Victim of location

Lately, I've been quite homesick. I'm not sure why, but I go through these periods where I miss the heck out of my family and my home state. Where is my home state, exactly? Pennsylvania. At my current location in Nevada, I am 2,543 miles away from my hometown.

So when I'm feeling homesick, I can't just walk down the road and get a hug from my Mom. When I'm having a rough day, I can't just meet Dad somewhere for lunch. Or if MarvMan and I get into a fight, I can't go cry on my sister's shoulder. I'm not even within a feasible driving distance to make a monthly road trip home. I've missed so much and I miss them all the more every day, week, month that I spend having to live away.

Oh, and flying? Out of the question. Both kids are now over 2 and cannot fly in-lap. Therefore, they require their own tickets and seats. Four tickets cost $1,364, and that's before taxes and service fees, and certainly doesn't include food and the hassle of being crammed in a tiny little airplane while everyone and their brother is giving you nasty looks because how dare you use public transportation - which you've paid for - when you have two children! You're ruining the flight for the rest of us! Damn you! Look, airplanes are public transport. I paid for my seat, I paid for my kids' seats. You knew your chances of being on a plane with kids. You don't like it? Get your own private jet. Suck it up and shut up.

MarvMan is amazing, though, and said he would take a specific set of orders when he's up for them. These orders (GSA - it'll only mean something to you if you know what I'm talking about) will send him overseas, without us, for about a year. But when he comes back from being overseas, we can pick our coast and the Navy will move us. At least, that's how the policy stands now - it could change. But I'm praying it doesn't.

See, my husband pretty much rocks. MarvMan has aspirations to become a helicopter pilot, and while he's still pushing for that dream, he's also making plans to try to get us closer to family. And possibly to soothe the neuroses that have overcome me since moving to the west coast.

I'm sorry, but y'all are crazy. I need my east coast. Badly.

Until then, I'll simply fork out $80 for nostalgia's sake to get my Yuengling and Tastykake fix online, crying into my Lager while shoving Butterscotch Krimpets in my face.

The problem with parenting

Parenting is a tough job. Really tough. And especially for women. You carried this small life inside you for approximately nine months, giving it nourishment from your own body and keeping it safe - many times much to your discomfort. Then you've got to go through the pain and triumphs of labor. Pushing an approximately 7-8 pound baby out through an orifice that - at the time - really doesn't feel as though it was made for that kind of thing.

But it doesn't end after pregnancy and labor and delivery. It continues. Because now you've got to raise him. And feed her. Love her. Protect him. Change his diapers. You see where I'm going with this. Because I haven't even touched the parts about teaching your child or instilling moral values. I haven't gotten that far.

Because society won't let me. Because I can't even get past all the yammering and opinion shoving being done about the little things in infancy and toddlerhood. It's gone beyond a sharing of information and stretched into the territory of angry dictation.

See? Two really cute kids. I'm a lucky mama.

A wonderful friend of mine, Michelle, posted an article from her local area about, "Can co-sleeping be done safely?" The article is obviously biased - well, it's in the opinion section, what were we expecting? But it's biased in such a way that really upsets me. You don't have to read it, because the main gist is that co-sleeping is dangerous and should not be done.

Since when have we lost so much faith in our natural instincts as parents that we look to governmental institutions to tell us how to parent? No, they're not telling us, mamas. They're trying to frighten us and bully us into parenting in the way they see fit. And the truth is? We're letting them.

The fact of the matter is, for the seemingly well-intended author of the article, co-sleeping can be done safely. I have two children to prove it. But, you do need to be smart about it.

• Don't sleep with your child if you're drunk or on heavy prescription medication. (DUH.)
• Don't keep an excessive amount of pillows on the bed. - In fact, what I did was sleep near the edge of the bed and I simply piled my extra pillows on the floor next to the bed. In case of falls. But guess what? There were no falls.
• If you're worried, pull the crib right up alongside your bed so it's like a sidecar. (If you need illustrations, just Google co-sleeping sidecar and you'll find some amazing tutorials)

I could go on, but a lot of the other tips I can think of are common sense. The fact of the matter remains - we all have naturally inborn parenting instincts. But I fear we've spent far too much time listening to the government and allowing foreign parties who don't know our situations and don't know our families dictate how we parent our children.

I am a breastfeeding advocate, someone who has reaped the benefits of co-sleeping. I advocate (and am experimenting and constantly struggling with) gentle discipline. We homeschool. We delay vaccinations. We used cloth diapers. I was able to breastfeed my youngest until she was 15 months old. We use herbal remedies and stay away from the doctor as much as possible.

You don't have to agree with me on co-sleeping. You don't have to agree with me on anything I just said. It wasn't me tooting my own horn. It was me telling you - this is the beauty of living in America. I can choose how I want to parent and raise my children.

Living in America is supposed to mean that I have the freedom to choose. You don't have to agree, but we can support each other's right to choose to follow our parenting instincts. It's been said that it takes a village to raise a child - how can a child be raised properly in a village where mothers are pitting themselves against other mothers in battles over how to raise these children? As mothers, we should be able to band together to provide love and support for each other through these sometimes trying times. We should support each other. Yet we can't seem to find it within ourselves to do even that.

I have my way of raising my children. You have yours. And I support your right as a parent to raise your children in the best manner you see fit, even if it's the complete opposite of mine.

I fear for the future, knowing that there are so many parents out there who will blindly listen to an outside party who knows nothing other than flat statistics with no depth behind them. Because far too many parents will read that article and agree without doing any research. For too long we have been trained by society to shut off our brains and roll along with the status quo. How much longer before we wake up?

Lost in translation

There's something about the way kids talk - especially when they're just learning how - that leaves so much open to interpretation. And just the tiniest bit of mush mouth can throw an entire discussion way off track.

I was enjoying my evening in the office, just relaxing, having a glass of cheap wine. (And if you're a friend of mine on Facebook, you'll know I like me some cheap wine. Although, I can't have all that much anymore. But that's different. Anyway...) Back to the cheap wine.

Because I thought the kids were asleep.

Until this comes running into my office.

She's cute, right? Cute until she's hollering about a duck in the window. You heard me. A duck. In the window. Duck. Window. You get it.

BreMonster: Maaaaaaama! Is duck! In window!

Me: What?

Bre: Duck in window!

Me: There's a duck in your window?

She begins looking at me like I'm a complete idiot.

Bre: Truck. In. Willow.

Me (blinking in confusion): Truck in willow?

Bre (frustrated): Buck. In. Pillow.

At this point, she's frustrated and I'm way confused. Buck in her pillow? Are we talking a male deer? If so, can we make jerky? Or is her pillow now producing one dollar bills? If so, we need to make sure they're real.

Me: There's a buck in your pillow.

Bre: Buck.

Me: Buck. In your pillow.

And then came the voice of reason, the four year old, A-Girl, yells from her room like she's sick of hearing the whole thing:

MOM! It's a BUG. On her PILLOW!

Oh. I'll get this no problem.

Or, if it's to big, I'll get MarvMan.

So I go rushing off to get this bug. On the pillow. Not a duck in a window, a truck in a willow, or a buck in a pillow. But a bug. On a pillow.

I hate bugs.

I get in there, ready to put on the brave face, because I don't think I should transfer my irrational fears onto my daughters, only to be sorely disappointed. And hugely relieved. It wasn't, in fact, a bug.

It was a piece of fuzz.

I think we need to work on enunciation in this household.

A Photo

Because I've been so busy, I really don't even have the energy to type much longer.

Small hands at the keyboard.

Believe it or not, that's my BreMonster's hands, and A-Girl snapped the photo.

Excuses, excuses, excuses

I realize that I don't think I ever got around to explaining why I dropped out of NaNoWriMo '09. In fact, after my last post, I haven't really blogged at all.

This photo has practically nothing to do with the post.

I just wanted to show off my mad crochet skills.

Well. This is just to tell you that I promise I'll get to it.

It's just that...

My dog died. (Actually, we are down to only one dog now, but that wasn't necessarily a sad occasion. Again, more in another post.)

My.... kids ate my homework?

Let's just say that I will make it up to you via commentary love on the blogs that I follow today. And I'll be posting a bit of a video.

Monday Question of the Day:

What do you think about video blogging or "vlogging"? As a mother/artisan/woman/student/insert your favorite title here, what would you want most out of a vlog?

Or... do you hate vlogs?

Have a fantastic Monday, and I hope it's a refreshing start to your week!

Who doesn't love a man in uniform?

Our weekend was positively full. Any of my friends on Facebook can tell you that Friday was a screwy day for me. I mixed up what day it was - I thought it was Saturday, but was still operating on a Friday schedule. Goes to show how mixed up things can get when MarvMan has a day off. Regardless of the day off, we had to get snazzed up.

That afternoon, we had a rededication to attend. All summer long, MarvMan and a small crew of others from a few commands around the base were painting and fixing up the aircraft on display at Air Power Park here on NAS Fallon. The park is a testament to the long standing tradition and might of Naval aviation. It's truly a beautiful sight to see, especially if you're an aircraft aficionado. 

I was armed with a camera. My BlackBerry Storm, but a camera nonetheless.

There were men in uniform to be photographed. Of course I had my camera.

MarvMan painted the girls' names on one of the aircraft because they'd gone out to the park a few times with him over the summer to help wash the jets. The guys on the crew love the girls - and they think the world of all those guys.

I am such a proud wife and mama - even when the going gets tough. GO NAVY!

So much to do, so little time

Oh, my goodness. Things have been absolutely insane around here. I'm actually taking some time to update around here on a day when the girls are sick. They're taking their naps and I'm trying to watch Dog Whisperer on NatGeo while the linens are washing.

ENG125 is finally over. It really wasn't all that bad until the TA turned out to be supremely frustrating to work with. It's apparently a bit difficult to attend college online these days while using a Mac. Regardless, I'm doing it. Why? Because I'm not buying a Microsuck machine just to get through college. So head down and boring through it we go.

Homeschooling has been a bit scattered. We're doing a combination of workbooks (we've been scoring some really good ones from the Dollar Tree) and a Montessori curriculum I purchased. It's been going well. A-Girl is on a Kindergarten level for pretty much everything, and she's already nudging into 1st grade level territory, which is as thrilling as it is a reminder that she's growing up way too fast.

Meanwhile, MarvMan got himself back into the swing of college, which means both of us are attending and of course it's making things a little hectic. As is keeping up with the house.

I swear I'll be updating more, because there's so much to talk about. But in the meantime, you can always check me out over on Blissfully Domestic, as I'm now contributing there as well!

I swear I haven't disappeared

Honestly. I've just been super busy. My best friend / sister Jess (you know, the one who made my badge?) is in town visiting. It's so funny, because we haven't seen each other in 6 years. And yet here we are, close as ever. Things are so much different this time around: we're both in different life situations than what we were six years ago, we've both changed, grown, and become different women over the last 6 years. Sure, the internet can keep you in touch, but it can't guarantee that things will be peachy when you see each other again. But I have to tell you, I love the woman she's becoming and I'm so thrilled we've got this week to see each other.

I'm so very blessed that not only have I been able to see my immediate family this year on my visit to PA, but I was also able to see both of my not-blood-but-who-cares-we-love-each-other sisters this year.

So in lieu of posting regularly, I'm going to give you all some links to blogs I absolutely adore. Go on over and please send them a warm hello. Some are dear friends of mine, others are women who I don't necessarily know, but I have a great affection for and respect them greatly.

My Kinda Rain - Lori is an exceptional blogger, and an amazing friend. Tell her Sparkle sent you!

Her Cup Overfloweth - Absolutely amazing. This woman is so crafty - I'm always in awe of her talent that she shares with such joy.

Mama's Losin' It - Home of the Writer's Workshop, Mama Kat is a wonderful writer. I love her wit and sense of humor, as well as her candor.

Scary Mommy - Motherhood: the good, the bad, and the scary. She tackles it all with finesse and a raw sense of honesty that I love and appreciate. The amazing photos add jealousy to admiration.

N.E.O. Moms - Not Easily Offended Moms. Obviously not for the easily offended. I recently discovered this blog and love, love, love it!! I may not always agree, but seeing everything from the other side always helps balance my opinions.

That's all I've got for now, and I hope you enjoy reading while I'm off writing up a storm with Jessie! I'll be featuring more blogs during the rest of the week, and there will guaranteed be a post by Saturday after the follow up with the neurologist.

Happy Wednesday and have a fabulous rest of the week!

The girls helped with the jets

... and got their names put on one.

The lies we tell

We are so full of it. And I mean this not just as in you and me. And her. Or him. Or the dude way back in the corner over there. Yeah, I see you with that laser pointer. I'm talking specifically about mothers. Now, here's the tricky part, because I'm making a generalization, which doesn't include all mothers. In fact, the ones who are exceptions to this generalization? They're the one's who've been lied to.

And I don't think the lying is intentional by any means. Or meant in a malicious manner. But yesterday it was brought to my attention in an abstract sort of way that even with – no, especially with – the best of intentions, we mothers can be the ruin of each other. How did this come up? I posted something on my Facebook from Dooce's blog. It wasn't taken kindly to by one of my friends. (Sidebar: This post also has nothing to do with this friend, who I love, it's more societal commentary inspired by the conversation.)

It came up that she [Dooce] made infants sound like disgusting creatures. That some of the “advice” wasn't good advice and could essentially ruin a woman's breastfeeding relationship with her child should she take this advice. Here's the snippet in question:

Worst advice you can give to someone with a newborn? Sleep when the baby sleeps. That is total and utter crap. Because one nap can be three hours and then the next nap is like fifteen seconds, and when that latter naps happens and you've just put your head down to go to sleep, oh Lord, the agony. And the pain. And the ANGER. And of course it's never healthy to be angry at a newborn, bad things can happen, like suddenly you start drinking tequila at 10 AM and are calling your husband at work JUST SO THAT YOU CAN HANG UP ON HIM.

Maybe it's just me, but oh, man can I identify with that. And reading that? Knowing that she was there at one point, too? Knowing that she made it through and her kid is okay? Makes me feel a million times more normal. For me, she's not kidding that sleeping when the baby sleeps is bad advice. Because man, the all-consuming anger if BreMonster decided to wake up just as I laid my pretty little head on the pillow... It was bad.

And I think that poo-pooing that kind of expression – the raw, honest take on motherhood – is what kills breastfeeding relationships and most attempts at more attached parenting these days. There's this expectation that the instant you start nursing your kid, co-sleeping, carrying them everywhere in a sling, whatever attachment parenting method you decide to take up, that it's going to be all gravy.

That there's going to be nothing but sunshine and roses and tender moments of baby at the breast bonding while you sit there with a placid smile on your face. Your baby will be the calmest baby on the block, cooing and gurgling at the right moments, sleeping for extended periods of time, and completely comfortable with you taking a shower.

If you believed that? I've got some ocean front property in Winnemucca for you to look at.

Because you know what? Infants are disgusting creatures. Between the poop, the spit-up and vomit – which are two completely different things – the drool, the teething diarrhea, the putting things in their mouths whenever possible no matter what it is and oh-my-god-you-don't-know-where-that's-been... it's not pretty. You're most likely going to get peed on. You're probably also going to get shit on you at some point.

You will also find yourself begging for a prescription for Valium, Xanax, Prozac, Zoloft – something, anything – to achieve that placid smile you've seen on the faces of those moms in the posters at the doctors office. Because, let's face it, even the ones on the PPD public service announcement posters? Please. When BreMonster was three months old I would be lucky if I looked that good most days.

There will be nights where you're so sleep deprived you're pretty sure the clock's been stuck at 2 a.m. for the past five hours and oh, my God, MarvMan, I know you can't lactate but if you don't get me a shot of Jack Daniels to calm me down soon, I will find our non-existent skillet and make it a permanent fixture in the wall.

And you know something? Every time I got upset, fed up, frustrated, and downright angry? Not only did I have to deal with being upset and trying to find the real source of my anger, I had to deal with the residual guilt afterward. Feeling like I was a failure as a mother for not loving every agonizing second of being with my child and having a baby who, at some points, was seemingly attached to my breast 24/7. Feeling guilty because here I went having this baby and at some points I just did not want to be a mother anymore. Because I wasn't like those women who were so idyllic in their domesticated bliss as they sat around all day in a clean house with perfectly behaved older children available to help at a moment's notice.

Seriously? I want some of whatever those women and their children are on. Because that's the media expectation. And I felt those expectations transferred onto me even more with unsolicited advice from other mothers. Even with the people who are supposed to be acting as support. Is there no acceptance of the bad feelings that occasionally accompany motherhood? Are we, as a society, that behind that we still consider malcontent with motherhood to be taboo?

Granted, I struggled with PPD with BreMonster. I had it with A-Girl, now that I look back on it, but somehow it wasn't as severe and having to go back to work so soon after having her really screwed with everything, so I usually blamed it on that. Because I was dealing with PPD with BreMonster, perhaps what I was feeling was exaggerated. But that small bit of hope offered by moms with blogs who are honest about all aspects of parenting – as Scary Mommy's blog says, “The good, the bad, and the scary.” - made me feel, and continues to make me feel, normal.

At least as normal as I can get.

Motherhood has its shining moments. God knows they're everywhere. But those shining moments are in the dark times, too. They're in the times when you're on the kitchen floor, trying to cry quietly because you finally got the baby to sleep and you don't want to wake her, but now that it's your chance to sleep? You couldn't sleep if you tried. It's there in the times when you're so angry you nip out the back door and have a cigarette – six months of quitting be damned, you just need to physically shut the crying out before you start screaming at the top of your lungs. It's there when you're covered in spit up and asking, could it get any worse? And it does because you're realizing that the warm feeling on your leg? Not body heat. The diaper leaked. And it's not pretty.

The shining moment of those frustrating times is the point at which you get up and keep going. You clean up, you get up, and then you do it all over again.

I love and appreciate the honestly of bloggers like Dooce and Scary Mommy. Because they remind me that it's okay if I'm not June Cleaver 24/7. They have their bad days. They let it out and they get back to it. That's what being a mother is about.

The quiet of the morning

It's so quiet this morning. So quiet and peaceful - the only sounds at the moment are the ceiling fan in the living room and the tapping of the keys as I write up this blog post. It's one of those mornings where the quiet is almost surreal; you think maybe you can reach out and touch it, but if you do, it might pop into a cacophony of noise and chaos.

I can sit here and almost pretend that yesterday wasn't as full and overstimulating as it was. The living room is still fairly neat, as is the kitchen. And aside from the leftover cake on the counter, you might think that we hadn't celebrated a birthday here. Which would be a lovely thought, because it's so hard to believe that my youngest is now two years old.

She's growing up so fast. I still remember when I posted that blog about how she'd weaned off nursing. Fifteen months of providing her with nourishment, late nights, bonding... and then she weaned and became that much more independent. In the months following BreMonster's weaning, she's become that much more independent every day since then.


BreMonster is trailing along after A-Girl, now. Getting into trouble with her sister; she really excels at getting her sister into trouble. She scales cabinets and countertops with grace and skill reserved only for monkeys and lemurs, recognizes letters of the alphabet, and comes bolting through the house for hugs when she hears Daddy's home from work. Yes, my BreMonster (BreMonkey?) has been growing and changing so much over the past year. Her second birthday was simply a reminder of how fast time is going by and how precious little we actually have.

My beautiful little girl, I love you so much.
And I really, really wish you would stop growing up so quickly.

You don't have what?!

Yes, yes, I know. It's crazy. Practically blasphemous, when you think about it. I mean, really, how could I possibly do this to myself?! And if I didn't really care about myself, how could I do this to my children?! Of all the things in all the world, why, oh why, would I take this one blessed thing away from my little girls.

What is that one blessed thing?

Television. Cable. Television.

Granted, we have something like 11 channels. One of which is PBS, four of which are QVC or QVC-wannabe channels. The rest are news and occasionally on the weekend, this one channel plays this show that I really, really love and never thought I would because it's a kid's show. (The Sushi Pack - seriously, if sushi could get any cuter, I would love to know. Someone get me a Wasabi plushie, stat!)

But the thing is... we haven't really been missing it. I mean, for the past year or so, we'd totally forgotten that we even had the basic cable package to begin with! The girls watch movies, and I can't blame them. No annoying commercial interruptions. Unless they're in the middle of a movie and I just so happen to walk by their room and notice it's a mess. Then it's a MOMmercial interruption. But that's different. Now that we have PBS and that one channel that plays The Sushi Pack, they're really rather indifferent to it. The only time A-Girl gets upset is if I turn off a movie in the middle of it. (I hate that, too, kid, but you gotta clean your room.)

I definitely miss The Food Network, Animal Planet, and the Discovery Channel, but at this point? Upgrading our cable would be pointless. So many channels we don't watch but we're still paying for.

Talk to me in a few years if I decide to send the girls to public school and need something to fill the afternoon void.

I despise scissors

It's been one of those days, so I'm capping off the evening - after bum rushing through last minute school work - with some photos. Particularly of what happens when small children get into the scissors and proceed to have their own salon day. And Mommy has to fix it.



















Sigh. She looks so much more grown up. More photos to come, I'm sure.










Tuesday, Tuesday, please be a better day.

Thankful Tuesdays

After yesterday's ordeals (and still dealing with the repercussions thereof) I thought it would be a good time to sit down and recount all my blessings. Because I am so very blessed, in spite of all the stress and in spite of all the bad news that seems to be rolling in, there are many things that I should be thankful for.

So today, I'll show you five things I'm grateful for. In words and photos.


I am so grateful for A-Girl. She is the first child. The experimental one, the one we've made errors with, the one we will continue to make errors with. The one who brought MarvMan and I back together, who taught me that late nights aren't always a bad thing and who continually teaches me about the true depths of unconditional love. She had her first gymnastics class last night, and I was reminded that time with my oldest truly is precious and slipping away faster than I would like. Even after all our worries about her social development, Anaya did wonderfully last night and is so excited to go again.


Sometimes it's hard to remember to be grateful for the youngest. I don't mean it as badly as it sounds - hear me out. BreMonster is nearing her second birthday, and with it has been the rumblings of the Terrible Twos. But the more I think about it, the more I can't look at it as "Terrible." It is a phase of development and it's occasionally heartbreaking to watch my baby girl grow into her own unique person, even when she's testing boundaries and thinking she's the queen of the house. (She's not, I am. I have the cape. I make the whoosh noises.) But her laughter and love and personality full of spark and life remind me that even as I'm ushering Anaya off into a more independent childhood, Breanne is still tiny enough to appreciate long stretches of snuggling on the couch with her tiny warm body as she makes commentary on the latest Sesame Street episode.


I'm always grateful for the dogs, but Washburn's been my favorite as of late. He can tell when I'm stressed out and upset, and the cold, wet nose on my arm isn't so much of a bother anymore as it is a comfort. I prefer the massive fur throw he becomes when he wraps around my feet at my desk, but I'll take what I can get. He's the first dog we've found that worked out for us and has quickly earned his place in the family numerous times since. He's my biggest furbaby and I'm so glad we have him.

What? Myself? I can't be grateful for myself? Well, this is a photo of me on the computer, listening to music. Ignore the massively oldschool headphones. But it was the best personal picture I could find to illustrate how grateful I am for music. It's had the power over the last day or so to bring me from a place of rage to a place of calm. I've cried and I've fallen asleep at my desk to music. It has been an ever-present force in my life since I was born, and I'm so grateful to have that appreciation to this day. (In heavy rotation lately: Regina Spektor's album "Far," Kiernan McMullan's "Perfect People are Boring," and Brandi Carlile's "The Story")


And last, but certainly not least, I am grateful for MarvMan. Any man who can weather through all these stresses and put up with my tendency toward distraction and all the health issues that have cropped up with as level a head as MarvMan has faced all of this deserves so major credit. Despite my tendency to fly off the handle, MarvMan has been there for me and has been a force of calm and rational thinking in my life when my whimsical self is occasionally prone to worst case scenario thinking. And I love him dearly for that.

What are you thankful for?

That was a crazy week

And I'm so thankful to have made it through. *wiping sweat off brow*

I could use one of these about now...

We moved the girls from separate rooms into one room. Getting a 2 year old and a 4 year old to settle down and go to sleep is no easy task, let me tell you. Even putting them to bed separately doesn't quite work out all that well.

There were a few reasons behind this: 1- they were refusing to keep their rooms clean separately, 2- I needed a place of solitude where I could hole up and actually get some work done. So, really, it was mutually beneficial. Just try to tell them that when we're in there for the fourth time, trying not to lose our temper and telling them, "No, really, it's bedtime. Quiet time. Shh."

And then there was balance therapy. It's been going well. It's at a slow pace, which can be frustrating for my impatient self, but I need to learn to take a deep breath and slow down. Diving headlong onto the hard stuff is probably not the brightest of ideas. That, and rehabilitating something I've been having problems with for years is obviously going to take a little longer than a couple weeks' worth of exercises. I mean, we're talking about retraining my entire vestibular balance system and re-coordinating that with the rest of my balance systems. It's not exactly like making a pb&j sandwich.

On top of all that, we'd decided that this weird lump that had been growing on Wash's leg had been hanging around long enough and he needed to be seen. On top of that, he needed his rabies shots, so it worked into his yearly check up anyway. They didn't have the ability at this vet to test it in the clinic, but regardless of what it is, Washburn is going under the knife to get this lump removed. They don't think it's anything malignant or serious, but still... my poor baby's going under the knife! *whine*

I almost missed what I thought was my PT appointment on Thursday because the back passenger tire on my F150 was going flat, and MarvMan's command had been switching his schedule so much, he hadn't gotten to it. Thank my lucky stars, when I called The PT clinic to reschedule, they told me my appointment wasn't Thursday, silly duck, it was Friday.

And somehow the week pulled out of the gutter. The girls slept peacefully last night. They slept in a little this morning. Oi, sleeping in is blissful. They were pleasant this morning, despite a few sketchy moments here and there. Wash had his appointment and I'm ultimately feeling better about that situation. I got MarvMan an early birthday present, and he loves it. Then we all went to my balance therapy session - which went well, thank goodness - and then out to dinner. As a family. Just us.

MarvMan's early b-day prezzie. Taurus .38 Special

Came home, put the kids to bed, MarvMan's off hunting, and I've got quiet time to relax and be up this late with no worries. Except for some school work. But I know I've got it down and can bang it out tomorrow. Tonight is a night to breathe.

There is always something to be grateful for. Even if you have to look a little harder.

Sunday Soliloquy

It is Sunday, right? Right? I ask because I posted an update on Facebook on Friday saying that it was Saturday when it obviously wasn't. Time has been slipping by and slipping away so quickly.

One of my closest friends, Donna, has a little girl who's going to turn four on July 7th. And that always leads to discussions about, "Wow, where has the time gone?" And, really, I would love to know where it has gone.

Here I sit, 24 years old, and I've got a 4 year old, and an almost 2 year old. Just four short years ago, I was young, pregnant, and totally clueless. So much has changed in such a short time.

It's almost unfathomable to me that I've become the person I am today. I've served in the military. Proudly so, and to the best of my ability. I still miss it, and may even go back once I've gotten my degree.

I gave birth to a gorgeous daughter who, for as much as she can be a thorn in my foot, she's also the light of my life and brings me so much joy.

I married an amazing man. He's still serving in the military and I am so proud to say I stand behind him and support him 210%. MarvMan spoils me rotten and I don't thank him enough for it. Just today he rearranged bedrooms so one was open and now I have an office all of my own. He takes care of us and provides for us, and I am more than happy to reciprocate. Even on the bad days when I would love to burn all his socks because they're all over the floor.

Then along came my second daughter. The one who completed the family. Who was supposed to stay small and really never has. So full of spunk and attitude and spice, it's hard to believe there's any sugar in that small body until she's in your lap and snuggling you.

I am blessed to be in college, to be pursuing a degree that I can do pretty much whatever I want in it. It's terrifying at the moment because I'm looking into the week to come with four chapters to read, two discussion posts to write, an exam and a research paper to start, and my brain is seizing. But I love the challenge and I love that it's mine.

It's long weekends spent with them that I realize how amazing they are. How much I appreciate the quiet in the house after a day full of noise, but also how much I look forward to everyone waking up in the morning and the daily hum of activity in the house.

And I am only 24.

Rare morning off

Sometimes, MarvMan is quite possibly the most amazing man on the face of the planet. Take yesterday, for example. Yesterday was one of those days where the command was taking a day off, but they couldn't just "take the day off." Days like these become mandatory fun days or some sort of community service days.

In MarvMan's case, it was a little of both. They had decided to do a car wash and then go bowling. The Warrant Officer even bought them pizza while they were up at the bowling alley.

MarvMan happens to also be a proud papa. Very proud. So I was overjoyed when he informed me that he would be taking both A-Girl and BreMonster with him when he went in to "work" with him. The morning came, I dressed the girls, sent them off with MarvMan and went back in the house, excited for a day to do whatever I pleased.

I couldn't think of a damn thing to do.

I've had my moments before where the girls have driven me up a wall. Where all I wanted was a vacation, or at least to live closer to my family so when I'm stressed I can take the girls over, drop them off, and leave for awhile. I've had entire weeks where I wanted nothing more than to go back to work, if only to get a guaranteed eight hour break.

But yesterday reminded me that I'm in the right place. The silence was overwhelming and without two small pairs of feet following me around, I suddenly felt lost. Even for just that brief period of time, the house was a strange place without my babies and I missed them.

Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the time, though. I just wish I'd remembered my non-domestic hobbies a bit sooner. Because instead of soaking in the bathtub, painting my toenails or giving myself a manicure, what'd I do?

I cleaned.

And was so grateful for the normal day to resume when MarvMan had to bring them home early because they were tired and fussy. Just don't tell MarvMan. Maybe a couple more of these mornings off and I'll get the hang of selfishly enjoying them.

The weekend that wasn't.

So remember in the other post, where I said we were going to spend the weekend in Reno? Yeah, obviously that didn't happen. As I'm sitting here, at home, writing this blog post. In my pajamas. At 8:36 on a Saturday morning. In Fallon, Nevada.

Now, let me start this off by saying that ditching on the trip to Reno was entirely my decision. MarvMan and I got into an argument and to spite him, I said we weren't going. I have no clue why depriving myself of a trip to Reno would be that detrimental to MarvMan. Because he's required to go due to his volunteer work at the Special Olympics. So either way, MarvMan gets to go.

Have you ever had those kind of arguments? They start about the simplest - even the stupidest - of things. Usually something small, a minor irritation that could easily be solved by saying, "Hey, I'm really bothered by (insert infraction here)."

For some of us, though, the situation rarely goes like that. I go about, huffing and puffing, correcting the infraction - this one in particular had to do with the laundry - and all the while ensuring that everyone in the house knows that I'm upset. It's childish behavior, I'll wholly admit to that. Then when "discussion time" came around, I was entirely too aggressive about the matter with MarvMan, and it escalated until it was no longer about the laundry.

Well, it was still about the laundry. Then it was also about the dishes. And what kind of music I listen to. How he's a stubborn harda$$ and needs to chill. I'm surprised my extremely short haircut and lip piercing weren't brought up - he's not a fan of either. Suddenly, the very things I profess to love about him are now the very things causing problems.

And I capped it off by pulling out from the Reno trip.

It's been beneficial in a sense for myself and BreMonster. We've spent tons of time snuggling. And I got hold of a new entertainment center. Got to focus on the positives, right?

But I think that tonight, I'm going to bake a cake for MarvMan. Just to let him know that I realize I overreacted and made a mountain out of a mole hill. Hopefully this communication thing between us will get better over time. We're both only 24, we've got time, right?

At Least They're Responsive?

I remember when I was pregnant with my first daughter, Anaya. I was so paranoid about raising her properly, bringing her up to be a "good citizen" and a "strong woman." I was also single at the time, so I was hoping she'd also turn out to be a super awesome feminist, maybe turn into a doctor or a movie star, and then she'd take care of her mother forever and ever. Because we would be the best of friends.

Even while she was still in my belly, I worried about communication with this tiny little person inside me. Would she even want to talk to me when she got older? How would I talk to her about the difficult issues in life? Would I even be able to talk to her without stumbling over my words or distancing her through lame attempts to be cool and appeal to her obviously better tastes than mine? Anaya hadn't even been born yet and already I was worrying my head off about choices she'd be making that wouldn't even happen for another (hopefully) thirteen to sixteen years.

There's so much time there to consider. She was born three days early and I eventually lost my worries about communication. I was caught up in returning to work, balancing breastfeeding and work (note: in the military, this does not go so well), finding the appropriate daycare situation, reconciling with her father, our eventual marriage and his deployment... I could go on for an entire blog post about Anaya's first year of life and all the tumult and upheaval that occurred therein.

Fast forward a few years and Anaya now has a little sister, Breanne, and I'm a work at home mother instead of working full/over/insane time in the Navy. I've been enjoying the time I'm able to watch them grow older. Anaya and Breanne are now 4 and almost 2, respectively. It's mind boggling to think about all the time that has gone by and everything that has changed in what sometimes seems like a short amount of time. And now, of course, that I have just a fraction more time on my hands, I've been circling back to thoughts of communicating with this two wonderful girls as they continue to grow.

Those thoughts, though, are often thwarted by the response I get whenever I do attempt communication. I'm often met with whining, huffing, and other diva-esque tantrums by Anaya. She's convinced she's a princess of the highest sort. Breanne, on the other hand... well, let's just say she's got a set of lungs and a tendency to scream and squeal incoherently. All this was frustrating at first.

And then I realized something - if they're responding, at least they heard what I said. So I'll let them huff and whine and squeal. It means they at least heard what I said.

What the Crap, Yo?

Was the title lame enough for you? Because only people who truly care will dare to read on beyond this. I'm kidding. Perhaps if you're extremely bored you will. But my hoards of minions (read: the four or five people who frequent this place) will certainly be interested.

Most of you know all this, so feel free to skim if you're already up to date. For the rest of you, I'll explain my lengthy absences as best I can. No, there is no note from my doctor. I'm sorry, I promise I'll make up the extra homework I'm sure I missed. And can I get an extension on that research paper?

Things have been tumultuous, to say the extreme least. There was the trip to South Dakota, which was approximately three weeks long. Three weeks of enough internet connection to get college work done, and that was it. I think I was able to upload some photos and whatnot to Facebook, but that was during extremely lucky times. I did enjoy the tech break, though. It was nice to get back to normal, non-text life for awhile.

Fast forward to our grand arrival back here in the middle-of-nowhere, Nevada. After a couple days' worth of a breather, we're back into full swing. Somewhere in between then and now, we acquired the following:

A new truck:

And a new dog:
Thing is, the new dog was acquired barely a week before MarvMan's departure to Virginia for some more technical training. And so... I've been cleaning up puppy accidents since he's been gone. In addition to finishing up ENG121 and just this week getting into ENG122. And taking care of the girls. The house. Both dogs. Somewhere in there, myself.

So my deepest apologies to my followers on here. I promise I'll do my best to keep up more often. I've got a few drafts saved, so trust me that there's material up my sleeve. It's just a matter of finding the time to breathe long enough to post new blogs. But I promise, promise, promise I'll do what I can. I've missed you all on here. xoxo