Mary Had A Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb. But Missy has a little dog.
Well.  Not that little, really, at 50 pounds, but Her dog seems to have other things in common with Mary's lamb.  Like being soft and fuzzy.  And wanting to follow his mistress to school.
We are lucky enough to live within walking distance of both Sister's schools.  Today Miss and I had dropped Little One off and were heading to preschool, when we were surprised at being charged by a big brown dog.  Who happened to be ours.
I told him to go home, at which he looked surprised, but turned to obey.  I watched him run across a green space and up a hill, where he made a valiant effort to get back into our yard through the hole he had dug under the fence.  He tried, but could't wriggle in.
So he just looked at me helplessly, a little guiltily, until I sighed.  "Ok then, X.  Come on."
He bounded over like he had just won christmas.
Little Miss, who had been complaining of the cold, of her feet being tired, of "please-carry-me-I-need-be-unner-yoh-ja-cket" was suddenly and miraculously cured of Her ills.
We backtracked a block to pick up his leash, and then he followed us to school.

X has never been a runner.  He is the dog who, as a puppy, stayed in our front courtyard during the day.  One day, a parcel deliveryman left the front gate open while J and I were at work- all day. When we finally got home, there was X, wagging his tail on the doormat.

There have been times he has jumped fenced before.  Always to get to the front door, where he waits expectantly to be invited inside, where he knows he belongs.

Until he developed a serious grouchiness with other dogs in his middle age, we never even bothered walking him on a leash.  He likes to be near his people.

The great tragedy of X's life was Little One's asthma.  Little One is allergic to dogs (of course).  A lick in the face gives Her a swollen eye that could compete with a bar fight injury.  She does pet and cuddle Her doggies, but always at the price of sneezing, wheezing, itching, and hives.  Dog time is always followed by wash time.
When She was three, She began to have serious trouble with asthma.  It was the dogs.
Numerous doctors have told us, in no uncertain terms, to "get rid of them".  But we couldn't.  Just couldn't.  So we tried everything; we restricted them to one part of the house, away from Little One's room.  We shaved their fur and bathed them every week, washed their beds every few days, vacuumed the house twice a day, and had HEPA filters all over the house.  Little One took a daily inhaler and a daily allergy medicine.
She was still needing Her rescue inhaler a couple of times a week.
So with heavy hearts, we built them a dog house in the back yard.  Within two weeks, Little One stopped having asthma attacks.  Soon She didn't need any of those medicines.  We couldn't argue with that.
So X and E became something none of us ever expected- outside dogs.  In Virginia they had reign over the yard and garage, but this house has no garage.  There is a storage room in the basement, and when we moved in it became the "dog room" for them to sleep in at night or during bad weather.
But just a few weeks in, Little One began having breathing trouble again.  Just having the dogs walk through Her playroom twice a day to get in and out was enough to affect Her health.
So we have converted the shed in the back into a behemoth dog house.  We fitted it with a dog-door, and they have their beds, their bones, their basket of toys in there.  They will have heated pads to curl up in when the weather gets cold.  But we still miss each other.
With the all-consuming life of babies and toddlers, we are sure they have felt quite neglected for some time.  But we've found a new turn of events now that the Sisters are six and three-and-a-half.
The dogs still don't get anywhere as much attention from me and J as they did before their banishment.  But, like all siblings in large families, they now get it from the other kiddos.
Miss and Little One play with them in the yard, throwing things for them, running with them, playing around and cuddling them.  They are now old enough to walk the dogs, holding the leashes themselves while I hold Mr, making their attendance possible on family strolls.  They seem to be reintegrating into the family in a new way, and the bond between the dogs and the children is pretty sweet to see.

It's why our otherwise well-behaved, never-been-a-runner dog X plotted an escape- to walk his girl to school.  It's why he greeted Miss first when he ran up to us.  And why he wagged his tail all the way to drop off- and whimpered all the way home.
Yesterday, Little Miss spent two hours in the back yard mixing mud and decorating a beautiful, elaborate "cake" for X, to celebrate his tenth birthday.

It's hard to believe it's been a decade since I held a tiny flop-eared puppy on my shoulder and whispered him a promise that I was taking him out of that county shelter and would take care of him forever.

Looking back over those years, I remember how he stood guard at my bedroom door every night when I was pregnant with Little One.  I remember how he herded her into the room with us when she was toddling around, how he he loved going down the slide with both girls at the playground and letting the neighborhood kids throw sticks for him or mob him to wash him together in the summers. I remember that time a foster puppy got out and I could not catch her- then I let X out and he rounded her up and shepherded her home.

X with the foster puppy he rescued

 
 There have been times I've watched a Little lean into his fur and cry quietly, and know that it helped them because I've done the same.  I remember the time all the houses on our row of town homes got robbed one night- except ours.  The time when J was deployed that he and E barked so ferociously in the middle of the night, and then the police knocked to tell me that a neighbor had seen a man trying to break in- who didn't.  I realize that while I've kept my promise to feed and shelter him, maybe he's the one who has taken care of me.
On the tenth birthday of the member of our family who was sort of our first baby, I maybe should have scolded my dog for digging a hole under the fence and wriggling through to chase us to school.  But I can't help thinking that he wasn't doing something wrong, so much as righting a wrong.  After all, he ended up right where he should be.
By our side.

 

Excuse The Mess

You know how some people wear their heart on their sleeve?
I'm not that into fashion.
But I do wear my head, on my house.
That might not make total sense.  It's because my head is a hot mess right now.  You could tell that, if you came over.  The best way to tell how I'm doing, really, is to look at the inside of my house.  It's pretty much always an accurate reflection of the state of my mind.  If my home is neat and tidy, organized with maybe some fresh flowers on the table, all is well friends.  When it's looking unkempt,  you can bet that I'm feeling scattered myself.
At the moment, this place is an actual disaster.  I am half expecting FEMA to knock on the door one of these afternoons.  There are mounds of (at least clean) laundry on the sofa, piles of papers on various surfaces, stuff everywhere.  Peanuts.  I have not cleaned the upstairs bathroom in over a week.  True story.  It's that bad.
It might have to do with the fact that in the last month, the following:

*Miss's birthday party
* Trip to Maryland for the funeral
*We found out that we are moving back to DC (oh, hi, by the way- we are moving to DC. In two weeks.)
* Two trips to DC for me and Mister to look for schools and houses
* Two houseguests
* Easter- including hosting an Easter brunch and egg hunt at our house (because why not)
* Family trip to DC for school interviews and orientation
* Yard Sale (meaning- I tore the house apart ferreting out things to get rid of, stockpiled them in the garage, then organized, folded, labeled everything, and sold it.  Because I'm crazy.)
* Some birthday parties for the kids' friends
And now we are:
*Preparing for a big goodbye party so we can say a farewell to our local friends.  At our house of course.  I suppose I'll have to feed the FEMA people, too.
* Packing  and planning for MOVING in TWO WEEKS, which really snuck up on me there.
* Packing and planning for a six week road trip (yes, I said that) in between here and moving in.  A road trip so epic, it includes packing for both snow and 110 degree temperatures.  Not to mention enough rattles, sticker sheets, books, and snacks to keep three Littles happy along the way.  And the camping gear we will be living in much of the time.  Have I mentioned that with three car seats in, we have about 12 inches of trunk space?  What could possibly go wrong?!
* All the One Last Things that one feels compelled to do just before leaving a place and it's people for good.

This wasn't my favorite duty station.  Frankly, I think I never really forgave it for being the place I had to survive in while J was deployed.  But it's grown on us slowly, and we have found some friends we are really going to miss.  But such is the Navy life.  We move on.

And anyways.  We have to move before the house is condemned.  You know, one really nice thing about the prospect of having no house to live in for six weeks, is the prospect of having no house to clean for six weeks.  Freedom is coming, Peanuts!

The amount of things I need to organize and take care of first are piling up in my brain like the laundry on the couch.  I don't know how either will ever get in order, but I know now, from experience, that they somehow just will.
In the Navy, sailors learn that there is a calm before a storm.  But their spouses are more familiar with the inverse phenomenon that occurs here on the home front- the storm before the calm.  While we ride this one out, forgive the fact that it looks like a hurricane has hit my living room.  And my hair.  In a couple of too-short weeks, the mess will be packed up, so will I, and I'll be logging stories from the serenity of the open road.
Even a neat-freak like me has to admit it; sometimes, especially when it means an adventure is closing in, getting messy is fun. 

Veteran's Day

My Veteran

Just over a year ago we were standing on a dock, waiting to welcome J back home.  In the moments just before we saw him, when the sailors began filing down the gangway, everything that had been forced behind doors and under stones in my heart rose like floodwater and began to sting my eyes.  All the worry, the hope, the proud moments and the weak ones.  I will never forget that moment, the one in which it seemed ok to let those things exist because it was going to be over.
We're a lucky family.  J has been gone only once, not for too long, and he came back. Since that moment I have never stopped being thankful for that, and never stopped crying a little in the deep parts of my heart for all the families who are not so fortunate.
For me, though Veteran's Day has always mattered, it will never be the same. This year, I took time to be extra thankful both for J, for the fact that we were able to spend the day together, and for the sacrifices made by those who never will be tangible to their families again. We celebrated all this deep meaningfulness (and also the fact that J got the day off) by taking a trip to Montecello.
We picked apples in an impossibly picturesque orchard on a hill, and then learned all about one of the most influential men in our nation's history- Thomas Jefferson- by touring his home and museum. A fascinating character.  In interesting estate.  A lot of hard questions to answer like "what's a slavery?"  It was a full, educational, and lovely day for us all.

Hot Cider!

This Beat Is Bananas

The Department of Human Services cares about me.
It cares in a diefied way, an omniscient way.  It cares about my deeper being; my long-term character development.  It wants me to be all I can be.
I know this because days like today, I feel confident that DHS knows me.  It knows my soul.  My flaws.  DHS knows that I am an impatient person.  That I am a type A, lets-get-things-done, according-to-plan person.  It knows that I have raging Mama-bear tendencies when it comes to any child within detectable existence, much less those in my care, and that rage is bad.  Rage and impatience and all of that.
DHS is like a swami, people.  It knows.
That, I am certain, is why it goes to such loving, meticulous lengths to help me overcome these character flaws, by giving me such extreme and mandatory opportunities to practice patience.  And changing of plans.  Three times.  Eight times.  16 times.  To practice not becoming ballistic when seven different people make mistakes in one day and all of them adversely affect my babies.  Rage is not a good thing.  Not a good thing.  Ooooommmmm.  DHS has even given me a mantra!
After spending three hours waddling back and forth across every wing of a hospital while pushing a decrepit double-wide stroller with one trick wheel and simultaneously balancing a two-year old on my pregnant belly, after SIX HOURS of waiting rooms and car seats with three, and then four children and NO LUNCH for anyone, after over a dozen fruitless phone calls, I can say for sure.
DHS cares about me extra today. 
How they managed to throw in the exploding diarrhea child and the vomiting baby I really don't know.  But after today I feel confident they had it all covered.  It's the omniscience.
Now it could possibly be the strained muscle from hauling a pack and play upstairs with a child on my back, but I don't think so.  I think it's just growing pains, you know, from all the personal growth.  I'm feeling it!  Thanks DHS.  I practiced patience all day.  Keep it up! Keep it coming!  Someday I'll learn.  Ommmmmmmmm. 

Bananas In Pajamas

So awhile ago, J left to go bobbing about the sea on a boat again.  Not for long, just for a bit.  Such is the Navy life.  Wouldn't you know it, he'd been gone just a day when I got a call saying there was an emergency need for two Bananas to find a place to sleep.  Four kids under five, on my own, 7 months pregnant can't be that hard, right?  Right?  ....hello?...... Right.
So they came.  In their pajamas, just in time to meet us, wonder what they'd gotten into, and go to sleep.   They've been playing and sleeping and eating and reading with us since.  After spending today at a farm/playground AND a shopping trip through a packed commissary with the lot of them, I can honestly say these things:

1) Ok, friends with large families, ok.  I always thought maybe you were being a little unfriendly, a little sensitive.  But no, really, it gets super obnoxious really fast when every other random stranger in public has some comment or invasive question about the kids you are hauling.  I mean, seriously. Call me crazy again and I will show some crazy TO you, people! 

2) The question "are they all yours?" is particularly common and particularly awkward when, no, they aren't- but, well, kind of- and anyways they are listening and probably would not love being pointed out as Not Belonging seven times a day.  So I'm going with "aren't they sweet?" as an answer. And then just laughing as they look at my belly, and the baby, and then the belly, and just stand there doing math in their heads and looking confused.

3) There needs to be a minivan version of shopping carts.

4)  Four Under Five are not that hard.  Even pregnant, even J-less.  In fact,

5) It's pretty fun.  There are a lot of extra giggles around here.  Lots of them are mine.

6) There may be nothing more inspiring than the way children can instantly accept and love each other.  What is wrong with adults that we can't do that?

7) I'm tired.

In fact, I'm too tired to make it to 10.  Let's assume it would have been something funny and/or insightful.  And on that note, I will make like my kids and the bananas, put on some pajamas, and go to bed.  There will be adventures waiting and giggling to do in the morning, I'm sure. 

How I've Been

I'm good, yep.  Thanks for asking.
Better than I was the last time I posted in October.
Because after that, I got so crazy and sleep-deprived by single-parenting that I had to check into a mental health clinic and I've been convalescing there until now.
Or.  I pined away for J so terribly, that I succumbed to my broken heart and leaped from a bridge into icy water and have spent the last three months in a full-body cast.
Or.  The children finally ran wild and went all Lord of The Flies on me and I just got out of the hallway closet where I've been bound with sequined hair ribbons and living on cheerios slipped under the door.
Or. I threatened to take out the entire US military if they changed the dates for J's return trip one more time, and they could see I was dang serious and I've been in the brig.
Or I got really tired of missing J and didn't know how to talk about anything else, and then he came home and I was too happy to talk about anything else than that, and then there was SO much to talk about I didn't know where to start.  
Those are all perfectly likely and you may take your pick. 
But in any case, he did come back.  Little One turned four. Little Miss became a real walking, talking, hilarious person. There were holidays and tragedies and mudfights and quite a lot of photographs. 
I might get some up here just to dispel any rumors about my whereabouts. 
In the meantime, though, being so far away from friends and family while J was missing did teach me the value of any thread at all that can keep me connected to people out there.  And I miss being able to look something up on here in order to cheat at bets with J when we can't quite remember where we were last Thanksgiving.  So I think I'll give this thing another go, and see if anyone out there still wants to hold the other end of the thread. 
So the short of the long story is that we are all fine! And, I miss you. 

Very brief update

So, deployment. 
Over it.

Excellent.

*TMI, icky stuff post.  You're warned. 

It's also unnecessarily long, but some of you have asked me about my thoughts on potty training.  

So, ha.  That's what you get for asking!*

Folks.  It's Potty Time. 
Many of you know that I have strong opinions about potty training.  Two, specifically.

1) Yes, kids can be potty-trained well before their second birthday.  Don't tell me they can't; they can.  It's not that hard, either, and yes they can.  Yes they can.

2)The limiting factor in potty training is primarily the parent's potty-training-readiness, not the child's.  And further.  That is a perfectly acceptable limitation. 

In the case of Little One, I did potty training in the method I put together over years of observation and experience with other people's kids, that works for me.  I started early, went slowly, did not ever force, and used a combination of no diapers and positive reinforcement for the final push through to consistently dry undies. 
The thing is (in my opinion of course) if you start really early, potty training just sort of happens early as a matter of course.  Alternatively, you can wait until the child is like three or four and just make a deal or convince them to one day decide to make the switch. 
But the age most of us parents are ready, is the in-between.  The twos.  The age when all children are pre-programed to oppose and resist anything we tell them to do.  When their innate reaction to everything we say is "NO." How does this make sense? No wonder so many people describe potty training as a nightmare.
Ha.  Well.  With Missy. About the time I knew we should be introducing the idea, we were getting ready for moving and deployment.  And then those things came, and, well.  See number two, above.  This Mama was just not ready for the time and effort it takes to teach such a skill. 
And so my recent efforts to broach the subject have not gone over well.  Miss had learned- from me- that the place you "go" is a diaper.  So, when I stripped Her of that, She would just...not go.  She would hold it for hours and hours, all morning guys, until nap time when finally I put Her in a diaper.  There were plenty of times She needed to pee and so She went and fetched Herself a diaper and brought it to me.  Or followed me around doing the pee-pee dance, begging me for a "di-di" so She could go.  And there was the time She gave up on me, and just went and got a diaper, spread it out on the floor, sat on it, peed, and went back to Her puzzle.  She flat refused to even sit on the potty- unless it was cleverly disguised as a reading chair!  In which case She used it for just that. 
I was beginning to think that I was seriously going to have a two year old in diapers. 
Then one day. 
She came to me.  She had a clean diaper in one hand.  She had two clean wipes in the other.  She handed them to me, laid down on the floor.  And said, "Mommy, Miss poo-poo.  All icky.  Wipe, pees!"
And I was like.  Ok seriously.  It. Is. Time. 
But first of all, there was that missed window.  And secondly, this Missy.  Wow guys.  She is fiercely independent and stubborn.  So I needed a plan. 
I thought about it.  I decided to use two of Miss's most prevalent attributes; that independence, and Her intense desire to do everything Her sister does. 
First I gave up on the little potty.  I don't use it, Little One doesn't, and Miss does not appreciate being babied.  I dug out the seat Little One had used as an older toddler, the little seat with the attached step that goes right on the real potty, so She can climb up by Herself and not fall in. 
I showed Missy how it worked.  Hmm.   She was intrigued.  I left it out during school hours, let Missy check it out and get used to it.  Then after school, we had a bathroom pow-wow.  First, Little One showed Missy how to use the new seat.  We made a big deal over how cool and grown up it was.  Then I looked my too-smart-for-my-own-good daughter in the eye, and explained to Her in a cheerful but fully adult tone of voice, that mommy and sissy do not wear diapers.  We do not potty in our undies.  Big girls go in the potty.  Missy is getting to be a big girl, too.  If She goes in the potty, She can have a cookie, like a big girl. 
At the word "cookie", Her eyes got very big.  I try not to introduce refined sugar before the age of two.  So Miss is not typically allowed cookies. And sometimes, She has to see Little One get a cookie, and hear that She is not old enough yet.  So the cookie (actually a tiny chunk of a digestive biscuit) is a Big Deal. 
She climbed up and looked at us.  She tried.  But She looked stressed; we were just staring at Her, waiting!  I was afraid She'd crack under the pressure guys! So to lighten things up, I made a little joke, asking in a silly voice, "pee-pee? Are you in there? Come out, you!" Missy laughed.  And then. She did it.  Her first intentional pee in the potty, ever. 
This is all I needed guys! A breakthrough! Because afterwards, we all cheered and clapped, and then. There was a cookie. She really got to have it and eat it, and it was just as amazing as She always imagined.  And so, within the next hour, I handed out four more cookie bits.  To keep the momentum going, we went to the store and picked out a box of animal crackers-er, cookies, just for Missy, just for potty, and put them in a special jar.  Now, every time She goes She's allowed to choose one. 
She can only have it if She actually goes. Not just if She asks for one.  Not if She begs.  Not if She says pee-pee.  Not if She just sits on the potty.  She has tested all these theories, and identified a direct link between pee in the potty and cookie in hand.  And She never has to complain about wet undies/diapers, and never has to hold it when She needs to go.  A revelation! 
So now the hard part begins.  For Her, learning exactly when to alert the mama so that She makes it in time, learning how to wait a little bit sometimes, learning that it's worth it to stop even the most engrossing book or game when She needs to go.  For me, it's the part where I can't really go anywhere and I spend half the day running to the bathroom, waiting, cheering or not, washing hands, repeat.  It's hard when there's another Little demanding attention.  It's really hard when there is 50-60 minutes of driving required daily for preschool commuting.  But it's time. And it can be done!
Wish us luck, Peanuts!  This part is always an adventure. 

The BirthDay

The night before Her long anticipated birthday, Little One had been busy with a long day of playing outside, art projects, and a picnic dinner in the yard which turned into running in the sprinklers which became mixing vats of mud with Her toes which evolved into an epic mud fight with Her mother and sister.  A neighbor or two might have become involved.  There was only one minor injury. 
After extensive washing up, She was worn out and put to bed early. 
But the next day was Her BIRTHDAY.  And after She was tucked in, I could hear Her little feet pittering and pattering about Her room until nearly 11pm.  Choosing the perfect outfit, laying out jewelry and hair ties and pretend make-up and setting Her dolls out in just such a way that She would be SO ready to turn four in the morning.  She was that excited. 
Despite the late night antics, She'd been told She could get up as early as She wanted on Her birthday, and hopped into my covers at 6am, eyes shining. 
"I'm four.  I'm FOUR! Did you know the sun is coming up, and it's going to be my birthday?!?!"
And it was.
Sometime in the night, after even She had fallen asleep, the sun had passed the exact place in it's orbit it had been four laps ago, at the moment She had entered the world. 
That day, we'd both done not much else but sleep.  This time around,  it was cuddles and cheers and singing Missy out of bed.  A parade down the stairs and what music shall we have today Little One? Oh, Broadway Musicals of course. 
Three apron strings tied, and three sets of hands poured and mixed and washed and chopped. 
There was waffles and turkey bacon, fruit and soy milk.  A recorded birthday song from Daddy, which She played again and again, kissing the computer screen. 
And then the best surprise, a phone call from Daddy, so She could tell him all about being FOUR.  I wish I was able to share the photos, guys.  They are priceless.  Her face!
We had to say goodbye, but then there were presents from Grampa and Nana.  Even Little Miss got a package.  The pretty paper flew and the ooohs and aahhhhs poured out.
They played with the novelties while I cleaned up, and then Little One picked out the outfits for the day.  Because She loves to match Her sister and wanted to be "the fanciest ever", She chose the special shiny dresses J and I had brought them from Bahrain. Accessorized with Her new dress up set (clip on earrings!) we set out for the day.  She'd been allowed to choose to do whatever She wanted. 
So we spent the whole day at the children's museum with Her best friend and longtime love, O. 
We took a break for lunch at a Chinese food buffet (Her choice) which was horrible but all the kids loved.  I really don't think it's possible for my girls to have fit that much food into their little bellies.  It boggles the mind.  It must have been birthday luck that the fortune cookie package She chose actually had two cookies in it somehow.  Her fortunes read:
"You will have a happy and peaceful life" and
"Your talents will receive the admiration they deserve"
Which I think about sums up the exact luck She'd like to have. 
The children's museum is awesome. We spent the entire day there, stopped by the grocery store, then headed home where the girls played "children's museum" (since five hours is not enough) while I made Her special dinner.  She was allowed to choose any dinner She wanted, in the whole wide world.  She could have said cheerios or hot dogs or hot dogs with cheerios on top, and I was braced and determined to just let Her have it.  She chose baked salmon, edamame, and salad with terriaki dressing.  She'd also been given the choice of any special birthday dessert in the whole world, and She chose "one candy from the candy dish".  So the candle went in the salmon. 
Throughout the day She had calls from family and serenades of Happy Birthdays and felt very loved. 
After dinner and bath, we read Missy Her favorite book (Mrs Wow Never Wanted A Cow), and tucked Her in.  Then Little One and I looked through Her baby book, reading all the details and touching Her first lock of hair, Her hospital bracelet.  We held Her feet up to Her footprints and saw how much they'd grown.  We looked at the photo album of Her first days home.
After the lights went out I told Her the story of a little baby who was born exactly four years ago; how She came into the world, who was there to greet Her, and how She'd grown to be this amazingly smart, loving girl who danced wonderful dances, ran fast, and sang beautiful songs to a family that had loved Her every minute, all the time, since before She was born until forever. 
From reading the baby book, Little One remembered Her favorite lullabies as a baby, and asked me to sing them.  I did.  She remembered that She'd loved to sleep snuggled into Her mommy's arms, and asked me to snuggle Her to sleep. 
"Now, Little One", I chided, "Even on your birthday, you have to go to sleep like a big girl when it's time for bed."
"But Mommy.  Even if I'm so big four years old, when I'm a baby I liked snuggles and even now I like to snuggle you.  Can't I get big for snuggles later on another birthday?  I'm getting bigger and bigger later on."
I looked down and all the times I'd held Her as an infant, sleeping in my arms, flashed before me like a jolt of lightning.  I looked into Her sweet little four-year-old face (four isn't really such a big number, you know) and I knew that She was right.  That the moments She will want me to hold Her will flash by just as fast.  She will be too big to snuggle to sleep on some other birthday, it's true. 
For now, I'm proud of how much She has grown and learned and become.  I'm proud to call Her my Big Girl and I'm happy to see Her propelling forward and upward with time, growing into Her own fantastic person.  I'll never want to keep Her back.  But, since She asked, and won't for many birthdays more.  This time I was happy to fit Her into my hug with my arms wrapped around, and hold Her a little while longer.  Just until She fell asleep. 

Too Legit To Quit

Coincidentally, on the day of presidential debating, my daughter was brushing Her hair after bath time, and asked if I wanted to hear something special She just learned in school.  Who could say no?!
And so right there in the bathroom, my 3 year old recited the Pledge of Allegiance.
Well.    The Pledge The Legit.  

"I Pledge the Legit,
to the flag.  Of the Knighted States of America. 
And to the republic, which it stands
One nation, Under God,
In the visible,
With livery, and God Smith for All.  
Wait! Justice, justice. I don't know a God Smith.  I just keep saying that! Livery and Justice for all." 
 
I really don't do politics on the blog, or on facebook, or at parties.  So I'm not going to dish about the debate, though I did watch it while cutting a melon into the shape of an aquatic creature.  Bet not everyone can say that.
What I will say is that there are some things about this country that have been, are, and will be messed up.  I'm not happy about some things.  Some of them even make me mad!!
However.
I am proud that my child is learning the Pledge of Allegiance.  I felt pride reciting it with Her, pride that I know it and pride in what I think it means.  For all of the imperfections I certainly acknowledge, for all of the things I disagree with in one political party or another, I am proud and extremely thankful to be an American, and to be raising my children in America.  I'm proud of J for sacrificing a lot to be part of preserving those things about this nation that I am so thankful for. 
I will be proud and thankful no matter who wins the debate or the election. 
What I think is that being American is like being part of any other family.  Half the people are crazy, there are things in the family history we're not proud of, and the whole thing drives us nuts sometimes.  But we keep them all in our prayers, if it came down to it we'd stand up and fight for them,  and even when they really tick us off, we know we'll always be a part of it. 
For all it's faults, America is pretty legit.  I have my preferences between those debating candidates.  But no matter who takes office in November,  I pledge the Legit. 

Dressed for Success

She woke up extremely early and wouldn't go back to sleep.  She sat at my heels while I got ready, She picked at Her food and whined and sulked.  She stared me in the eyes while deliberately doing what She'd been told not to, and was shocked to find that even on the First Day of School, the rules apply as usual.  She was excused from breakfast and cried Her way upstairs.  She came back a few minutes later, calm and tear-streaked, and climbed into my lap.  She sat rocking gently with Her head on my shoulder while Her sister finished eating.  Her tummy hurt. 
But then She remembered something.  The dress.  The dress!
She raced upstairs and came back on tiptoe, arms out like a belle at a ball, with a sparkle in Her eye.
"Want to watch me spin this dress?!"
She spun and the skirt fluffed out to a glorious 180 degree angle to the floor, swishing and rustling around Her knees when She stopped. 
"This dress.  Is WONderful." She knew with complete certainty how to finish the look.  She combed Her hair and crested it with a sparkly rainbow princess crown.  She glammed up Her feet with jeweled sandals.  She donned the "most decorated ever" backpack. 
"Ready to go!"
A commute is new for us.  The drive there was time to reflect and worry.  She begged me to come with Her, to stay in class by Her side, or at least nearby, or at least in the corner of the room.  Not for a minute, all day.  She practiced asking the teacher if Mommy could please stay.  She clutched the backpack tight.  Adjusted Her crown. 
When we arrived the school was a zoo.  With one entrance for toddlers through middle schoolers, the melee at the door was overwhelming.  She shrank into Her backpack.  She held my hand. 
She saw Her teacher.  The teacher exclaimed over the dress. Little One beamed. Teacher greeted Her as if they were old friends and the warmth of her laugh visibly melted Little One's fear. 
We found Her hook and hung up the backpack.  We turned over the medical supplies and forms.  I wondered what would happen next, as I knelt down to Her level. 
"Have a great day today sweetie.  We love you so much!"
She threw Herself at me, and Her sister in my arms, and hugged us both so tight.  Then with a laugh She turned and flounced into the classroom. 
And that was it. 
Missy for Her part thought the whole thing very exciting.  She ate the special breakfast with oohs and aahhs.  She requested and proudly selected Her own fancy dress-dress, Her own crow'n.  She clapped as we headed out the door.  She posed grinning for pictures and followed Little One to the car crying "Go-go! Go-go!" She was thrilled with the noise and commotion of the school. 
She kissed Her big sister goodbye and with me, watched the first 10 minuted of class from the one-way mirrored observation room.  She loved pointing, "Sissy! Sissy! Sissy there!" giggling at me like we were sharing an inside joke.  Then I told Her to wave bye-bye, and we walked away. 
She waved slowly, brow furrowed.  Wait.  What's going on here?
And when we hit the parking lot- just us two- She fell to pieces.  She wailed and screamed.
"NO! Nonononoooo! SISSY! SIIISSSYYY!!!!!!"  writhing and struggling to get back inside.  She cried and whimpered for Sissy halfway home, sulked silently the rest of the way.  At home She refused to read stories.  "Sissy.  Want sissy booka."  After bribing Her with milk and cuddles, She read halfway through a story then cried again.  She went to bed still upset. 
As for me, I'm happy to say that Little One looked pretty content in Her circle, watching the other children closely, listening to the teacher intently.  Occasionally preening and arranging the skirt of the Fancy Dress.  Taking comfort in it, I think.  A silk suit of armor. I'm happy to see Her surrounded by future friends in a classroom bright and neat as a pin. 
I'm not happy that Missy cried and felt such as sting over having Her best friend yanked from Her.  I'm not happy that She threw a fit over it, either.  But I didn't scold Her.  After all, to tell you the truth, I know just how She feels.  In time it will be easier for all of us, as we get used to this new routine.  Missy and I will enjoy our quiet time together.  Little One will enjoy Her own world of friends and learning. 
I think we'll always be happy at pick-up time, though. 

 

Heavy Backpack

Tomorrow is Little One's first day at a new school.
She was sad to learn, at registration, that She won't be allowed to bring Her special pink backpack from Grandma.  The one with Her name on it.
All the kids at Her school are required to carry the same standard-issue, boring black backpack with the school logo.  For the low, mandatory price of $30.  Ahem.  But! The headmistress explained to me, they are allowed to decorate them.  However they want. 
So we've gone around to various thrift and craft stores, we've raided our art cabinet.  Little One made all the choices.  And today during Missy's nap, we had a special project time. Just Little One, me, boring backpack, and a glue gun.  We made pins of everything deemed pretty by Little One, and then She very carefully, deliberately, showed me precisely where each pin was to go.  In the end, we have this backpack.

Which is anything but ordinary.  She also chose Her own first-day-of-school outfit.  She was allowed to pick whatever She wanted. Because She is Little One, She immediately chose the dress I bought Her, second-hand for practically nothing, but haven't let Her wear yet.  Because it is white silk dupioni and dry clean only.  But it is a frothy, shimmery confection of a dress. Cut to look like it is made of flower petals, with pink silk roses along the waist.  It has been coveted by Little One for months.
Together we filled the dazzling backpack with all the necessities; epipen, inhaler, medical forms.  Together we laid out the fluffy dress for the morning, giggling with excitement.
But today Little One has been off.  Distracted, quiet.  Scolded for not listening, following me like a puppy.  When we talked about school tomorrow She'd say how excited She is, then chew Her nails.
I realized.  She's nervous.
"I don't know any persons here", She fretted at dinner, picking at Her food. 
I realized my almost four year-old is just about to step into that unending world of Caring What Other People Think.  Of cool and uncool.  All that.  For the first time I thought about the crazy backpack, the outlandishly fancy dress, with a drop of trepidation.  What if....  what if She's old enough to fit in or not fit in? What if She's teased for being unusual?  At not-yet-four, at a Montessori school, I can't think it will really matter so much.  Right?  But I feel a little tug at my heart, a tiny hint of what will come in another five years.  Being a kid can be hard. 
I thought about it through the afternoon.  I thought about it while they played in the dirt, while I washed them and lotioned their mosquito bites.  I decided that the last thing I want to do is plant an insecurity.  So as far as I'm concerned the backpack and the dress and anything else She likes to express Herself with is awesome.  Because as far as I'm concerned, SHE is awesome.
But just in case.  I talked to Her after dinner.

C: "Little One, look at that lovely dress you chose for school! You will be so shimmery tomorrow! You will look lovely in that dress."

LO (blushing a little): "Oh, t'ank you mamma! I'm going to wear it all the day and I will do great spins in that dress!"

C: "You surely will.  But can I make sure you know something?"

LO: "Yes, Mamma. Tell me."

C: "You will look pretty in that dress, because you are always pretty.  The dress is fun, but it doesn't make you pretty.  What makes you so beautiful, my pretty girl?"

LO: "Aw....I don't know..."

C: "I do.  What makes you pretty is that you walk tall and proud.  That you act with kindness.  And you smile from your heart.  That is what makes a person beautiful."

LO: "I do like smiling."

C: "Yes. Your smile is great!  And you can wear it any time.  So if you want to wear that dress tomorrow because you feel comfy in it and you like it, that's great.  But you are beautiful with or without it, ok?"

LO: "Ok."

C: "One more thing.  That dress is fun, and very fancy.  But sometimes it is hard to play in very fancy clothes.  So, I packed you some nice, regular clothes in your new backpack.  At school tomorrow, if you find it's a little hard to play or be comfy in your dress, you can change any time.  But you don't have to.  Ok? It's up to you." 

LO (beaming): "Ok thank you mommy! That's a great idea you have there. I can just do anything, right?"

C: "Yes.  You can choose whatever you want. Tomorrow I want you to listen to your teacher, and to just have fun!"

LO: "I will!"

We read our stories and brushed teeth and I tucked Her in.  But when She gave me the usual goodnight hug, She locked Her arms and wouldn't release me.  After a few seconds, my reaction was to get impatient.  It was getting late, I had chores to finish, She had an early morning coming.  But before I shook Her off, I quieted my mind and listened.  She was breathing hard and really squeezing tight.  Like She needed that extra hug.  So I cozied in and asked Her if She was ok.

LO: "Yes mommy.  Yes.  But. Well just...I just want to hold on tight! I.Just.Love.You.More.Than.Anything!"

C: "Angel, I love you too."

LO: "But I just LOVE you Mommy and I don't WANT to EVER let you go! I won't! I won't let go! I don't want to let you ever ever go!"

C: "Oh, Little One.  I understand.  Sometimes, I feel like I don't want to let you go, either." 

Little One relaxed, but still circled my neck.
LO: "Yeah, mommy.  Me too."

I stayed with Her for about five minutes, in the silence. Finally, She squeezed extra tight, counted to ten, and then unlaced Her fingers.
I looked at Her and saw Her eyes squeezed shut, as if She had jumped and was bracing.
I kissed Her forehead, and held Her in a hug.
"Goodnight, my Little One.  I will see you in the morning".  
Little One smiled and pulled the blanket up to Her chin.  She told me goodnight and nestled in.

My how complex things become as they grow.  How much of it is them and how much is me, who knows.  But there are butterflies in all our stomachs.  Tomorrow I will take Her to a new place, filled with strangers, knowing how much I'll miss Her all morning, having gotten so used to Her constant presence.  Having loved it so much.  But because She is Her and I am, separately, Me, I will hug Her, in Her fancy dress and decked-out backpack, very tight.  Close my eyes as if I've jumped and am bracing.
And then let go. 

August

So for the sake of the family album, I should start back in Florida.  But I won't.  That was like forever ago, people. That's like deciding to ride the Tour D'France on a Saturday morning.  So if I get to the last five months, good for me.  In the meantime, I think I'll start with a few laps around the block.  Like maybe, August.  Let's just start with what happened in August.
In August, some awesome awesomeness happened, that's what!
 First, my Dad and baby sister came to visit.  Ok fine.  Baby sister is actually my pre-teen sister (expletives withheld).  Her pre-teen-ness boggles the mind.  But it's tempered by the fact that she's turned out to be an exceptionally fun and cool pre-teen and also is into babysitting.  Can I possibly describe the joy of going to one of the nicest lunch spots in town, and sipping a glass of wine on the verandah, chatting with dad, while contentedly watching Pre-teen sister wrangle both of my adorable-because-they-weren't-strapped-into-booster-seats children in the garden just outside? Ahh.  We had a great visit.  Partly because Sister played with my kids like, all the time, and when she stopped, Grandpa started swinging them around.  If he wasn't busy fixing stuff around my house. There were tears from all of us when they had to leave.

But we were cheered up soon after by the next lot of guests, the Recastle Princesses and their mom.  With four littles, swimming lessons, and some serious cooking missions, it was a bit boisterous. And extremely fun.  We spent a couple of entire days cooking Ethiopian food and baking desserts while the children ran wild.  We invited other friends over for dinners to amp up the fun-chaos even more.  The car broke, the sink broke, the dishwasher broke. And even though we were all worn out by the end of the visit, I tell you with all honestly that every second was a blast.  Those princesses, they steal my heart.  They are awesome and I wish they could make like the castle they helped build, and become a permanent fixture here.

Tears again when they left, but again we were instantly cheered by another visitor.  My mom came and jumped into the swirl of life here while I, momentarily, hopped out.  J and I have had our separations, you know.  But this, being our first deployment, is our longest time apart yet.  In nearly a decade guys!  So to celebrate what we hope will be roughly the halfway point in his absence, we decided I should go meet him when his boat docked in port. And you know me, right?  Can I ever do something the simple way? Especially if it involves traveling? Nope.  So I took a trip.  I visited cities in four countries, on three different continents, in less than two weeks.  I did it flying coach in the middle-goshdarn-seat every time, and still had all kinds of fun. 

I got to see J!!!

I arrived home tired and happy, to one Little One who flew into my arms with the picture she'd made me, all chatter about how much fun she'd had with Nana, how much she loved me, missed me, wanted to hug and hug and squeeze me, and one Little Miss.  Who would have NOTHING to do with me.  Who shrieked for Nana when I came near, who refused to let me bathe, change, hold, feed, or tuck Her in.  And who, at my attempts to cajole Her, literally turned up Her nose, "hurumphed" and looked away.  This from my Mama's girl?!  It was not until two days after my mom left that She began to forgive me.  And She still calls for Nana when I dare to cross Her by, say, not allowing Her to pull Her sister's hair or attempting to feed Her anything other than watermelon.

It didn't help that the day after I got back I abandoned Her again to spend the whole day doing allergy testing with Little One at the hospital.  A post of it's own.  And then the following day, I did spend the whole day with Missy...but also doing testing at the hospital (another post of it's own). A lovely day which included 12 needles in Her skin. What a great way to win Her over, huh?  Hopefully, in time, She will forgive me.

Maybe it will help that we will have a lot of one-on-one time in the mornings from now on.  Because tomorrow is another big day!  Little One will have Her first day of school.  A new school, with new friends and teachers in our new town.  I'm not at all sure which of us is more nervous.

But after the craziness of the last few months; the transitions of moving, deployment, visitors and travels, it will be nice to have the routine of school days as we settle in for the beginning of fall.  I hope it will help us find a nice calm rhythm for the days to click by to, counting down to the one in which J comes home, and we can find a new normal again, as a whole family. 

Missing Daddy

I want those days to pass quickly, I want my J back home with us.  But not too quickly.  These long summer days, just us three girls together all the time, have not been without their trials.  But they have been so precious too.  I'm reminded constantly of how fast they are growing, how soon Two and Four are sneaking up on me.  And how lucky I am to be here for all of it.  We've learned a lot about each other and ourselves, I think, going through this sort of upheaval together.  As much as I will be happy to share with J, and willing to share with school, I can't really wish to rush a single day in this time of life, where the days are filled with block-towers, fairy tales, dancing in the kitchen, and snuggles that smell like soy milk and apples.  
I'm looking forward to the months ahead.  It will all be an adventure.  It always is. 

Recastle

We had some friends visiting this week.  We did lots of fun stuff but on the last day there wasn't time to go anywhere, and the playroom had been played out.  

What to do with four bored princesses and a bunch of leftover moving boxes?

Who knew recycling could be so royally fun!

Between Letters

I have a big catch up post coming soon. Or posts.  The problem is that these days I spend about 99.93454837% of my computer time emailing J.  Approximately. 
It turns out that taking the trash to the curb, and doing all the things J used to do at home, and minding munchkins by myself isn't so rough after all.  In fact, don't tell, but it's sort of a breeze!  I was kind of surprised by that! Easy peasy!
Uh..but.  It also turns out that holymolyohmygoodnessgeezelouise I miss that J.  It's sappy and a little pathetic and really not a breeze at all.  I was kind of surprised by that! Also! In not such a good way!
And so I spend like all my free time writing him emails and letters like a lovesick teenager, because it makes me feel better somehow to talk towards him, if that's the best I can do. 
Little One is in the same sappy love-boat.  She still wakes up crying for him.  Her stack of colorful letters to Daddy closely rivals my volume of emails. She creates elaborate plans in which She is building the BIGGEST boat EVER in the wor-wold and soon, maybe after nap, She's going to sail all through the ocean to J and get him and bring him back. And he will have to come, because Her boat is the BIGGEST.  She asks me to show Her where we are on the globe, and where he is.  She offers to go and help him do his job with teamwork so that he can get done faster and come home. We both sulk a little.
Even Little Miss misses J.  Sometimes something will remind Her of him, usually Her sister's pouting, and She'll go wandering the house, "Dada! DaDA! Daadeeeeeee!!" looking for him.  Sometimes the two of them pound into my brain from the back seat, wailing "Dada Dada Dada Dada!!" until I crash into a tree to make it stop.  Just kidding.  I say what I really mean, "I miss Daddy too."  
Really, it's all beautiful.  Because how lucky can a bunch of girls get, to have a J who is so wonderful that we miss him this hard, and it has nothing to do with what he does for us, and everything to do with just having him there. 
And of course, we have each other.  We keep each other pretty busy.  Plus, as Little One said, "We have to give our'chothers lots and lots and extra hugs, to fill up the daddy spots that are running out hugs, till he comes back with some more."  And we do!
Tonight Little Miss, who loves a bedtime snuggle but otherwise isn't really the huggy-kissy type, looked up at me and squinched up Her lips.  She held onto my ears, and planted a kiss right on my nose.  Then She leaned back, gave me a million-dollar Little Miss smile, and then placed a tiny kiss on my cheek.  My other cheek, My forehead.  My chin.  Both shoulders, and my nose once more.  Then She gave me another grin, and went to bed. 
I tucked in Little One who asked (as She always does) for extra extra snuggles and put Her arms around my neck.  Hugged me tight.  And told me that I am the BEST momma, ever the world had a momma, and She loves me SSOooooooo much. And She will even love me when I'm very very old, when She will carry me around- because She'll be so big- and do all the nice things I do like make breakfast and color with me. 
After those sweet goodnights, I went off to bed in a house that was very empty, very quiet.  Very J-less.  But I was thankful that my babies had given me such sweet reminders that I am not at all alone.  That I have the best fortification a heart could have- the love of children. My girls are wonderful.  A big part of why they are, is that they have J for a father.  What a gift that even when J is an entire world away from me, I have two pieces of him right here, to kiss goodnight. 

Pray-rer

Walking past Little One's room at nap time I hear:

"H-hello? Hello?  Mr God...Ms God?  My name is Little One, I'm three.  Hi. Um.  Well I have a very 'portant pray-rer for praying you right now.  And my pray-rer is could Daddy please come home? From the boat?  'Cause Daddy's boat is REALLY far away.  I want him to come home now, and jump me up and swing me around.  'Cause you know God I like that when he does that and it's fun sometimes and I miss mine Daddy.  And...um...ok.  'Member it is very. 'portant.  Thank you.  ...ok love you, bye-bye." 


Amen.

Call Me Crazy

I thought that I'd have all this free time while J is gone.  I figured I'd be posting stuff on here like, all the time! As it turns out there is very little time for anything other than errands and unpacking, organizing, cleaning, keeping everyone fed and safe, and the occasional something fun to pull us all back a few steps from the precipice of I've Had It!.  And sleeping.  Because at the end of a day here Peanuts I am TIRED. 
I've been up before the sun each day, hitting the yoga mat before the Littles rise in order to maintain a semblance of sanity.  And by the time I crawl into bed at the late hour of, oh, say...10pm, I feel like I've been balancing boulders on my head all day.
Which is why I feel so bad for the confused (but perfectly nice) elderly gentleman who had the misfortune of thinking I am Jim.  And calling me- SEVEN TIMES IN A ROW after MIDNIGHT until I finally blurted out "Please.  Please!  I really, really, am not Jim.  I don't know Jim, this is not his number and-its-after-midnight-here-and-I'm-REALLY-TIRED and could you please. Please. Stop. Calling me!"  
There was a long stretch of shocked silence. And then the poor guy went on for several minutes about how the number is a central time zone area code so he just could not fathom how it could be after midnight and he really did think he was calling Jim and do I have his number?  By then I had recovered my senses enough to politely tell him to leave me alone for the love of mercy.  He was apologetic.  And then he blessed me. 
And now I am a big big meany who tells off innocent old people who are perfectly nice and probably still praying for my mean, meany soul. 
But I do have some massive catching up stuff to post on here and I will get to it, I'm hoping, in the next week or so. Before my tired little brain heaves it all overboard in an attempt to preserve it's sinking self.  And before I get hit by lightning or something, since Karma clearly now owes me one. 
Come back around in a bit, guys, I'll have something up.  It might even be something exciting, like how I got hit by lightning, or how Jim showed up and kicked me in the shins for not taking any messages.  Could be interesting. 

Power Hour

Nine years ago today, I was in a rustic cabin on a mountain in New York.  It was a summer camp.  Like all the other staff, I had arrived early to prepare before hundreds of children from the shelters and foster care systems of Newark and NYC came flooding in.  Which nothing at all could have prepared me for, but there I was.  The others had gone on a team-building camp-out.  But as the medical director, I had to stay put in case there was some kind of emergency and someone had to be rushed back to the clinic. No one did. 
All of my friends back at college spent the eve of their 21st birthdays partying and staying up until midnight to have their "power hour"; drinking like a loon the minute they turned the magical legal drinking age of 21. Not something I was at all opposed to at the time, I might add.
Me?  There I was, many miles from the nearest party scene or alcoholic beverage, turning 21 at midnight in a sleeping bag on a rusted cot.  With no one around at all except for Speedy, the mouse who shared my room that summer.  It wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. 
But though it was by no means my first job, it was one I'd worked really hard for.  It was the first one I had sought out, applied and interviewed and been hired for, without a bit of help from anyone.  I hadn't known it was a Director's position until I arrived, and it was my first job being In Charge of something- with no guidance, no on-the-job training, no supervisor to tell me how to do it.  It was by far the most responsibility I'd ever had. It was the first time I'd been so far from home for so long. It was the first time I had cohabitated with a rodent.
That summer turned out to be life-changing for me. When I sat up till midnight that first week of it, watching myself turn 21, I knew it would be.  I was excited, I was proud. I felt ready to be Grown Up.  Ready to be part of something much bigger than what party to go to on Friday night.  Ready to believe in myself. 
I thought about all of those things as Speedy and I watched the moon rise high.  And I realized that I was experiencing the gift of a Power Hour that lived up to its name.  I still think of it as one of the best birthdays I ever had.
Tonight my kids are sleeping restlessly after a loooong day of fevers and vomit and boogers and tears.  I've scrubbed the soup pot, I've mopped the floors.  Far from some night-club "dirty thirty" extravaganza, I'll probably ring in my new decade in a rocking chair under a hot sweaty toddler, feeling snot ooze down my shoulder.  My friends and family, even my husband, won't be around to set any confections on fire for me, and my three-year old wept in pity tonight that I was having a birthday and there would be no party. 
Now.  I did have a high-style celebration already, and I'm swimming in cards over here.  But even if those things things were not there, my three-year-old wept for me. Because she loves me so.  Far from being alone, I have two of my favorite humans on earth by my side this birthday, and germy as they may be they are mine. As tired and cranky and sick of cockroaches and boxes as we all are, we are together and we are doing fine. 
This milestone birthday in many ways reminds me of the one I spent on that mountain.  It's the first time I've lived alone (without another grown up) in my whole life.  Ever.  It's my first real go at parenting and house-running and bill-paying and living without a partner to back me up.  My first time to try to help my child through something that really, truly hurts Her.  It's again a new level of personal responsibility, a new and foreign terrain, a feeling of being on my own to Figure It Out. 
And, just like last time, I'm not sorry. 
Like before I feel ready to learn, and stretch and grow, ready to jump into the next year (decade!) stronger and wiser and faster and more able.  Ready to believe in myself.  I suppose with all the gooey stuff my kids are exuding tonight, I could still call it a dirty thirty and be technically accurate.  But instead I think I'll just reach back to that 21st birthday and have myself another Power Hour. 
In three hours I'll be another year older, another decade older. I'm celebrating on my own. Because I know how to do that now- be on my own. Celebrate myself.  In the morning mirror I'll see some wrinkles here and there; I'll see the gray hairs creeping in.  I'll also take a step back, take in the bigger picture.  And see that power there, too. 
Happy 30th birthday to myself.  It's going to rock. 

ZOMBIES -the sequel

Peanuts,
I know I have much better and more important things to talk about.  (I said more important- it's all relative right?)  But do you want to know what it on my mind right now?  What is the all consuming concern in my frenetic brain at the moment? 
It's this guy:

and his friends and family. 
I THOUGHT I DEFEATED YOU IN FLORIDA!!!!
No. 
They are back.  As in, They're baaa-aaaaaaack! Between the roaches and the mosquitoes here in Virginia, I'm starting to be very glad I don't have any first-born sons.  There is like some biblical plague business going on around here. This can't be normal. 
As I've explained to Little One, Cockroaches are just part of nature.  They can't harm us, they don't bite.  They just come in looking for food, or whatever.  I know this; I even managed to explain it in a calm. tone.of.voice.  and look placid (or creepily like someone trying too hard to look placid, but hopefully the former).  
But seriously.  EEW EWW YUCK ICKY YUCK YUCK EEEEEWWWW!!!!
They are the size of like, elephants people.  practically.  And they keep popping up. And today.
Today there were TWO skittering about downstairs within five minutes, just as Little Miss began whining "Nap! Nap-nap! Milk! Naaaap!" 
So I capped those suckers under plastic cups and put Miss to bed.  I gathered up my composure, I steeled myself for the double-ick, and I slid cardboard under cup #1.  I buried him at sea, said a little "sorry to kill an animal, bless the poor thing" prayer with a shudder, and moved on to cup #2. Sitting exactly where I left it, undisturbed.  Slid the cardboard under, carried it gingerly to the ....sea.  Dumped it.  NOTHING.  NOTHING in there guys! HOW.  How did it escape?! Without moving the cup?!  And, more importantly, WHERE IS IT now?!?  
Wandering around my house, spawning more zombies, that's where. 
So now, every time I see a little shadow or a speck on the floor, I jump like a mile.  I hope no one is peeking through the windows, or I might see a big white van pull up to the curb with a couple brawny orderlies pretty soon. 
Deployment is a humbling experience.  It reveals weaknesses and fears that I would otherwise not be forced to admit to.  Hopefully, in the end, it will make me stronger because of that. 
When J gets home, he's quite likely to see me with a bandana around my forehead, wearing combat boots and a studded tool belt stocked with Raid.  I'll probably have a steely glare and some leather accessories.  I'll be a time-worn, battle-hardened roach-zombie warrior. 
I'm looking into theme songs.