Halu-Halo

Heat wave

And I'm not just talking about the weather.

We're coming to the end of the school year. There are parties being planned, presents to be given, and events to go to. And it's a little overwhelming - this storm before the calm of summer - that my daily to-do list contains sub-lists, and I can barely scratch those off.

So I was glad to have this weekend, to recharge and to kind of put everything aside for a moment. Memorial Day's true meaning of remembering the fallen made me put things in perspective. Our family has survived two long deployments thus far (and that is few compared to many military families I know), and I count my blessings each and everyday that I have my soldier here, still with us. 

Fifteen years ago, Memorial Day meant older veterans. It meant wars that were over and done with. Of history long ago. It's no longer this way. Memorial Day  also means now, it also meant yesterday, two weeks ago, and 9/11 . The face of Memorial Day has changed. It means knowing someone young with their whole life ahead of them die in war. It means knowing a family today who's had to endure the knock at the door.

As a military spouse, we live with this knowledge everyday...but after hanging our flag on Friday, reality set in hard and fast. I tossed my to-do list, and guffawed at my forgetfulness. Because the truth is this: it's really not over yet. My flag flies in memorium for everyone that has given their life for our country, but also in solidarity to keep the War Figher/Peace Keeper's spirit alive. 

Lest We Forget, and Until They All Come Home.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.

Dividing for the sleeves

I love knitting sweaters from the top-down. For you non-knitters (I must bring you over to the dark side!), that simply means knitting a sweater starting from the collar or neck, and then working your way down to the yoke. The sleeves, then, are put on "hold" (on a scrap piece of yarn), until the body is completed. Finally, the sleeves are knit in the round. 

Knitting Pure and Simple has wonderful step-by-step pictures here: http://knittingpureandsimple.com/resources/knitting-your-first/

 

(I apologize  for this horrible, super processed picture)

I am currently working on a cardi for Baby J, using this pattern. And I have divided for the sleeves (the sleeves are now on hold, and I'm on my way to finish the body of the sweater).

This is a big deal; I'm now committed.

By moving on, I am affirming that:

1.I believe in this pattern (I have read through it and understand the designer's directions. I've made my notes, looked at pictures of completed projects by other people, researched suggested modifications).

2. I love the yarn enough to make a garment with it (I've put it up to my face and neck to make sure it's soft enough. I've read reviews that this yarn holds up, and doesn't stretch or lose its form).

3. I have the stamina to get through to finish this project (I want for me/my child/my friend to be able to wear it in the end).

Can I change my mind and have the poor mess sit in my WIP basket forever and ever? Of course!  But after I've decided to divide for the sleeves, I'm pretty sure I want to get to the end of it. Through hell or high water, skipped stitches and wrong stitches, I will bind off the project, somehow.

I've recently divided for the sleeves, also, in my writing life. After months of stitching my outline together, trying on my plot, feeling it against my heart, and gauging it against my hopes and dreams, I finally felt I was ready. And I've moved on to query.

The reality: finding an agent to represent me could take months. Years!

But I've picked my story, chosen my words, rewrote them (and again, and again), done my research, and hoped that I perfected my query letter. Now it's all about stamina, and belief, and in my case, a little (A LOT) of prayer. 

Am I scared? Yes! Do I feel vulnerable? Extremely! 

But I would have never completed this dress for Sweet R had I let it intimidate me. I would have cried myself into a corner during deployments had I not been strong enough to endure those lonely nights. Surely, I will survive this too, right?

I will. I will. 

I will.

Head in the clouds... (a photoblog)

...when words just aren't enough...

My feet are now firmly back on the ground after a whirlwind of family time. :)

I hope you have a great week! See you as the dust settles...

 

WhoWhatWhenWhere?

I couldn't sleep a few nights ago, my mind wrought with a kind of restlessness. And then I realized: we're almost two years in station.

Remember about a year ago, when I had that feather up my  backside, scouring around looking for our next duty station? That was a mere tickle compared to what I feel right now.  I can feel the second year coming without orders in hand. I am both relieved and a little irritated, wondering when it will be our turn.

WhoWhatWhenWhere? 

So much hinges on that one piece of paper (and yet, for those who are on this same path, you also know that piece of paper can be replaced by another that says a completely different thing), and I have the mindset that I'm much better off knowing and adjusting, rather than guessing and spending my free moments wondering.

As if we're in dire straits over here! (NOT!) I love this area, I cherish my home and I wake knowing my environment *well*. It's a comfort not being new, and it's a relief to get to know friends without feeling the urgency to do so quickly. In my dailies, I really strive to make the most of each day, and experience it without any anxiety of having to say goodbye to where and who I consider now as home.

Most of the time, I succeed. But Dear Internets, that night I was a bouncing ball of questions; I was the epitome of mindless chatter. I was the bobble head representing military spouses worldwide, there, nodding at every moment Hubby turned a corner. 

WhoWhatWhenWhere? 

It took a good dose of cherry blossoms to have it pass. Lucky for Hubby they were so beautiful and magnificent, and peaceful.

Happy Hump Day!!

 

 

Indoors

As much as I love the sun, and being outdoors, I am equally a recluse.  I don't mind wearing my yoga pants all day, my torso bundled up in a sweater.  I find comfort in the confines of my home, even under my favorite blanket. And I love having the predictability of what's to happen next, the control of what task needs to be completed.

When the weather is warm, the pressure is greater  to be productive outside of the home.  I usually never mind rising to it, the sun is pure temptation, and my energy easily flows outwards.  But because of this, I am antsy inside my home, especially when the kids are over-loud, when its walls cannot keep me from my stretch.    

I find that when I am outside these walls, I miss a few things.  I pass on some of the small mundanes, like rearranging our pantry or deleting the spam emails I receive.  I write a little less, I don't craft as much, and I butterfly my way through the day.  It is all great fun, but admittedly, tiring.

So, on days like this, when it is cold and icy, I receive it with open arms.

On days like this, I can allow myself to look inwardly, without the outside to distract me.  The ice is a reason to halt the normal, and encourage creativity from more limited resources. On days like this, it is alright to move slowly, to be careful.

It is even easier to to be caring, in my opinion, to take stock of everything one has ignored on those sunny days.  Like dusting the tops of doorways and rearranging the papers on my desk.  Or folding fabric.  

 And somewhere in between baking and finding a chore or craft for the children to do, the creative mojo finds its way to surface.  

On days like this, I can hear myself.

Have a safe and wonderful weekend everyone.

 

 

 

A different kind of luxury

It's times like these that make me all giddy inside.

It took me a few minutes of arranging them *just so* so that I could snap a picture for you all, so that I could spread a little bit of apple-love.

Aren't they just so pretty?  So simple and pure, nurturing, and literally full-filling.  

How lucky I am to have a house full of apples, pulled right from the tree, touched only by my children's fingers.  Their skins are so thin that my toddler has no problem biting through them.  And they smell just heavenly, their scent greeting me as soon as I walk through my front door.

I think our trip to the orchard last weekend was just what I needed, with green and blue as far as I could see, with nothing to complicate or disrupt it except for the smatterings of the red and yellows of apples.  Where the thought of material, economy, expectation and competition is absent, and instead, replacing it was simply the need to run, to climb, and to just breathe in the air of just.that.moment.

These were easy moments, my children completely in their element, my Hubby relaxed, inspecting his pickings, and me just following behind when it is me usually Pushing, Cajoling, Preparing...parents - you know what I am talking about.  We didn't count our minutes, nor were there time hacks to make.  Ah, to be serenaded by a clear, beautiful day.

Perhaps it was my memories of my Lola's (grandmother's) fruit trees nourishing me on those days we were on her land which brought me some quiet. Or perhaps it might have been the way my children laughed almost the entire afternoon we picked apples which calmed my usual too-type-A personality.  But on this day, I walked away from the orchard bushels heavier.

And a hundred times richer.

Happy Monday everyone.

 

 

 

And he tells me that I'm the gullible one

We have quite a few running jokes here in this house.  And the butt of most of these jokes is me.  Hubby says that I should be lucky to know that I can bind the family in humor, even if I'm the subject of it.  Sure, babe, thanks a lot.

My family especially consistently discusses my infomercial habits; that I am the queen of gullible.  That even while vacationing with my parents one summer, after watching Billy Mays for a couple of hours on a Sunday morning, I bought so much Orange Glo that they used it for a couple of years in their home.  Or how I ordered this horrible makeup on autodelivery from QVC, and that they weren't even my colors, but boy - were they a deal!  

And don't get me started on the Home Party Planning stuff.  

I can go on and on.

But I digress.  

This post is not about me.

Because look what the cat dragged in.  

Yes, it's this.  Yes, my Hubby brought it home.  

My kids jumped up for joy.  I literally said, "O.M.G" while I rolled my eyes into the back of my head.

Really?

It sucked by the way.  I almost killed myself by hitting my forehead.

It's even worse than this, which he brought home a couple of months ago.

I really should pass my tiara over to him, don't you think?

 

TGIF!  

 

Still Army Strong

This morning my groin muscles are screaming at me.  I was barely able to get down the stairs to wish Hubby a good day at work.  If I didn't think he was going to laugh at me, I probably would have just waved him away and somehow directed Sugar the Boxer to walk herself.  Then again, if I didn't force myself to move, my muscles probably would have locked up in place, so instead I balled up my complaints and swallowed them whole.

Because I am a finisher.

A proud finisher, actually. 

The Army Ten Miler was a race I have wanted to do for a long time.  While I'm not a Bucket List maker, I pined at the opportunity that I could show myself that I could finish 10 miles and run with my community of Army supporters.  

But of course, life happened: moving, babies & the usual Army shenanigans. 

This year was my chance.  I trained with a great friend of mine, and in the process changed my idea of running.

I hated running while in the Army because of the pressure running symbolized, though I was a fair runner back then.  But after I left the Army I avoided it except for weight loss, and in the last decade, I preached at how terrible I am at it, and how slow I am.  

I suppose it's part of my self-depracating humor, but can I tell you all a secret?  

I am actually really proud of myself.  

Who knew I would become a reformed runner?

And who knew that I would finish with my personal record? (which may be slow to you all, but in my eyes, I was the wind incarnate)

I mean, I have always known that the concept of Army Strong is for the entire unit - the organization, the soldiers, the family.  But, as a veteran-turned-spouse, sometimes I forget.  My life in the last decade has been ArmyStrongSpouseFamilySupportUnit.  Out of necessity. 

Hubby for a week had been deflecting my race neurosis; on Sunday he cheered for me from the sidelines, and then greeted me with a hug and an "I'm so proud of you" after I crossed the finish line.  He knew I would do well all the while, although I didn't want to believe him.

On Sunday, Army Strong was me.  Me the former Army Nurse, me the Army Spouse Extraordinaire, me the Mom of Century, me the Writer of the Next Bestseller, me the Crafter of all of this year's Christmas Gifts.(excuse my shameful endorphins)

Now if I can only stand from this chair...

 

Have a great Tuesday!  I hope your weekend went well!

 

 

 

 

 

Is there such a thing?

We are in what I consider the home stretch of this chapter in our lives. Hubby has a few years left in the Army to meet the minimum requirement to "retire".  I use the word "retire" loosely because it simply means that it will be time to transition into his second career.  It surely doesn't mean that he will stop working, in fact we kid around that we'll both be working into our 70's because we won't have Social Security to help us out.  (that's another topic, for another time)

Seeing a little of the end of the tunnel - I hesitate to say the light of, because in this economy, would it really be? - I wondered for a bit if we'll finally get to live the normal life that Hubby and I would always talk about:  The coming home at a decent hour, the knowledge that war won't stand in between us, the possibility of living in one place for roots to dig way deep into the Earth.  That we will finally have the choice on how to manage our schedules and goals, and have the ability to change it when we find that it doesn't work.

Much of the Army life is blooming where planted, despite drought and flood, and we mold our family to the needs of this country, as romantic as that may sound.

And now, on the other side of that 10 year mark, closer to 20, after enough husband-less nights sleeping diagonal on our big bed, I also have to admit that I have dreamt of those days when I will irrevocably be first, instead of sharing this space with our great Mother Country.  I have proudly given him to Her, and therefore to You; some days I just wish he could just be mine. 

But, as I took a look around my house this last week, topsy-turvy and busy, single momming it, as usual, turned upside down from projects run amok, I had to ask myself, is what we have here normal enough?

 

Is everything else just details, extras, little trip-ups that will continue to come no matter where we are or who we are?  That maybe, we humans are just so good at painting the perfect picture for what could be instead of what is.  And in this quest to achieve, is there less room to enjoy?

I had to remind myself of a few things: We are solid family of 6. We have a faith that binds us.  We live safely under a roof maintained by our dedication to one another. We take on each day with confidence.  

Is that really all we need?

It's more.  And no, it's not just normal, it's extraordinary.  And I would do it all over again.

Have a peaceful Friday everyone.

 

 

Every September 12...

we have to start over, or so it seems like it anyway, since 2001.  We spent yesterday like most of you, watching some of the footage and then talking about where we were and what has passed in the last 10 years.  And we said what you have probably said: things have never been the same since that awful day.

After the tragedies on September 11, we went to war.  And just as we all still mourn for those who lost someone on that day, and even attempt to understand the sadness, the fear, the panic and the chaos, I on Sept 12, celebrate the strength of the nation, the friendship of strangers, the rise of heroes among us, and the continued tenacity of the average American.

My second son, C, was born on September 12.  I was in my second stage of labor, and was pushing through the pain as I watched the one year anniversary of September 11 in the background, in a hospital bed in Germany.  When C came into my arms as my first VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), it was a breath of new hope for me, that miracles can happen even in sadness and mourning.

We military families are still standing strong even after 10 years of conflict.  Surely tired, as one could expect, from the lighting fast operational tempo; it's not an easy life for my generation and those young ones who came in after us. But, I don't have any regret or sadness that I have sent my spouse away. To support him is my small contribution of faith not just in his own need to help his country, but in my belief in public service.  To honor those firefighters, policemen, and individuals that helped their neighbors during that crisis, and to celebrate the life that has since grown from that day.

I hope you all have a peaceful Monday.