they move the bully out of his classroom, and I'm able to breathe during the school day.
Then, when Captain America faces some hazing'ish activity in the boys locker room for hockey? The Hulk leaves the cool-kids table and throws himself down as the sacrificial lamb, taking on whatever is getting dished at his brother, too. Because they are a team, no matter what the scenario. Amazing.
Now let's move on to Captain America, our super-moral oldest. This kid, man, he's got a heart the size of well... the universe. If there's a kid who doesn't have a friend, Captain America befriends him. When he turned nine, he invited this little girl to his birthday party, and I didn't think anything of it - until her mother pulled me aside with a huge amount of thanks, saying her daughter had never been invited to a birthday party, and generally had no friends. It's moments like that which make me take a second look at my children and see them for the extraordinary human beings they are. When I asked him about it, he just said, "Yeah, well, she's cool, we can be friends." Then he ran off to play like he hadn't made a monumental difference. But he did.
So two years later, it's now January, just shy of Jason making it home from this last deployment. Captain America bursts through the kitchen door, just off the school bus, and says, "Are you okay?" And I'm pretty stunned while he hugs me, shaking. I ask him what's wrong, and he tells me that the same little girl was getting picked on by an 8th grader on the bus. *Let's just take a moment to say that I think putting 5th graders in middle school, so they ride home with 8th graders on the bus is just FFFFF'ing ludicrous, but since I don't control the school district, I'll suck that one up.*
This bully is pulling the "You're so fat your picture is an aerial photograph," kind of crap on this not-so-tiny little girl, and I swear, I can feel her self-esteem crushing under the weight of his assholery as Captain America tells the story. So what does our Captain America do? He stands up on the bus, and takes the seat next to the girl, looks at the bully and says, "Leave her alone. She didn't do anything to you."
Now at this point, as I'm holding my ten year-old in our kitchen, I want to simply soak in the miracle that he is.
Now while I'm in awe of what he did, I can feel what's coming next. That 8th grader turned on Captain America. He called him fat, which Captain America laughed at. Come on, he plays hockey 4-5 times a week. Have you seen the kid? Well, he laughs, which pushes the bully harder. He calls him things like dork, ugly, geek (he pointed out Captain America's saxophone case). And when that doesn't work, he turns physical and says, "I'm going to kick your ass." Of course, hearing this, well, I'm just like:
Right, so when the kid threatens him, Captain America replies, "yeah, well, you don't even know where I live." Because apparently that diverts an ass-kicking? Anyway. The bully looks at him and says, "Oh yeah, well I'm going to get off the bus at your stop, follow you home, kick your ass, and then I'm going to kick your mom's ass."
And now I understand why his first concern when he got home was if I was okay. And I'm just.... livid.
So I squeeze him tighter, and tell him that I'm okay, and there's zero chance of an 8th grader hurting me. Even though irrationally, I'd like to hurt the parents of that 8th grader. And then Captain America kills me with, "but dad isn't here, and I wasn't home. I was so scared he'd hurt you."
So I try not to burst into tears at how worried he is, and instead reassure him and feed him, because you know... he's a guy. I send him on his way and then call the school.
They suspend the other kid from the bus, but not until the head of the bus department says, "tell your son to tell the bus driver next time, he doesn't need to put himself in harms way when someone else is getting bullied." Wait. What?
Absolutely not. There is nothing I'm more proud of than Captain America standing up and stopping it. And at this moment, I realize how screwed up we've gotten as a society when we're basically telling our kids, "hey, don't stop injustice, just find somebody bigger." What about when they ARE the bigger person. Why aren't we teaching them how to be that bigger person so they're prepared as they grow?
Now, okay, when I wrote THIS blog, it went insanely viral, and not all the reactions were good. I was told I was endangering my boys, yada yada yada, but I stand by this concept. I am not a perfect mother, not even close, but by GOD, I will teach my boys to stand and stop what they know to be wrong, not just let it slide. I would far rather get a call that one of my boys has a black eye because he stepped in, than try to build back up his soul because he knows he could have stopped something and didn't. No, I don't want them hurt. I would stand in front of my kids and take anything that could hurt them, but I can't always BE with them. So I just hope I don't raise the boys who stand by and watch the world burn around them.
And then it occurs to me, and I'm hanging up the phone, that my boys, these tiny little creatures, have more courage than most adults.
Even more than me.
You see, this deployment, I was brought to my knees by bullying. I was ripped apart by someone I loved, shredded, spit out, and then I opened myself up to have it happen time and again.
One thing I'll say, is that it's the people you hold the closest that have the potential to hurt you the most. Am I blameless in what initially happened? No. There are two sides to every story. I'll own up: I said something careless about missing someone in my life, not realizing that would hurt someone else. When I did realize it? I apologized profusely. But, damage was done, all hell broke loose, and suddenly... well.... It was kind of like this happened:
I got bullied. Really publicly. Like random people messaging me public.
Now, I'm nowhere near perfect. Please don't think that, or even harbor the thought that I think I'm perfect. I'm so flawed that I'm amazed I'm put together some days.
You want my flaws? I'm a nerd. I could solve everything with a Harry Potter spell. I'm a stressed out girl, with the capability of extreme selfishness. I'm a procrastinator, and my house will never be clean enough for my mom to just "drop by." I write better than I speak, because I have a tendency to lose the filter on my mouth, and writing makes me pause before I hit "publish." I also love fiercely, which I hope makes up for everything that can be absurdly wrong with me. And seriously, I'm well aware of my flaws, and just thankful for the people who love me not just in spite of them, but because of them.
Does pointing out what's wrong with me equal bullying? No. But attacking someone just to see how much you can hurt them... well, that is. We're not kids, but the definition doesn't change just because we're adults.
Why did I let it happen for so long? Because I loved the person. It took until this moment, watching my little boys both stand up when I couldn't muster the courage, that I realized just how silly I was being. I would tear down the school, an army, a hockey team for my boys, but I couldn't stand up for myself? What was that teaching them?
Why didn't I say something? Well, if you look back through the blogs, you'll see hints of it here and there, but nothing definitive. Mostly, because I loved that person, and partly, because I was scared to death of getting bullied here, on the blog, most of all. And part of me was still this little lost puppy, begging for scraps because I was too afraid to let go of how comfortable my life had been before this happened, instead of embracing what it was becoming.
So I let it happen. And I cried, and I avoided going out. My kids lost a good portion of the friends that they'd had for YEARS through our unit, and Jason wasn't home which meant I turned into a veritable hermit.
But standing there, watching my boys stand up to their bullies, and for the people who were getting bullied, I was truly humbled. So often I'm trying to teach them to be good men, when in reality, they're showing me how to be a strong woman. And it strikes me, how much like children we adults are. How there are so few people who will stand up and say something when someone is being bullied and beat down. I have two friends, TWO, out of everyone, who stood up and said something, and it cost them their friendships with that person. As much as I am so immeasurably sorry to have caused a rift like that, to have cost them their seat at the cool-kids table, I am just as humbled. Thankful. They're heroes to me, just like Captain America when he stood up for that girl on the bus.
And if my kids can stand up, then damn, I'd better.
When everything really hit the fan, when I was getting multiple people calling me telling me what had been said/posted/done, it took everything in my power not to lash out, to tell my side to everyone, but then Running Woman called and sent me this:
And she was right. So I held myself together, sucked it up, and remembered that what people say about you when they're trying to hurt you says little about you, but a whole heck of a lot about them. And when it came down to it, there was no use fanning the flames. I just needed it to stop.
So I held my head high as much as possible, leaned on the people Like Mrs. Green Bay and Mrs. Back-bone and got through it. Because deep inside me was the jr. high school student getting called fat as she walked down the hall. How quickly those emotions can resurface when you're bullied as an adult.
But as you can see, it's okay now. Jason's home, and there's not much he'll let touch me, or hurt my feelings. Come on, you didn't think our little boys got those huge doses of courage from ME, did you?
The point is here that yes, mean people suck, but my God, the beautiful souls in this world more than make up for it. I'm blessed to have some of those souls right under my roof.
I hope that I teach them this:
And this:
There's something to be said for kindness, peeps. For the general decency of not saying something mean, simply walking away. Sometimes that takes more strength than firing back. Am I proud of my kids for standing up to their bullies, especially when I couldn't? Yes. Lord, yes. But what I'd be even happier with are parents who STOP RAISING BULLIES.
Maybe the key is to love ourselves. Maybe it's to love our kids, and teach THEM to love THEMSELVES. I don't know. Maybe it's a rite of passage, or just the evidence that no matter what, mean people will exist. I just don't know. I wish I did.
But it is what it is.
In all honesty? When I see those bullies from Jr. High pop up as mutual friends on Facebook, I still cringe, and revert back to that thirteen year-old girl crying in the bathroom. I can't help it. I can't help what happened this year, not to me, Thor, Captain America or The Hulk. But I can say that I'm so proud of how they acted, how they held themselves above and stood up for themselves and each other.
We are a stronger family because of everything that's happened this year.
And as we drove back from hockey this January, once the dust was starting to settle, and Jason's return was imminent? This song came on my iPod:
Well, Aidan told me, "hey Mom, that's my jam!" And once I looked at what they'd been through this year, I got it.
So I turned it up.
And we sang as loudly as we could.
Mean people suck. Honestly, if you ask me my number 1 pet peeve, that's it. I can't stand people who just can't be nice. It's pretty ironic then, that the biggest challenge this family has come across this year hasn't been that deployment, but of bullying.
I was never the popular kid in school. My junior high years were spent in tears, hiding from the boys who made my life a living hell. I can't tell you how many times I curled up in my dad's lap, bawling, begging him to let me transfer schools, or how many times I came up with any excuse not to go to school. But he'd retired from the military, we weren't going anywhere, and I had to learn how to deal with it. My idea of dealing with it was really to turn red with mortification, get down the halls as fast as I could, and ignore it when one of those bullies grabbed my yearbook and ruined it by calling me demeaning names all over the "sign-me" pages. I just choose not to look at that year.
Luckily, I grew up. I went to high school, made the cheerleading squad, grew a thicker skin, and found some of the best people that I am blessed to still call my truest friends today. I survived it just like countless other people do. It doesn't make me brave, or special, or even a victim. It's simply what happened. It's something I try really hard not to think about.
I generally hate bullies. Seriously, there's nothing worse in the world to me than someone who has to rip someone apart just because they can. There's nothing honorable or humane about it. It simply makes you a bitter, angry little person if you build yourself up by tearing someone else down.
I swore up and down when I became a parent, that the same would never happen to my kids. But that's the thing about parenting, you can't control the actions of other kids, and sometimes, other little kids suck.
This fall, our second son, The Hulk, came home from school with a bully problem. This one kid wouldn't leave him alone. He called him fat, stupid, lame, idiot... you name it. Of course, our little man is none of these things, but it's hard to tell that to a kid enough to have them believe it. Parents can build a kid up so high, but it takes only a few cruel words to knock them down. The bully tripped him, pushed him, kicked him, and ridiculed him. I have never felt so powerless as a parent, and my biggest concern? Don't let it turn violent. The Hulk is known for his temper, and when I called the principal for not the third, but the FOURTH time, I finally told him, "one day he will snap, and you will wish you would have done something." Agree with it, or don't - my boys are taught not to start a fight, but they're sure-as-hell allowed to finish one.
Nothing I did as a parent work. Not calls or notes to his teacher, not calls to the principal. Even when I asked to meet with the bully's parents face-to-face, I was given the run around. They were "working on it." They were "changing seats at lunch." They told me they'd move The Hulk to another class, which I vehemently opposed, because when you're the victim of bullying, you shouldn't be the one forced to leave your favorite teacher ever.
I pull the "be the bigger person," speech. You know, where you look for the excuse on the other kid, like bad parenting, a wretched home life, but what it came down to was me turning all Mama-Bear.
Because then the kid does the stupidest thing ever. When he can't provoke The Hulk, this massive third-grader turns on Thor (our first grader), and bullies HIM, knowing it would get The Hulk's attention. Well... it did.
One thing about our boys? They may drive each other mad at home, but you mess with one outside of this house, you'd better bet the other three are coming for you. So the bully goes after Thor, and the next thing you know, it's The Hulk in the Principal's office for retaliating violence. Now, I have to say, at this point, the other kid swung first, so I'm kinda like:
Because... well... I've called, multiple times, begging you to do something. Anything, and you haven't. The kid got violent, my kid ended it. If you have a problem with that, you should have paid attention for the last few MONTHS that I've called you. Yup.
Then the crazy thing? They still don't do anything, and this kid just keeps coming back for more.
Right. But The Hulk is holding his own, he's putting up with it and not retaliating when part of me is begging him to just knock the crap out of the other kid ONCE. Does this make me a bad mom? Maybe. But man, am I just sick and tired of the school doing nothing to protect my kid, and then punishing him when he protects himself. Luckily, but the time Christmas comes around, they move the bully out of his classroom, and I'm able to breathe during the school day.
Then, when Captain America faces some hazing'ish activity in the boys locker room for hockey? The Hulk leaves the cool-kids table and throws himself down as the sacrificial lamb, taking on whatever is getting dished at his brother, too. Because they are a team, no matter what the scenario. Amazing.
Now let's move on to Captain America, our super-moral oldest. This kid, man, he's got a heart the size of well... the universe. If there's a kid who doesn't have a friend, Captain America befriends him. When he turned nine, he invited this little girl to his birthday party, and I didn't think anything of it - until her mother pulled me aside with a huge amount of thanks, saying her daughter had never been invited to a birthday party, and generally had no friends. It's moments like that which make me take a second look at my children and see them for the extraordinary human beings they are. When I asked him about it, he just said, "Yeah, well, she's cool, we can be friends." Then he ran off to play like he hadn't made a monumental difference. But he did.
So two years later, it's now January, just shy of Jason making it home from this last deployment. Captain America bursts through the kitchen door, just off the school bus, and says, "Are you okay?" And I'm pretty stunned while he hugs me, shaking. I ask him what's wrong, and he tells me that the same little girl was getting picked on by an 8th grader on the bus. *Let's just take a moment to say that I think putting 5th graders in middle school, so they ride home with 8th graders on the bus is just FFFFF'ing ludicrous, but since I don't control the school district, I'll suck that one up.*
This bully is pulling the "You're so fat your picture is an aerial photograph," kind of crap on this not-so-tiny little girl, and I swear, I can feel her self-esteem crushing under the weight of his assholery as Captain America tells the story. So what does our Captain America do? He stands up on the bus, and takes the seat next to the girl, looks at the bully and says, "Leave her alone. She didn't do anything to you."
Now at this point, as I'm holding my ten year-old in our kitchen, I want to simply soak in the miracle that he is.
Now while I'm in awe of what he did, I can feel what's coming next. That 8th grader turned on Captain America. He called him fat, which Captain America laughed at. Come on, he plays hockey 4-5 times a week. Have you seen the kid? Well, he laughs, which pushes the bully harder. He calls him things like dork, ugly, geek (he pointed out Captain America's saxophone case). And when that doesn't work, he turns physical and says, "I'm going to kick your ass." Of course, hearing this, well, I'm just like:
Right, so when the kid threatens him, Captain America replies, "yeah, well, you don't even know where I live." Because apparently that diverts an ass-kicking? Anyway. The bully looks at him and says, "Oh yeah, well I'm going to get off the bus at your stop, follow you home, kick your ass, and then I'm going to kick your mom's ass."
And now I understand why his first concern when he got home was if I was okay. And I'm just.... livid.
So I squeeze him tighter, and tell him that I'm okay, and there's zero chance of an 8th grader hurting me. Even though irrationally, I'd like to hurt the parents of that 8th grader. And then Captain America kills me with, "but dad isn't here, and I wasn't home. I was so scared he'd hurt you."
So I try not to burst into tears at how worried he is, and instead reassure him and feed him, because you know... he's a guy. I send him on his way and then call the school.
They suspend the other kid from the bus, but not until the head of the bus department says, "tell your son to tell the bus driver next time, he doesn't need to put himself in harms way when someone else is getting bullied." Wait. What?
Absolutely not. There is nothing I'm more proud of than Captain America standing up and stopping it. And at this moment, I realize how screwed up we've gotten as a society when we're basically telling our kids, "hey, don't stop injustice, just find somebody bigger." What about when they ARE the bigger person. Why aren't we teaching them how to be that bigger person so they're prepared as they grow?
Now, okay, when I wrote THIS blog, it went insanely viral, and not all the reactions were good. I was told I was endangering my boys, yada yada yada, but I stand by this concept. I am not a perfect mother, not even close, but by GOD, I will teach my boys to stand and stop what they know to be wrong, not just let it slide. I would far rather get a call that one of my boys has a black eye because he stepped in, than try to build back up his soul because he knows he could have stopped something and didn't. No, I don't want them hurt. I would stand in front of my kids and take anything that could hurt them, but I can't always BE with them. So I just hope I don't raise the boys who stand by and watch the world burn around them.
And then it occurs to me, and I'm hanging up the phone, that my boys, these tiny little creatures, have more courage than most adults.
Even more than me.
You see, this deployment, I was brought to my knees by bullying. I was ripped apart by someone I loved, shredded, spit out, and then I opened myself up to have it happen time and again.
One thing I'll say, is that it's the people you hold the closest that have the potential to hurt you the most. Am I blameless in what initially happened? No. There are two sides to every story. I'll own up: I said something careless about missing someone in my life, not realizing that would hurt someone else. When I did realize it? I apologized profusely. But, damage was done, all hell broke loose, and suddenly... well.... It was kind of like this happened:
I got bullied. Really publicly. Like random people messaging me public.
Now, I'm nowhere near perfect. Please don't think that, or even harbor the thought that I think I'm perfect. I'm so flawed that I'm amazed I'm put together some days.
You want my flaws? I'm a nerd. I could solve everything with a Harry Potter spell. I'm a stressed out girl, with the capability of extreme selfishness. I'm a procrastinator, and my house will never be clean enough for my mom to just "drop by." I write better than I speak, because I have a tendency to lose the filter on my mouth, and writing makes me pause before I hit "publish." I also love fiercely, which I hope makes up for everything that can be absurdly wrong with me. And seriously, I'm well aware of my flaws, and just thankful for the people who love me not just in spite of them, but because of them.
Does pointing out what's wrong with me equal bullying? No. But attacking someone just to see how much you can hurt them... well, that is. We're not kids, but the definition doesn't change just because we're adults.
Why did I let it happen for so long? Because I loved the person. It took until this moment, watching my little boys both stand up when I couldn't muster the courage, that I realized just how silly I was being. I would tear down the school, an army, a hockey team for my boys, but I couldn't stand up for myself? What was that teaching them?
Why didn't I say something? Well, if you look back through the blogs, you'll see hints of it here and there, but nothing definitive. Mostly, because I loved that person, and partly, because I was scared to death of getting bullied here, on the blog, most of all. And part of me was still this little lost puppy, begging for scraps because I was too afraid to let go of how comfortable my life had been before this happened, instead of embracing what it was becoming.
So I let it happen. And I cried, and I avoided going out. My kids lost a good portion of the friends that they'd had for YEARS through our unit, and Jason wasn't home which meant I turned into a veritable hermit.
But standing there, watching my boys stand up to their bullies, and for the people who were getting bullied, I was truly humbled. So often I'm trying to teach them to be good men, when in reality, they're showing me how to be a strong woman. And it strikes me, how much like children we adults are. How there are so few people who will stand up and say something when someone is being bullied and beat down. I have two friends, TWO, out of everyone, who stood up and said something, and it cost them their friendships with that person. As much as I am so immeasurably sorry to have caused a rift like that, to have cost them their seat at the cool-kids table, I am just as humbled. Thankful. They're heroes to me, just like Captain America when he stood up for that girl on the bus.
And if my kids can stand up, then damn, I'd better.
When everything really hit the fan, when I was getting multiple people calling me telling me what had been said/posted/done, it took everything in my power not to lash out, to tell my side to everyone, but then Running Woman called and sent me this:
And she was right. So I held myself together, sucked it up, and remembered that what people say about you when they're trying to hurt you says little about you, but a whole heck of a lot about them. And when it came down to it, there was no use fanning the flames. I just needed it to stop.
So I held my head high as much as possible, leaned on the people Like Mrs. Green Bay and Mrs. Back-bone and got through it. Because deep inside me was the jr. high school student getting called fat as she walked down the hall. How quickly those emotions can resurface when you're bullied as an adult.
But as you can see, it's okay now. Jason's home, and there's not much he'll let touch me, or hurt my feelings. Come on, you didn't think our little boys got those huge doses of courage from ME, did you?
The point is here that yes, mean people suck, but my God, the beautiful souls in this world more than make up for it. I'm blessed to have some of those souls right under my roof.
I hope that I teach them this:
And this:
There's something to be said for kindness, peeps. For the general decency of not saying something mean, simply walking away. Sometimes that takes more strength than firing back. Am I proud of my kids for standing up to their bullies, especially when I couldn't? Yes. Lord, yes. But what I'd be even happier with are parents who STOP RAISING BULLIES.
Maybe the key is to love ourselves. Maybe it's to love our kids, and teach THEM to love THEMSELVES. I don't know. Maybe it's a rite of passage, or just the evidence that no matter what, mean people will exist. I just don't know. I wish I did.
But it is what it is.
In all honesty? When I see those bullies from Jr. High pop up as mutual friends on Facebook, I still cringe, and revert back to that thirteen year-old girl crying in the bathroom. I can't help it. I can't help what happened this year, not to me, Thor, Captain America or The Hulk. But I can say that I'm so proud of how they acted, how they held themselves above and stood up for themselves and each other.
We are a stronger family because of everything that's happened this year.
And as we drove back from hockey this January, once the dust was starting to settle, and Jason's return was imminent? This song came on my iPod:
Well, Aidan told me, "hey Mom, that's my jam!" And once I looked at what they'd been through this year, I got it.
So I turned it up.
And we sang as loudly as we could.
March 27, 2014
The End of Hockey Season. Kind of. It's complicated.
Anyone who reads this little 'ol blog knows that our four sons play hockey. This year, my oldest two started playing in the city's house league, and well... I'm not quite sure I knew what I was getting into.
It turns out that Hockey is not your average sport.
The boys had played football, which lasted about 3 1/2 months, and soccer, again about 2 1/2 months. Heck, they'd even done the weekend programs... but league hockey, well... it kind of consumes your soul. Jason was gone when they started, and we spent so much time at the rink that Princess Pumpkin was actually brought to us while there. Yeah, I see a lot of THIS in her future.
But anyway, the bigs handled West Point hockey camp last summer, so I kind of thought they were ready for league. Well...
Ehhh, maybe not.
The first day of practice was Septmeber 3, which was also the first day of school. Yes, you did the math right. Our kids have been practicing two times a week, often with another two days for games a week for almost 7 months. Like I said, it kind of consumes your soul.
So anyway, I take them to practice, and the boys are pumped. After all, they've seen the Mighty Ducks, and they're like, yeah, we're....
So they get dressed and hit the ice with their team. Well, the other kids are kind of like:
And I look over, and Captain America and The Hulk are kind of like:
And maybe a little bit of
Because these other kids have been playing together for YEARS, and this is really our boys' first year of real play. I have to tell you, that first practice, when they had this shell-shocked look of:
Well, I asked them if they wanted to come back. They said yes, so we went. Their coach, God bless him, pulled me aside at that 2nd practice and told me, "I know they look bad now, but just give them time. By Christmas, you won't recognize them."
So okay, we gave it a shot. Now, let me talk about the moms. Going into hockey, the only thing I really knew about hockey moms was what I learned from the RNC:
So I can admit, I'm kind of expecting THIS to happen from the other moms:
But what did I get instead?
I just have to say that these other moms.... these women came into my life at the most hectic time I'd ever had. And whether or not they realize it, they saved me. They were and are my safe place away from Army bullsh... um... yeah. They are kind, smart, and willing to share what they've learned. They saw me at my worst and didn't laugh, and instead gave me much-needed social time during FULL MEASURES edits. They were there when our Little Miss was delivered to practice, and they carried diaperbags for me when my arms were full. I have never known such an open-armed welcome, and they never made me, or our boys feel like we didn't belong, even though we were the only newbies. I just really want them to know, well...
Now, back to the kids.
All season, all four boys have had their roles to play. There's our little Hulk, who's ready to bash just about anyone he can, penalties be damned.
And I mean, sure, we told him to get his aggression out on the ice, rather than turning it on his brothers, but well... when I see he's on the penalty leader-board for the team, I'm kind of like:
Then there's Captain America, who seriously, I kid you not - we cheer when he sends the puck the right direction. I know in the back of his mind, he's really just wishing hockey was more like this:
And honestly? We're okay with it. He doesn't play hockey with the goal of the NHL or a college scholarship. He plays hockey to round himself out. And he's so bent on not breaking the rules, that the first time he got a penalty (at the very end of the season), it was like his world just didn't quite make sense.
Right, and I'm seeing this via phone, since I'm busy with the other kids and I'm all:
And Jason's all:
Because his boy is... well... being a boy.
And meanwhile our Captain America is in there all worried that he's offended someone, because... that's who he is.
.Let's not forget the Littles, who when they're not geared up for hockey, simply run amok causing all sorts of terror at the rink like:
And it's been like this for seven months, people. Seven months of cold rinks, early mornings, hotel rooms, away games, smelly gear and well.... awesomeness. But the league season is finally at an end.
Two weekends ago, we went in Canada for the last tournament of the season. Earlier this year, our kids already brought home the division trophy, and first in their home tournament, but competing in Canada?
That's kind of terrifying. I mean, come on, those kids grew up like this:
So we get permission to take Princess Pumpkin with us, which kind of worried us, since it's... you know... leaving the country. But we get it, pack up the tribe and head north. And the funniest thing happens when we approach the border: I feel like I'm smuggling her, like I should look at border patrol and say:
In reality, we handed over her birth certificate, ad the letter from the State of NY saying we can take her, and they let us cross the border. Totally anti-climactic.
Off we go to Ottawa, which is GORGEOUS, by the way. We get ready to cross over into Quebec, and we pass by Parliament, to which the kids say, "WOW! MOM!!! It's...."
Sorry to break your heart, boys, but no, it most certainly is not. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, well...
Dang straight.
We get to the hotel with all five kiddos, I throw a minor hissy fit that they've screwed up our room reservations, which leaves the four boys in the room next door NOT connecting. So I recover from that, we get the kids upstairs, where we're consuming nearly the entire floor with our hockey team. The kids, being kids, are a wee bit rambunctious after being cooped up in the car for 2 1/2 hours, and they're doing what they do in every hotel... they're playing knee hockey. We immediately get yelled at by the staff... you know, like they didn't know they had booked two entire teams of hockey-playing kids here. And they're telling us to keep all the kids confined to their rooms and quiet. In the middle of the day. And we're all just like:
Right. Now remember, we fully expect them to get trounced here. Completely and totally walked over and spat out, because not only are we playing against the Canadians, but they moved us up to the A division when we've been playing at the B division all year.
And we get to that first game, and the other kids are HUGE. Like... HUGE, and all I can think is:
But they do, because apparently there's some miracle-grow rocking the tap water in Ottawa, and these kids are legal... legal and HUGE. And my problem here is that I haven't been a "hockey mom" for long enough. Oh no, when I look out there, I don't see players and gear, I see an ice rink full of little kids like:
So anyway, then this miracle happens, and our boys win their first 7pm game.
But it's revenge of the tournament in scheduling. We get the boys finally down around ten pm (remember the game ended at 8pm), and then well... we're up at 5:30 a.m. to get them on the ice for a 7 a.m. game.
But somehow we get all five kids up and into the car. Well, it was more like...
And I'm realizing just how true THIS is:
The truth is, at this age, with these little kids, (Iron Man has been playing since he was three), it's not even the kid's desire that gets these kids to the rink. It's the parent's desire to make our kids happy that has us up, watching the sunrise from the car, with sleepy kids, hot coffee, and bags of gear.
But I digress. Jason doesn't exactly travel well, which means there's a lot of, "yes, honey, I know," going on. But we make it, and then they tie, and tie again, holding their own against the massive skills of these other kids, and they make it to the semifinals the next day.
The funny thing about tournaments? Once the kids are all in bed, the parents turn into a bunch of college-aged frat partiers.
Except there's no boat. Or sun. Because... we're in Canada, and our kids are asleep up and down the hallway (in their rooms), and there's really no dancing. Just... well... alcohol.
Of course, I go to bed relatively early because:
So the next morning we're up at 5:30 a.m. for another early ice slot, except it's also spring forward for daylights savings, so now it's actually 4:30 a.m. Which means the kids are zombies and the parents basically look like:
But we get there, and they play. And MAN do they play. And our goalie is out there like a champ:
Get it? Okay, no one get their panties in a wad, this .gif is on here for Jason. Because he wanted a shirt like this that says, "Jesus Saves," and I vetoed. So now he gets a .gif. ;)
And they WIN. Our kids WIN!!!!
So we do the tournament thing, which is check out of the hotel (where I accidentally leave my beloved running shoes. No worry, they made their way home thanks to UPS), and distract the kids for a couple hours while we wait for the next game.
Princess Pumpkin picked out some light reading while we were at the Chidlren's museum. Maybe it's the bright colors? Nawh, I think she's just ready for her first pair of skates.
So we head back, and compete in the finals. The finals! We're so proud of these little guys, they're not only holding their own against what we have seen to be FIERCE competition, they're WINNING.
So proud of them!!!
And then... it happens... Our little kids WIN. THEY WON!!!! The only American team there, and they bring home the Gold!
And just like that, it's over, and it's bittersweet. On one hand, I'm ready for just a little bit of spare time, of not spending 4 days a week or more for hockey. But these other parents have become my friends, and this team our surrogate family.
Why has hockey become so important to us? Well, read up. 4 days a week. I spend more time with these people than I do my "normal" friends. And it's not army. No. You know what? Our lives don't always revolve around Jason's uniform. This one is for our kids, and THEIR uniform. And it has been worth it. Worth it to step out of our little Army world and find another family.
So, the season is over. Kind of. We took this one week off from pratices, but spring league starts next week. Then there's camps, clinics, and prep... because it may be slower now, but it really means that there's only five months before it all begins again. Until then??? Well... I'll be:
Here's to hockey. And families. And the massive pile of stinky, smelly gear in my entry hall. And here's to brothers, at least the ones in this house, because it will be a couple of years until their ages put them back on the same team. We have been blessed with not only the perfect season, but a phenomenal group of people we're so lucky to get to call our hockey family.
We'll catch 'ya next year.
It turns out that Hockey is not your average sport.
The boys had played football, which lasted about 3 1/2 months, and soccer, again about 2 1/2 months. Heck, they'd even done the weekend programs... but league hockey, well... it kind of consumes your soul. Jason was gone when they started, and we spent so much time at the rink that Princess Pumpkin was actually brought to us while there. Yeah, I see a lot of THIS in her future.
But anyway, the bigs handled West Point hockey camp last summer, so I kind of thought they were ready for league. Well...
Ehhh, maybe not.
The first day of practice was Septmeber 3, which was also the first day of school. Yes, you did the math right. Our kids have been practicing two times a week, often with another two days for games a week for almost 7 months. Like I said, it kind of consumes your soul.
So anyway, I take them to practice, and the boys are pumped. After all, they've seen the Mighty Ducks, and they're like, yeah, we're....
So they get dressed and hit the ice with their team. Well, the other kids are kind of like:
And I look over, and Captain America and The Hulk are kind of like:
And maybe a little bit of
Because these other kids have been playing together for YEARS, and this is really our boys' first year of real play. I have to tell you, that first practice, when they had this shell-shocked look of:
Well, I asked them if they wanted to come back. They said yes, so we went. Their coach, God bless him, pulled me aside at that 2nd practice and told me, "I know they look bad now, but just give them time. By Christmas, you won't recognize them."
So okay, we gave it a shot. Now, let me talk about the moms. Going into hockey, the only thing I really knew about hockey moms was what I learned from the RNC:
So I can admit, I'm kind of expecting THIS to happen from the other moms:
But what did I get instead?
I just have to say that these other moms.... these women came into my life at the most hectic time I'd ever had. And whether or not they realize it, they saved me. They were and are my safe place away from Army bullsh... um... yeah. They are kind, smart, and willing to share what they've learned. They saw me at my worst and didn't laugh, and instead gave me much-needed social time during FULL MEASURES edits. They were there when our Little Miss was delivered to practice, and they carried diaperbags for me when my arms were full. I have never known such an open-armed welcome, and they never made me, or our boys feel like we didn't belong, even though we were the only newbies. I just really want them to know, well...
Now, back to the kids.
All season, all four boys have had their roles to play. There's our little Hulk, who's ready to bash just about anyone he can, penalties be damned.
And I mean, sure, we told him to get his aggression out on the ice, rather than turning it on his brothers, but well... when I see he's on the penalty leader-board for the team, I'm kind of like:
Then there's Captain America, who seriously, I kid you not - we cheer when he sends the puck the right direction. I know in the back of his mind, he's really just wishing hockey was more like this:
And honestly? We're okay with it. He doesn't play hockey with the goal of the NHL or a college scholarship. He plays hockey to round himself out. And he's so bent on not breaking the rules, that the first time he got a penalty (at the very end of the season), it was like his world just didn't quite make sense.
Right, and I'm seeing this via phone, since I'm busy with the other kids and I'm all:
And Jason's all:
Because his boy is... well... being a boy.
And meanwhile our Captain America is in there all worried that he's offended someone, because... that's who he is.
.Let's not forget the Littles, who when they're not geared up for hockey, simply run amok causing all sorts of terror at the rink like:
And it's been like this for seven months, people. Seven months of cold rinks, early mornings, hotel rooms, away games, smelly gear and well.... awesomeness. But the league season is finally at an end.
Two weekends ago, we went in Canada for the last tournament of the season. Earlier this year, our kids already brought home the division trophy, and first in their home tournament, but competing in Canada?
That's kind of terrifying. I mean, come on, those kids grew up like this:
So we get permission to take Princess Pumpkin with us, which kind of worried us, since it's... you know... leaving the country. But we get it, pack up the tribe and head north. And the funniest thing happens when we approach the border: I feel like I'm smuggling her, like I should look at border patrol and say:
In reality, we handed over her birth certificate, ad the letter from the State of NY saying we can take her, and they let us cross the border. Totally anti-climactic.
Off we go to Ottawa, which is GORGEOUS, by the way. We get ready to cross over into Quebec, and we pass by Parliament, to which the kids say, "WOW! MOM!!! It's...."
Sorry to break your heart, boys, but no, it most certainly is not. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, well...
Dang straight.
We get to the hotel with all five kiddos, I throw a minor hissy fit that they've screwed up our room reservations, which leaves the four boys in the room next door NOT connecting. So I recover from that, we get the kids upstairs, where we're consuming nearly the entire floor with our hockey team. The kids, being kids, are a wee bit rambunctious after being cooped up in the car for 2 1/2 hours, and they're doing what they do in every hotel... they're playing knee hockey. We immediately get yelled at by the staff... you know, like they didn't know they had booked two entire teams of hockey-playing kids here. And they're telling us to keep all the kids confined to their rooms and quiet. In the middle of the day. And we're all just like:
Right. Now remember, we fully expect them to get trounced here. Completely and totally walked over and spat out, because not only are we playing against the Canadians, but they moved us up to the A division when we've been playing at the B division all year.
And we get to that first game, and the other kids are HUGE. Like... HUGE, and all I can think is:
But they do, because apparently there's some miracle-grow rocking the tap water in Ottawa, and these kids are legal... legal and HUGE. And my problem here is that I haven't been a "hockey mom" for long enough. Oh no, when I look out there, I don't see players and gear, I see an ice rink full of little kids like:
So anyway, then this miracle happens, and our boys win their first 7pm game.
But it's revenge of the tournament in scheduling. We get the boys finally down around ten pm (remember the game ended at 8pm), and then well... we're up at 5:30 a.m. to get them on the ice for a 7 a.m. game.
But somehow we get all five kids up and into the car. Well, it was more like...
And I'm realizing just how true THIS is:
The truth is, at this age, with these little kids, (Iron Man has been playing since he was three), it's not even the kid's desire that gets these kids to the rink. It's the parent's desire to make our kids happy that has us up, watching the sunrise from the car, with sleepy kids, hot coffee, and bags of gear.
But I digress. Jason doesn't exactly travel well, which means there's a lot of, "yes, honey, I know," going on. But we make it, and then they tie, and tie again, holding their own against the massive skills of these other kids, and they make it to the semifinals the next day.
The funny thing about tournaments? Once the kids are all in bed, the parents turn into a bunch of college-aged frat partiers.
Except there's no boat. Or sun. Because... we're in Canada, and our kids are asleep up and down the hallway (in their rooms), and there's really no dancing. Just... well... alcohol.
Of course, I go to bed relatively early because:
So the next morning we're up at 5:30 a.m. for another early ice slot, except it's also spring forward for daylights savings, so now it's actually 4:30 a.m. Which means the kids are zombies and the parents basically look like:
But we get there, and they play. And MAN do they play. And our goalie is out there like a champ:
Get it? Okay, no one get their panties in a wad, this .gif is on here for Jason. Because he wanted a shirt like this that says, "Jesus Saves," and I vetoed. So now he gets a .gif. ;)
And they WIN. Our kids WIN!!!!
So we do the tournament thing, which is check out of the hotel (where I accidentally leave my beloved running shoes. No worry, they made their way home thanks to UPS), and distract the kids for a couple hours while we wait for the next game.
Princess Pumpkin picked out some light reading while we were at the Chidlren's museum. Maybe it's the bright colors? Nawh, I think she's just ready for her first pair of skates.
So we head back, and compete in the finals. The finals! We're so proud of these little guys, they're not only holding their own against what we have seen to be FIERCE competition, they're WINNING.
So proud of them!!!
And then... it happens... Our little kids WIN. THEY WON!!!! The only American team there, and they bring home the Gold!
And just like that, it's over, and it's bittersweet. On one hand, I'm ready for just a little bit of spare time, of not spending 4 days a week or more for hockey. But these other parents have become my friends, and this team our surrogate family.
Why has hockey become so important to us? Well, read up. 4 days a week. I spend more time with these people than I do my "normal" friends. And it's not army. No. You know what? Our lives don't always revolve around Jason's uniform. This one is for our kids, and THEIR uniform. And it has been worth it. Worth it to step out of our little Army world and find another family.
So, the season is over. Kind of. We took this one week off from pratices, but spring league starts next week. Then there's camps, clinics, and prep... because it may be slower now, but it really means that there's only five months before it all begins again. Until then??? Well... I'll be:
Here's to hockey. And families. And the massive pile of stinky, smelly gear in my entry hall. And here's to brothers, at least the ones in this house, because it will be a couple of years until their ages put them back on the same team. We have been blessed with not only the perfect season, but a phenomenal group of people we're so lucky to get to call our hockey family.
We'll catch 'ya next year.
March 25, 2014
Playlist: ROAD TO SOMEWHERE and Giveaway
Hiya peeps! Miss me? It's been a wee bit hectic around here, but I'm settling down and so excited to bring you the playlist for my agent sisters, Kelley Lynn and Jenny S. Morris's new novel ROAD TO SOMEWHERE!
I loved this book. It brought me right back to being sixteen, idolizing my gorgeous, confidant older sister, Kate. Ironically, growing up, we always joked that she was the pretty one, and I was the smart one, which really struck a chord with me as I was reading ROAD TO SOMEWHERE. Or jump ahead, and this book brought me back to being twenty-two, standing in line with her to audition for American Idol. Seriously, the first thing I'm doing once I finish writing this is sending a copy of ROAD TO SOMEWHERE right to her. Then I'm sending it to my sixteen year-old daughter.
These ladies write flawlessly, with voices so attuned to one another you can't tell it was written by two women! The voices of the girls are distinct, and yet it flows seamlessly. Pacing will keep you with it, and leave you with a need to pick up the phone and call your sister.
ROAD TO SOMEWHERE has romance, sure, but it's not a "romance." It's more than that. It's about the relationship between sisters. It's about dreams, choices, chances, and consequences - about finding yourself with someone who might indeed know you best... your own sister.
If you're a fan of YA, this is right up your alley. Snag it, read it, savor it, and then pass it on to who needs it next! And while you're at it, play some of these tunes! These are the ones that struck a chord with me, but they're in no particular order. Wouldn't want to give anything away, right?
ROAD TO SOMEWHERE playlist!
Cowboy Casanova - Carrie Underwood
Moonlight Sonata - Beethoven
Anything you can do I can do better - Annie Get your Guns
I had a girl - The Civil Wars
No Sleep 'til Brooklyn - Beastie Boys
Wanted - Hunter Hayes
Sisters - White Christmas
This one's for the Girls - Martina McBride
Never Grow Up - Taylor Swift
Love Song - Sara Bareilles
For Good - Idina Menzel & Kristin Chenoweth
I feel pretty / unpretty (mashup) - Lea Michele & Diana Agron
Tougher than the rest - Chris LeDoux
Never Alone - Barlow Girl
Here's a little about the book!
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New! From Bloomsbury Spark, a sunny story of discovery and sisterhood.
A road trip. A singing competition. And super-hot cowboys.
What could be better?
For Charlie, a post-high school road trip isn't just a vacation, it's life changing. While her parents think she's helping a friend move, a chance at fame is the real reason to grab her best friends and drive to L.A. But when her super annoying, uber-responsible, younger sister, Lucy, has to tag along, it isn't quite the summer of fun she imagined.
Add in a detour to her grandparents' ranch in Texas, and between mucking the stalls, down-home cookin', and drool-worthy ranch hands, this could just turn into the best, and most complicated, summer of their lives.
Go grab it now!
Buy it on Amazon! Or Barnes and Noble!
About the authors!
Kelley Lynn was born and raised a Midwestern girl. She’s not afraid to sweat and fills her free time with softball, soccer and volleyball. (Though you probably don’t want her on your volleyball team.) She occasionally makes guest appearances as a female vocalist for area bands. Music plays a large role in her writing process as well as the characters and plot lines within her stories
getbetweenthebookends.blogspot.com | twitter.com/KelleyLynn1 | facebook.com/AuthorKelleyLynn
Jenny S. Morris is a YA author who loves all things geek, may have a Kdrama addiction and prefers the rainy NW to any place she's ever lived.jennysimaginaryworld.blogspot.com | twitter.com/jennysmorris | facebook.com/JennyS.Morrs
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March 13, 2014
Full Measures Playlist
Hiya peeps!
Music is a HUGE part of the writing process for me. I can't really get into the groove unless I have a playlist jamming out. It puts me in the zone, and brings me to the heart of whatever I'm working on.
So for all of you who are attending the March Madness Embrace Bash, here's the Full Measures playlist! There's one for Josh and one for Ember. ;) Happy listening!
Ember
"Cold" by AqualungWhat you are given can't be forgotten and never forsaken.
"Little Miss" by SugarlandLittle miss done on love, little miss I give up. Little Miss I'll get tough, don't you worry about me anymore. Little miss checkered dress, little miss one big mess, little miss - I'll take less when I always give so much more.
"#41" by Dave Matthews BandI will go in this way and find my own way out. I won't tell you to stay, but it's coming to much more - me.
"Lights" by Ellie GouldingI had a way then, losing it all on my own. I had a heart then by the queen has been overthrown, and I'm not sleeping now, the dark is too hard to beat, and I'm not keeping now the strength I need to push me.
"Falling or Flying" by Grace Potter and the NocturnalsAre we falling or flying? Are we living or Dying?I guess we'll never know.
"Battlefield" by Lea MicheleYou and I - we have to let each other go.We keep holding on but we both know -What seemed like a good idea has turned into a battlefield.
"Shelter" by BirdyMaybe I had said something that was wrongCan I make it better with the lights turned on?I still want to drown whenever you leavePlease teach me gently how to breathe
"Falling Slowly" by Glen HansardFalling slowly, eyes that know me - and I can't go backMoods that take me and erase me - and I'm painted black.You have suffered enough and warred with yourselfIts time that you won.
"Drumming Song" by Florence and the MachinesAs I move my feet towards your body I can hear this beat It fills my head up and gets louder and louder
"Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence and the MachineAnd is it worth the wait - all this killing time?Are you strong enough to standprotecting both your heart and mine?
"Dead in the Water" Ellie GouldingIf I was not myself and you were someone elseI'd say so much to you and I would tell the truth'Cause I can hardly breathe when your hands let go of me
"Broken" By LifehouseThe broken locks were a warning - you got inside my headI tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead.I still see your reflection inside of my eyesThat are looking for purpose, still looking for life.I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing with a broken heart that's still beating.
"In my veins" by Andrew BelleOh, you're in my veins and I cannot get you out.Everything will change nothing stays the same.Nobody here's perfect, oh, but everyone's to blame.
"Clarity" (Accoustic) By Zedd feat. FoxesYou are the piece of me I wish I didn't needChasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know whyIf our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?
"Something Beautiful" by NeedtobreatheHey now, this is my desire, consume me like a fireCause I just want something beautiful to touch meI know that I'm in deep 'cause I am down on my kneeswaiting for something beautiful.
"Ocean Wide" The AftersLook outside, it's already light and the stars ran away with the nightThings were said, words we'll try to forgetIt's so hard to admit, I know we've made mistakes.I see through all the tears, but that's what got us here.
Josh
"Wonderwall" by OasisBack beat the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is outI'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubtI don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
"This woman's work" Greg LaswellI know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left.
"Be still" by the FrayIf you forget the way to go and lose where you came fromIf no one is standing beside you, be still and know I am.Be still and know that I'm with you.Be still and know I am.
"Secret" by Maroon 5Watch the sunrise say your goodbyes - off we goSome conversation, no contemplation - hit the road.Car overheats jump out of my seat - on the side of the highwayOur road is long, your hold is strongPlease don't ever let go.
"The Cave" by Mumford and SonsBut I will hold on hope and I won't let you chokeOn the noose around your neck.And I'll find strength in pain and I will change my waysI'll know my name as it's called again.
"Give me love" by Ed SheeranGive me love like never before'Cause lately I've been craving more.And it's been a while but I still feel the same,Maybe I should let you go.You know I'll fight my cornerAnd that tonight I'll call ya, after my blood turns into alcohol.No, I just wanna hold ya.
"My songs know what you did in the dark" by Fallout boyI've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could seethat you're the antidote to everything except for me.
"Lego House" by Ed SheeranAnd it's dark in a cold December, but I've got you to keep me warmIf you're broken then I will mend you,and I'll keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on now.
"Superstar" by SalivaIf it feels good then it feels good and I do it all dayYou want me to play?You best bring your brain, you best bring your money.
"Endlessly" by Ed SheeranShe is the flame and the fire she's ragingI've been the spark and the war she's waging.I, I love that girl.
"Demons" by Imagine DragonsI wanna hide the truthI wanna shelter youBut with the beast insideThere's nowhere we can hide.
"Love Song Requiem" by Trading YesterdayWishing I could find a way to wash away the pastKnowing that my heart will break, but at least the pain will lastI die each time you look away.My heart, my life, will never be the same.
"A drop in the Ocean" by Ron PopeJust a drop in the ocean, a change in the weatherI was praying that you and I might end up togetherIt's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desertBut I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven.
"Say something" by A Great Big WorldSay something - I'm giving up on you.I'm sorry that I coudn't get to you.Anywhere, I would have followed you.Say something - I'm giving up on you.
"Look after you" by The FrayIt's always have and never hold.You've begun to feel like home.What's mine is yours to leave or takeWhats mine is yours to make your own.
"You're the reason I come home" by Ron PopeAnd for a long time I remember saying prayers for something perfectSaying prayers for someone kindYou're the reason that when everything I know falls apartyou're the reason I come home
Thanks for checking out the Full Measures playlist!
Music is a HUGE part of the writing process for me. I can't really get into the groove unless I have a playlist jamming out. It puts me in the zone, and brings me to the heart of whatever I'm working on.
So for all of you who are attending the March Madness Embrace Bash, here's the Full Measures playlist! There's one for Josh and one for Ember. ;) Happy listening!
Ember
"Cold" by AqualungWhat you are given can't be forgotten and never forsaken.
"Little Miss" by SugarlandLittle miss done on love, little miss I give up. Little Miss I'll get tough, don't you worry about me anymore. Little miss checkered dress, little miss one big mess, little miss - I'll take less when I always give so much more.
"#41" by Dave Matthews BandI will go in this way and find my own way out. I won't tell you to stay, but it's coming to much more - me.
"Lights" by Ellie GouldingI had a way then, losing it all on my own. I had a heart then by the queen has been overthrown, and I'm not sleeping now, the dark is too hard to beat, and I'm not keeping now the strength I need to push me.
"Falling or Flying" by Grace Potter and the NocturnalsAre we falling or flying? Are we living or Dying?I guess we'll never know.
"Battlefield" by Lea MicheleYou and I - we have to let each other go.We keep holding on but we both know -What seemed like a good idea has turned into a battlefield.
"Shelter" by BirdyMaybe I had said something that was wrongCan I make it better with the lights turned on?I still want to drown whenever you leavePlease teach me gently how to breathe
"Falling Slowly" by Glen HansardFalling slowly, eyes that know me - and I can't go backMoods that take me and erase me - and I'm painted black.You have suffered enough and warred with yourselfIts time that you won.
"Drumming Song" by Florence and the MachinesAs I move my feet towards your body I can hear this beat It fills my head up and gets louder and louder
"Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence and the MachineAnd is it worth the wait - all this killing time?Are you strong enough to standprotecting both your heart and mine?
"Dead in the Water" Ellie GouldingIf I was not myself and you were someone elseI'd say so much to you and I would tell the truth'Cause I can hardly breathe when your hands let go of me
"Broken" By LifehouseThe broken locks were a warning - you got inside my headI tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead.I still see your reflection inside of my eyesThat are looking for purpose, still looking for life.I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing with a broken heart that's still beating.
"In my veins" by Andrew BelleOh, you're in my veins and I cannot get you out.Everything will change nothing stays the same.Nobody here's perfect, oh, but everyone's to blame.
"Clarity" (Accoustic) By Zedd feat. FoxesYou are the piece of me I wish I didn't needChasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know whyIf our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?
"Something Beautiful" by NeedtobreatheHey now, this is my desire, consume me like a fireCause I just want something beautiful to touch meI know that I'm in deep 'cause I am down on my kneeswaiting for something beautiful.
"Ocean Wide" The AftersLook outside, it's already light and the stars ran away with the nightThings were said, words we'll try to forgetIt's so hard to admit, I know we've made mistakes.I see through all the tears, but that's what got us here.
Josh
"Wonderwall" by OasisBack beat the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is outI'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubtI don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.
"This woman's work" Greg LaswellI know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left.
"Be still" by the FrayIf you forget the way to go and lose where you came fromIf no one is standing beside you, be still and know I am.Be still and know that I'm with you.Be still and know I am.
"Secret" by Maroon 5Watch the sunrise say your goodbyes - off we goSome conversation, no contemplation - hit the road.Car overheats jump out of my seat - on the side of the highwayOur road is long, your hold is strongPlease don't ever let go.
"The Cave" by Mumford and SonsBut I will hold on hope and I won't let you chokeOn the noose around your neck.And I'll find strength in pain and I will change my waysI'll know my name as it's called again.
"Give me love" by Ed SheeranGive me love like never before'Cause lately I've been craving more.And it's been a while but I still feel the same,Maybe I should let you go.You know I'll fight my cornerAnd that tonight I'll call ya, after my blood turns into alcohol.No, I just wanna hold ya.
"My songs know what you did in the dark" by Fallout boyI've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could seethat you're the antidote to everything except for me.
"Lego House" by Ed SheeranAnd it's dark in a cold December, but I've got you to keep me warmIf you're broken then I will mend you,and I'll keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on now.
"Superstar" by SalivaIf it feels good then it feels good and I do it all dayYou want me to play?You best bring your brain, you best bring your money.
"Endlessly" by Ed SheeranShe is the flame and the fire she's ragingI've been the spark and the war she's waging.I, I love that girl.
"Demons" by Imagine DragonsI wanna hide the truthI wanna shelter youBut with the beast insideThere's nowhere we can hide.
"Love Song Requiem" by Trading YesterdayWishing I could find a way to wash away the pastKnowing that my heart will break, but at least the pain will lastI die each time you look away.My heart, my life, will never be the same.
"A drop in the Ocean" by Ron PopeJust a drop in the ocean, a change in the weatherI was praying that you and I might end up togetherIt's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desertBut I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven.
"Say something" by A Great Big WorldSay something - I'm giving up on you.I'm sorry that I coudn't get to you.Anywhere, I would have followed you.Say something - I'm giving up on you.
"Look after you" by The FrayIt's always have and never hold.You've begun to feel like home.What's mine is yours to leave or takeWhats mine is yours to make your own.
"You're the reason I come home" by Ron PopeAnd for a long time I remember saying prayers for something perfectSaying prayers for someone kindYou're the reason that when everything I know falls apartyou're the reason I come home
Thanks for checking out the Full Measures playlist!
March 12, 2014
Don't call her that.
Odd, because I had this really funny hockey post going for today, but for some odd reason, this just won't get out of my head. So here we go.
When Jason and I went through foster training 2 1/2 years ago, they made a point to tell us, "we don't call them foster children. They are children in foster care." At the time, I didn't really think much of it besides to shrug my shoulders and think, "okay." Honestly, when you're going through foster parent training, and each inch of your life is being gone over with a fine tooth comb, to include calling my parents for our address when I was five... well, you kind of just do what they tell you to. There are rules, and if you want to foster, then you follow them.
But this one, I kind of glossed over, because there seemed like there were so many more important ones to think about, like how to help a baby with RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder), or even better, how to work your butt off to keep her from GETTING RAD if there's a chance. I wore Princess Pumpkin in a Moby wrap nearly every minute she was awake for her first two months here, but that's another story. But this rule kind of came flying back at me in the last few weeks.
Jason and I took Princess Pumpkin to a doctor's appointment a few weeks ago, and there was something going on with her insurance that I didn't quite understand. Honestly, the only insurance I've ever known has been TriCare, so the rest kind of confuses me. Anyway, the nurse was explaining to us what she think happened and she said, "and that's when she became a foster child."
White hot rage and indignation swept through me. I clutched Princess Pumpkin a little tighter to me and had to remind myself that it wasn't an insult. It took me all day to figure out why it got me so riled that she called her a foster child. I mean, that's what she is right?
Wrong.
She's not a foster child. She's ours.
She is a child in foster care, not a foster child. Don't label her like she's something unwanted or unclaimed, because she is neither of those things. She is wanted by more people than the nurse could have possibly realized. She is loved. She is cherished.
I guess our Pumpkin isn't what I pictured as a "foster child," and I know that each child and each situation is unique. That's why we can't just stick a "foster child" label on them. They each have such different stories of where they have been and where they are going.
So let's clarify a few things.
She has a home, a bed that was carefully put together for her by the daddy that tucks her in every night, well after there's copious amounts of giggles from neck raspberries.
She has a wardrobe stocked with Gymboree because I've fantasized about every little outfit my daughter could wear, but now that I know what she LOOKS like in them? Well, now I'm even pickier about the clothes on her little body. Sue me.
She has brothers here. Four dragons who breathe fire on anyone who looks crosswise in her direction (not that anyone does). I don't think she's ever fussed without the Brother alarm sounding of "MOM!!!!" in a panic, like she can't possibly protest for longer than 30 seconds or she'll perish.
She is treasured beyond any price. She is snuggled. She is held. She is put to bed when she's cranky. She is treated just like the four other children in this house that I gave birth to, or perhaps better, since they spoil her.
She is anything but unwanted.
When someone calls her a "foster child," it feels like someone is taking a cheese grater to my skin. Like by sticking this label on her, they automatically understand her situation and pity her. Yes her life is in upheaval, but she doesn't know it. All she knows is that we get up around 7 am, we take a bath, we have our breakfast and we play. She knows getting in the car seat means bye-bye, and when she's hungry I'm going to feed her. She knows when she's hurt, we will come. She knows that when she lifts her arms, she's going to get picked up and snuggled. She knows it's play time when she hears Jason's voice. She knows that we sing before bed time, and yes, she has a favorite song.
Her situation as a child in foster care is different because she is a baby. She doesn't "know" what's going on, but please don't call her a foster-child. She's not a "foster child," she's our child, at least until the moment DSS tells us that she's not any more. She just happens to be "in" foster care.
She is loved, cried over, prayed for, and adored.
She is safe.
Her legal status may be hazy, but never doubt that she has a firm place in this family, and we will do battle for her best interest. We will never leave her until it is legally necessary to do so, and we say that with full knowledge that we have PCS orders coming soon. That's right. I'll stay here, and we'll send Jason ahead to our next duty station because we won't leave her. If you think that's odd, well, I wouldn't just leave one of our boys if he couldn't go either. She's not just in "foster care," to us. She never has been.
The only other "foster parents" I know think exactly the same way we do. I know there are bad ones, just like there are bad people everywhere. There are some kids who get the raw deal in foster care. I can promise you that Princess Pumpkin is not one of them, at least not while she's in this house. But those other kids? The ones who get shuffled, in and out of the system? Please don't label them either. There's so much more to them than the label people think they neatly fit under. You can't know what they're going through with that label, so what use is it? It's no better than implying "military wife," or "blonde," or "only child," will tell you everything you need to know about someone. These kids in the system are just that... kids. They are children, trying to survive. They don't "become foster children." They didn't magically morph into something different overnight. They are who they are, unique, beautiful kids who need someone to take care of them while the state figures everything out. And their everything is different. No two kids go in under the exact circumstances, and no kids have identical foster parents... well, unless they're in the same foster home... ;)
You get the point. Look at these kids for who they are, and stop labeling them by the circumstances they have nothing to do with.
So when you look at Princess Pumpkin, I hope you can see the curls in her hair, the light in her eyes, the way she dives in for kisses when I smooch at her. I hope you can see how strong she's gotten when she crawls, and how proud we are that her weight is picking up. I want you to see that each piece of clothing she has on is carefully picked out not because she's a doll, but because she is so adored, so wanted, that I've planned out everything so far in advance that she has bows to match everything. I hope you can look past her legal status to see her sassy face when she's had enough, or glimpse her intent little face when she's watching her brothers play hockey. I hope you can see past the fact that she's not biologically ours, to witness that while her biological family is sorting itself out, she still has a family that loves her.
She is not alone.
This is our job as foster parents. All of us who foster. We take babies, kids, teens, who aren't biologically ours, and we raise them like they are, for as long as they need us to. We love them, nurture them, and do the best we can. We want them to see past their circumstances to the amazing tiny humans they are, to their potential, so please don't make their circumstances the very first thing you label them with.
Princess Pumpkin may be in "Foster Care," but she is ours in heart, soul, and hugs. I know you don't know that by first glance at her face, or what's in her file, but give her a chance to show you what her life is like right now, and I promise you won't pity her. Pray for her, for all of us, that her path is decided in the fashion of what's best for her life and hers alone, yes, please. Pray, but don't pity.
These tiny humans called "foster children" will grow up to change the world one day.
Let's help them do that with a clean slate, the chance for them to define themselves, and stop doing it for them.
When Jason and I went through foster training 2 1/2 years ago, they made a point to tell us, "we don't call them foster children. They are children in foster care." At the time, I didn't really think much of it besides to shrug my shoulders and think, "okay." Honestly, when you're going through foster parent training, and each inch of your life is being gone over with a fine tooth comb, to include calling my parents for our address when I was five... well, you kind of just do what they tell you to. There are rules, and if you want to foster, then you follow them.
But this one, I kind of glossed over, because there seemed like there were so many more important ones to think about, like how to help a baby with RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder), or even better, how to work your butt off to keep her from GETTING RAD if there's a chance. I wore Princess Pumpkin in a Moby wrap nearly every minute she was awake for her first two months here, but that's another story. But this rule kind of came flying back at me in the last few weeks.
Jason and I took Princess Pumpkin to a doctor's appointment a few weeks ago, and there was something going on with her insurance that I didn't quite understand. Honestly, the only insurance I've ever known has been TriCare, so the rest kind of confuses me. Anyway, the nurse was explaining to us what she think happened and she said, "and that's when she became a foster child."
White hot rage and indignation swept through me. I clutched Princess Pumpkin a little tighter to me and had to remind myself that it wasn't an insult. It took me all day to figure out why it got me so riled that she called her a foster child. I mean, that's what she is right?
Wrong.
She's not a foster child. She's ours.
She is a child in foster care, not a foster child. Don't label her like she's something unwanted or unclaimed, because she is neither of those things. She is wanted by more people than the nurse could have possibly realized. She is loved. She is cherished.
I guess our Pumpkin isn't what I pictured as a "foster child," and I know that each child and each situation is unique. That's why we can't just stick a "foster child" label on them. They each have such different stories of where they have been and where they are going.
So let's clarify a few things.
She has a home, a bed that was carefully put together for her by the daddy that tucks her in every night, well after there's copious amounts of giggles from neck raspberries.
She has a wardrobe stocked with Gymboree because I've fantasized about every little outfit my daughter could wear, but now that I know what she LOOKS like in them? Well, now I'm even pickier about the clothes on her little body. Sue me.
She has brothers here. Four dragons who breathe fire on anyone who looks crosswise in her direction (not that anyone does). I don't think she's ever fussed without the Brother alarm sounding of "MOM!!!!" in a panic, like she can't possibly protest for longer than 30 seconds or she'll perish.
She is treasured beyond any price. She is snuggled. She is held. She is put to bed when she's cranky. She is treated just like the four other children in this house that I gave birth to, or perhaps better, since they spoil her.
She is anything but unwanted.
When someone calls her a "foster child," it feels like someone is taking a cheese grater to my skin. Like by sticking this label on her, they automatically understand her situation and pity her. Yes her life is in upheaval, but she doesn't know it. All she knows is that we get up around 7 am, we take a bath, we have our breakfast and we play. She knows getting in the car seat means bye-bye, and when she's hungry I'm going to feed her. She knows when she's hurt, we will come. She knows that when she lifts her arms, she's going to get picked up and snuggled. She knows it's play time when she hears Jason's voice. She knows that we sing before bed time, and yes, she has a favorite song.
Her situation as a child in foster care is different because she is a baby. She doesn't "know" what's going on, but please don't call her a foster-child. She's not a "foster child," she's our child, at least until the moment DSS tells us that she's not any more. She just happens to be "in" foster care.
She is loved, cried over, prayed for, and adored.
She is safe.
Her legal status may be hazy, but never doubt that she has a firm place in this family, and we will do battle for her best interest. We will never leave her until it is legally necessary to do so, and we say that with full knowledge that we have PCS orders coming soon. That's right. I'll stay here, and we'll send Jason ahead to our next duty station because we won't leave her. If you think that's odd, well, I wouldn't just leave one of our boys if he couldn't go either. She's not just in "foster care," to us. She never has been.
The only other "foster parents" I know think exactly the same way we do. I know there are bad ones, just like there are bad people everywhere. There are some kids who get the raw deal in foster care. I can promise you that Princess Pumpkin is not one of them, at least not while she's in this house. But those other kids? The ones who get shuffled, in and out of the system? Please don't label them either. There's so much more to them than the label people think they neatly fit under. You can't know what they're going through with that label, so what use is it? It's no better than implying "military wife," or "blonde," or "only child," will tell you everything you need to know about someone. These kids in the system are just that... kids. They are children, trying to survive. They don't "become foster children." They didn't magically morph into something different overnight. They are who they are, unique, beautiful kids who need someone to take care of them while the state figures everything out. And their everything is different. No two kids go in under the exact circumstances, and no kids have identical foster parents... well, unless they're in the same foster home... ;)
You get the point. Look at these kids for who they are, and stop labeling them by the circumstances they have nothing to do with.
So when you look at Princess Pumpkin, I hope you can see the curls in her hair, the light in her eyes, the way she dives in for kisses when I smooch at her. I hope you can see how strong she's gotten when she crawls, and how proud we are that her weight is picking up. I want you to see that each piece of clothing she has on is carefully picked out not because she's a doll, but because she is so adored, so wanted, that I've planned out everything so far in advance that she has bows to match everything. I hope you can look past her legal status to see her sassy face when she's had enough, or glimpse her intent little face when she's watching her brothers play hockey. I hope you can see past the fact that she's not biologically ours, to witness that while her biological family is sorting itself out, she still has a family that loves her.
She is not alone.
This is our job as foster parents. All of us who foster. We take babies, kids, teens, who aren't biologically ours, and we raise them like they are, for as long as they need us to. We love them, nurture them, and do the best we can. We want them to see past their circumstances to the amazing tiny humans they are, to their potential, so please don't make their circumstances the very first thing you label them with.
Princess Pumpkin may be in "Foster Care," but she is ours in heart, soul, and hugs. I know you don't know that by first glance at her face, or what's in her file, but give her a chance to show you what her life is like right now, and I promise you won't pity her. Pray for her, for all of us, that her path is decided in the fashion of what's best for her life and hers alone, yes, please. Pray, but don't pity.
These tiny humans called "foster children" will grow up to change the world one day.
Let's help them do that with a clean slate, the chance for them to define themselves, and stop doing it for them.
March 1, 2014
Little Victories.
It's no secret that we're fostering a fabulous, beautiful, cuddle-bug of a little girl, and as of today, she's been with us five months.
When they first brought our Little Miss to hockey practice, we didn't know how long she would stay. We were terrified of losing her that next week, but she stayed. And stayed. And stayed.
We learned early to take everything one little hurdle at a time, and never to look toward the big picture. The big picture, in foster care, is... well... terrifying. We never look further than the next court date, the next decision to come down in her case. Instead, we celebrate little victories.
That first phone call during week one, where our social worker told us she'd be staying with us for foster care, I burst into tears. I couldn't help it. We fell in love with her instantly. How could we not? As each court day passed, and she stayed longer, we celebrated those victories, always reminding the boys and ourselves that she could leave us at any moment. After all, the goal of foster care is rehabilitation and reunion.
When we found out she'd be here for Christmas? Well, a beautiful silver ornament declaring her first Christmas arrived at the doorstep. Jason had ordered it for her from Afghanistan, saying even if she left, she needed to have a first Christmas ornament to take with her. We celebrated that little victory with more presents than a baby could ever have need for, and we loved every minute of it.
Our friends and family often ask how it's going with her. Our response? Nothing much has changed, and we remind them that this is not a sprint. This is a marathon. With hurdles. Lots of messy, painful, hard hurdles. There are social workers, birth families, lawyers... you name it. We choose to concentrate simply on loving her, and giving her everything in our power, because the average time in foster care is somewhere between a year to 18 months in a case like hers, and we're only five months in.
Lately, it's harder. It's the little things, like wondering what clothes to buy her. Silly, right? I want to stock up her wardrobe with summer frills and swimsuits, but I'm terrified that she won't get to wear them... that my heart will break if I have to pack them up to leave.
So you know what? I bought them any way. Why? Because I believe in hope.
I believe that me being in the maternity ward while her birth mom was in labor (a quirk of fate), means something in the fabric of... well... destiny. That she's always been meant to be ours, even if only for this little while.
People ask us all the time, why would you do this? Isn't your heart going to break when she leaves? And I answer honestly - I cannot comprehend a morning that I don't have her smile up at me from her crib and coo good morning to whichever brother got in her room first. We. Choose. Not. To. Think. About. It. Immature? Maybe. But if I spend my time worrying about her leaving, or what was going on in the process, she'll feel that tension. She'd feel my anxiety and pick up on it, and so would our boys. And we choose happiness and hope. I've stopped dwelling on what will happen in two months, and instead concentrate on what's going on right NOW. And right now, she's tuckered out from a long day and asleep in her little pink, Parisian paradise of a room. That, my friends, is a little victory.
If there's one thing foster care has taught us these last five months, it's to live for the moment. If I see an outfit I adore, I buy it in the size she's in now. If I see a hairbow? Yup, I snag that too. I get down on the floor with her, I tickle her a little longer. I take a moment and revel in the joy that seeps into my heart when I hear her giggle as Jason kisses her. I give in and let my soul melt a little more each time the boys give in to whatever she wants. You see, it might not be permanent, we know that as foster parents, but it's now. And right now, we're her family too. She deserves that unconditional love, that utter adoration, and until they tell us that we can't be her family, we're going to be it. Period. Because the thing about foster care, and the children in it, is that they didn't do anything to be in this situation. None of this is their fault, or their decision. So we're going to make this as easy on her as possible, and we're going to love her so much that she cannot possibly doubt it.
We are five months into this process, and I can tell you that at times, it sucks. We are utterly powerless, which isn't something we handle well, honestly. But we're learning to let go of what we can't control, we're leaning on each other in the harder moments, and we are savoring every minute we have. We're buying summer clothes, and we packed her Christmas ornament away with the rest of the family's.
And our latest little victory? She'll be with us for her birthday.
We are going to throw her the prettiest, pink Parisian 1st birthday party EVER!
5 months in, peeps. Nearly 1/2 of her little life. When we weren't sure that she'd even be here a week? That's pretty huge. 5 months. I keep saying it to myself so I'll believe it. She's outgrown two sizes of clothes, learned to crawl, and sat up by herself for the first time last week. So much can change in five months.
Here's to little victories. Oh, and pink, tiered cakes. ;)
When they first brought our Little Miss to hockey practice, we didn't know how long she would stay. We were terrified of losing her that next week, but she stayed. And stayed. And stayed.
We learned early to take everything one little hurdle at a time, and never to look toward the big picture. The big picture, in foster care, is... well... terrifying. We never look further than the next court date, the next decision to come down in her case. Instead, we celebrate little victories.
That first phone call during week one, where our social worker told us she'd be staying with us for foster care, I burst into tears. I couldn't help it. We fell in love with her instantly. How could we not? As each court day passed, and she stayed longer, we celebrated those victories, always reminding the boys and ourselves that she could leave us at any moment. After all, the goal of foster care is rehabilitation and reunion.
When we found out she'd be here for Christmas? Well, a beautiful silver ornament declaring her first Christmas arrived at the doorstep. Jason had ordered it for her from Afghanistan, saying even if she left, she needed to have a first Christmas ornament to take with her. We celebrated that little victory with more presents than a baby could ever have need for, and we loved every minute of it.
Our friends and family often ask how it's going with her. Our response? Nothing much has changed, and we remind them that this is not a sprint. This is a marathon. With hurdles. Lots of messy, painful, hard hurdles. There are social workers, birth families, lawyers... you name it. We choose to concentrate simply on loving her, and giving her everything in our power, because the average time in foster care is somewhere between a year to 18 months in a case like hers, and we're only five months in.
Lately, it's harder. It's the little things, like wondering what clothes to buy her. Silly, right? I want to stock up her wardrobe with summer frills and swimsuits, but I'm terrified that she won't get to wear them... that my heart will break if I have to pack them up to leave.
So you know what? I bought them any way. Why? Because I believe in hope.
I believe that me being in the maternity ward while her birth mom was in labor (a quirk of fate), means something in the fabric of... well... destiny. That she's always been meant to be ours, even if only for this little while.
People ask us all the time, why would you do this? Isn't your heart going to break when she leaves? And I answer honestly - I cannot comprehend a morning that I don't have her smile up at me from her crib and coo good morning to whichever brother got in her room first. We. Choose. Not. To. Think. About. It. Immature? Maybe. But if I spend my time worrying about her leaving, or what was going on in the process, she'll feel that tension. She'd feel my anxiety and pick up on it, and so would our boys. And we choose happiness and hope. I've stopped dwelling on what will happen in two months, and instead concentrate on what's going on right NOW. And right now, she's tuckered out from a long day and asleep in her little pink, Parisian paradise of a room. That, my friends, is a little victory.
If there's one thing foster care has taught us these last five months, it's to live for the moment. If I see an outfit I adore, I buy it in the size she's in now. If I see a hairbow? Yup, I snag that too. I get down on the floor with her, I tickle her a little longer. I take a moment and revel in the joy that seeps into my heart when I hear her giggle as Jason kisses her. I give in and let my soul melt a little more each time the boys give in to whatever she wants. You see, it might not be permanent, we know that as foster parents, but it's now. And right now, we're her family too. She deserves that unconditional love, that utter adoration, and until they tell us that we can't be her family, we're going to be it. Period. Because the thing about foster care, and the children in it, is that they didn't do anything to be in this situation. None of this is their fault, or their decision. So we're going to make this as easy on her as possible, and we're going to love her so much that she cannot possibly doubt it.
We are five months into this process, and I can tell you that at times, it sucks. We are utterly powerless, which isn't something we handle well, honestly. But we're learning to let go of what we can't control, we're leaning on each other in the harder moments, and we are savoring every minute we have. We're buying summer clothes, and we packed her Christmas ornament away with the rest of the family's.
And our latest little victory? She'll be with us for her birthday.
We are going to throw her the prettiest, pink Parisian 1st birthday party EVER!
5 months in, peeps. Nearly 1/2 of her little life. When we weren't sure that she'd even be here a week? That's pretty huge. 5 months. I keep saying it to myself so I'll believe it. She's outgrown two sizes of clothes, learned to crawl, and sat up by herself for the first time last week. So much can change in five months.
Here's to little victories. Oh, and pink, tiered cakes. ;)
February 27, 2014
Dear civilian wife: Really, we're just like you.
Dear Civilian wife, Well, I use that term loosely, since really, I'm a civilian too, just married to a military man. The past couple weeks, since FULL MEASURES released, a phrase I've heard often has been "I could never be a military wife."
Let me tell you - yes, you could.
Our way of life may be a little different from what you're used to, but we are not as different as you think. This morning, my husband ran to the store before the sun rose because we ran out of milk (a travesty in this house), and we put our children on the bus. I went to see a friend and snuggled her new baby, came home, kissed my husband, and sent him off to work before I put our daughter down for her nap. Perhaps the only thing different in your world is that my husband left in his multicam uniform.
Sure, this might be an atypical day for us, because he's here, but I promise we are not so different from you.
We have been married almost twelve years, and have a gaggle of kids, just like a ton of other people.
We own our home, and dread the day we have to sell it, pretty normal, right?
Said house desperately needs the banister tightened, and I would kill for some new kitchen cabinets. Oh, you too?
We get worried that our kids aren't in the best schools, and sometimes my alarm doesn't go off in time and their lunches resemble a trough of "whats leftover in the frig." Yup.
We never have enough time. Between juggling kids, jobs, school obligations, sports... oh you get the picture. Sound familiar?
We try our best to get away for a family vacation as often as possible, but sometimes the money just isn't there.
We have to budget our money carefully, just like you, and make tough decisions about where it goes, and what we can (and most of the time cannot) do.
We wake up every day, we love our husbands, try to be the best mothers we can, and live our lives, just like you.
Sure, there are differences in our lives. The biggest? Our husbands go to war. Maybe during that year of deployment, we look vastly different. But we're still not. We're lonely, just like the wife of an off-shore oil rig worker. We worry about a devastating knock at the door, just like the wife of any first-responder. We struggle with trying to raise our kids when we're the only physical parent in the house, just like any woman who's parenting for two. We pack up crazy care packages just like... okay, maybe that's a little unique, but I'm sure there are others who do this.
And some days are just... well, normal.
So what's so different? We have all those aspects rolled into one life: the loneliness, the worry, the sole-physical-parenting, and yeah... sometimes it sucks. But that doesn't mean you couldn't handle it if you had to. You could.
During those times when he's gone, so far away that our souls ache from the void they've left in the house, we're not looking for sympathy. We don't need it. Please don't think, "I could never do that," because you could if you had to. We didn't choose to be military wives - we chose to love our husbands, and sometimes the two go hand-in-hand. We're not looking for pitiful glances when we tell you it's their fourth deployment, but we wouldn't argue with a shared bottle of wine. ;) If we could ask one thing, it would simply be for you to appreciate the everyday freedoms our nation provides us with, and for you to hold your husband a little tighter tonight, because we can't.
We knew when we took his last name, that while our husbands would be the most dependable men in the United States, they would be so for everyone but us. Therein lies the difference. We knew it, we accept it, and we love them, sometimes in spite of it, and some times because of it. But we're not "special" in that choice either. Tons of women make it. The wife of a firefighter knows he won't be at every baseball game, as does the wife of a sales exec who needs to go out of town. Sure, it may happen to us a bit more than average, but we're powering through just like you, and just like you would if you were us.
But don't you for one minute sell yourself short and say you couldn't do this, because you could if you had to. Don't get me wrong. None of us want to do this. We all want our husbands home at night, safe in our beds, playing catch with our kids and lacing up skates. We crave "normalcy," and count down the days until they retire. That being said, we do it because we love them; we're devoted to them the same way you are to your husband. If that devotion required that you spend a year apart and worry for his safety, well, I bet you would too.
The only difference between us is the jobs our husbands have, and just like your husband's job doesn't define you, well, our husbands' job doesn't really define us. We are stay at home moms, doctors, lawyers, sales people, authors, students... oh, you get the point... anyway, we have the same careers you do. Our lifestyles may be different, but we are remarkably similar in everything else that matters. We're just wives and moms.
Sure, I hear all the time that military wives are a special breed. Truthfully, I've never known as much love and support as I have in the hearts of other milspouses. On the other hand, I've also also met a few bullies. Military spouses are made up of the same population as the rest of the planet: some spouses are awesome, and some are mean. There's no cookie-cutter milspouse. One common trait I've seen among spouses? Strength. We all seem to have that one. However, we weren't born this way, tracking down the first pair of jingling dog tags to make us a military wife. We did what you did - we fell in love. Take a look at your husband. Now honestly tell me that you couldn't live our life. If this was his path, his career, would you really walk away from him over it? We won't. We didn't, and that choice has hardened us, sharpened us, sometimes wrecked us and built us back up again. If we look different to you, which we're really not, it's only because these years have cut us with different facets, but trust me - you could have handled this if your life called for it.
So the next time you think, "there's no way I could do that..." Please believe me, you could if you had to. Never doubt the strength you can call up when life demands it. Your strengths may be different than ours, but they're just as valuable, just as necessary. We aren't that different.
I guess I should go figure out what I'm making for dinner. You too? Let me know what you decide, I'm always up for a new recipe.
Oh, and go kiss your husband... some of us are waiting months to do the same, and we think at least someone should be getting kissed. Besides, kisses rock, and the world needs more of them. We'll catch up once there are boots in our entry hall again.
February 25, 2014
Cover Reveal: Lizzy Charles' PERFECTLY MESSY!!!!
Hiya peeps!
So I love Lizzy Charles. She's not only a phenomenal YA author, she's also an agent-sister and one of my closest friends. I adore her debut novel, EFFORTLESS WITH YOU, and she's back with Lucy and Justin for PERFECTLY MESSY!
Check it out!
Popularity isn't everything it's cracked up to be. Justin Marshall knows this better than most. For the captain of the basketball team, small business owner, and son of Minnesota's next governor, life can get pretty overwhelming. But Justin can handle anything as long as he has Lucy, the girl who fell for the man he’s trying to be.
But for Justin and Lucy, finding time together proves challenging. Stolen kisses and whispered promises just aren't enough. That is, until scandalous photos of the couple are leaked to a press intent on creating a juicy scandal during Justin's dad's gubernatorial campaign. And when Lucy becomes fair play for the tabloids and gossip pages, Justin does the only thing he can to protect her: he breaks her heart.
For Lucy, junior year is everything she hoped it would be: new friends, second chances, and a boyfriend she can’t stop kissing. That is, until the boy she’s pretty sure she loves chooses the life his family wants for him, over her.
Now it’s up to Lucy to teach him what it really means to have everything. Because for Justin, being who everyone needs him to be just might cost him the one person he can’t live without.
***
Are you ready for the insanely pretty cover? You are, right?
Isn't it just dreamy? Seriously, I'm madly in love with it.
Okay, peeps, go add it to GOODREADS!!!
And if you haven't read EFFORTLESS WITH YOU, get on it!
About the awesome Lizzy Charles:
When Lizzy Charles isn’t scrambling to raise her two spunky toddlers or caring for premature and sick babies as a neonatal intensive care nurse, she’s in a quiet corner writing or snuggled up with a novel and a few squares of dark chocolate. Black tea keeps her constant and she loves guacamole. She married her high school sweet heart, a heart-melting musician, so it’s no surprise she’s fallen in love with writing contemporary YA romance novels.
Go stalk her!!!
Website: http://lizzycharles.com/
Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/LizzyCharles_
Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lizzy-...
Cover Reveal Organized by:
YA Bound Book Tours
So I love Lizzy Charles. She's not only a phenomenal YA author, she's also an agent-sister and one of my closest friends. I adore her debut novel, EFFORTLESS WITH YOU, and she's back with Lucy and Justin for PERFECTLY MESSY!
Check it out!
Popularity isn't everything it's cracked up to be. Justin Marshall knows this better than most. For the captain of the basketball team, small business owner, and son of Minnesota's next governor, life can get pretty overwhelming. But Justin can handle anything as long as he has Lucy, the girl who fell for the man he’s trying to be.
But for Justin and Lucy, finding time together proves challenging. Stolen kisses and whispered promises just aren't enough. That is, until scandalous photos of the couple are leaked to a press intent on creating a juicy scandal during Justin's dad's gubernatorial campaign. And when Lucy becomes fair play for the tabloids and gossip pages, Justin does the only thing he can to protect her: he breaks her heart.
For Lucy, junior year is everything she hoped it would be: new friends, second chances, and a boyfriend she can’t stop kissing. That is, until the boy she’s pretty sure she loves chooses the life his family wants for him, over her.
Now it’s up to Lucy to teach him what it really means to have everything. Because for Justin, being who everyone needs him to be just might cost him the one person he can’t live without.
***
Are you ready for the insanely pretty cover? You are, right?
Isn't it just dreamy? Seriously, I'm madly in love with it.
Okay, peeps, go add it to GOODREADS!!!
And if you haven't read EFFORTLESS WITH YOU, get on it!
About the awesome Lizzy Charles:
When Lizzy Charles isn’t scrambling to raise her two spunky toddlers or caring for premature and sick babies as a neonatal intensive care nurse, she’s in a quiet corner writing or snuggled up with a novel and a few squares of dark chocolate. Black tea keeps her constant and she loves guacamole. She married her high school sweet heart, a heart-melting musician, so it’s no surprise she’s fallen in love with writing contemporary YA romance novels.
Go stalk her!!!
Website: http://lizzycharles.com/
Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/LizzyCharles_
Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lizzy-...
Cover Reveal Organized by:
YA Bound Book Tours
February 24, 2014
Getting Away instead of Settling In
Jason's been home about six weeks now.
I think we're settling back into normal. Well, what's normal about it, anyway? We went from him never being home, to him being on a month's worth of leave, so he's home all the time. I far prefer the latter. So when Jason's leave coincided with the kid's winter break, we knew we had to get out.
We wanted somewhere peaceful, where we could relax and just have fun with the family... somewhere with...
So we chose the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Sure, it's February, and winter, and slightly chilly. But when you're stationed up at Fort Drum, by the time February comes around, you're just ready to go anywhere that doesn't require a snow shovel to get the mail. So we load up and head south.
Now generally, I love road trips. That's actually where my best plot ideas come from. Jason drives, and my mind just wanders. It's glorious. And for the first few hours, it's all:
The kids are mellow with their movies/kindles/DS/anything to keep them quiet things, and our Little Miss happily naps away while mom and dad rock out to crazy 90's tune in the front seat:
But then there's rumbles from the back seat, the boys start at it with one another, and our road trip goes to:
And 12 total hours of driving later
We're there. The wake up the next morning? Totally and completely worth it. I step out onto the deck, and fall head-over-heels in love with the Outer Banks.
That is seriously the view off our deck.
What next? Nothing. Everything. We spend our first day as lazy beach bums, and I watch our kids play.
And at breakfast time, Jason explains that real men cook.
And it's serious business, this cooking of breakfast for mama.
And cook, they do.
The one crazy thing about the timing? Well, FULL MEASURES released five days before we left, which means I had to work a wee bit. So after I finish writing the post for USA Today (how cool is that to say?), I look over to see Jason playing go-fish with the boys.
We don't just stay in all week, of course. We take the kids to Cape Hattaras, to the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum
And we find their inner swashbucklers. ;)
Because Every little
boy should get a chance
to be a pirate, right?
Our Princess Pumpkin gets in there too, but we're not allowed to show you her face, so you'll just have to imagine oodles of cuteness and a ounce of "why are you sticking me in here," on her little face.
Of course we have to see the Cape Hattaras Light House, the tallest brick light house in North America.
Oh, and if you want to fall in love all over again? Just watch your husband fall for your newest addition. ;) There's something incredibly sexy about a hot guy with a baby. ;)
We take them to the seashore. And for about an hour.... they stop fighting.
And once we got back to the beach house? Well, we take them to the beach in our very own back yard.
We visit the aquarium on Roanoke, and our big Captain America lights up like a Christmas tree, explaining what was special about each fish. Apparently to make a moody ten year-old happy, you just need an aquarium. We're looking at having one installed at the house. (totally kidding.)
We search for the lost colonists at Roanoke, where the boys realize that mama is just a bit of a history dork. Luckily, Jason is used to me hauling him random historical places. ;)
We take the kids to their first 3D movie. That 80's lego guy? Totally my childhood.
We explore Kitty Hawk, where Jason celebrates his not-so-inner aviator, and the boys race up and down the first flight markers, beating Orville's first flight time.
But what was it about for me? Just being with our family, together, in a place where we could enjoy being whole again. We actually did get a couple full family photos, but since Little Miss' face is in them (of course), you'll have to use your imagination. =) We spend our last day on the beach, together, soaking up the sun and the feeling of just... being.
Oh, and I realized just how heavy our little Iron Man has gotten. ;)
And you know what else we did? Amid the "Awh, YUCK!" comments from the peanut gallery? Oh yeah, a ton of THIS:
Because a 9 month-long deployment leaves you with a HUGE kiss void to be filled, and there's nothing I miss more in a deployment than his kisses. Sigh.
So we left, we came home. And as we pulled out of the Outer Banks, well, Jason and I were both a little:
So we stopped and asked our little community manager if they had time shares to purchase (because we LOVE it there), and the answer. Sure... but you have to wait for someone to die for an ocean-front unit to come available for purchase.
Right. So we'll pray that everyone who owns their weeks lives long and prosperous lives, and we'll search out another community. But one thing is for sure: that peace we were looking for? We found it. We had a fabulous family vacation . We had each other. We're in love with the Outer Banks, and found the place we want our kids to grow up vacationing at every year.
He's been home 6 weeks. We've settled in, we've gotten out, and we're ready for real life to kick in. Well, as crazy as real life keeps going around here. And as I sit here typing, he's next to me, and that peace I feel on vacation? It's here in this room because he's my little slice of heaven, my zen.
Yeah, I could get used to this.
I think we're settling back into normal. Well, what's normal about it, anyway? We went from him never being home, to him being on a month's worth of leave, so he's home all the time. I far prefer the latter. So when Jason's leave coincided with the kid's winter break, we knew we had to get out.
We wanted somewhere peaceful, where we could relax and just have fun with the family... somewhere with...
So we chose the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Sure, it's February, and winter, and slightly chilly. But when you're stationed up at Fort Drum, by the time February comes around, you're just ready to go anywhere that doesn't require a snow shovel to get the mail. So we load up and head south.
Now generally, I love road trips. That's actually where my best plot ideas come from. Jason drives, and my mind just wanders. It's glorious. And for the first few hours, it's all:
The kids are mellow with their movies/kindles/DS/anything to keep them quiet things, and our Little Miss happily naps away while mom and dad rock out to crazy 90's tune in the front seat:
But then there's rumbles from the back seat, the boys start at it with one another, and our road trip goes to:
And 12 total hours of driving later
We're there. The wake up the next morning? Totally and completely worth it. I step out onto the deck, and fall head-over-heels in love with the Outer Banks.
That is seriously the view off our deck.
What next? Nothing. Everything. We spend our first day as lazy beach bums, and I watch our kids play.
And at breakfast time, Jason explains that real men cook.
And it's serious business, this cooking of breakfast for mama.
And cook, they do.
The one crazy thing about the timing? Well, FULL MEASURES released five days before we left, which means I had to work a wee bit. So after I finish writing the post for USA Today (how cool is that to say?), I look over to see Jason playing go-fish with the boys.
We don't just stay in all week, of course. We take the kids to Cape Hattaras, to the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum
And we find their inner swashbucklers. ;)
Because Every littleboy should get a chance
to be a pirate, right?
Our Princess Pumpkin gets in there too, but we're not allowed to show you her face, so you'll just have to imagine oodles of cuteness and a ounce of "why are you sticking me in here," on her little face.
Of course we have to see the Cape Hattaras Light House, the tallest brick light house in North America.
Oh, and if you want to fall in love all over again? Just watch your husband fall for your newest addition. ;) There's something incredibly sexy about a hot guy with a baby. ;)
We take them to the seashore. And for about an hour.... they stop fighting.
And once we got back to the beach house? Well, we take them to the beach in our very own back yard.
We visit the aquarium on Roanoke, and our big Captain America lights up like a Christmas tree, explaining what was special about each fish. Apparently to make a moody ten year-old happy, you just need an aquarium. We're looking at having one installed at the house. (totally kidding.)
We search for the lost colonists at Roanoke, where the boys realize that mama is just a bit of a history dork. Luckily, Jason is used to me hauling him random historical places. ;)
We take the kids to their first 3D movie. That 80's lego guy? Totally my childhood.
We explore Kitty Hawk, where Jason celebrates his not-so-inner aviator, and the boys race up and down the first flight markers, beating Orville's first flight time.
But what was it about for me? Just being with our family, together, in a place where we could enjoy being whole again. We actually did get a couple full family photos, but since Little Miss' face is in them (of course), you'll have to use your imagination. =) We spend our last day on the beach, together, soaking up the sun and the feeling of just... being.
Oh, and I realized just how heavy our little Iron Man has gotten. ;)
And you know what else we did? Amid the "Awh, YUCK!" comments from the peanut gallery? Oh yeah, a ton of THIS:
Because a 9 month-long deployment leaves you with a HUGE kiss void to be filled, and there's nothing I miss more in a deployment than his kisses. Sigh.
So we left, we came home. And as we pulled out of the Outer Banks, well, Jason and I were both a little:
So we stopped and asked our little community manager if they had time shares to purchase (because we LOVE it there), and the answer. Sure... but you have to wait for someone to die for an ocean-front unit to come available for purchase.
Right. So we'll pray that everyone who owns their weeks lives long and prosperous lives, and we'll search out another community. But one thing is for sure: that peace we were looking for? We found it. We had a fabulous family vacation . We had each other. We're in love with the Outer Banks, and found the place we want our kids to grow up vacationing at every year.
He's been home 6 weeks. We've settled in, we've gotten out, and we're ready for real life to kick in. Well, as crazy as real life keeps going around here. And as I sit here typing, he's next to me, and that peace I feel on vacation? It's here in this room because he's my little slice of heaven, my zen.
Yeah, I could get used to this.
