Blogger Challenge: Week 2

How are you like your parents? How are you different?

This is a hard question for me to answer.  It is safe to say that I know my mother better than I know my father.  I didn't grow up with them.  I lived with relatives from the time I was 3.  It's only been recently that I've reconnected with my mother.  And I think, even if I had been in contact with my dad over the last however many years, I would still not really "know" him.  He's been an addict his entire adult life, and I believe that who he is probably differs when he is on drugs as opposed to when he is off, and I would really have know way of knowing which was which.  I think I am probably more like my mother.  She and I share the same sarcastic sense of humor, and also are pretty hard headed.  I'm pretty sure my temper also comes from her side of the family.  :)

I am different from my mom in a lot of ways as well.  I was raised differently, for one.  I don't know a lot of what her home life was like.  She has several sisters and a brother (I think).  I know that not all of them have the same dad, so I don't know how long her dad was with her mom.  I know that she didn't finish school.  My dad got into drugs young so I think he never went to college, but I *think* he at least finished high school.  He's never had a steady job, never really had a place to call home.  He moved around a lot, if I remember correctly from being a kid.  I can remember thinking when I was younger that I didn't want to be like him.  I wanted a family, my family would always come first, and I would do anything and everything to make sure that I only got married once.  I am grateful that my mother and I have really reconnected over the last few years.  And I'm super excited that she gets to come out in August and meet my husband and her grandchildren!

Um....tagging blogs I read.  Well, I read my friend Kyra's a lot.  When I grow up, I want to write like her.
http://mrsquartermaster.blogspot.com/

Blog Challenge - Week 1

Who I am today, versus me 10 years ago.

It makes my head hurt to say that 10 years ago was 2002!  Seriously!?  That seems insane to me.  Time flies when you're having fun?  Maybe.  Having fun, going crazy; it's a fine line.  So, let me see.  In 2002, I was 20, turning 21 that October.  We'd been married just over 2 years, and had our first baby, and were living at our first duty station, Fort Wainwright, Alaska.  At that time, we just had ONE kiddo.  I think it was around this time that we actively started trying for baby #2.  I am fundamentally the same person I was back then.  Meaning, the values and morals I have now, I had them back then.  Not much has changed in that regard.  I had no idea the journey we were about to embark on.  We had just decided to stay in the army, even though the plan had been to get out after his contract was up.  September 11th changed that.  We now had a baby to consider, and the economy was failing fast.  We knew we were moving at the end of that year, and were told originally that he'd be doing a six month deployment to Afghanistan.  It makes me chuckle now, of how terrified I was about the future of this country, of deployments, and the changes just in general after 9/11.  

At that time, I was working full time as a nanny for some amazing kids.  There were four of them: Sterling, Lauren, Kyle, and Bruce.  I often thought, "This could be my life in 10 years - lots of kids running around."  And then I'd shake my head and think, "HECK NO!"  Perhaps that was my own intuition that we were destined to have a big family, I don't know.  I love every single one of my children, and while yes, they are a handful sometimes (and make me want to rub my head on pavement most days), if you were to ask me which one I'd give up if I could go back, well, there's no answer for that.  I'd be missing a piece of myself if I didn't have all five of them.  Anyway, babysitting was usually a lot of fun.  The kids were always pretty good, but the parents were in the middle of a nasty divorce.  It's hard to stay out of the middle of that, especially when you feel like one parent doesn't necessarily have the best interest of the kids first.  I tried to stay out of it, but looking back, I see now I probably could have done a better job of butting out.  I ended up getting fired because the parent still at home felt like I was an "ally" to the parent who had moved out, and therefore, I couldn't be trusted.  It was very upsetting for me, because it had nothing to do with me, or the kids for that matter.  This was just trying to cover up their own ass.  I have kept in contact with them, thanks to Facebook.  And it also makes my head hurt that Sterling and Lauren have now graduated from high school.  Ah!

Chip and I were so young back then.  I don't know how we ever survived financially back then.  We were both working full time, and yet we still did not have a good handle on our finances.  Hell, we still don't.  I'd say of all our issues, the hardest thing for us has been finances.  Neither one of us really have self control.  Every year we say we are going to save money.  Every year, that never happens.  And back then, I don't remember going out a whole lot or doing a bunch of stuff, but we were always short on money.  We lived on base, so all of our utilities were paid.  Probably a very good thing!  We were in a 6-plex, second from the end.  The people next to us on the end were...interesting.  Very dramatic.  Always always causing trouble.  The people on the other side of us were fantastic.  I still talk to Jeanette.  I am grateful that she was around back then.  I can imagine I was pretty annoying.  Pretty sure I was at her house almost every day.  Brenna loved her boys, who were just a few years older than her.  And I just loved having a friend to hang out with and talk to.  Plus, Jeanette's house was always more organized than mine (read: cleaner) and it was a good distraction to go to her house and avoid mine.  We bbq'd in the summer, the kids played, and of all the people I met in Alaska, she is one of a handful I still talk to.  That was the summer that a baby that she babysat passed away.  It was a sad situation, the baby had been 2 months old.  Mom had taken the baby to the doctor repeatedly and they kept saying she just had a cold.  She ended up passing away with two severe inner ear infections and pneumonia, which was her official cause of death.  Since I was over at Jeanette's every day pretty much, I spent a lot of time with the baby.  I think about her often.  Such a sweet little girl, definitely gone too soon.

So we took our first road trip together in 2002.  We drove from Fairbanks, Alaska to Anderson, South Carolina.  It took us a little over a week to get through Canada.  It was absolutely beautiful.  We stopped in North Dakota and stayed the night with a childhood friend of mine whose husband was stationed at Grand Forks AFB, ND.  I hadn't seen her since she moved away when we were kids, so it was awesome to connect with her.  Then we drove to Minnesota and stayed a weekend with some childhood friends of Chip's.  Then on to Chicago, for a week with my family, and then the last stop was South Carolina.  We flew to Schofield Barracks, HI from there.

I look at the mother and person I was back then, and I think I am much more patient now than I was then.  Brenna was always a stubborn kiddo, and we generally engaged in a battle of wills at least once a day.  It was exhausting!  It wasn't until a few years later that I think I really truly got what being a mom is all about.  You must always win the battle of the wills - BUT - you must also choose your battles.  Some really just aren't worth fighting.  I wasn't a very good wife back then either.  I had always thought that he should be doing all these grand gestures of love and appreciation, and I focused on how he WASN'T doing that, and not at all about how I did nothing for him.  I never cleaned the house.  I hated cleaning the house.  I hated that it was expected of me to clean the house, so I never did.  Many fights came about because I did the bare minimum to keep things tidy enough for a baby around, but since she never went into the kitchen, dishes weren't a priority.  And since I did her laundry, well, why did I need to do his, too?  He's a big boy, lol.  I realized a few years later that a relationship isn't about what they are doing for you (or not doing), but it's about what you are doing for each other.  He works all day.  So I should probably get off my ass and clean up a little bit.  I do better now, but laundry is the bane of my existence.  I just need a maid for that, I think.

We've more than covered ten years ago.  Who am I today?  Still an army wife, still a mom, with just a few more kids.  I think I'm so much more mature than I was back then.  I'm definitely wiser.  I have learned so much about myself and who I am over the last 10 years.  Five kids and two deployments tend to push you to limits you never thought you had.  It's amazing what you will do to survive and thrive.  I am not one of those people who would go back and tell myself what to do or not do, look forward to or dread.  Every single thing that happened helped shape who I am.

So I think we're supposed to tag someone or a blog that we read regularly. I mostly read my sister-in-law's blog to keep up with them and my adorable little niece!

http://mysharingspace.blogspot.com/

Is This Thing On?

Yes, that's right, after almost a year, I am writing a blog!  It has been a crazy, ridiculous 10 months, so while I am sorry that I haven't blogged, I've had bigger fish to fry.  Lots of changes in my life personally, most of which I'm not going into detail on a public blog, lol.  So what brings me back?  A blog challange!  Yay!  So in about 8 weeks, hopefully this will become habit enough that I write regularly.  Here are the rules, should you feel so inclined to participate.  

Here are the rules:

• The blog-every-single-day thing seems to be a little... scary for a lot of people. So, we're shooting for once-a-week blogging for 8 weeks.
• Blog challenges will be "due"/rollover on Sunday nights at midnight. I know this sounds a lot like a class project, but hey, we're all gluttons for punishment, anyway, right?
• Post the challenge/challenge rules before you write your first blog-challenge blog, and link back to it with each blog-challenge post (then say blog challenge ten times fast!). This way, your readers can join in on the fun.
• And, just to shake things up, at the bottom of each blog challenge blog, post the link to another blog you read regularly. Think of it as a grab bag for your readers. Or just utter ridiculousness on my part.
• Try to comment on other blogs doing the challenge. Let the blogger know you're reading and doing the challenge, too!
• Take the topics as seriously or as lightly as you would like.
• Write as much or as little as you would like.
• Use visuals if and how you see fit.
• Have fun and share!

Now... For the topics!

• Week 1: Compare and contrast: yourself now vs. yourself ten years ago.
• Week 2: How are you like your parents? How are you different?
• Week 3: Who and what makes up your "community?" How do you define that community?
• Week 4: A social situation you struggle with and why.
• Week 5: How do you define yourself?
• Week 6: What is a goal you have or want to set for yourself? How are you going to achieve it?
• Week 7: A funny story about something dumb you have done.
  
  Week 8: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

September 11

Our morning routine was almost set in stone.  Chip would wake up around 5:30 and go to PT.  Brenna, who was only a few months old, would hear him and demand to be fed.  I'd lay her in bed next o me and nurse her back to sleep, and then fall back asleep myself.  I loved snuggling with her.  I loved everything about being a new mom.  And this morning seemed as normal as any other.  We snuggled, she slept, and after a little while, I finally fell asleep.  I didn't know that the world as I had known it, was about to be drastically changed.

I woke up shortly after I had fallen asleep because Chip had come home early.  In my half awake state, I didn't understand what he was asking.  No, I didn't have any family in NY.  I was mildly irritated that he felt this stupid question was important enough to wake me up to ask it, even after I'd been up several times with the baby while he got to sleep peacefully all night.  Another seemingly stupid question followed that one.  No, I do not have any family in Pennsylvania.  Why in the world is this important at 6am?  By this time, I was sitting up, Brenna was waking up, and I was officially annoyed.  And then he broke the news to me.

A terrorist attack.  In OUR country.  With OUR planes.  That killed OUR innocent civilians.

He informed me that the base was at FPCON Delta.  I had seen the signs at the front gate on post, but had never seen anything but Alpha, and had no idea what Delta meant.  He'd been sent home early, since most of his unit wasn't on base, and it was taking several hours for people to get through the front gate.  I ran downstairs and turned on the tv.  We sat there in silence for a few minutes, watching in horror at those images.  I was 19 when the towers fell, and 6000 miles from home with a new baby and a soldier husband.  I cannot express how isolated and scared I felt at that moment. It was so early in Alaska, and I was in such shock that I didn't understand that the images I was seeing on tv were not live images, but in fact had taken place several hours before.  I called family and friends in an effort to reach out to people to perhaps feel some sort of safety in the midst of this chaos.  I clutched Brenna as if letting go of her meant losing her, and then I cried at the thought of being stupid enough to bring a child into this crazy and unpredictable world.  And then I looked at Chip, and wondered what this meant as far as the military. I truly and honestly thought WWIII was imminent.

That day changed the life of every American.  We could probably all play that six degrees game and somebody knows somebody who died that day, or who was in NYC.  I didn't know anybody personally who died that day, but as an American, I think I can safely say that I feel the loss.  Not only a sense of personal loss of all those lives, but the loss of life as I knew it.

I can clearly remember a pre- 9/11 and a post-9/11.  Things changed that day for the good and the bad.  It's interesting to me how much the course of my life changed because of that day.  Instead of getting out of the army, Chip reenlisted.  We were first told that he would do a 6 month tour in Afghanistan.  I remember how terrified I was of that thought.  And now I chuckle, after having been told, "The good news is, no 6 month deployment to Afghanistan - the bad news is, a 13 month deployment to Iraq."

I cried that day for so many reasons.  My heart broke for all the families and friends of those who were lost.  I gained a whole new respect for the firefighters and police officers who ran into those towers to help with no thought of personal safety.  You always see the firetrucks go by but you never really think about them.  I'd always say a prayer for whoever they were going to help.  Now, I say a prayer for them all.  I cried out of fear and anger and confusion.  But, when the tears were gone, I was ready for a fight.  That day I discovered a pride and a love for this country that I can't even begin to describe.  I'd always known how lucky I was to be an American, but that day I APPRECIATED it. 

On the 10th Anniversary of that day, I look back not with the fear and anger of a young mother, but with pride and honor at being able to call myself an American.  Our country is a great country.  We have so much to be grateful for.  We have the freedom to pursue our dreams, to speak our minds, to live our lives.  And our country is so beautiful!  I've not been everywhere, but I've seen so much.  I've seen the Chicago skyline, the Appalachian mountains, the Ohio river, Lake Michigan, Mt. McKinley, the northern lights, a Hawaiian sunset, Mt. Rainier and Mendenhall glacier.  I love this country!

Opening the Door

I expect this to be a long post, and one that gets very personal.  I heard this poem recently, and it put into words some things that I have felt for a long time but didn't know how to express.  It's amazing how something can offer so much clarity and you haven't even sought it out, or realized that you needed it.  I'll start with the poem, and then explain how it touched, and healed, my soul.

The Words
by Serena, a military spouse

The words were there all along.

I kept them chained
My back turned
Ears covered
Eyes shut tight.

Then hit my stride
began to breathe.....let down my guard.

They were waiting
Simmering there in the dark

To seize the day
And forge the crack in my defense.

Striking furiously, without mercy
They laid me

Broken

Bleeding

Prostrate

Screaming
Wimpering in anguish and despair.

"I Cannot Do This Anymore."
I struggled not to hear

to block them out

to flee.

They were relentless, determined to be reckoned, delighting in their voice;

bathing over me with their poison.

"You Cannot Do This."
"You Have Failed."
The words have left their mark.

Stil......

Clinging to my last reserve, I hear familiar voices pleading through the din.

Four tiny, trusting eyes

My one true love

My friend
All beckon.....

"Stay With Me."

"You Have A Choice."

Harkening to the hopeful voice

I choose to stand

And greet the light....
                          however dim.

To rise and dress the wound

replace their chains

and start again.

To live the story to its end.

There's more beyond the dark.

I struggled for the first few months of the last deployment.  My entire support system had disintigrated.  I was pregnant.  I was lonely.  I was worried.  I was scared.  I had very few people I could turn to.  I sought counseling, but all three of the counselors had one solution - move home.  But that seemed like even more stress.  How could moving across the country with five kids by myself, TWICE in one year possibly be less stressful than the life I was living at that moment?  I desperately cried out for help, and didn't feel like anyone heard me, or worse, cared.  Talking to my husband made it worse because it caused him to worry about me and things at home, thus taking his mind off his task at hand.  I couldn't breathe, I didn't recognize myself, I was broken.  I went home from the hospital after having Camden by myself.  I spent 3 days alone with all five of my kids, and I was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.  Every part of me was depleted.  I had a friend stay with me for 3 weeks, and then Chip came home for 18 days of leave, and then I was alone again, for another 9 long months.

I remember the day that this poem was my life.  It was a beautiful day, but I was in my own hell.  I needed an hour, just to breathe, to gather my thoughts, to regroup and move on.  I called every person I knew and NO. ONE. could help me.  I had one person who I thought I could depend on, but she was immersed in her own crisis.  I was sitting in my living room.  It was quiet.  Brenna was in school.  The other four were occupied.  And I was alone on my couch.  This was it.  I would either be consumed by those words: I Cannot Do This Anymore........or I would face the world on my own.  Five little lives depended on me.  They had no one else at that moment.  I HAD to put the pieces back together.  I had no other option.  It was by far my darkest hour, and the light at the end of that tunnel was so very, very dim.  But I grasped it with every fiber of my being.  I picked myself up, I walked over to my newborn son, I kissed his forehead, and made a vow to take every day ONE day at a time. 

I didn't realize until just recently how much the decision to depend only on myself had impacted my life.  We all hear about how soldiers coming back from a deployment are different.  The things they endure, the things they see and participate in, through no fault of their own, changes who they are.  But we hardly hear about how a deployment changes a spouse who is back home.  I didn't fight in a war, my life was never truly in danger, and I still had all the comforts of home.  But being alone for 15 months, being both mom and dad, and doing everything on my own.....that all changed who I am.  It's not a bad thing.  I became more independent and stronger than I ever thought I could be.  But the conscious decision to depend only on myself impacted me deeply.  I didn't realize this until I was trying to do everything on my own, even after he returned from the deployment.  Instead of him being a partner in my life, he was more a nuisance, something else I had to take care of.  It's a hard transition to make, and in the process of that transition, we moved to another duty station.  These last 2+ years have been such a roller coaster ride for us.  But, I'm learning to open that door again, to need someone again. 

The poem was part of a video that highlights suicides among military spouses.  While I've never contemplated suicide, I have been in the darkest parts of my soul.  I have seen friends and family struggle with depression, and I know that while it was my hardest struggle, it may not seem that hard to some.  Many military spouses have gone through more deployments, have had major life events and crises happen during deployments, and my journey is just one of thousands.  But it is mine.  The pain I felt is not unique.  But rather, it is what bonds military spouses together.  We can all relate.  We are not better than any other spouse, just more resilient and perhaps even a little stronger.

Weddings

I've never regretted the wedding that I had.  It wasn't the classiest affair by any means.  Who gets married in their parent's basement?  This girl.  I've always said (and, even more importantly, always believed) that it wasn't the wedding itself that really mattered.  It's the marriage. 

This train of thought is brought to you by a friend of mine who just got married, and then put up a link to her photographer's website.  I got lost on this girl's site one day, just in awe of all the beautiful weddings that she was lucky enough to photograph, and suddenly I found myself wondering what my wedding would have been like.  What kind of dress would I have had, and what kind of flowers?  What would have been my something blue and who would have walked me down the isle?  I've honestly never given it much thought.  I mean, we've been married almost 12 years now, that day has come and gone.  To be honest, I've always thought eloping was the best thing we ever did.  I was the matron of honor at my sister's wedding, and the details alone are enough to make me want to rub my head on pavement.  This was the first time that I can remember ever thinking about what it would have been like.......

Breakdown in Isle 3

For the second time this week (and perhaps my entire life), I cried in Walmart. 

Wednesday night, we ran to Walmart, and they have a salon at the ones here.  Emma desperately needed a haircut, so I took her over while Chip walked around with the other kids.  The lady there does an awesome job on my kids' hair, so I always look fo her.  After we were done, Aubrie throws this massive fit because she wants a haircut now as well.  I figured, since she's four, that like most things, this, too, would pass.  No such luck.  The next day, Aubrie found a pair of scissors and cut her hair.  (Incidentally, these are scissors I've been looking for FOREVER, and have no idea where she found them, but am now pretty sure she's the reason I couldn't find them.....but that's another blog.)  I got all the kids ready to go and headed back to Walmart to get her hair fixed cut. Once we got there, Brenna decides that she also wants a haircut.  Fine.  Two birds with one stone.  Awesome.  Well, Brenna's haircut is a little more complicated than just a simple bob, so her haircut took over an hour.  We were there almost 2 hours before we were done, and I go to the front to pay, only to discover that my debit card is not in my purse or wallet.  Awesome.  The lady, luckily for me, was super nice, and told me I could go home and get it, not a big deal.  But I seriously cried.  I hate feeling like an idiot, or being embarrased in public.  My kids are not always the best behaved and I struggled to keep them wrangled for the 2 hours she cut their hair.  Yes, they're kids and they have the attention spans of ants, but still.  I expect a certain level of discipline, but sometimes that expectation is far from met.  And since I can't beat them in public, they can get out of hand. And after all of that, I couldn't find my stupid debit card.  This is my life, folks. 

Today was a little different, though.  I ventured to Walmart all by myself.  I went in search of the dreaded bathing suit.  (Dum dum dum!)  I hate bathing suit shopping with a passion.  I get mad at myself every time I think of going bathing suit shopping for not keeping better tabs on my suit so I wouldn't have to buy another bathing suit EVER.  I actually found a few that looked decent, and made the mistake of thinking that trying them on was a good idea.  It wasn't.  I cannot express to you how pathetic it feels to cry in the dressing room of Walmart.  So not only do I look and feel fat, but I also look and feel pathetic as well. 

I'm going to be brutally honest here.  I'm not happy with myself.  I haven't weighed this much, except when I was pregnant.  I find it nearly impossible to find time to work out, unless I want to get up really early or stay up super late.  That is slowly changing, as it's summer and I have a friend who has a daughter who can watch the kids for me now.  But I'm mad at myself for letting myself go for so long.  I am not obese by any means, but I'm not healthy, I think, either.  I hate not having energy.  I hate that none of my clothes fit me anymore, and I hate that I have friends losing weight who give me their "fat" clothes........and they fit.  I see friends who have had babies who are at or below their prepregnancy weight and I want to scream.  I know that I will never truly be my "prepregnancy" weight.  I was 19 when I had Brenna, and 116 lbs when I got pregnant with her.  I think it's fair to say that's probably not a realistic or healthy goal for me at this stage of my life. I would settle for 130.   So, at least for now, I'm going to concentrate on what I eat, and at least walking three or four times a week.  I know I need to do it, I know I need to quit making excuses, and dang it, I need to quit crying in Walmart!

My Thoughts About Easter

I have some profound thoughts about Easter.  (Just preparing you.  In case you miss the fact that they are, in fact, profound.)

In my experience, many churches focus on the wrong thing Easter Sunday.  I went to a church once that was HUGE.  They had this major production for Easter Sunday - singing, acting, backdrops, costumes, the works.  The production itself was amazing.  But, in my opinion, it totally missed the mark.  The entire production focused on the death of Jesus.  The DEATH of Jesus.  The crucifixion was a very dramatic scene, with scenes from "The Passion of the Christ" playing in the background.  It was incredibly moving.  And I thought to myself, "Man, if this is how they do the crucifixion, I can't WAIT to see the resurrection!"  Boy, was I in for a let down.  The tomb was empty, and Peter sang this slow, sad song about how could he have doubted Christ, and look at the sacrifice he made..........and the end.  No trumpets.  No dancing in the isles.  No celebration.  Just a sad song of regret at doubting the love of Christ for us. 

Anybody can die.  ( <---- PROFOUND THOUGHT) 

The miracle of Easter is, to me, two parts.  The sacrifice of Jesus laying down his life for all of our sins.  But, MORE IMPORTANTLY, the resurrection.  That Jesus Christ overcame death so that you and I could be truly forgiven of all of our sins and live forever in Heaven.  The miracle of Easter is not only the death of Christ, but the resurrection.  You can't have one without the other.  We buried Christ on Friday, but on Sunday, He rose again.  HE ROSE AGAIN!!  How can you NOT celebrate that?

This Easter, I celebrate the resurrection of Christ.  I celebrate that he overcame death.  I am humbled that he took my place and died a physical death so that I can live with him eternally in Heaven.  But come tomorrow, I'm going to be rejoicing that he is ALIVE. 

"Where oh death is now thy sting?  HALLELUJAH The lamb is ALIVE!!!!!!!!"

Home

If you know me, then you know that when we moved here to Washington, I was miserable.  I started on this long road into depression, and everything in my life took a nose dive.  I changed as a person, our marriage took a hit, and in the midst of this crazy storm called life, I found my way home.

Chip and I are looking for a house.  We have decided to buy a house in this area, and stay for the forseeable future.  We want to plant roots here.  Despite my first reaction to this area, it took me a while to realize that it wasn't the area I didn't like.  Because, let's face it, we're 46 miles from Mt. Rainier, and we are surrounded by moutains that you can see on a clear day.  Looking at Mt. Rainier nearly every day reminds me that you have to go through the valley to appreciate the mountain top.  It is also a humble reminder that if I have faith as big as a mustard seed, that I could MOVE that mountain.  There were a lot of days that I didn't have faith, and even more that felt like the valley would never lead me to that mountain top.  But we're here, I think. I want to make the best choices for my family, and we've made some great friends, we've joined a fabulous church, and we are ready to make the next big step in our lives. 

Now, that said, this is also going to be an interesting journey, seeing as Chip and I are total opposites.  We can't even decide on bedding for our room!  If I like it, then it's a pretty safe bet that he will hate it.  One of the bedding sets that we had, he picked out.  It was beautiful.  And you know what he said?  He went into the store, picked out the set he hated the most, and bought it because he knew I would like it if he hated it!  So, we've started this process, and for the most part, we're on the same page about a lot of things.  The kitchen will make or break a house for us.  Look, I've lived in a lot of crappy army houses.  I'm going to be happy with just about anything.  But the ONE thing I want the most in a house is a nice kitchen.  I'm not picky.  I just want something that we're going to be happy in for a long time.

I'm super excited about finding the house we're going to be in for a really, really long time.  Who knows?  Maybe it'll even have a nice view of that mountain top.  :)

Pictures? Maybe.

I may or may not attempt to upload photos to my blog.  However, if you have me as a friend on FB (and I think all of you that "follow" me do), then you have already seen the pictures.  I was just going to blog about them in more detail. 

About two weeks ago, a friend of ours from church (Scott) asked if Chip and I wanted to go on a weekend trip.  Scott works for Alaska Air, and had some companion passes to use.  He and his wife, Rachel, and another couple (Justin and Jodi) were going to go away for the weekend.  Since we haven't had a night away from the kids since Emma was a baby (almost 6 years, people), we decided to go.  We found sitters for the kids, and Saturday morning we left for Juneau, Alaska.

That's right.  I said Alaska.  Would you believe that there were plenty of seats on the flight to Juneau in the middle of February? 

Our flight to Juneau was only about 2 hours.  I do NOT fly well.  I have many issues with flying.  First would be my issues with control.  I have serious problems handing over my fate to complete strangers.  Second up would be my fear of heights.  And last, but certainly not least, is my motion sickness.  I don't really get physically ill, I just get very nauseated.  I HAVE to sleep, or lay with my eyes closed to focus my thoughts elsewhere.  Any turbulance and I have to redirect my thoughts.  My entire body tenses up.  I hate it.  But, it was such a short flight, and I made it to the flip side without incident.  (Well, except for when I almost crushed Chip's had when it looked like we were landing in heavy fog and about to drop a wing in the water right by the airport.) 

Once we arrived, though, I was fine.  More than fine, I was excited!  We rented a car, so we headed to the rental car area.  You'll also be surprised to know that the Juneau airport really isn't that big.  So you just walk down a flight of stairs and you're in the baggage claim area/rental car area.  We were supposed to get a van, but apparently it got wrecked, so we got  a free upgrade to a 7 passenger ford explorer.  What it lacked in storage room, it made up for with it's 4 wheel drive.  (Seriously, between the 6 adults, we all managed to only take about 5 carry on bags.  And we had to STUFF those strategically in the back of the explorer.  That was one of the vehicles on the list that I considered before we bought our van, and now I'm extremely glad we didn't go that route.  I have no idea how we'd ever go grocery shopping.)

The drive to the hotel was short.  When we got there, it was snowing pretty heavily, and it was super windy.  So the snow wasn't actually coming down - it was coming sideways.  It wasn't really as cold as I thought I'd be, but it was windy.  Our hotel was super cute.  It's like a B&B, but run by Best Western.  It's the smallest "hotel" in their chain.  But it's a house with these huge rooms with awesome bathrooms.

Yes, that's my husband about to pelt me with a snowball.  Lucky for him, I moved.  Isn't it cute?

Somehow we ended up with the "honeymoon" suite.  So that's why there's an extra sitting area.  But all of the other bedrooms, while they don't have a seperate bathroom like this one has, they do have huge bathtubs.  Ours was really deep and pretty wide, but the other rooms have really wide tubs, where you can sit side-by-side.  Either way, they all have jets and it was pretty awesome.  Here's some more pics from the hotel at breakfast the next morning.....

Love the hotel!  I would highly recommend it, you know, if you ever go to Juneau. 

Because of the winds, the power was knocked out when we got to the hotel.  So, we left in search of lunch.  Chip and I were stationed in Alaska, and still have friends in North Pole/Fairbanks, so I contacted Michelle to see if she'd ever been here or knew anyone who had and could recommend somwhere to eat.  Her friend suggested we try a place called the Hanger.  It's in this little strip mall right on the water in downtown Juneau, so we figured we'd give it a try.  The food is fantastic.  I had shrimp and Chip had halibut and it was so good.  If you're ever in Juneau, you should go here.  On the way out, however, we had to walk by this little pizzaria.  Oh. My. GOSH.  Best pizza EVER.  I mean, we wanted to go there just because it smelled so good.  We ended up going there for dinner that night.  We were supposed to go to the ski mountain for a fireworks and light show, but the snow and wind ruined that.  They postponed it until another night.  Boo.

Sunday morning we woke up and decided to take a trip to Mendenhall Glacier.  I admittedly know nothing about this glacier, other than it's near Juneau.  I'm sure you can go to google and look up all the fascinating facts.  We got there early, before the visitor center opened, took some pictures, and then ventured out onto the frozen lake in front of the glacier.  It was really cool.  Some of the glacier had broken off and had frozen in the middle of the lake when the lake froze.  We hiked out to a few spots for pictures, but didn't make it all the way to the glacier.  We got about a football field away from it, when we noticed some changes.  The snow up until that point had been about a knee high on me, and we couldn't even really see the ice under it unless we dug for it.  But once we got past a certain point, the snow was only about ankle height, and not only could we see the ice under it, but it was also very slippery.  I don't know if that means anything, but it kind of freaked me out a little bit, so we turned around and headed back.  But the glacier ice was beautiful....and definately worth the hike out there....

That's the glacier behind us in the distance.

A chunk of glacier....

That's as close as we got.

Another chunk of glacier ice.  I love that color blue!

So after we got done, we went back to downtown Juneau, and across the bridge to get pictures of the city (that's the first picture you see).  We just had a really good time, even if we didn't get to do a whole lot of stuff.  Juneau is pretty much shut down in the winter, as they get most of their business during the summer months.  I mean, who wants to go to Alaska for vaction in the middle of February?!  (Besides us.) 

The one thing that surprised me the most about this trip is how much it affected me.  We've talked about where we want to settle down when Chip retires, and occasionally Alaska comes up.  I mean, let's face it, it really IS beautiful up there.  Cold, yes.  But the summers are amazing and I love the snow.  I can't explain why, but it just felt like I was going home.  I don't know if that's because Alaska is the first place Chip and I lived together, or where we had our first baby, but it just felt like home.  I feel torn because I want so badly to be near family again, but I also feel like THIS is my family.  And maybe it's ok to make a path and a life of our own, and not necessarily down south.  We always said we wanted to go back to South Carolina.  That's always been the plan.  But even Chip is now looking at houses and snow mobiles and all this crazy stuff.  I mean, we're even trying to contact his branch manager to see about getting stationed back there.  It's crazy!  Or, maybe it's not.  Maybe that's where we belong.  I'm all about signs.  And I guess, if the doors open up, then we'll know.  If they don't, then we'll follow whatever path opens up for us.  I just know that I felt like I was home.  And that's big for me.

 

Christmas Memories

I love Christmas.  I love everything about Christmas, from the decorations, to the music, to the spirit itself.  Everything seems better at Christmas.  We all have our favorite Christmas memories, so here are a few of mine.

My first church Christmas pageant.  I'm not sure how old I was,  and I don't remember much about that day.  I was chosen to be Mary, and my cousin, Kevin, was Joseph.  For most of the program, he and I got to sit in a homemade stable, complete with doll-baby Jesus in a homemade manger, and lots and lots of REAL hay.  It was awesome.  Nobody suspected anything.  Until our duet.  Kevin and I sang "Away in a Manger."  I'd been kind of itchy for most of the program and didn't think anything of it.  But the look on my aunt's face told me something wasn't right.  I'd apparently broken out in hives.  We found out that day that I'm allergic to hay.

I still believe in the spirit of Santa Claus.  The spirit of giving to others.  But I'll never forget the night I figured out Santa himself wasn't real.  My bedroom that I shared with my sister was right off the living room.  I heard noises late that night, and quietly got out of bed, hoping that I'd catch a glimpse of Santa himself.  Instead, I saw my aunt and uncle putting presents under the tree.  I just figured they were putting some more out before the next morning, and got back in bed.  The next day, however, I put 2 and 2 together.  The presents they had laid out after we went to bed said "From Santa" on them.  I don't remember a conversation about this revelation, but I don't remember being terribly disappointed either.  It's like, I knew something the other kids didn't.  I figured out the mystery!

My fondest memory of Christmas is family.  I come from a huge family.  My grandmother was one of 6 children, and she had 7 children with my grandfather.  Most of her family lived nearby, and most of her kids did as well.  We'd all gather at great-aunt's and uncle's houses, and at my grandmother's house as well.  Now my uncle's family also had gatherings as well, so we were always at somebody's house.  There was lots of food and laughter, presents and LOVE.  The coolest thing ever was the bag my uncle's mother made for all the grandkids.  She got everyone a huge red santa bag, and decorated them with our names on them.  When we went to open presents at their house, we just put all of our presents in our santa bag.  It was so cool.  One of my other favorite memories was going to my great-aunt Kathleen's house.  I remember the food was in the kitchen, the men were in the den watching a game of some sort, and the women were in the dining room chatting.  There were so many kids, we just ran around and I remember torturing my cousin Jeff in his room.  It was always so much fun.

The Christmas I moved to South Carolina.  It was crazy.  Right before I moved, my church had a Christmas party where we went caroling around the neighborhood.  It was so much fun, but it was sooooo cold!  It was the last night I got to spend with the entire youth group before I moved.  I'm so glad I still keep in touch with most of them.  Those are lifetime friendships that I cherish.

The Christmas that my aunt and uncle got my grandmother's ring fixed.  My grandmother had given me a beautiful pearl and diamond ring right before she died in August of 1998.  I only wore it on special occasions.  Usually that meant to a choir performance, or to a speech meet.  I was a member of the speech and debate team in high school.  At one speech meet, I noticed the pearl was gone.  I was heartbroken.  I had no idea how to go about getting a new pearl, or how much one would cost.  I took it home, and my aunt offered to keep it in her jewelry box for me.  I handed it over, and didn't think about it again until it got closer to Christmas.  My grandfather had called and asked about the ring. I guess he didn't realize grandma had given it to me.  And I started to panic, because the pearl was missing.  How would I ever explain that to him.  My aunt told me not to worry about it, that it would be fine.  But I wasn't convinced.  I remember my anxiety because he was coming for Christmas.  When he got there, he asked to see the ring, and when we went to get it out of my aunt's jewelry box, it was missing!  I about had a heart attack.  The pearl missing was one thing, but now the whole thing was gone!!  At that moment, I just wanted to cry.  On Christmas morning, we all gathered around the tree.  No present really mattered to me.  I would have given an arm and a leg to have my ring back.  My uncle called my name and handed me a little present and I took it and sat down.  I started opening it, and it was a ring box.  My heart skipped a beat.  NO. WAY.  Sure enough, the ring was inside - pearl and all.

Our first Christmas together.  It does not even feel like the first Christmas we spent together was 10 years ago!  We had very little money.  And the one thing I wanted the most that Christmas was a toaster.  I begged for a toaster.  We got each other a few things, wrapped them, and then put them under the tree.  Now, if you know me, you know I am not a patient person, and I hate surprises.  HATE them.  So while Chip was at work, I peeked at my wrapped gifts. One of them was, of course, a toaster.  So a few days later, we were watching tv, and a husband gave his wife an appliance for a birthday present.  And I started a tirade.  "Well that's just dumb.  You should never, ever, EVER give your wife an appliance as a gift, even if she asks for it.  It's just RUDE."  (insert evil grin)  I've never seen him squirm so much!  It wasn't until after Christmas that I told him I knew about the gift, hahaha!  Don't worry - he got me back.  A few years later, he got me a Dooney & Bourke purse for Christmas.  And knowing how I like to peek, he hid it at my friends house.  And I begged, and begged and BEGGED for my present.  So he said one day that he'd go get it, if for no other reason than to shut me up.  He left and came back with a big box.  I was SO excited.  I tore the paper off, and opened the box and...........it was clothes.  Not just any clothes, but my kids clothes that I'd left at my friends house.  That were still dirty.  Yeah, you probably think that's funny.  It's been a few years, and I'm not there yet.  It's still a painful memory.  Laugh it up.

Oh this list could go on and on.  I love that I am making new memories with my kids.  I can't wait to hear their stories one day!  What's your favorite Christmas memory?

Ghost Stories

I knew this was going to happen.  I don't know if it's writer's block, but I have started two blogs this week and haven't been able to finish.  Some days there are so many thoughts swirling around my head that I don't know where to begin.  It's a smogasbord  of random thoughts.  I really need a friend, someone to vent to or just tell all these random thoughts.  But alas, I guess starting and not finishing blogs will have to do for now.  

So this blog is going to be a little on the heavy side.  I find it easier to open up when I'm writing.  It's a good thing I type fast because I have a lot of thoughts for this blog.  Lately I have really been missing some people in my life.  

First is my grandmother.  I swear, I never believed in ghosts until after she died.  I know with all of my being that she is near me.  I have had two experiences that confirm that for me.  The first happened right after Brenna was born.  She had only been gone a few years then, and I missed everyone in my family, since I was up in Alaska by myself with Chip.  It was a rough first month, and I can remember truly missing my grandmother.  I had hoped she'd get to see my children, play with them as she had with me, and teach them all the silly songs she'd taught us as kids.  I missed her so much the first few months after I had Brenna, and I guess I can't really explain why.  One night, I awoke to something.  I'm not sure if it was a sound, or a feeling, but I awoke, startled.  Chip was asleep, Brenna was (finally) asleep, but I had woken up for some reason.  Not finding anything out of the ordinary, I laid back down.  And then it hit me - the scent of my grandmother's perfume.  I hadn't smelled it in years, but it was so distinctive.  It was so strong, that I got up to try and find the source.  No luck.  I didn't have anything of hers that had a scent on it, just a picture or two.  I remember thinking, "Do you see her, grandma?  Isn't she beautiful?"  And then I passed right out, and slept soundly.  

The second incident happened here.  When we first got all of our stuff, I took out a framed picture I have of my grandmother and I in her clown makeup.  She used to work with the kids at the Catholic school, and one of the things she liked to do with them is dress up like a clown.  She had a wig, and all the makeup.  When I was home for Christmas in 2004 when Chip was deployed, my aunt had two pictures framed in one frame; one of my grandmother in full clown getup and one with me in the same thing.  When I unwrapped the frame when we got here, the glass was cracked down the middle.  It was not going to be an easy fix, since the frame was specially made; it was going to have to go to a frame shop and thus was going to have to wait.  I put it up in our closet, waiting for some extra money to fix it.  That was over a year ago.  Last month, I was cleaning out my closet for no particular reason other than it was driving me nuts having so much junk in there.  I picked up the frame, a little heartbroken that it still wasn't fixed.  But when I picked it up and looked at it, the glass was fine!  I asked my husband about it and he swears he didn't have it fixed (and with the amount of dust on it, I believe him."  It's now hanging in my living room.  

My grandmother was more than just a grandmother to me.  I lived with her and my grandfather for several years before she started getting sick.  I always wish I'd been there to say goodbye, but I know that she was gone before her body finally died.  I don't know if this is real or not, but I believe that when someone dies, their spirit looks down on you and knows the things you do and the things you say, if that makes any sense.  So even though I didn't get to say it to her, I know she knows I love her and I know she can see me now and all of my kids.  I just wish they'd gotten to know her.  To sit at her feet and hear her play the piano and sing.  Or to sit and hear her play the church organ.  I wish she could read them Cinderella like she did with me.  I look at all of my cousins and the 20+ great-grandchildren she would have so enjoyed doting on and playing with.  I know she can see us all, but it's not the same.  I just miss her.  Some days more than others. But I love seeing her smiling in her clown makeup every day!

The other person I really miss is my good friend Archie.  Most of you know, in high school I was a peer counselor, and worked closely with Archie for the whole 4 years of high school.  He became a surrogate grandfather to me, and I know I was special to him as well.  When he died last year, it was the first time I'd lost someone that close to me since my grandmother died.  I was heartbroken.  He could have met my kids, but we just never made it home.  I was lucky that I was able to visit with him a few months before he died.  And about a month before he got sick, I kept thinking, "I need to call him."  And I never got around to it.  I can't tell you how many times I've kicked myself for that.  I guess the thing with Archie is, he believed in me.  Not because he had to, but because he could see the me that I always wanted to be and encouraged me to find that person in me.  He always told me how proud he was of me.  I miss hearing that.  I really hope that everyone has at least one person in their life that tells them they're proud of them.  It's important to hear that.  I didn't really realize that until he was gone.  No matter what I did - and I made some pretty bad decisions that affected him and one of his ministries - he still would tell me that he was proud of me and he loved me.  When I didn't think I could face the world after some big mistakes, he stood by me, and didn't judge me, he just loved me.  Archie was an incredible man.  Even now, when I have a decision to make, I think, what would Archie say about this?  Sort of like, WWJD....but on a less official scale.  The first anniversary of his death came and went, but I honestly think about him daily.  

Another ghost story for you, before I sign off.  When I was working with Archie in high school, my aunt and uncle that I lived with had an old VW Rabbit convertible, like an '80 or '81.  When we had it, it was white.  When they decided to sell it, Archie was chomping at the bit to buy it from my aunt.  After he bought it, he painted it candy apple red and it look amazing.  (It always made me wonder why WE never painted it.)  A few weeks ago, I was coming home from somewhere, and it's winter in Washington, so it's been raining for what seems like forever.  But on this day, on the way home, I saw a patch of blue sky.  I turned to look into the sun (Hello, vitamin D!) and as I did, a little read VW Rabbit - Candy apple RED! - zoomed past me.  I smiled.   Hi, Archie.  

Emma

**Disclaimer** 

I'm going to start this post with some events that happened a few years ago.  For close friends and family, you know this story already, but to the new guys, I had to back up to get to the heart of the post.  So bear with me if you've heard this before.

When Emma was almost 4, I took her to our primary care physician because I thought she may have had a speech delay.  I was having better conversations with Aubrie, who was almost 2 at the time, than I was with Emma.  Some of her words were very hard to understand, plus she had a small lisp with her S's, and sometimes she just spoke in gibberish.  Our PCM gave us a referral to a speech pathologist.  We went in for some testing with the speech pathologist, who asked me if I'd ever had Emma tested for autism.  I knew very little about autism at the time, so I told her no.  She told me she suspected that Emma may be what they call a high functioning autistic child.  If you don't know about autism, I'll try to explain it to the best of my knowledge.  It is a social disorder, that has some symptoms that are neurological.  It is a spectrum disorder, meaning it can range from incredibly severe to very mild.  The kids who are very mild are referred to as high functioning.  They may be socially awkward, and can have some learning disabilities, but they can be taught to live a normal, happy life on their own.  The more severe cases require round the clock care and supervision.  The speech pathologist referred us to a child psychiatrist. 

The first visit we had with him, which was just over an hour long, he definitively diagnosed her as autistic, but high functioning.  He immediately put in for her to be tested by the DOE in Hawaii, so that she could be in the special education preschool.  He also set up appointments with us to do a child study program.  In the child study program, they get together a group of children that are to be observed by a team of doctors.  They bring in a child psychiatrist, and a child psychologist, a speech pathologist, a pediatrician and a few others that I can't remember off the top of my head.  They basically see how the kids interact with each other, and how they respond to various taskings and interactions with the doctors.  It's a series of 3, one hour long sessions.  We made it to 2, but missed the 3rd one because Emma was sick.  In between the first session, we had our second appointment with the psychiatrist, I had mentioned to him some aggressive behavior I'd noticed in Emma.  I wasn't sure if the behavior was autism related, or just her being a normal 4 year old, who was truly the middle child, just expressing her frustration.  He told me that it was definitely the autism, and he wanted to medicate her.  I sort of freaked out when he took her to have an EEG done, so that he could prescribe the medication.  I went home and did some research on the medication.  It is used in the treatment of the manic phases of bipolar disorder, the treatment of schizophrenia, and to treat severe behavior problems in autistic children.  I went back to him and told him I was NOT giving her this medication.  He insisted, and I told him that I wasn't convinced she was even autistic, but even if she was, I was not putting my almost 4 year old on a drug like that unless absolutely necessary and we were NOT at that point yet.  He agreed to reviewing the matter later.  

The first round of school testing began, and they did several things.  I can't remember everything they did, but the speech pathologist from the school district pulled me aside after her testing and asked me what exactly we were testing Emma for.  I told her she'd been diagnosed autistic, and the doctor wanted her in preschool.  The speech pathologist looked at me like I had 4 heads!  She told me that she was very surprised that they were testing Emma for autism, because she showed no signs of it in her session.  In my gut, I knew this diagnosis was a quick one.  Autism is a spectrum disorder.......how in the WORLD do you come to that conclusion after ONE visit?  After all the testing in the school district was finished, the testers sat down with me and gave me their decision - they were not recommending Emma for special ed preschool.  And I was advised (off the record) to get a second opinion on her autism diagnosis.  

The second doctor we saw was another primary care physician.  He assured me that just from what he saw in his office that he wouldn't even recommend her for another consult.  From the way she was behaving and interacting with him in his office, he would say he was reasonably sure that she was not autistic, but that she did have some learning delays.  At this point we were getting ready to PCS to Washington, so I put everything on hold until we moved here.

Since we live off post here, we were allowed to be seen off post.  I made an appointment at our pediatric clinic, and met with an RN whose specialty is child behavior.  I brought Emma in, and again, she could see no neurological or other reason why Emma would be considered autistic.  She said she would put in a recommendation to a child psychiatrist if I wished, but she felt that just from that one visit that she was too far along in so many areas (socially, neurologically, behaviorally) to be considered autistic.  When I came home that day, I sat down with Chip and we agreed that we would just wait until Emma started school.  If there really was an issue, that's the place it would rear it's head.

When she started kindergarten back in September, I waited.  I was waiting for a call from the teacher, SOMETHING to indicate we might have issues.  But no call came.  On Wednesday, we had our first parent/teacher conference.  She showed me all of Emma's work, showed me her progress, and asked if I had any questions.  So I asked, "Do you see anything that makes you think Emma could be autistic?"  Her response?  Well after she stopped laughing, she asked if I was serious, and I said yes.  I briefly explained what we had been told and she shook her head.  No way.  In her 23 years of teaching kindergarten, she had some experience in this area, and she was just shocked that Emma was ever considered autistic.  She told me she would call in the counselor during class one day, and ask her to observe Emma, but she would only do that if I really wanted it because she saw no indications at all that Emma was autistic.  

So then, what was it?  I think I can pinpoint a few things that brought everything on.  First, Chip deployed that year.  I did NOT handle that deployment well.  Which I'm sure my kids picked up on.  Second, I was pregnant with another baby.  When Camden was born, Emma became THE middle child.  She has two older siblings and two younger siblings.  Third, she was almost 4.  Not quite a big kid, but not a toddler anymore either.  I think just this combination is hard enough for an adult to deal with, so imagine having to do it as a child.  She DID have some learning delays.  Which is probably what caused a lot of her frustration.  Imagine being the middle child and not being able to communicate effectively.  Emma does have some quirks, she can be a little odd and very in your face.  But that is more personality than autism.  

I think back on when the first doctor wanted to medicate her.  I am so glad that I stuck to my guns and refused.  I'm not against medicating my children IF they need it.  But I just felt that she didn't need it.  More than that, I felt like the doctor was treating her based on what he'd done with every other child he'd worked with, and NOT treating her based on what was best for HER.  

So for now, I'm fairly confident that she is not autistic.  Her teacher is aware of this concern, so if anything comes up, she will inform me and I guess we'll go from there.  This has been such a long an frustrating journey.  Autism is hard to diagnose, but to be wrongly diagnosed I think is even worse.  I want what is best for her, and I guess as a parent you just always want clear answers and treatment, and that is not always the case.  

Rambling Fool

Since I haven't blogged in a week or so (more maybe?) this blog is likely to just be a jumble of babbling.  Sorry about that.  I have many, many thoughts swirling around my head, and I'm extremely tired.  Fair warning.

So let's talk about me being tired.  I can't sleep.  I just lay in bed with a million thoughts going around and around.  Plus I have this fantastic head cold.  Which leads to that little tickle you get in the middle of your throat, and then the coughing.  Oh the coughing!  It's not actually doing anything except perhaps scratching your throat because you don't have anything to cough up.  I toss and turn, thinking and coughing.  It's a vicious cycle.  And it keeps me up all night long.  I usually fall asleep right as my kids decided it's time to wake up.  That usually happens around 5ish.  I'm pretty sure my kids hate me.

We went to church last Sunday, and as we were about to head out the door to go home, one of the guys from our Sunday school class flagged me down and invited me to lunch with his family and two other families.  For those of you who are not Nazarene, you won't understand how we can't go a single Sunday without worship, food, and a good ol' Nazarene nap.  We had a great time getting to know a few of the families. One of the couples is from Ohio, and I sense a kinship with Jodi, that only midwest girls can share.  Hopefully she felt it, too.  Wow that sounded stalkerish.  I'm just so excited about this church.  Yesterday we had a potluck at church (see - FOOD) and again got to meet and chat with some other families.  I just feel like this is where we need to be.  

Last night I went to choir practice, and I'm pretty sure that this is one of the things I've been missing big time in my life.  There are probably a good many of you who do not know that I love to sing.  L-O-V-E to sing.  When I was in high school, I was in two performing choirs and I loved every minute of it.  I don't think I have the voice to be a soloist, but I can sing in a group with the best of them.  I haven't sang regularly for a purpose in a really, really long time.  I miss it.  When I was in Hawaii, I even looked for like a community adult choir, but never really found anything that looked appealing.  Sure, I sing in the shower, in the car, while I'm cleaning, or anywhere else I feel I can get away with it without looking like a fool.  But now I can do it with a purpose.  It amazed me how much I retained from high school choir.  We used to practice, sitting up straight, both feet on the floor.  I wasn't familiar with all of the music, but I was still able to catch on, and rather quickly.  This is totally my niche in life.  And the choir opened me with open arms.  Which is huge.  Most church choirs, this late into the year, are preparing for the Christmas program.  There's only a few short weeks until their program is supposed to go on, so it would probably be frowned upon to have new members start this early.  But these guys just said, the more the merrier!  Here's a book, here's the CD to learn it, Welcome!  It makes me feel even more like we were led here for a reason.  We were just going to visit!  I had no intentions of finding a church home.  I didn't even think we were looking for a church home.  But we found one.  

As exciting as that is, I have to admit that I'm a little apprehensive.  I haven't been a member of a church in a really long time.  Last time I was, I was a kid.  It feels different as an adult.  I can't explain why, it just does.  Maybe because, as a kid, we were pretty much told what to believe.  Now as an adult, after life and experiences, I have my own set of beliefs.  I was talking to a friend of mine about how I was afraid to go back because a lot of what I believe doesn't necessarily match up with the church's beliefs.  I mean, can you go to church and still be pro-choice?  Can you go if you believe in same-sex marriage?  It occurs to me I'm afraid of judgement.  I have seen the judgmental christians, and they are vicious and harsh.  I can't stand that.  (Is THAT a judgment?)  But I decided that I would go.  If I am judged, that's not on me.  I am not there to please other people, I'm there for the kind of relationship I want with God, and if I go with an open heart and mind, then I will learn whatever it is I need to learn.  

More random thoughts include......

Chip is leaving for Virginia in January.  It's only for 2 months.  And it's NOT a deployment.  But I'm still dreading it.  My kids lately have been driving me crazy.  There are days when I count down the hours until he gets home so I can have 5 minutes of peace.  I know I'll be fine, and the kids will be fine.  I just don't like it.  I know he has to do it, and when he does, it means so much for his career.  His first look for E7 is next March (2012).  But what he really wants to do, is go warrant.  For my non-military friends, he wants to be a warrant officer.  Warrant officers are the ranks between enlisted and officers.  E1-E9 are enlisted ranks, so he'd be above that, but since he doesn't have a degree, he'd be under the rank of officers.  It's a little more pay, a LOT more respect, and it will be great for us when he retires.  

Do you guys know that he retires from the army in just 7 years?  That seems crazy to me!  We're already trying to plan it!  We're looking at probably going to the Columbia, SC area.  Most of Chip's family is in the Carolinas, not to mention some of mine, and then it's only about a day's drive to Indiana, where most of my family is.  We also have close friends in NC, so it will be perfect.  We figured we'd try to get near Columbia, since all of the kids will still be in the house.  We'd still be able to go to the commissary and PX.  Plus it's about smack in the middle between his family in Charleston, and our families in Anderson/Fletcher.  We've been looking at houses, and are so happy that in what we think would be our price range that we have a lot of options.  I think I want an older house that's been mostly updated, with a large yard and lots of trees.  They have a lot of newer houses but the lots are smaller and the developments have few trees that look like they were planted when they built the houses.  I love big old trees, and the shade they provide.  Plus I love the look of the old brick houses.  I wouldn't mind doing a little work (painting and such) but I don't want anything that we'll have to completely overhaul.  Kitchens will be a deal breaker.  We've had some pretty crappy army housing kitchens, and while I know you can sometimes change the floor plan, it's just not something I think we'll want to undertake when we first get out.  Painting the kitchen, maybe even replacing cabinets or counter tops, or appliances, those might be doable.  But to completely gut any part of the house is not going to do it for me.  I guess that's one of the advantages of being in so many houses - we pretty much know what we want and what we don't.  

I guess that's enough for today.  If you've made it this far, give yourself a cookie.  

Would You Look At That

After just 24 hours, I have followers!  That's very exciting.  And at the same time, I feel a little pressured.  Like I have to keep my followers happy.  Yes, I'm neurotic.  You knew this, or you wouldn't be here.  It's part of why you love me, and you and I both know it.  So let's see.....the topic for today shall be........

Going to church.  (Looks around the room for low flying shoes.)  Yes, I picked a topic that may or may not be controversial to some.  My blog, my topics.  Ha!

Many of you know that I did not live with my parents growing up.  From age 7- 14 I lived with my dad's sister.  She had a big family of her own, and I looked forward to siblings and a place to call home.  My aunt, who was raised catholic, was now a member of a Nazarene church.  We went twice on Sunday and then on Wednesday nights as well.  I'll be honest, I wasn't interested so much in God or being "saved."  Church was where my friends were.  The friends I had didn't go to school with me, didn't really live near me, so I only got to see them on Sundays.  THIS is why I went to church.  Well, what I looked forward to anyway.  Oh, I gave my soul to God, tried to read the bible and tried to act like a Christian should.  But my main focus was my friends.

When I was 14, I went to live with my dad's other sister.  They went to a Catholic church, but not regularly, and it was not a requirement for me to go.  So, being the teenager I was, I didn't.  It was like a complete 180 for me.  I never really gave going to church much thought.  I was involved in 2 choirs, volunteering at a crisis center, and somehow that meant to me that I didn't really need to go to church, since I was helping other people and living right.  I knew what I believed, I knew the lines I wouldn't cross (or shouldn't) and tried my best to stay within those boundaries.  We all make mistakes.  I'm not going to say I didn't make any because Lord knows I did.  But going to church was not a priority.

When Chip and I got married, I was vaguely aware of the fact that he was Mormon.  He was not a practicing Mormon, so this really didn't mean so much when we got married.  It was only after I found out I was pregnant with Brenna that we started talking about going to church when we had discussions about how to raise our child.  I knew nothing about the Mormon religion.  I'd been told several things by well-meaning people, but in their efforts to "warn" me, it became clear that they also knew nothing about the Mormon religion as well.  I did my own research.  I contacted the church, and we were visited regularly by the missionaries.  Long story short (and believe me, I could probably write a book about this topic), I decided the Mormon church was not for me.  I had some issues with some of the core beliefs and there are things you have to do to be a member of this church that I just wasn't willing to do.  After the first deployment, Chip wasn't really that enthusiastic about going to church - ANY church - so we instead just settled on not going.  We hadn't gone to any church for a very long time.

Moving to Washington state afforded us the opportunity to live off post.  And we jumped at the chance!  We have lived on post both in Alaska and Hawaii, and now that we could afford to live off post, and in a nice neighborhood, in a nice HOUSE, we jumped at the chance.  Making friends was a little more difficult, as you don't have the army community surrounding you.  We slowly met our neighbors, and luckily, they are all very friendly.  It makes me sad that we just can't stay here.  One of the things you learn very quickly on an army base is that good neighbors are worth their weight in gold.  While it may have taken us a little while to really get to know everyone (and that is our doing because there are so many crazy military families, lol), we are fortunate that we get to live in such a friendly cul-de-sac.  Anyway, one of the ways we thought about making new friends was by going to church.  We weren't really interested in another Mormon church, so I looked online and found the local Nazarene church.  What really got Chip hooked was their motorcycle ministry.  The pastor of the church has a harley, and so do several members, so in the summer they organized rides.  They would ride to a designated spot, usually within an hour or two of here, and then have a devotional.  Chip went on two rides, before he wrecked his bike on one ride, and it was too late in the season to ride once it was fixed.  We went for about 2 1/2 months, but eventually stopped going.  The church we were going to was very large.  We felt a little out of place.  Mostly no one talked to us, and no one really seemed to notice when we didn't come back.

Last Sunday, the pastor from the church I attended when I was a kid was preaching at a Nazarene church about 20 minutes from our house.  I haven't seen Pastor Bullock in probably 9 years.  His daughter and I have been friends since they came to our church when I was 12.  She and I have been best friends ever since.  (We joke about it now, because when we were kids, we fought all the time.  It wasn't until we became adults that we really became close.)  I jumped at the opportunity to hear him preach.  Even though I didn't always pay attention to his sermons when I was younger, I remember vividly his enthusiasm and his passion.  I couldn't pass up this chance to catch a glimpse of that again.  We packed up the family and went to this church.  We were instantly greeted by 4 or 5 people.  They gave us name tags, had us sign the guestbook, and showed us the way to the kids' classes.  Pastor Bullock knew I was coming, and apparently shared with one of the members of the praise team that I used to sing.  So I was approached to possibly sing with them.  If ever we needed a sign to point us to where we needed to be, walking into that church was definitely it.  We were welcomed by many open arms.  I can't tell you how many people came up to us to greet us, introduce themselves, and invite us back.  It isn't the largest church, but big enough.  The sermon was fantastic.  Chip said he felt like we should come back.  The kids enjoyed their classes.  So tomorrow, we're going to go back.  I really hope it goes well.

Blogger Bandwagon

I have been blogging for a long time now.  I discovered this awesome site called xanga about 5 or 6 years ago.  Most of you who know me well know that I am an opinionated person.  What blogging has allowed me to do is put thoughts, feelings, sarcasm, and wit in writing.  I love to write.  I love to draw in an audience.  Part of my problem with blogging, however, is that I get bored.  Or I think my writers get bored.  Who wants to follow the aimless babbling of a stay at home mom of five?  Who cares what my kids did, how my husband is driving me nuts, or how most days I feel like the world hates me?  But alas, I find it time to tap into the depths of my inner being and put it all out there for you to read.  Or be bored by.  I am officially a blogger again and I'm jumping on this blogger bandwagon.  Several people I've been following on here for a while.  A few new ones have popped up, so I figured what the heck.  Here goes nothing.  I make no promises.  I may be as bored tomorrow with it as I have been for the last, oh, 2 years.  I pop in on xanga every once in a while, when I just can't take it anymore.  But I think I'll try to stay here.  Maybe being in one spot will help.

If you haven't noticed, I tend to jump around in thought.  I make no apologies for this, as I have five kids, and random thoughts and interruptions happen regularly.  I will try to keep to one topic as much as I can, but I can't guarantee anything.  One of the reasons I'm blogging again is lack of adult conversation.  So, there's a lot of thoughts to muddle through.  It will probably take me days to finish a single blog until I get into the swing of it again.  So bear with me.  I'm usually very entertaining once I get going.

Lack of adult conversation.  *sigh*  I've discovered over the last 2 years that adult conversation is highly underrated.  I've never lacked for conversation before.  I have a big family, and lots of friends.  Being in the army life, you learn to make friends quickly, and most of the ones I've made have become lifelong friends.  I have friends all over the country, and in this age of technology, keeping in touch isn't as hard as it used to be. No longer do I have to sit down and hand write a letter, I can just shoot out a text or a "hey you" on facebook.  I do, however, try to write letters still.  The written word is becoming almost obsolete and that bothers me.  But that's another topic for another day.  Moving to Washington, we decided to live off post.  I don't know very many people here.  The friend I talked to every single day now has a full time job.  And now, since I don't get to talk to her, I usually go all day without talking to another adult.  Now, don't get me wrong, I love my kids, and I love hearing about their day at school or playing with the little ones while the older three are at school.  But sometimes, I like to use adult words.  About adult topics.  WITH ANOTHER ADULT.  I have neighbors that I could probably bug.  When (and if) they're home.  But I feel like I'm bothering them.  My poor husband walks through the door at night and hardly gets a word in edgewise.  I ask how his day is like it's the most fascinating thing EVER, so I am impatient and can't keep my mouth shut.  Plus, if you know me, you KNOW I love to talk.  A. LOT.  I feel bad for him.  Poor guy hardly knows what hits him.

So, now you get to hear the randomness that are my thoughts.  Hopefully you'll leave comments!