tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54495592541314938552024-02-06T22:16:24.476-05:00Moon-Flavored Ice CreamSerious, comical, sometimes musical, private, public journal of a mom/wife/animal lover/sociologist/criminologist...and runner?Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-24832052130586060302021-03-16T13:39:00.001-04:002021-03-16T13:41:33.950-04:00The Toughest Two Days....And Infinite Love Before, During, and After<p><span style="color: #050505; font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">My dogs are no longer here by my side...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">We said goodbye to Daisy on March 6. She passed at home, in her bed, with the assistance of an in-home hospice vet with her family by her side. As the process began, she sat up, licked Claymore’s eyes (which she had done a million times before) as he began to lie down. She put her head on Claymore and he stayed with her until after she was gone. She had taken care of him since he joined our family—it was comforting to see him take care of her as she left this world. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">Claymore was here with us almost exactly 48 more hours. He passed Monday with the assistance of the veterinarian who had cared for him (he had many health problems before cancer) for years. Though we were not at home, it was the first spring-like day here in Virginia and we were able to say goodbye outside in the sun. We used to call him Claymore Seeker of Sunlight. </span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Our hearts are shattered. I have felt physically sick and every part of my day feels completely wrong. They were the absolute best. I miss them more than words. I am so grateful they spent their lives with me. I am thankful for BARC, the rescue organization who helped them find us. My family needed them—I needed them—they needed each other. I will carry their love and lessons and laughter with me for the rest of my life. Everyone who knows their bond is not surprised that they left this world so close together. And, since they did, we requested a private cremation for them together...and they will be returned to us in a single velvet bag. (We have never had ashes returned to us before, but somehow this felt like the appropriate thing to do.) Our plan is, when we are ready, to take a trip in their honor. They lived all over the country with us. And we would like to return them to some of their favorite places, together, forever. Maybe I will right about that journey... </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="❤️" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="🐾" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t7d/2/16/1f43e.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="🐾" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t7d/2/16/1f43e.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="❤️" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;">---</span></span></p></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I shared the posting below on my Facebook page on March 9. I still want a place to come back to, if I need help remembering (though I can't imagine I would ever forget) or to move forward with processing this overwhelming grief:</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">No words can even begin to do justice to how lucky I am or how much brighter my life is because Daisy and Claymore shared their lives with me. I want to tell their stories, of their adventures and all of the love. Of how they were the most bonded pair I could imagine AND two unique individuals—a yin and yang that fit perfectly together and completed our family. They loved their human family members as much as they loved each other. And we felt that every single day. And then, I realize, because of the outpouring of support, people DO know quite a bit of this. I find comfort in the fact that they made so many people smile and laugh and feel the love, whether they knew them through Facebook or in person. It is my hope that others will continue to be reminded of them, perhaps when they see pure unconditional love and friendship in any relationship, or any of their other unique characteristics that made them so amazing as individuals. To say one is “a Daisy to another’s Claymore” or “a Claymore to another’s Daisy,” (or a Daisy or a Claymore in their own right) in my opinion, would be the highest compliment among family, friends, or partners (or to an individual). </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">Saying I miss them so very, very much is an understatement to say the least. I read the quote below in a book recently and it resonates with me... I will take the pain—I only feel it because of the love...so much love. Maybe one day I will find my own words to better honor their lives. But that is beyond my abilities right now and it also seems an impossible task for a human to ever put into words the pure love, life, and joy they embodied. So for now I will thank you all for seeing them and loving them...and for being there for my family during this time. I believe their love was so infinite that the compassion we are being shown right now is my two best buddies still finding ways to spread that love to help me through these tough days. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="❤️" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="🐾" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t7d/2/16/1f43e.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="🐾" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t7d/2/16/1f43e.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span><span class="pq6dq46d tbxw36s4 knj5qynh kvgmc6g5 ditlmg2l oygrvhab nvdbi5me sf5mxxl7 gl3lb2sf hhz5lgdu" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="❤️" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Moonlight beams through his eyelids and he can see, as if it’s the lake in front of him, the pain and loss he’s been swimming in for years. In the moonlight, though, the pain is revealed to be love. The emotions are entwined; they are the two sides of the same gleaming coin.”</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">From Dear Edward by Ann Napolitano</span></div></div></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(Picture from February 2018, San Diego)</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzX3BEt-IHBdYNFCx6ABkqw_7-fHobkXX8aL_bCDvEa0y8ctzOiDrzllCO01s4whd2QD8lQR6CiZ9x4VYZL2FVRZhNy9QY-EtrOpgXzvY8pi_qtR2Dk3lrW0xyif2uJIw2diyGuYm8Sg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzX3BEt-IHBdYNFCx6ABkqw_7-fHobkXX8aL_bCDvEa0y8ctzOiDrzllCO01s4whd2QD8lQR6CiZ9x4VYZL2FVRZhNy9QY-EtrOpgXzvY8pi_qtR2Dk3lrW0xyif2uJIw2diyGuYm8Sg/" width="160" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-83098962119512566502021-02-24T20:22:00.003-05:002021-02-24T20:26:11.597-05:00Grief and Goals<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QhKQNhAy-ylz7baVLEv6DM1ScsQ_FtuLszCWnp0ApBzMNeHQ4xyzSLJsfmvpboPwJNdKtVqVWRwpqfPzwoSOE7Tx2tW0mJZFMh5vfOX9UIQQYW3rxrwgjI58Knju6SFrmNNWYBG4HsE/s960/Daisy+and+Claymore+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QhKQNhAy-ylz7baVLEv6DM1ScsQ_FtuLszCWnp0ApBzMNeHQ4xyzSLJsfmvpboPwJNdKtVqVWRwpqfPzwoSOE7Tx2tW0mJZFMh5vfOX9UIQQYW3rxrwgjI58Knju6SFrmNNWYBG4HsE/s320/Daisy+and+Claymore+21.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My dogs are dying. (Yes, I know "we are all dying..." My dogs are terminally ill--with cancer that's rapidly advancing.) It feels unbearable. I could go on and on about how they are the most bonded pair I have ever met, how they were diagnosed with the same (rare) lung cancer exactly two weeks apart, the expenses and guilt of choosing palliative care for this senior pair, the rollercoaster of the past four months, the lack of sleep, the INTENSE anticipatory grief that won't let up and the fact I know the grief to come will be even worse, the fact that these dogs saw me through over a decade of military wife life as my constant companions in a world of chaos... I realize that many people are struggling and I am fortunate to have so many privileges (like the financial ability to do all that I can for them and a flexible work schedule to spend time with them). But these dogs are my family--they have pulled me through some tough times. My time and energy have been dedicated to them in so many ways (especially recently) and my self-worth and comfort, I realize, are largely wrapped up in that bond. I am so lucky their lives have been spent with me--we've had so many adventures and wonderful times. I used to say the only time I was ever truly happy and in the moment was when I was walking my dogs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of this comes down to the fact that I hurt physically and mentally in a way I have never have before. I have lost dogs before--dogs that I loved deeply. I have never lost two dogs at essentially the same time, with a full-time demanding career, with huge family commitments, during a global pandemic where I have been isolated for a year. People have suggested I journal about my feelings. I don't like feelings/emotions--especially the ones that are so hard to feel. But I do realize that I USED to write about my trials and tribulations with my pups. I realize that I once found a blog about a dog who had the same disease as my Sampson, and reached out to the author who gave me some solidarity and support during that tough journey. Maybe this will help me. Maybe somehow in some way someone will find this and it can support them. Or maybe I'm just rambling with no reason or purpose because I am so desperate. Regardless, here I am--after a LONG hiatus from this virtual space.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm trying to figure out how I am ever going to make it through this still standing. It seems impossible. But I have a daughter (and husband, career, family, and friends)--so I have no choice other than to try--not just try, but stay "still standing." I'm searching for any way for some GOOD to come from this tragedy. I can't fathom how that is even possible, but I have to hold on to something to keep me putting one foot in front of the other and functioning on some level these days. I am working on living in the lessons Daisy and Claymore have taught and continue to teach me, not the least of which are to live in the moment and love unconditionally. I hope I can come out on the other side of this stronger somehow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Speaking of strong, the one thing I have been making sure I do during this time is exercise. I've always been dedicated to fitness, but it has taken on new meaning. We got a Peloton last year (I may have joined a cult but that's for another post...) and back in December I committed to trying to do at least one activity every day for a year. That doesn't mean I have to do a hard bike ride, but SOMETHING Peloton offers--even if it is a 5-minute stretch or meditation...something that forces me to focus on that goal at least once per day. So far, I've kept it up. Today, the weather was actually nice (after a ridiculous month of insane winter weather) so I went for a run in my neighborhood with the Peloton app. I've been riding much more than running these days. (I am now 40 and my knees and below often feel like I'm way older than that.) But I thought about the fitness goals I have had before. I wonder if I could run a half marathon again? Not for speed or time or even in a formal race, but just to have a goal to help push me through this grief. So, that's (maybe?) my goal...by my 41st birthday. I'm putting it out there. And I will try. If I fail, I know I can do 13.1 miles on the bike. I just hope I can make it through this seemingly unbearable time still standing...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-1313932728711881632014-03-17T13:59:00.000-04:002014-03-17T13:59:26.079-04:00A weak finish...So, I may have gone a little crazy with my last <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2014/03/lonely-or-free.html">post</a>…maybe I was a little ahead of myself. So, the book was good, but not as great as I thought. A couple of the chapters (8 and 9) were a little too macro for me…they felt disconnected to the "real life" points that I THOUGHT the author was making. They talked about financial considerations and the environment. Unless she was trying to convince everyone to have only one kid on order to save the world (which is just as stupid as trying to convince everyone to have an army of children), I think those two chapters could have been left out, or at least presented differently.<br />
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So, I remain in search of some type of solace, not so much in my decisions but in not letting others "get to me" in their horrible, negative, mean comments. I suppose that needs to come from within, not from someone else's work. Nonetheless, many of the points in the book did express my thoughts and feelings. Here is the review I wrote on Good Reads:<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I enjoyed this book, though chapters 7 and 8 felt disconnected with the macro-level approach. I suppose I was really hoping for the justification I need in having an only child (especially being an only child myself). Of course, the book fell short of that as that is a ridiculously lofty goal--especially for someone else to provide FOR me. ;) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I definitely recommend this not only for only children and/or parents of only children, but for anyone. The horrible, mean, degrading things people say to me have cut me to my core and I would love for others to shatter their negative "beliefs" about families of 3.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I also think this book is missing some important points, at least from my perspective. The term "choice" needs to be more broadly defined. Sure, it was my "choice" to have only one child, but it was not strictly economic, nor was it anti-religious or selfish or freeing (as I feel like this book may come across as suggesting). For me, it had a lot to do with (physical) postpartum complications and a husband who was at war for 3 years following our daughter's birth. It had a lot to do with perusing a career that I feel contributes to motherhood--not at odds with it. It has to do with nurturing a marriage and respecting the opinions of my husband on the most important decision we can make as parents. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But, ultimately, I hope that people outside of the only child world read this to understand we are still people...us onlies and the parents of "only" one child. We have the same triumphs and challenges as anyone else. I loved the point that, though we are the same, we do tend to experience live with more intensity. I also like that this book isn't a ploy to get people to have only one child, but rather an argument that families are not one size fits all, and that it's time to stop stereotyping only children or looking down on their parents, as there is no basis for such. We don't fit into a categorical box any more than anyone else.</span></div>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-24138101363347066842014-03-12T17:50:00.000-04:002014-03-12T17:58:53.766-04:00Lonely or Free?Oh.my.goodness. I've found it. The book…I mean, THE book I have been looking for at least for the past 6 years, possibly my whole life. It is not often that I am truly amazed by someone's writing (unless it's academic…nerd alert). But it.has.happened! <i>One and Only</i> by Lauren Sandler (2013, Simon & Schutzer) both says everything I want to say and tells me everything I have been longing to hear (and she's done her homework…it's not just lip-service). I just started the book and it's already on my top books of all time list. I was wondering how I was going to document all of the quotes I don't want to forget…so I decided to do it here.<br />
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I've been open about my struggles being an only child and the tough decision to have only one child (which I still struggle with on a regular basis)…I've even touched on the subject <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/03/lonley-only-pour-your-heart-out-link-up.html">here</a>. It IS a continuous struggle. As my parents grow older (and have life-altering "health events" like my mom's multiple joint replacements and my dad's heart attack and bypass surgery), seeing my friends lose their parents, witnessing my friends with siblings share in parenthood and become friends, hearing my daughter talk about being singled out (no pun intended) for being an only child, wondering how K's life would be different if she had a sibling, hearing the evil/rude/disrespectful/ignorant comments from others about my decisions (both crushing me and insulting me…families are not one size fits all, people!)…. It's a constant internal battle for me.<br />
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I've known, pretty much since I got pregnant, that I would only have one child, despite my CERTAINTY I wanted a big family before I actually created a child. I was not a good pregnant person. I felt like crap. I had a c-section that went all kinds of crazy (resulting in a postpartum hemorrhage that went undiagnosed, but that's for another time). Buzz never wanted another child. I did. He didn't. I "gave in" to "only" having one because I figured one child was enough strain on our marriage and he wanted that one. If we had one only because I forced the issue, and our marriage went really south, that would not be good for K or her hypothetical sibling. Plus, I wanted a career. I HAVE an amazing career--but I was still able to spend the years before school exclusively with her, and now I have a schedule that compliments her school schedule so I still have the mommy time she needs--I need. <br />
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People call me selfish, but working is something that I need to be a mentally healthy person. I feel like being "together" as a mom (well, as together as I get) is of the utmost importance to being a good mom--and I don't think that is selfish. People tell me K is only as good as she is because I "only" have one--implying my life would be a total disaster and K would be a terrible person otherwise? People have accused me of "not liking" mothering. ON THE CONTRARY!!! Being a mom is my most favorite, most important, BEST part of my life. But, there are still other parts of me--and I think those parts help me be a total person, a better mom. <br />
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When I really looked deep at why I wanted another child, it was more of a longing for more of each stage with K (rather than wanting another human in my womb or in my home). I found <a href="http://yourbestnestindy.com/2014/02/27/mommy-somebody-needs-you/">this</a> blog post recently, which sums up my thoughts on that. Looking back, though I sometimes "wished" time away (mostly because I was single-parenting with a husband in Iraq), I NEVER neglected to stop and soak up the moment. I held her. I watched her. I held her some more (and was criticized I was making her too dependent--people really do need to mind their own business). I cherished every day…I felt (and continue to feel) like the most blessed mommy on the face of the planet. And seeing her grow up warms my heart and breaks it (a little) at the same time. But having another child will not change that… My family is complete.<br />
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So, back to the book… Lauren Sandler (who I fully intend to email myself once I am finished with her work of excellence) is both an only child and a mother to an only child. She is a journalist who cites personal experience and research on only children (and the mothers of them). For the first time, I feel like someone gets it…gets me! She does not preach that having an only child is THE thing to do, but recognizes that, as I have said before, families are not one size fits all. She works to debunk the old, OLD (and stupid) myths of the only child. I highly recommend this book not just for only children, but for anyone…it offers a unique perspective to a group of people who have been put down for far too long with zero foundation for the negative arguments. Thank you, Laruen Sandler! :D<br />
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Here are the paragraphs that pulled me in (and I am sure I will be back to share more), from the Introduction pages 7-13:<br />
<br />
"In surveys that ask young women how many children they'd like to have, ultimately and ideally, no one says they'd choose to stop at one child, he [sociologist Phillip Morgan at the Carolina Population Center] tells me. To me, that's like asking a tween girl what her perfect wedding looks like… Our ideals change in concert with our emerging realities--even more so if, as we develop, we opt to interrogate what we thought we wanted, and why we thought we wanted it.<br />
<br />
Here are some things I want: I want to do meaningful work. I want to travel. I want to eat in restaurants and drink in bars. I want to go to movies and concerts. I want to read novels. I want to marinate in solitude. I want to have friendships that regularly sustain and exhilarate me. I want a romantic relationship that involves daily communication beyond interrogatives and imperatives--I want to be <i>known.</i> And I want to snuggle with my daughter for as long as she'll let me, being as present in her life as I can while giving her all the space she needs to discover life on her own terms. I want full participation: in the world, in my family, in my friendships, and in my own actualization.<br />
<br />
In other words, to have a happy kid, I figure I need to be a happy mother, and to be a happy mother, I need to be a happy person. Like my mother, I feel that I need to make choices within the limits of reality--which means considering work, finances, pleasure--and at the moment I can't imagine how I could possibly do that with another kid…<br />
<br />
Still, I agonize every time I see my daughter doting on a friend's baby, just as my own heart has a tendency to devour itself when I take a new tiny person in my arms… When my daughter was born, after all my anxiety about how I'd never changed a diaper…--well, I held my girl, just moments old, and I simply knew what to do. My confidence and capability stunned me... And yet when I try to imagine doing it again, I feel even greater doubt than I did the first time…<br />
<br />
…We need to be more assertive in questioning why exactly we believe our children need siblings. Because if I am going to choose to have another one, while billions of other people do the same, I should be able to know the reason.<br />
<br />
And if it's not because I want to--I mean, really <i>want</i> to--have another child, there's a body of supposed knowledge I need to start questioning. For myself. For my daughter. And for the world I brought her into. Instead of making a choice to enlarge our families based on stereotypes or cultural pressure, we can instead make that most profound choice our most purely independent one. It might even feel like something people rarely associate with parenting: it might feel like freedom."<br />
<br />
Yes. Just, yes...<br />
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-38288510986119117512014-02-18T18:35:00.000-05:002014-02-18T18:46:04.135-05:00Will run for ice creamWow! This past year has been another whirlwind. I just signed on to my blog so I could follow a friend's blog and…I totally forgot I was going to start chronicling my racing journey! Ha! <br />
<br />
Well, in the past nearly year since I've visited this little site, I have kept running. (Other than healing time for a few injuries, one which landed me in a cast and another that now requires me to wear more specialized orthotic inserts.) Despite the fact that I now have a podiatrist, I am faster and stronger than I have ever been...but I still continue to worry about everything. Thank goodness running is my medicine! <br />
<br />
In keeping with the ongoing theme of the blog…ICE CREAM…I would just like to say that running makes me feel less guilty about indulging in an occasional sundae, warm apple pie with a scoop of vanilla, or huge bowl of Moose Tracks in my comfy pants on my couch. And, maybe I'll be back here more often with my continued adventures of running. I just finished my first race of the season (Sweethearts 4-ever 4-miler in Fredericksburg). I came in at 35:02 (a bit faster than last year, but not much)…117 of 323 total runners, 37 out of 168 female runners, and 8 out of 27 in the women's 30-34 division. In the couple's division, Buzz and I were 15/44…he finished in 31:13, helping our average out a bit. :) In a fit of stupidity, I have registered for the Blue Ridge Half Marathon…where I get to run up TWO mountains. Should be interesting… Also hoping to complete the Historic Half again, along with a few additional races this year. So, stay tuned…perhaps I will chronicle my misadventures, foot pain, and hopefully triumphs over the miles of pavement. Either way, you are likely to find me in some comfy pants enjoying a bowl of ice cream. :) <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQqdB3J0S7UBXzXxO8Yg9QVy1TjXWmcK1S53kSPJFn7Zr6nNHh70H2C57s_vxIh-oUTB2Jhlh-tgmpa5ZtqYnfMwAML6Bj3-Nw0tp5qw0XCQew8Kad1Mn-H2NcHXwxIHbRiVgmrDiGEc/s1600/IMG_5011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQqdB3J0S7UBXzXxO8Yg9QVy1TjXWmcK1S53kSPJFn7Zr6nNHh70H2C57s_vxIh-oUTB2Jhlh-tgmpa5ZtqYnfMwAML6Bj3-Nw0tp5qw0XCQew8Kad1Mn-H2NcHXwxIHbRiVgmrDiGEc/s1600/IMG_5011.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">November 2013, my first run after a 6-week recovery from a partially ruptured foot tendon </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-17964171079922877782013-05-21T16:09:00.001-04:002013-05-21T16:23:27.419-04:00The Journey to Runner Status: 50 Shades of Purple?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Since I was a teenager, I have regularly run—other than a
few “breaks” for things like pregnancy and a bad ankle injury. But, for the most part, running has been my
main mode of exercise. It has been my
“medicine” for anxiety, sadness, to help me achieve health (even though my
health is my biggest source of anxiety)… I like to run. No, I love to run—especially after the run is
over. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Despite my individual participation in the activity of
running, I have always been hesitant to call myself a RUNNER. I mean, I ran around my neighborhood in old
t-shirts and shorts. RUNNERS run
competitive races, keep track of time and distance, have nice running clothes,
special running shoes, and they have those amazingly sexy toned calves. I’ve never been a REAL runner. But that all changed 2 days ago…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my journey to runner status really began about a year
and a half ago. I hurt my ankle and
couldn’t run. I tried biking and walking
and the elliptical machine—nothing was the same as running. I decided once I could run again, I would RUN
again. I wanted to run a 5k and not be
embarrassed. Last summer, I started
timing myself and seeing how far I could run.
I couldn’t even run a 5k after that stupid injury! But I
was setting a goal. Physical goals are
hard for me. Though I had run, I
wouldn’t push myself or anything like that.
So, my goal was to, by this spring, run a 5k and not be embarrassed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, Buzz ran the Marine Corps Marathon last October. He did it without training and made mistakes
a real runner would never make—like buying new running shoes the day before the
race. I mean, even I knew that was a
no-no. I made fun of him—a lot. But, on the day of the MCM, something inside
ME changed. I obsessive-compulsively
checked the live updates to see how he was doing. I was so proud of him. Maybe he wasn’t a REAL runner, either (though
hands-down he was way closer to one than me)…but that didn’t matter. He was out there pounding the pavement for 26.2
miles like every other RUNNER out there.
I was inspired. That day, I ran 5
miles under a 10 minute pace. That was the longest distance I have ever run, at
least since college. When Buzz got home,
he was sore to say the least. But within
a day, with the pain still present, he said he wanted to do it again. What was wrong with him? Was he a real runner? Only a real runner would subject himself to
that kind of torture, I think. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, we signed up for the MCM series Turkey Trot 10k. I “trained.”
My goal was to finish in an hour.
I was nervous. Buzz and I ran the
course prior to the race, since it was here on base, and I made it under my
goal time. Still, race day I was really
nervous. But I came in under 55
minutes! I felt great! I couldn’t wait to do it again! Maybe I COULD become a runner. We signed up for a 4-mile race in February.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I bought real running gear, not so much because I wanted to
LOOK like a runner, but because I realized that that gear is more comfortable
and necessary when you are running long distances outside—especially when it’s too cold to
be outside to begin with. I considered starting a blog
called “50 Shades of Purple” to chronicle my quest to become a runner—turns out
I really like the color purple and this is reflected in my running clothes,
even though it must be impossible to match shades of purple among various articles. Plus, it fit with the whole 50 shades theme
as I became obsessed with running and developed a new relationship where the
running dominated my mind and body. But,
I opted out of the blog idea because I was scared I would fail and then I would
have these deep desires out there for people to see…and everyone would know I
didn’t achieve my goal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then came THE injury.
It was some strange-name condition that is worse than shin splints and
not as bad as a stress fracture (which they thought it was but was ruled out
with an MRI that diagnosed the strange-name-thing). I only had to take a few more weeks off from
running (yay!) and get some orthotic inserts for my running shoes. I felt old and anyone who needs orthotic anything
is certainly not a RUNNER. Nonetheless,
the day after I got the diagnosis, I signed up for the MCM Historic Half
Marathon—about 4 months away, even though I had still not run more than 7 miles. Ever.
My goal: 13.1 miles in less than
2 1/2 hours. IF I could do that, I would
feel confident in calling myself a RUNNER.
That race became more than a goal.
It began to define who I was—or who I could be—or who I wanted to
be. It consumed my thoughts. Running was always on my mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I “trained” again. But this time I knew I had to start out slowly, despite reaching the 7-mile mark before my injury. I had to start out at 1 mile, slowly, and then work my way up. That was frustrating but I didn't want to risk another injury. I remember my sense of accomplishment when I completed my first 8-mile
run without a struggle. I stopped
getting gastrointestinal distress (as Buzz and I embarrassingly call it) after
my longer runs. I started recovering
faster from the joint and muscle pain and stiffness. The first time I ran 10 miles (with hills)
the pain was intense but the sense of accomplishment was bigger than the pain. I was soon able to run 8 miles with no
problem. Then, one day, after my 8 (planned)
miles, I just kept going—to 13.1! Yes,
there was pain—but it paled in comparison to the goal I had just reached—in
less than 2 hours and 10 minutes (with minimal hills). <o:p></o:p></div>
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I started researching my big race. Hospital Hill scared me to pieces! Hospital Hill refers to the hill next to Mary Washington Hospital in the final miles of the half marathon. There are stories…this hill is a legend
around here and among those who have run the course. Running groups (with real runners) started training to tackle THE hill. I started training to run more hills on base, since I wasn't part of a real-runner club.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The day before the race, I cried on the way to pick up our
race packets. Buzz didn’t
understand. Of course I could do it, he
said. But what if I couldn't? What if I stopped/didn’t finish, or got hurt,
or passed out, or died? (Yes, those were
real thoughts.) We drove hospital
hill. It didn’t look THAT bad in the car…except I
would have to run 9+ miles before I tackled it on foot.
My response: at least the
hospital is right here. All I wanted to
do was finish under my goal time and that hill was standing in my way. But, if by some chance I could actually
achieve that goal even with the evil hill, then I would have done it, I could
call myself a runner, and I would never do it again. I would stick to 10k’s and finally run that
5k I talked about this time last year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The night before the race, I carb-loaded with Moe’s and mac
and cheese. I only slept about 4
hours. I was so nervous. When the alarm went off at 4:45 I was
exhausted, but jumped out of bed easily thanks to my nerves. Real runners aren’t nervous before a
race. And they probably aren’t that
tired. Plus, real runners probably train
when they were tired. I didn’t. I waited until another day to run if I was
tired.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I got dressed—I had put aside my race day outfit (with 4 shades of purple) a week before, down to my underwear that I knew wouldn’t give
me wedgies. I made my old-faithful long-run
breakfast—a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
But I couldn’t finish it because I had a nervous stomach. Real runners didn’t get that—I bet they were
able to scarf down their breakfasts. I
took my vitamins, kissed K (the babysitter spent the night so she would be
there when we left), drank lots of water, and headed off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We parked. After 2
pee-pee stops (at Wal-Mart and a porta-john) we were off to the start line. While waiting for the porta-potty, I saw
people—real runners—running to warm up.
I couldn’t do that. I had to save
my “juice.” The first 2 miles was my
warm up—plus I was already warmed up from the heart-pounding anxiety. But, back to the start line: It was
real. This day I had dreamed of—choked
up about envisioning myself crossing the finish line—was here. It was real and surreal all at the same time. I bet real runners didn’t think it was
surreal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I almost cried during the national anthem. There I was, among Marines and real
runners—at the same start line on the same course. It was happening. Deep breath…the gun fired. And we stood there. With that many people running, it’s not an on
your marks, get set, go sort of thing.
It takes a while to get to the actual start line and then some more time
to really get going as you wait for the pack to disperse. But, soon enough, we were off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember running under the huge flag in the air right
after the start line—hoping in less than 2 ½ hours I would be looking at the
same flag from the other direction with a huge sense of accomplishment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was so excited, but told myself to settle down. I had 13 miles ahead of me. Then came the rain. I realized that I hadn’t trained in the
rain. Real runners do that, but not
me. Oh well, it would keep me cool, I
thought. It did. And one of my shades of purple was a new armband I had bought at the expo the day before (a not-real-runner move, I'm sure--to get so excited at the expo and make irrational-type purchases) and it was perfect for keeping the wetness out of my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In all of the excitement, I am so proud of what I did the
entire race: I took it all in. ALL of it. I looked at
every person cheering that I could. I
high-fived the people on the side lines.
I read the signs. I looked at my
fellow runners—fellow runners? If they
are fellows, does it mean I am among their ranks? Anyway, if this was going to be my ONE and
ONLY half marathon, my one experience that would help me become the runner I
wanted to be even if I would never do it again, I had to take it all in. I had to savor all of the information my
senses fed me. And I did. When I got tired, I danced to my music on my iPhone,
just like I do running at home. When I hurt, I
reminded myself that it was just pain and the race was really run in my mind. When it got tough, I took the advice from
real runners—it’s just me and the road.
When I had to, I looked at my feet, saw I was still moving, and reminded
myself this was about ME and I COULD do it. And the only person I had to prove something
to was ME. It hurt toward the end. I remember telling Buzz that every step hurt right after Hospital Hill. Hospital hill was a beast, but I conquered it
with flying colors, with Buzz by my side.
I loved the sign that said “What Hill?”
I loved the clapping and cheering. It makes me want to go be a spectator at a big
race and cheer on all of the runners…maybe I could be that person with a sign
that pushes the person who "wants to be a real runner" toward their goal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Buzz and I held hands as we crossed the finish line. The pics and video show a big smile on my
face. My time: 2:12:44. Maybe it wasn’t the best time for a real
RUNNER, but it was AMAZING for ME. The
pain didn’t even bother me. I was on top
of the world. I did it! And I loved it. I took it all in. I lived each moment. I RAN each moment. And it felt good. It still feels good—amazing!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The pain has subsided for the most part and, yesterday, I
signed up for another half marathon later this year…and the Turkey Trot 10k
again. What’s that? I signed up for ANOTHER half? But the one two days ago was supposed to be
my one and only. The only explanation…I
AM a RUNNER! (And I’m writing this down
because I never want to forget this feeling when I made that transition…or
maybe I’ve been a runner all along, but that was the moment when I recognized
it for REAL.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-47956710505911979662012-03-15T11:14:00.000-04:002012-03-15T11:14:42.147-04:00Closure?I've been trying to work up the guts to come back here...to say that I lost my best friend. Yes, my best friend had 4 legs...and he's been my BEST friend through the thick and thin of the past decade. I am so glad I have <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/search/label/dogs">chronicled</a> my relationship with my pups here on this blog. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61hyq4LngrQwA616fz3QsVGWvaR7G4o47kFiws9zEaw_HayJBjlmEtHcnAzqeVjw2NNhlC1N4Uy3VuPVr7dzinuBGQPWhMePFKnfQPiC1g3T8-BlcaI7PgVshUisZ2itnI7vgNoxGr0g/s1600/Beth+and+Sam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61hyq4LngrQwA616fz3QsVGWvaR7G4o47kFiws9zEaw_HayJBjlmEtHcnAzqeVjw2NNhlC1N4Uy3VuPVr7dzinuBGQPWhMePFKnfQPiC1g3T8-BlcaI7PgVshUisZ2itnI7vgNoxGr0g/s200/Beth+and+Sam.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Here is what I wrote on my Facebook page the day after I said goodbye...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We said our final goodbyes to Sampson last night. Hardest thing I have ever had to do. He was my BEST best friend over the past decade--better than I could ever have imagined when I picked up that little puppy nearly 10 years ago. I could write a dissertation-length eulogy, but the song I am posting (My Old Friend) says it better than I could right now. So I will just say, while I have no peace and comfort now, I hope to find those by knowing his struggles are over and by remembering all of the love he received from and gave to so many others. He taught me so much and will always be a part of me. </div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"The love and the laughter, will live on long after, all of the sadness and the tears..."</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">Since then, I have worked through what I imagine are the stages of grief--intense anger and guilt (directed at myself), intense sorrow, and I've moved on to acceptance. I accept that he is gone. I accept that he lived a good life. I accept that I did all I could. What I can't accept, is that life really will be "okay" without him. I'm still struggling to figure out my way and navigate adult life without my sidekick. </span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I have since found comfort, as well. Comfort from my friends and family, comfort from his medical team (yes, he had a team--a great one). I have found peace knowing that his sweet soul will forever outlive his body. But I still am not at peace with my loss. I'm getting there, I think. I started to go to a support group. But, as I told one of my dearest friends (who I met through Boxer Rescue when we were adopting Angel) that I couldn't go because I could never believe that anyone else loved their dog--their friend--as much as me. Her response was priceless. Mind you, this friend is the biggest animal lover I know--her house is literally dedicated to fostering homeless animals and finding them good homes. She, herself, has lost some dear pets, including a boxer, in the past year. She said, "I'm not sure anyone ever has loved a dog as much as you loved Sampson." I suppose that, on top of the huge outpouring of support I received, helped me to know that Sampson knew he was loved beyond belief--and that's what truly matters.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">In the time that has passed since Sampson's passing, I have also found some great outlets for my energy--including getting involved in a <a href="http://www.browndogfoundation.org/">great organization</a> that helps people pay for life-saving care of their pets. I always felt one of our gifts to Sampson was the ability to handle all of his health issues. He had the best of the best medical care--even if that meant sacrifices in other areas of our financial life. He was worth it! And I'm so glad that was not a guilt I had to grapple with through this process. I am always searching for ways to share his story--to keep his memory alive. This will get me through.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">We also welcomed a new boxer boy into our home, Claymore. I was hesitant at first, but as Buzz said, "This is just want we do. We are dog people. And if we're not dog people, I don't like us." True, true. Even after that, I was not sure I could manage another boxer. But Sampson was partial to boxers--could pick one out of a crowd. So we got a boxer, but one whose looks do not resemble that of Sampson. He's a good boy. He came from the same <a href="http://boxerarc.org/">Boxer Rescue</a> as Daisy and Angel.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs156w7MM5NQP3mCMzQax6YO4MHW9UZKO5tXDTNulR__vMBzanGOhCFzGw2guG2yyYFaw9pkXgYxnIvoYq80NA80rkOCNOBUa-8hAbAF4xYESs2mKKgcO-H2E8Fq-2W_zHZRQ1zuJ21VY/s1600/HandsomeLook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs156w7MM5NQP3mCMzQax6YO4MHW9UZKO5tXDTNulR__vMBzanGOhCFzGw2guG2yyYFaw9pkXgYxnIvoYq80NA80rkOCNOBUa-8hAbAF4xYESs2mKKgcO-H2E8Fq-2W_zHZRQ1zuJ21VY/s200/HandsomeLook.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">So, today, I'm searching for closure. I know that can't totally be achieved, but at least I can get it out here...on this blog...so I'm not "scared" to come back to it. I am so lucky he spent his entire life with me. He was the best. And I carry him with me in my heart and my soul. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I miss my Old Man...My Old Friend. As I said in my Facebook note when I was at a complete loss for words, this song says it all... As I told Sampson every night during our cuddle time before he drifted off to sleep, and as I told him the night I said my final "goodbyes" and "I love yous," </span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7bpe4TXFpweoOF9Bn8fA7XgI5m7rn2TWP1HiyLIpscP_vJQTEJEZVeY4QzuUJmq6pPqexVQSyc3PeNwjn4334usJQplt-RioI4I24p3IcbajyuqwFSxv55V24RvvJODH-gqkUAeWFxA/s1600/IMG_0700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7bpe4TXFpweoOF9Bn8fA7XgI5m7rn2TWP1HiyLIpscP_vJQTEJEZVeY4QzuUJmq6pPqexVQSyc3PeNwjn4334usJQplt-RioI4I24p3IcbajyuqwFSxv55V24RvvJODH-gqkUAeWFxA/s200/IMG_0700.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">Good Night, Sweet Prince.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">"The love and the laughter will live on long after all of the sadness and the tears..."</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
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</span></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/h3Wly8pBuEE" width="560"></iframe>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-73468900524095495982012-02-04T20:38:00.000-05:002012-02-04T20:38:50.844-05:00Maybe?So I'm working on positive thinking...I'm ALWAYS working on positive thinking, it just doesn't always work for me. ;) But looking over these old posts last night brought back some memories and have given me a better sense of time in terms of Sampson's progression. And MAYBE, just MAYBE, things aren't AS bad as I have made them out to be... Let's take a trip back in time...<br />
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You can chronicle Sampson back to 2002, but let's start with his back problems. It was early in 2010 when we first became aware of his spondylosis. He was exhibiting some crazy symptoms, including some trouble with mobility. We found that disease on x-rays--the same disease that took our Angel-girl--and we found it the same way, with x-rays for strange symptoms. We made some adjustments--crate downstairs, better attention to gentle exercise, etc. Because of his crazy tummy problems, we couldn't go the long-term pain meds route. That's when we started acupuncture. It was AMAZING. He literally went from not being able to go up and down stairs, to RUNNING all around the back yard like a crazy man. Good times. <br />
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I can't believe that was two years ago...<br />
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He started to regress a little bit last year--maybe springish timeframe. I was worried. I even had family portraits taken at our house because I began to fear if I didn't do them soon, we may not have the opportunity to take them with Sampson. Then, all of the sudden, at the same time his left foot began to drag to the point we needed his "boot" to keep his toes from bleeding, he perked up. I didn't get it--but I loved it. He went back to playing like a crazy fool in the mornings, talking to me when he woke up, kidney bean dancing better than any boxer, running laps around the yard, taking steps and jumps with no problem, and kissing me with his big sloppy boxer mouth. <br />
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Until now, I didn't make the connection...<br />
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The degenerative myelopathy (DM) is what causes the foot to drag. It is indicative of his spinal nerves "dying." Without nerves, there's no pain. It's painless.<br />
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This horrible disease that I curse on a daily basis, that makes my old man wobble, that makes his legs drag and cross, that renders him unable to run<i><b> has taken away his pain</b></i>.<br />
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Now, I'm not going to go so far as to call DM a blessing in disguise, but I will say that this connection now makes sense. Unfortunately, it's progressed to the point that he can't kidney bean dance for me...or run...or walk normally. But, for a moment in time--MONTHS of time--I now believe that it gave me my Sampson back--in full strength. It took away his spondylosis pain--pain that can be excruciating--pain that can make a dog suffer to the point that no responsible human would allow. Maybe, just maybe, DM gave me more time with my Sampson. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixndpsLnKBEzywlpoNXdMpeTFOxCD4vBRNXgGL-OhOLtfmizUWOZNFUXj4O-nAi_p6jxs0L8X9NsHVkt0YBl4JKX-XhLIWpTzSuRKkkruYOEo6n0T-4wUngUGXUhDAgzQOrYuLcUkjxMA/s1600/Sam+in+the+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixndpsLnKBEzywlpoNXdMpeTFOxCD4vBRNXgGL-OhOLtfmizUWOZNFUXj4O-nAi_p6jxs0L8X9NsHVkt0YBl4JKX-XhLIWpTzSuRKkkruYOEo6n0T-4wUngUGXUhDAgzQOrYuLcUkjxMA/s320/Sam+in+the+sun.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sampson in the sun, Fall 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On his last set of x-rays, it showed his spondylosis had progressed beyond any stretch of the imagination. Yet, because of the DM, he can't feel it. His spondylosis has progressed beyond the extent that Angel's reached, yet we had to let her go because of the damage it had done. Again, I can't call DM a "blessing," but I will be thankful--putting on my positive thinking hat--that he is still here. And he is not in pain.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-78885189192227083522012-02-03T21:16:00.001-05:002012-02-08T20:35:48.642-05:00A Scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream?So, I'm back. I've been here, just not *here*-here. My writing time at the computer has been spent dissertating. Dissertation is a dirty, dirty word to me right now. <br />
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But blogging fell by the wayside. Lots has been going on, but I'm going to keep it short and to the point right now. This blog started out in the "old days" of MySpace (ha!) as a place for me to write about my dogs. Writing has always been therapeutic for me--not writing in the dissertation sense, but in the journaling sense. And now, more than ever, I need some therapy. Sampson--my old man/my best friend--has degenerative myelopathy--more big words I have learned through Sampson's health issues. It's not good. Basically, the nerves in his spinal cord are dying. (Here's a good, quick summary via the American Boxer Club: <a href="http://americanboxerclub.org/purina1.html">http://americanboxerclub.org/purina1.html </a>.) He is becoming paralyzed. He has lost almost all control over his left, back leg. But he is holding on. He has some good times and bad times. I think he's still happy--getting joy from food, treats, and love. We have made some adjustments to daily life. My heart remains heavy--in all likelihood, his spine is going to give out before the rest of his body--and that means a tough, tough decision for me. But I know it's the right one--I just hope I know when it's the "right" time.<br />
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I found this great <a href="http://www.billbblog.com/Pets/5/Geriatric-Dog">blog</a> today while Googling Sampson's disease. Great, because 1. It made me feel like I am not alone and 2. It reminded me that maybe blogging shouldn't fall by the wayside. I came back here...my <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/search/label/the%20moon">Moon-Flavored Ice Cream</a>--the things that make me smile and give me the warm and fuzzies. And I <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/search/label/dogs">read about Sampson</a> over the past few years. I am glad I have a place where some of his life up until this point has been chronicled. Maybe I should get back on that routine?<br />
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So, here I am...and I think I'll be back. I can't promise when, the topic, or the tone. If there is one thing Sampson has taught me, it's to be happy and enjoy the here and now. Whether it was during a deployment or just a plain old gloomy day, he was there to make me smile--to bring me joy. And that's the meaning of the crazy title of this blog...so, I *think* I will be able to make time for my writing therapy, with a scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-23706225348548171062011-09-01T09:21:00.000-04:002011-09-01T09:21:18.891-04:00Old stuff...I'm changing it up a bit this week...taking it way back and stepping up the random factor. I'm talking 80's cars and washing machines. Yes, this post has it all. :) <br />
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I get nostalgic a lot. Being part of a military family, I have learned to move and bid goodbye to "stuff" leaving me with just memories. Some of those memories make me laugh, even if I don't mind leaving behind the "thing." And, today, I'm taking it back to my first car...<br />
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1988 Ford Tempo GLS (not sure what the GLS means). <br />
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It was reddish-maroon, 2 doors, instead of a spoiler it had some sort of fin-type thing. It had "new" electric seatbelts, power locks, manual windows, some sort of power lumbar support button, and a tape deck that came with a sweet tape of awesome 80s music. It was a 5-speed. My parents bought it when I was in 3rd grade. Little did I know I would be driving this fine piece of machinery to high school. EM-BARRASSING! But doesn't everyone have one of THOSE cars?!? <br />
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It never stranded me. But I called it "the bomb" because I felt it could blow up at any time. And, secretly, I hoped it would so maybe I could get a new set of wheels. It did have an issue with some hose breaking and making what I thought was smoke spill from the hood, but that was a quick fix. The heating coil broke one year in college and we had to wait for the part. It would overheat if you didn't turn the heater on full blast. I fully remember driving down I-81 in the middle of winter with the heat blasting and the windows down because it felt like a sauna in there. The cruise control didn't work when the A/C was on. Something broke in the steering wheel once and the horn would just start randomly blowing...and it was the loudest horn I ever heard. Ahh, memories.<br />
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I took it everywhere until I bid it goodbye my junior year of college when I bought my first new car. We sold The Bomb to my uncle (who used it to drive back and forth to work so as not to put miles on their newer cars) for $475. Asking price was going to be $500, but it needed an oil change at the time, so we took that into consideration. Yeah, when the value of your car goes down because it needs an oil change--awesome. <br />
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My dad used to sing this song "Old Yellow Car" from as far back as I can remember. And, after bidding goodbye to the Tempo, it has a little more meaning now. If you haven't heard it, it's worth a listen. Don't get me wrong, I don't wish I was driving The Bomb NOW, but it will always hold a special place in my heart. And there's something to be said for a car that's paid off, never leaves you on the side of the road, and you could care less if a grocery cart runs into it in a parking lot. :)<br />
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And while I'm on the topic of old, funny songs and old stuff, I figure I may as well share this song as well. This is one my cousin used to sing all the time...I would beg for it because it made me laugh, and still does! Plus, he "jazzed it up" just a bit with the sound effects, which you will hear in this little tune, making it even better. :) Now, it reminds me of MY washing machine. The first grown up purchase that Buzz and I made together was our washer-dryer set. We got it on sale for like $500 (yes, for the SET--great deal, huh?!?) right after we were married at the Navy Exchange in Newport, RI. That was nearly 9 years ago...and it's still running. But that old washing machine is a lot louder with a variety of noises than it was in its new days. Hopefully it has some time left with us...but it's seen better days. And, when it's time to go, I guarantee I will be humming this song in my head for days. <br />
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Enjoy! Hope this provides some smiles and laughs...and I would love to hear about others' relationships with their bo-bo cars and household appliances. :)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QmpWodP0eHQ" width="420"></iframe>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-89416902258495439482011-08-25T09:57:00.000-04:002011-08-25T09:57:51.968-04:00The girl who stole my heart...K has successfully tackled her first week of kindergarten. Another milestone. I feel so incredibly lucky to have such a strong, independent young lady. And I can't believe how fast she is growing up right in front of me. I can't say it happened over night. There have been signs... She doesn't like cartoons any more, or anything babyish. She stopped riding in the running stroller (as much, sometimes I can still bribe her by letting her play Angry Birds) because she thinks that is babyish. She's way into fashion. She loves to listen to her iPod and pretend like she's making music videos. Her favorite musical artists are Evanescence, Katy Perry, and Ke$ha. I know, I know...don't judge, please. I'm of the philosophy that I can't hide her from what's out there. I heard a little boy in her class the other day singing Ke$ha, so we are not alone. Plus, we're still all good because she still says my dad is the best singer and guitar player in the world. So, she does have musical taste, she's just a fan of the top pop, too. <br />
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Anyway...kindergarten is here. And she's rocking it. And I feel comfortable where she is. My biggest issue is fear of all the germs she's being exposed to and the sociologist in me doesn't like that I am mandated to send her somewhere 5 days a week. But if we have to do it, I think she is at the absolute best place for her. We kept her at the same school where she went to Pre-K because we loved it so much. Small classes, familiar faces. Plus, next year will likely involve another move and all the transitions that come with that and Buzz changing billets again (ah the life of a military family). So we thought the best thing we could do was give her this continuity while we can. She has already told me how much she loves the school and wants to stay here for first grade, too or at least find a school just like it when we move (she wanted to have that discussion at 2 am the other night/morning). They wear uniforms here--well, they have a dress code, I guess I should say. But that dress code makes her look that much more grown-up. What happened to my baby? I'm glad for every milestone and realize how quickly they all pass...so I'm trying to eat up every minute. <br />
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Also, she has continued with her riding lessons and has found a new friend in a pony. She loves to go after school to hang out with her buddy.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV49xSkqN6JvE07E7aZHo4LXpAtZY8JA-6U0GGq9JGHcqtTkr5A6EjF2TOqHj2p43eEqijBNmal1D_kP-4Cq4ARMD7JcMtWn6wSrO3Z9CLdr2mmioB9aG3dGbD8X2kpDqlemGLIkD4vY0/s1600/K_Diesel+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV49xSkqN6JvE07E7aZHo4LXpAtZY8JA-6U0GGq9JGHcqtTkr5A6EjF2TOqHj2p43eEqijBNmal1D_kP-4Cq4ARMD7JcMtWn6wSrO3Z9CLdr2mmioB9aG3dGbD8X2kpDqlemGLIkD4vY0/s320/K_Diesel+3.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My little girl is growing up... But she is in this stage where she is still so young, needing just the right combination of protection and freedom. I hope I am able to give her all that she needs. She is always going to be that little bundle of joy I held in my arms the day she was born. The girl who I would stay awake at night when all was quiet and slowed down just to watch her, in disbelief that precious little being was mine. The baby who took off running one New Years Day, leaving me to not be able to sit down for the next few years. The girl who would swing for hours and point to the moon every night. The child who has been by MY side through deployments, keeping me sane and giving me purpose and strength. The same child who I woke up in the middle of the night to greet a daddy coming home from Iraq, who she only really knew through pictures. The child who, just a short time later, said goodbye to her daddy for another deployment--and asked him on webcam through that deployment why he wouldn't just come out of that computer and give her mommy a hug--who, when her daddy came home and swooped her up, she asked him to please put her down and give mommy a kiss. The person who can comfort my dog when he is scared, nervous, or in pain. The girl who gets more excited about my birthday than her own. The kindergartner who, when I explained to her that I would need to be working all weekend on my exam, offered to bring me the books I need to the guest room where I will be working so I don't have to walk down the stairs and get them myself. The child's heart bursts with compassion. And that girl has stolen my heart--from the second I knew she existed to the moment I saw her in person to this morning when I left her at school playing happily with her friends to right now when I look forward to picking her up and taking her to riding lessons this afternoon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, in honor of my no-longer-baby girl, I have two songs to share this week for my favorite link-up. <br />
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First, Jack Johnson's "My Little Girl"...the lyrics say it all.<br />
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Second, "My Wish" by Rascal Flats, which makes me tear up every time I hear it. I know I can't hold her hand every step of the way, but I do hope that every step of the way she gets back all that she gives--and like the song says, I still hope she gives more than she takes. I know she does now. My wish is that she can keep her big heart and wear that warm smile even out in the cold world, where my time by her side gets shorter as she grows and I must trust that I am doing the right thing in the times we have together and I can teach her to be that big-hearted sweetheart on the outside, the same as she is on the inside--but tough enough to handle whatever comes her way. My wish is that she follows her dreams and I can support her through it all. I know with the life she was born into, that of a military child, many of the lyrics are even stronger for her: it's hard for her worries to stay small sometimes, I know that sometimes she's going to have to bump up her strength in order to not have to carry more than she can hold, it might not be easy to remember all the places she's been and the people she meets. But she can do it. She's an amazing little girl...growing up in front of my eyes...<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stop by Goodnight Moon, listen to the other jams, and leave one (or two) of your own!</div><br />
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<center><a href="http://www.goodnight-moon.org/"><img border="0" src="http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j358/neidyh/Whatsyoursong-1-1.jpg" /></a></center>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-16433316535856266632011-08-23T16:47:00.000-04:002011-08-23T16:47:00.308-04:00In hiding...Oh good grief, I'm terrible at writing on this thing these days. I think about it all the time. I love to write, to journal, to vent...and, in the past, this has been a good place to get all of that done in one place. But lately, I've been a bit in hiding. I have what could be my final comp exam coming up soon--it WILL be my final exam (yes, the last exam I will ever have to take) IF I pass it. I'm sweating bullets thinking about it...ahh, stress...<br />
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But right now, I'm saturated with studying so I'm looking for things to do to keep my mind OFF the anxiety of the pending exam weekend--yes, weekend--it's 3 full days of test-taking. Ugh!<br />
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I have so much to write about...K started kindergarten, Sampson has had more "issues," I had an amazing week at the beach, I turned 31...<br />
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I'm stuck on that one right now. I'm 31. I feel like I should maybe be a little more successful, done with school, more financially stable. But, I'm "just" a part-time college instructor/graduate teaching associate, I'm STILL in school, and I feel like a dog chasing its tail with money--largely due to the HUGE economic burdens of graduate school WITH a family. But, I am where I am. And I love where I am, if I don't think about the student loan debt. :) So, I missed my favorite link-up for the past few weeks with "Goodnight Moon" so I am playing my birthday song today (a couple weeks after the birthday itself) to remind me that I need to enjoy this "ride." <br />
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'Round about my 24th birthday, Buzz got me the License to Chill CD (back when we bought CDs, not just bought music on iTunes). "Trip around the Sun" was my instant favorite, as the first line is "So I'm singin' happy birthday..." And, as the song says, this year gone by ain't been a piece of cake. But neither is any year. We are all lucky to have time to sit back (or sit up at the computer and have the opportunity to be in grad school, even if it means student loan debt too-long exams) and enjoy our trips around the sun. One of my favorite parts of the song says "I'm just hanging on, while this ol' world keeps spinning. And it's good to know it's out of my control. If there's one thing that I've learned from all this living, is that it wouldn't change a thing if I let go."<br />
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I'm not planning on letting go--I'm fighting through exams, a dissertation, a sick dog, motherhood, military wife-life, and all that goes with it. But, sometimes it is good to sit back and put things in perspective. I'm not saying I won't have a major breakdown if I fail this exam--but the world will keep spinning if I do, or if I don't. So, I'm working on enjoying the ride right now...and being thankful that I am in a place to pursue my dreams with my favorite people (and dogs) on earth, even if it comes with the ups and downs of success AND stress.<br />
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<img border="0" height="0" src="http://c.gigcount.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEzMTQxMzIzNzA2NDgmcHQ9MTMxNDEzMjM3NTEyNSZwPTY5NDMwMSZkPSZnPTEmbz1jZDEwOGE*NzMxOWI*MTQ3OWZl/YWJjZDdjNmJmYjI2MiZvZj*w.gif" style="height: 0px; visibility: hidden; width: 0px;" width="0" /><br />
<div style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; visibility: visible; width: 450px;"><object height="470" width="450"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="never"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="flashvars" value="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_pink_noautostart.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.playlistproject.net%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D87513638%26t%3D1314132387&wid=os"></param><embed style="width:450px; visibility:visible; height:470px;" allowScriptAccess="never" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf" flashvars="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_pink_noautostart.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.playlistproject.net%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D87513638%26t%3D1314132387&wid=os" width="450" height="470" name="mp3player" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" border="0"/> </object> <br />
<a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/"><img alt="Get a playlist!" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/create_pink.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/playlist/22403491339/standalone" target="_blank"><img alt="Standalone player" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/launch_pink.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/playlist/22403491339/download"><img alt="Get Ringtones" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/get_pink.jpg" /></a> </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-74562042561631473942011-07-28T12:17:00.004-04:002011-07-28T15:00:24.055-04:00My life?Well, it's been a while! I'm happy to report that I DID pass my last comp exam for my PhD...one more to go! I have still been busy working on school work during my summer. I've found some time to relax, too, but not too much time on the computer other than work.<br />
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But I LOVE this link-up, so here I am! Prepare yourself for some memories--and check out the song if you ever have been/will go through a deployment or any other extended separation from a loved one. I think it's one of the best!<br />
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<center><a href="http://www.goodnight-moon.org/"><img border="0" src="http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j358/neidyh/Whatsyoursong-1-1.jpg" /></a></center><br />
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I know it's a little far away, and I get nervous thinking about the future anyway, but I'm already concerned about our move...next year. I will hopefully be a newly-hooded PhD in search of a job to pay off LOTS of student loans, we need to sell our house in an area where home values have fallen, K will have to change schools with our move to another state, and (the scariest) Buzz will be going back to a billet where he deploys.<br />
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These past couple of years have been quite an escape from that. The Marine Corps life has never been foreign here--Buzz has still been around the world (including in Norway when my dad had his heart attack and in Africa when the doctors changed my endometriosis medicine too many times too quickly and my hormones nearly sent me into a nervous breakdown). And he still works long hours and weekends. But he is not gone for more than 6 weeks at a time. And most nights he's home...and, no matter where he is, he's (relatively) safe. And I know it's only a matter of days before we turn back into a together-family again.<br />
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That is a far cry from the life I remember at Camp Lejeune. <br />
<br />
Buzz's first deployment after K was born was bumped up about 6 months. He left 2 days after her first birthday for training, came home for 2 weeks, and then was off to Iraq. After 8 1/2 years in the Marine Corps at that time, I was no stranger to being separated from him. But that first deployment was different--it was different with a child. It was different because it was Iraq. He had been to Afghanistan right after September 11, 2001 but that was before my married life. I knew deployments were a whole new world, but I didn't know how it would slap me in the face so quickly and so harshly.<br />
<br />
Buzz joined the Marine Corps in 1997--the world was a different place. Prior to 2001, his "deployments" were pretty much cruises around the world where he had fun and did some work on the side. Not the case anymore.<br />
<br />
I look back on those days when K was young--2 deployments in 2 years. I can't believe that was me living that life...that THOSE stories are a part of MY LIFE journey. Who was that girl? I don't know how I did it. I know I have been married to 3 different men in the same body--he never comes back the same. Nor am I the same when he comes back--K and I grow together and I change through the deployment process. But the times DURING the actual deployment seem like a cross between a big blur and the most horrible feelings and emotions I can imagine. Luckily, I had a strong group of friends to pull me through--friends who knew the same feelings and gave me strength to make it through the days. Days were too big sometimes back then--sometimes it was just about making it through the hour. <br />
<br />
But I did it.<br />
<br />
We made it.<br />
<br />
Our family is so blessed and I never lose sight of that.<br />
<br />
But now, I'm scared. I'm already anxious about the emergence of those feelings again--and having to keep them under control to keep it together to be the mom (and wife) I need to be when my family needs me most. <br />
<br />
I'm not looking forward to it, but I do know it can be done--it will be done. (There's no other choice.) And, as usual, there is music to bring me through. As I've said before, Buzz and I largely communicate through music when he is deployed. This (below, "The Promise" by Tracy Chapman) was a song he shared with me on his pre-deployment leave before Iraq, round 1. It brought me through... So much that this (listen to the last verse of the song and it will make sense) was his welcome home sign on our house...where he arrived in the middle of the night 2 days before Thanksgiving, 2007.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-H88DNWw3sWDJsf53BTU4QFu5k7HBSpBifFtID4rSeP3QYI4TfWJruGJBw1bwLqrXMqVj5aD99JfmSB4J3r7BYZkxMIj8Gs0GV36BA7te8-oKgvSkdvoDdHPUunQ0ZnhCJCvsgo4uIAs/s1600/journey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-H88DNWw3sWDJsf53BTU4QFu5k7HBSpBifFtID4rSeP3QYI4TfWJruGJBw1bwLqrXMqVj5aD99JfmSB4J3r7BYZkxMIj8Gs0GV36BA7te8-oKgvSkdvoDdHPUunQ0ZnhCJCvsgo4uIAs/s1600/journey.jpg" t$="true" /></a></div><br />
So, as I try to shake off these fears and anxieties that are WAY premature, I will remember that at the end of these dark tunnels in our military family journey, there is a promise of warm hugs and happy welcome homes.<br />
<br />
<img border="0" height="0" src="http://c.gigcount.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEzMTE4NjgwODQ2NTkmcHQ9MTMxMTg2OTQ*Mzk*MyZwPTY5NDMwMSZkPSZnPTEmbz*wNWNhYjI*ZTI*MjE*Y2MzODRl/ODk1NTZmMGU4M2EwNyZvZj*w.gif" style="height: 0px; visibility: hidden; width: 0px;" width="0" /><br />
<div style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; visibility: visible; width: 450px;"><object height="470" width="450"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.musiclist.us/mc/mp3player_new.swf"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="never"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="flashvars" value="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_purple_noautostart.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.musiclist.us%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D87087574%26t%3D1311868084&wid=os"></param><embed style="width:450px; visibility:visible; height:470px;" allowScriptAccess="never" src="http://www.musiclist.us/mc/mp3player_new.swf" flashvars="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_purple_noautostart.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.musiclist.us%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D87087574%26t%3D1311868084&wid=os" width="450" height="470" name="mp3player" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" border="0"/> </object> <br />
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</div><a href="http://www.musiclist.us/"><img alt="Get a playlist!" border="0" src="http://www.musiclist.us/mc/images/create_purple.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.musiclist.us/playlist/22294418955/standalone" target="_blank"><img alt="Standalone player" border="0" src="http://www.musiclist.us/mc/images/launch_purple.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.musiclist.us/playlist/22294418955/download"><img alt="Get Ringtones" border="0" src="http://www.musiclist.us/mc/images/get_purple.jpg" /></a> </div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5z29M_K6fdpqtw-K7pC8VUZBnW65U4ehNDwZFUEbZ1scWJra8v40jQ3YHUy86hdCWg_peigHwv1bYPUUZ9-pkpzhm0jxiPMb-QJV76ozZVIZkfVeO4uJ_VyI249cN-A4hJFKzpZStEpo/s1600/Misty%2527s+Camera+069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5z29M_K6fdpqtw-K7pC8VUZBnW65U4ehNDwZFUEbZ1scWJra8v40jQ3YHUy86hdCWg_peigHwv1bYPUUZ9-pkpzhm0jxiPMb-QJV76ozZVIZkfVeO4uJ_VyI249cN-A4hJFKzpZStEpo/s320/Misty%2527s+Camera+069.JPG" t$="true" width="240" /></a><br />
First hug of the year...April 2009, after Iraq deployment #2Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-44382169387125703072011-06-23T08:30:00.005-04:002011-07-28T11:49:20.634-04:00Way back...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">YAY! It's that time again...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.goodnight-moon.org/"><img border="0" src="http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j358/neidyh/Whatsyoursong-1-1.jpg" /></a></center><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bop on over, check out the tunes, and add YOUR song!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been *accused* of having an obsession with the 80s and 90s--in terms of music (can't help it), movies (they were good), tv (we got Seinfeld), and hair (that's genetics--not my choice). What can I say? I'm a fan of banana clips, leg warmers, Chuck Taylors (do they ever go out of style?), big hair (again, because I have it), jams, high tops, Magnum PI, Camaros with t-tops (I had one, 2002 model but my love affair began in the 80s), the Miami Vice look, Michael Jackson, Debbie Gibson, New Kids on the Block (that was my first concert, by the way), MC Hammer, the original Nintendo, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, TLC, SWV, 90210, oh the list could go on and on and on...</div><br />
Anyway, I love it. Good times. Good fashion. Good music. GOOD STUFF. Part of this goodness was GOOD TV! And what was one of the best of the best shows? SAVED BY THE BELL! I don't think I actually watched the show as it was airing the first time. But I remember the syndication after school. I saw every episode--at least three times, I'm sure. I wasn't as much of a fan of their middle school years, but the high school Saved by the Bell crew was THE BOMB. (Yes, I'm also a fan of the lingo from the 90s.) Loved it then, love it now!<br />
<br />
I remember one time in 9th grade, we had a substitute, and my class tried to name all of the Saved by the Bell episodes on the board...just like the kids in the movie Dazed and Confused did with Gilligan's Island. The show was iconic for my teen years...so much so that I was really close with a group of 5 other friends in high school. There were 3 of us girls and 3 guys. We WERE the Saved by the Bell crew. Hi-larious to think back on this. I was Lisa (though I was never up on fashion) because Screech was Buzz--yes, in our pseudo-/bizzaro-(if you're a Seinfeld junkie like myself)/parallel- Saved by the Bell world, my husband and I were Screech and Lisa because he liked me first and, for a long time, I was not interested. Hahahahahaaa! <br />
<br />
We have always had connections with Saved by the Bell. Remember Zack's cell phone? <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0wizyBwilpOfj29C8paSqvtpQxyRvcUg9aHXCWGM0ffa9IS0J5rOlWaMN3MQLU92NKmQjd0fmfHmu5WDNbLTwBwXJXuZ2ME0UCYclTkVKV162ckuiDAuCVcAcTrPONIhrHioS7YbsaA/s1600/zack+morris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0wizyBwilpOfj29C8paSqvtpQxyRvcUg9aHXCWGM0ffa9IS0J5rOlWaMN3MQLU92NKmQjd0fmfHmu5WDNbLTwBwXJXuZ2ME0UCYclTkVKV162ckuiDAuCVcAcTrPONIhrHioS7YbsaA/s1600/zack+morris.jpg" /></a></div>We laugh at the "older" cell phones now and when someone has an outdated phone, we refer to it as the "Zach Morris Edition." This has gone on for years. And, here comes my song and the point...<br />
<br />
I have had a Blackberry since early last year. I hated it. It was always messing up and I do not need to be THAT connected. I need to GET AWAY from my computer--so why did I get a phone that brings my work with me? No clue. So, this week, I bid goodbye to my Smartphone and updated by going way back...with what I will lovingly call my very own Zack Morris Edition. It is a little more updated than Zack's, but it's 10 steps backwards from where I was. No internet, no email. Love it!<br />
<br />
So, in honor of simplifying my life in a small but significant way and this fun few minutes of reminiscing about some of my faves, here we go!<br />
<br />
[Saved by the Bell Theme Song]Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-92218893866689502182011-06-22T09:07:00.001-04:002011-06-22T09:11:40.035-04:00Is it just me?Is it just me, or...<br />
<br />
Do other husbands leave their dirty clothes in every room in the house? I mean, I don't feel it is ever appropriate to have dirty socks in the dining room.<br />
<br />
Do other people get mosquito bites in random places? Apparently a swarm attacked my bootie!<br />
<br />
Do Blackberry's suck?<br />
<br />
Speaking of technology, has the technological revolution gone too far with social media? I mean, how connected is too connected?<br />
<br />
Do others ever wonder what their dog is thinking?<br />
<br />
Do other people love their "work" while at the same time want to do nothing other than hang out with their kid(s)? (Hello, cognitive dissonance.)<br />
<br />
Am I the only one who loses sleep after seeing an actor or actress on tv/a movie and can't remember what else he/she has been in?<br />
<br />
Does the saying "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times" bother anyone else? If someone's told me something once...they've told me once, not a million times.<br />
<br />
Do other teachers literally bang their head against the wall while questioning the purpose of their existence while grading?<br />
<br />
Is it common to feel like you're finally catching up financially only to have some minor (or major) disaster set you back...again?<br />
<br />
Does singing in the car free the soul?<br />
<br />
Do others find it impossible to ever have ALL the laundry done...and put away?<br />
<br />
Does playing the "what if" game keep you up at night?<br />
<br />
Do the parents who get really competitive at their young (i.e. 4-8 year old) children's sports events really get on your nerves? This is supposed to be fun, people!<br />
<br />
Does holding hot change make your teeth hurt? (I think this came from having braces for too many years.)<br />
<br />
Are the of words "I love you, Mom." the best on earth?<br />
<br />
Can petting a dog really solve 85ish % of your problems?<br />
<br />
Do you stir about the fact that owning a pet is so irrational, since your best friend is getting really old?<br />
<br />
Do other people give voices to their pets?<br />
<br />
Does mom-guilt bother you really bad?<br />
<br />
Do you wish you could just hug away all of life's "bad/challenging/mean/though stuff" from your kid(s)? But realize it's your job to teach them how to handle it...and freak out a little bit? (That's a big job!)<br />
<br />
Do you forget what it was like to not be a mom?<br />
<br />
Does it seem impossible that you were ever young and carefree?<br />
<br />
Does humidity make other people's hair look like something from a low-budget 80s video?<br />
<br />
Do others only buy stuff on sale at the end of the season, so that their "fashion" is always at least a year behind...and not really care?<br />
<br />
Do other people not really even know what is in fashion?<br />
<br />
Should summer never end? (I miss Florida.)<br />
<br />
Is the beach the best place on the planet?<br />
<br />
Do people who get really agitated while driving make YOUR blood pressure rise...yet you can't help but watch in amazement at other people's insanity? (I recently witnessed what almost became a fist fight over a gas pump.)<br />
<br />
Do other people stew over crazy questions? :)<br />
<br />
Just wondering...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Head on over to </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thingsicantsay-shell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i904.photobucket.com/albums/ac246/shellthings/pouryourheartout.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">and find out what's going on in other people's heads today. </div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-76218927950129205902011-06-17T08:37:00.001-04:002011-06-17T08:39:36.953-04:005 Minute Fridays: The Full Circle Back Home!<center><a href="http://thegypsymama.com/category/five-minute-friday/"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_lCeOMfY0_fQ/TWly2m-jN_I/AAAAAAAAFEY/k8HJ__cvkws/s200/5%20minute%20friday.jpg" /></a></center><br />
<br />
I'm back again for a 5-minute Friday link-up with <a href="http://thegypsymama.com/">The Gypsy Mama</a>. This week's topic is home...so, it's 8:27--Ready, set, GO!<br />
<br />
The definition of "home" to me has greatly changed over the past 9 years. I lived in the same house my entire life until I went to college--1998 (good grief). When I say "went to" I mean like 20 minutes away. I lived on campus, but HOME was never far away. If I was sick, needed to wash clothes for free, or just wanted a home-cooked meal, I still had that luxury. I even moved back into my old HOME after graduating college for about a year before I got married.<br />
<br />
Yes, I got married...to a MARINE. At age 22 I left the comfort of my HOMEtown (in southwestern Virginia) and all that went along with it (to move to New England--hello culture shock). HOME had to take on a whole new meaning. I remember my minister talking to us before we got married telling me that HOME would have to be wherever Buzz's career took us--not the comforts of my childhood dwelling. I didn't know how that could be.<br />
<br />
I was HOMEsick for a few years but then I managed to love my new life away from what used to be the only place I considered HOME. I made a new HOME that could move--with my husband. After those few years, Buzz started deploying again. So my HOME, which I was able to finally define as the place where my family lives, had to be redefined again. But I had a beautiful daughter to remind me that HOME truly is where the heart is. And we made our HOME by ourselves, away from most friends and all family. It was lonely. But the military family came out in full force and we made our definition of HOME different again--it was right there waiting for Buzz to come home--and my daughter and I were the perfect team.<br />
<br />
I have lived in 5 states and 10 dwellings since my marriage in December 2002. HOME is where we make it. But my original HOME will always be a part of my life. Recently, my daughter told me that she has 2 HOMEs: The one we live in AND her grandma and granddaddy's house (i.e. my parents' house where I lived until marriage). I love it when things come full circle. <br />
<br />
And it's 8:32...so I must stop. :)<br />
<br />
For a great song and previous post on my thoughts of home, check out <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/03/my-soundtrack-my-home-has-no-walls.html">My home (has no walls)</a>.<br />
<br />
And check out the other posts at <a href="http://thegypsymama.com/">5 Minute Fridays!</a>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-4731543084926776012011-06-16T07:57:00.000-04:002011-06-16T07:57:41.943-04:00Party! (in my head)I don't usually go for the newer songs on here, mostly because they haven't been around long enough to "speak" to me. BUT, this week we have an exception, for a few general reasons.<br />
<br />
1. Any song that can fit "Zach Galifianakis" into the lyrics of a song gets a major awesome point from me.<br />
<br />
2. I have a huge conscience and, what those close to me call, a guilt complex. I overthink EVERYTHING and that overthinking turns into excessive worry. I replay things I have said or done in my head over and over and come up with countless ways that I should feel bad, made a fool out of myself, or made someone think less of me. And when something even remotely "bad" does happen, it's stress city in my brain! Some recent examples of my overthinking (not to mention I still stress out about events from years ago, as well):<br />
<br />
- First, Let me not forget my <a href="http://-%20let%20me%20not%20forget%20my%20pay%20it%20forward%20adventure%20and%20its%20aftermath.%20%20seriously,%20even%20when%20i%20try%20so%20hard%20to%20do%20the%20right%20thing,%20i%20end%20up%20overthinking%20and%20worrying./">pay it forward adventure</a> and its <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/03/good-deeds-gone-awkward-follow-up.html">aftermath</a>. Seriously, even when I try SO HARD to do the right thing, the NICE and KIND thing all planned out but things don't go exactly the way I think they should, I end up overthinking and worrying and being totally awkward. I mean, I am awkward, but you'd think by now I could just embrace that and run with it. :)<br />
<br />
- I spent an evening at a little party at a conference with my colleagues, my professors, some other sociologists I didn't know, and a few cocktails. Everyone was having a good time, most way more than me in the cocktail department, but I don't get in social situations with these people very often. So, for so long after that, I stressed over whether or not anything I said was stupid or if the stories I told were boring. (Luckily, after talking with some friends after the event, I was totally not the most awkward one there and other people did things silly enough to be remembered over any faux pas I may have made. Yay!)<br />
<br />
- I have made plans to go out to dinner and a movie with Buzz and another couple this weekend. We NEVER do things like this. K has even been asking if she could have a "young" babysitter come hang out with her like they used to do before she went to school. BUT, I feel guilty because I am going out and leaving her at home--even though she will have way more fun that if she were to come with us.<br />
<br />
- When we do go out to special events, like the Marine Corps Ball (seriously, that's the ONLY time we really go out), and someone else puts K to bed, I can't sleep when I get home because I feel guilty and feel like a bad mom for staying out later than her bedtime. I seriously have issues--most of these probably stem from the fact that for so long, it was just the two of us--Buzz was deployed so much in her first few years and I was away from family and most of my friends. I never had the option to do such things. K and I are a team. But SHE has cut the cord, I believe this is MY problem. Mom guilt sucks...especially when you worry like I do!<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to 2. on my list...These are just a few examples of how I feel and overthink everything and lose a lot of sleep over things that no one else probably even remembers, or people don't even remotely care about if they DO remember. I dream of being able to let things go, of having fun without worrying that I said or did something stupid or to "silly," of not caring if I am an awkward faux pas queen. I have always prided myself on being true to me--of who I am and what I stand for. I wouldn't compromise that for anything, but I will stress about it! :) So, this song makes me smile big smiles--and laugh. Because I can't IMAGINE being in such crazy situations and saying "Whatever." "It doesn't matter." Oh well!" It seriously makes me uncomfortable to watch people being awkward on tv or hear about an embarrassing story of someone else. The scenarios in this song make me uncomfortable--but they make me laugh because of the anecdote to just be like "whatever!" And I dream of letting myself off the hook--even for just one night--to let my crazy hair hang down and not look back with anything except for happy laughs. It's not likely to ever happen, but in the soundtrack of my mind, it's a good hypothetical story. <br />
<br />
And, 3. I like the beat. :)<br />
<br />
So, without further ado, here is MY song for the week...(and, yep, I'm bouncing and smiling right now) :)<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QzlNFcT2aOE" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Head on over to </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.goodnight-moon.org/"><img border="0" src="http://i1081.photobucket.com/albums/j358/neidyh/Whatsyoursong-1-1.jpg" /></a></center><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">to link up and hear other great songs!</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-43491693408736485802011-06-15T08:58:00.001-04:002011-06-15T09:00:39.385-04:00When I grow up...<div style="text-align: center;">"Every day you make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of that journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy of the climb." <br />
--Winston Churchill</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Age 5: When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut, a movie star, or one of those people who run the checkout register at the grocery store.<br />
<br />
Age 8: When I grow up, I want to be a lifeguard, or maybe an Olympic gymnast.<br />
<br />
Age 10: When I grow up, I want to be a teacher.<br />
<br />
Age 12: When I grow up, I want to be a veterinarian.<br />
<br />
[7th grade--A friend is in a horrible car accident, leaving him with TBI. I spend many hours at a pediatric hospital for head trauma]<br />
<br />
Age 13: When I grow up, I want to be a physical therapist.<br />
<br />
Age 14: When I grow up, I think I really do want to be a veterinarian.<br />
<br />
[I take a biology class--not my thing.]<br />
<br />
Age 15: I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Why are we talking about this?<br />
<br />
[Buzz, who I have been dating for nearly 2 years, joins the Marine Corps]<br />
<br />
Age 17: When I grow up, I want to be a Marine wife.<br />
<br />
[I enter college and have to make decisions on what I want to be when I grow up]<br />
<br />
Age 18: Uh, when I grow up, I want to, uh, be in banking? [Buzz and I break up as I am in college in VA and he is stationed in CA] When I grow up, I want to be anything but a Marine wife.<br />
<br />
Age 19: I don't like accounting. When I grow up, I want to be a physical therapist--that will be so rewarding. [Volunteered for a summer at a pediatric physical therapy clinic] I can't be a physical therapist--I'm way to emotionally involved and I would be a wreck all the time. Hmmm, I'll be an economics major--it's still business but I don't have to take any more accounting.<br />
<br />
Age 21: [I graduate college and get a job as a commercial credit analyst at the bank where I have worked as teller and as a clerical assistant] When I grow up, I want to be a VP of this bank.<br />
<br />
[I'm miserable at my job. I hate sitting in a cubicle all day. I decide I need to go back to school and go back to the teller line, where I can be around people again, while I make some decisions...and start taking sign language classes.]<br />
<br />
Age 21 1/2: When I grow up I want to be a teacher. I'm going to grad school to get a master's in education.<br />
<br />
[Re-enter Buzz, our engagement, and marriage]<br />
<br />
Age 22: Oh good grief, can I ever have a career?<br />
<br />
[I enter graduate program for deaf education, begin working at a elementary school for deaf kids.]<br />
<br />
Age 23: When I grow up, I want to educate deaf kids.<br />
<br />
[Job at the elementary school is too emotionally draining and I can't finish that program before Buzz gets restationed. I enter the master's in applied sociology program at the same university]<br />
<br />
Age 24: When I grow up, I want to do something with sociology. I will go get my PhD.<br />
<br />
[I decide it's time to start a family because Buzz will soon be deploying. Pregnancy finds me immediately. **YAY!!!** No immediate plans for PhD school--only mommyhood]<br />
<br />
Age 25: When I grow up, I want to be this little girl's mommy.<br />
<br />
[After being a stay at home mom for a year, I start teaching community college part-time]<br />
<br />
Age 26: I mainly want to be a mommy, but when I grow up, I want to teach. Wait, I miss working with people with hearing impairments. Maybe I want to be a speech-language pathologist--then I could do both.<br />
<br />
[I apply and get accepted to a distance education program for SLP. Buzz gets ready to deploy again. I can't handle the program with a 2 year old. I realize I need to get my priorities straight and decide not to begin said program.]<br />
<br />
Age 27: When I grow up, I want to be a mommy--and maybe still teach community college--but probably just part-time.<br />
<br />
[We find out that Buzz will be restationed near a Research I university with a sociology program. I apply--late--and still get in.]<br />
<br />
Age 28: When I grow up, I want to be a sociologist--though I don't know if I want to concentrate on research or teaching--and, first and foremost, I want to be a mommy.<br />
<br />
[PhD school is very hard and demanding--it's even rougher with a family and all the challenges of military life.]<br />
<br />
Age 30: When I grow up, I want to be a mommy--why did I go back to school? Well, maybe I'm just upset...when it comes down to it, I do still want to be a sociologist, too...I just don't know if I want to go research (most of the time, I don't but the thought crosses my mind), teaching, industry (probably not), or non-profit (that sounds rewarding). I just want to get out of grad school, then I will work on making these decisions, based on where the Marine Corps takes us. Wait, why is my daughter telling me what she wants to be when she grows up? I don't want her to grow up so fast! (sigh) Well, back to my own school work...<br />
<br />
Moral of this story: Sometimes you go 3 decades with many changes and challenges in your life, you may be working on a doctorate and STILL not know exactly what you want to be when you grow up. And that's okay. Grad school is not a cop-out for me--as some have suggested--so that I don't have to make this decision. I know that this field will lead me to the right thing--and give me options if my tastes change. It also gives me the flexibility to spend summers with my daughter and I have had more at home-time with her WHILE doing something in pursuit of a career. Complicated? Absolutely! This doesn't change and seems to get worse with age, education level, and Marine wife life. Do I take conventional routes? No. Decisive? No. I'm not conventional or decisive except for the fact that mom is my #1 job...and everything else will work itself out. Part of the fun of deciding what you will be when you "grow up" is the journey that takes you there. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thingsicantsay-shell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i904.photobucket.com/albums/ac246/shellthings/pouryourheartout.jpg" /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-29250896381897127752011-06-10T15:59:00.000-04:002011-06-10T15:59:49.183-04:00The many faces and uses...of my back yard<div style="text-align: center;">So, today I was running behind (as usual) and did not have time for my usual run. I have been working REALLY hard to run most days and I did not run yesterday (though I did some killer kettle bells and tae bo-ha!). I had about 20 minutes before I had to jump in the shower to make a lunch date, K has requested not to be in the running stroller anymore (I get it--she IS 5, but she still weighs so little), and I didn't have time to go to the track we have been going to where she can ride her bike or swing on the nearby swingset while I complete my run. What to do? What to do?</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">[Enter my "great" idea]</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OXXVmaEbHufAiZuqe41MXwSB7YqNyFlr3N1coSNOytWSSjdnPcHoYrD2z0E_NKo2EzcbFopfvFSzWfMDTqBIXuB2S_5AC1prijSQrT2PefarDOvBeJLg_pxnCKMY7OBs8bYSZz5Ykas/s1600/back+yard+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OXXVmaEbHufAiZuqe41MXwSB7YqNyFlr3N1coSNOytWSSjdnPcHoYrD2z0E_NKo2EzcbFopfvFSzWfMDTqBIXuB2S_5AC1prijSQrT2PefarDOvBeJLg_pxnCKMY7OBs8bYSZz5Ykas/s320/back+yard+001.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center">Yes, the back yard.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">We spend a lot of time in the back yard. I love this house--and the back yard was the biggest selling point. For a family who loves to be outside with two big dogs, this fenced in back yard was calling our name. So, what did I do today? I ran a few laps around my back yard--forwards. Then I galloped sideways to the left, then to the right, then I ran backwards...and repeated. About 20 minutes of that helped me work up a sweat and made me feel like I had the check in the box for some sort of cardio activity for the day.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">Crazy? Maybe, but it was another chance to reflect on our home here. I love this house--more than I have loved any other place that we have lived. Maybe because Buzz is here more often than at our past houses, maybe because we have such great neighbors, maybe because of this yard--I don't know, but I love it. And the back yard is still my favorite place. It has it all:</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmU6cgeIf0yoez2Jb7dMJIchp1V2sW190g8L_hvRzZR_ekLOE3faqEpUQ_O-ySd45GSof359Kq_HLcS41fCyjRlGY3hGHBL2sxggtbfo4y75DTcEbzuji3xf8e15kaZyqSmVPHoLf_VqE/s1600/back+yard+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmU6cgeIf0yoez2Jb7dMJIchp1V2sW190g8L_hvRzZR_ekLOE3faqEpUQ_O-ySd45GSof359Kq_HLcS41fCyjRlGY3hGHBL2sxggtbfo4y75DTcEbzuji3xf8e15kaZyqSmVPHoLf_VqE/s320/back+yard+005.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center">A hammock, under a weeping willow tree. Ahhhhh...</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrswLPJEsWaJPOhwQGYxR7YgNpXEkjsQr4ehciuL4P-a5q8_HhKDRSv3FblevCpSdE4ilhyphenhyphenmvm4otSJFGLo3i9B9_IwCDpjx1y5sEd5hHx0MivZkiTn8LjI4VTuG2eajPLJjgKpKvzRU/s1600/back+yard+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrswLPJEsWaJPOhwQGYxR7YgNpXEkjsQr4ehciuL4P-a5q8_HhKDRSv3FblevCpSdE4ilhyphenhyphenmvm4otSJFGLo3i9B9_IwCDpjx1y5sEd5hHx0MivZkiTn8LjI4VTuG2eajPLJjgKpKvzRU/s320/back+yard+003.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center">A playset for our kiddo and her friends--I knew this house was a "yes" when I couldn't get K off of the playset when we came to look at the house.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_sl03hjIZ7vo7tUo49nEm6mnwtvRLjXKfPn9AR1V2UJ4ajaLu2X-2Jkj1NVBdncU_AajgPjrkCzGKRq_Anqx5IO7xrVWVlfI5Lws4NDRpJ1Fqhbp74qiBRjG69wHRoeRFj45GREXkaw/s320/back+yard+002.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the "cooking facility" and table where we prepare and eat most of our meals--the grill is now dimpled and without a cover thanks to the hail storm, but we still love it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH27N3FnblH0vP2Ueu2RO41I1TTlO4Xj87mkpoEhinw3yG3dd6upFnTlYMU6VT41z8FBUtDiMQ2Cc8i-ppqGHZpBaNH5EOrWZm5XDTiaHCLxcYY3kORPQz9xg7IirFTnIWnqCGcHMJ_1A/s1600/fun+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH27N3FnblH0vP2Ueu2RO41I1TTlO4Xj87mkpoEhinw3yG3dd6upFnTlYMU6VT41z8FBUtDiMQ2Cc8i-ppqGHZpBaNH5EOrWZm5XDTiaHCLxcYY3kORPQz9xg7IirFTnIWnqCGcHMJ_1A/s320/fun+003.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is K's private diner--sometimes it's in the tree house, sometimes it's under the tree house, sometimes it's in the yard--today, it was in the sandbox. :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMVMMNXzL22s19UhL8O7Rhu90L7WDlIKzcPiLG2W0RUc95DwyZbx6GsolQAUAXh7cW15UpeSRvc-_nxQWP_WIRSygaL-eM8MM6h6mOch3VfZ994a1UwEeEEQIhbHyDCpyHHmA0Qy53_4/s1600/back+yard+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMVMMNXzL22s19UhL8O7Rhu90L7WDlIKzcPiLG2W0RUc95DwyZbx6GsolQAUAXh7cW15UpeSRvc-_nxQWP_WIRSygaL-eM8MM6h6mOch3VfZ994a1UwEeEEQIhbHyDCpyHHmA0Qy53_4/s320/back+yard+004.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh yes, and the fire pit. Notice the "seats" around the fire pit? Well, those are new. Those came from an old friend of our front yard--the birch tree. The birch tree used to drip sap and stick leaves to the cars in the driveway, and Buzz was convinced it must come down. Last weekend he was on a mission:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrJKch7WbwBFWPYZPouW9kn2DoiyiWq-RqVqZd9SCTt4JXG7V7MgLedKz8d9AjzK977oY5xVwYLo-16VMlDX48v0Mt3MWPqqw6Z3j_2pWpd7t7L8VV12qyxM-eiV4WTMTvTD6OtvI5WQ/s1600/Yardwork+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrJKch7WbwBFWPYZPouW9kn2DoiyiWq-RqVqZd9SCTt4JXG7V7MgLedKz8d9AjzK977oY5xVwYLo-16VMlDX48v0Mt3MWPqqw6Z3j_2pWpd7t7L8VV12qyxM-eiV4WTMTvTD6OtvI5WQ/s320/Yardwork+008.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That would be my husband--on my neighbor's house, preparing for the goodbye ceremony for the tree.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebBt-B9BN_slARPfQ1gXTtWNJu7alv96dvjKPvQ42e0QtSlKMwOraOMhlR0PTvR-Li5D7ZKsHQYfOICY-fnd3GiBuGeUz6F3hyKcuzR5Pin-jVBFWNWN2yazTYSz8gG6EpqrmshgPhwI/s1600/Yardwork+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebBt-B9BN_slARPfQ1gXTtWNJu7alv96dvjKPvQ42e0QtSlKMwOraOMhlR0PTvR-Li5D7ZKsHQYfOICY-fnd3GiBuGeUz6F3hyKcuzR5Pin-jVBFWNWN2yazTYSz8gG6EpqrmshgPhwI/s320/Yardwork+014.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thanks to some great friends and neighbors,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hW3uBg6vcx-u4pS7hnJQC0NQi8spj9_c2yY-W8b-2UsNtauEWMkXu96ZxDD8mL9-P8Zx77OnccuXsEaLyVfud66D9AqOrhiCxLRsQhG1c-oYvQboj4fFSA9WNrv713AQYsZPqqcPLVM/s320/Yardwork+015.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And some pulling and tugging while chainsawing...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihm4rfLsP-ttLPnb3rAY8WHrzh7bDNjfbIbFIj5n0aSkqv1iZ-qLchEFK_YKQjr7x-YvSnask1BmmELAwFfbCxL1CrKuVfRV4j0QUtMIObkFFFlkETU90MI8EDlBanHpn3xdADcnKSKmM/s320/Yardwork+018.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That bad boy came down! Whoot Whoot to men with chainsaws! ;)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFhkj1c7K1t3nlWlyfRRUX5fdmdYr69NsaFjzw06RtCEdcWgR3ogsIGVhuoL5_cbJLJKkzaxeVeCTPFL299ElMWhmtrVVNL1JLNlOxsyMoqRzb-kJ_ZCQw7eghryQ_Gs3GitUJSDBmEk/s1600/Yardwork+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFhkj1c7K1t3nlWlyfRRUX5fdmdYr69NsaFjzw06RtCEdcWgR3ogsIGVhuoL5_cbJLJKkzaxeVeCTPFL299ElMWhmtrVVNL1JLNlOxsyMoqRzb-kJ_ZCQw7eghryQ_Gs3GitUJSDBmEk/s320/Yardwork+019.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It took a couple of days to clean up the front yard, but, anyway, the trunk gave us some fire pit seats.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, that's about it. I love my yard. It gives me rest, play, exercise, food, and good stories--all of which often involve dog poop, but that's okay. I love it here. I'll miss it when we leave for the next part of our journey--we found out when and where we are going next year. I'm excited and ready to get back to the beach--but this yard will always hold a special place in my heart. :)</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-58422468196103180662011-06-09T10:06:00.002-04:002011-06-09T17:02:08.907-04:00A simpler time...<div align="center">I'm linking up again today with</div><div align="center"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.goodnight-moon.org/"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJqaYaZfSa9G0HNWNRm5gnAu7wTigp5in_Kpc4TNM6AXNKe2RbZtzoWvtzU-tVLftZOIjOok5rVOEKwv36b04mClOeuFNph2FzGvHmZcCJPIPeAOWwQ7tSOFSZxQWr8R6OijY3Bd0PR8sY/s200/Goodnight+moon.gif" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Head over, listen to some great tunes, and add YOUR song!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been away for a while. Well, I've been right here but I've been away from my blog quite a bit because every second at the computer is (or at least should be) devoted to school work these days. (Sigh)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But today, I'm back with a GREAT song and even better memories. Do you have a song that gives you chills? Not because of the words or meaning of the song itself, but because of how it makes you feel? Well, this is one of those songs for me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
<img border="0" height="0" src="http://c.gigcount.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEzMDc2MjcxNDc4OTMmcHQ9MTMwNzYyNzE1Mzk2NCZwPTY5NDMwMSZkPSZnPTEmbz1hYzIwMTVlOTFhMDM*Yzc2YmQ3/YWJmYzZmYTE4YTE*NyZvZj*w.gif" style="height: 0px; visibility: hidden; width: 0px;" width="0" /><br />
<div style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; visibility: visible; width: 450px;"><object height="470" width="450"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="never"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="flashvars" value="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_purple.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.playlistproject.net%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D86229497%26t%3D1307627149&wid=os"></param><embed style="width:450px; visibility:visible; height:470px;" allowScriptAccess="never" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/mp3player_new.swf" flashvars="config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.indimusic.us%2Fext%2Fpc%2Fconfig_purple.xml&mywidth=450&myheight=470&playlist_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.playlistproject.net%2Fpl.php%3Fplaylist%3D86229497%26t%3D1307627149&wid=os" width="450" height="470" name="mp3player" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" border="0"/> </object> <br />
<a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/"><img alt="Get a playlist!" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/create_purple.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/playlist/22074751243/standalone" target="_blank"><img alt="Standalone player" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/launch_purple.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.playlistproject.net/playlist/22074751243/download"><img alt="Get Ringtones" border="0" src="http://www.playlistproject.net/mc/images/get_purple.jpg" /></a> </div><br />
Flash back to a college summer, at the beach, with a few friends--a couple I would like to forget and one who was one of the best friends I have ever had--ever. We'll just call that one "B." And, first of all, may I say that I get constant criticism (mainly from my husband) that a male and a female cannot be true friends without some sort of "romantic" element. Well, I don't believe it, because through high school and a large part of college, B and I were super-close amazing FRIENDS of the opposite sex. But anyway... Back to that beach trip. We were a few stories up at our oceanfront hotel, sitting on the balcony having a few drinks (we were, of course, all 21 by then...or something). The restaurant next door had a second story outdoor restaurant and every night we were there, the same guy played the guitar and sang. He was okay--not the best, but he was just what we needed on our vacay. Somehow, at just the right moment one night, he broke out with "Main Street." No lie, we wrapped our arms around each others shoulders, swayed and belted out the words to the song ourselves as if we'd been practicing for months. Also, no lie, the people at the restaurant turned around and applauded us. Awesome! We ended up hanging out at the restaurant and the guy who was singing. Instant friends, of course. We requested songs from our balcony the whole week--with Main Street as THE ONE. It became my and B's theme song. For a while. <br />
<br />
B and my lives went separate directions soon after that week at the beach. We would see each other off and on. Occasionally we would hang out. Later we might just bump into each other downtown or something like that. I got married and moved away and his life took him away, also. Every few years we would manage a phone call, but that was about it.<br />
<br />
Over the years, "Main Street" has remained one of my faves. Every time I hear it, it takes me back. It warms my heart. It reminds me of things that are good in the world and there is joy in a simple moment. It helps me recognize that change is inevitable, but is just a part of growing, even if sometimes that growing means growing apart from others you always assumed (and hoped) would be in your life. Military life has taught me that some friends come and go in your life, that some friends are there for a time or just to serve a purpose for a short period--but they are all friends who color your life and make you who you are today. This has helped me better accept the loss of close relationships with some friends, but that doesn't make them any less important in your heart or lessen the strength of their friendship in shaping your world. <br />
<br />
Recently, B and I have been back in touch a little bit more. It's not like it used to be, but I am glad we have not fallen off the face of the earth to each other. Sometimes, I miss the simpler times when the most important things in our lives were what the weekend plans were and if we could get through to the radio station to request Main Street. But, then I flash back to reality. I love my life. I wouldn't change it for anything. My husband, my daughter, my dogs, my house, military wife-life, my path to PhD-dom. All huge responsibilities, all amazing, somewhat complicated, but all perfect...for me. But that doesn't negate the power of a song that can take me back...or the amazing friendship that lives on even when it may not be as close as it once was.<br />
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Okay, I take back a previous comment...one line in the song has meaning from the words itself: "And sometimes even now when I'm feeling lonely and beat, I drift back in time and I find my feet...<strong>Down on Main Street</strong>!"Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-42736927704638474732011-06-08T15:01:00.001-04:002011-06-08T15:02:45.089-04:00Misunderstood<div style="text-align: center;">**Disclaimer: I love my husband and all of the people who support me in my life. I am a genuinely happy person, but sometimes, I just gotta let out the griping...and what better time then when I can </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thingsicantsay-shell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i904.photobucket.com/albums/ac246/shellthings/pouryourheartout.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(And, my apologies...it's a long one--I'm making up for lost time.)</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been MIA from the blogging world lately. I literally have not had 10 minutes to sit down and write if it was not for school, teaching, exams, or a publication. So, here I am. I'm tired. I'm tired of doing so much. I'm tired of being so <u>misunderstood</u>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/05/rollin-with-punches.html">mentioned before</a> how I don't fit in--in military wife life OR in grad school life, because each is so different from the other and I'm juggling both sets of roles and responsibilities in two different arenas where neither side understands the other. But it goes deeper than that. I get so FRUSTRATED when people think I'm "just" a stay at home mom. First of all, HELLO?!? "JUST" does not belong in that phrase. Mommyhood is the hardest (yet best and most rewarding) job on the planet and it gets under my skin when people take it upon themselves to say how that's not a big deal. But I digress...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I AM a mom first and foremost. This is the way I want it. It is my favorite of my favorite roles. But I am also many other things: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">-I am a military wife. That's not an easy job. My husbands's job dictates not only his life but my daughter's and my lives. He never has the option to put off his responsibilities--nope, it's always my commitments that have to give. People MISUNDERSTAND a military wife's place in her family--and in the military structure itself. It is hard to pursue anything for yourself in this life. You never know what's around the corner, but you know YOU will be the one who must be flexible. YOU will have to be the one to break plans and mold your life to his duties. YOU will have to live in his shadow--no matter what I accomplish, he always "trumps" me in the eyes of others. That's fine--he deserves it. I have the utmost respect for our military and have seen first-hand how much they sacrifice and have witnessed their superhuman strengths and abilities. BUT I wish that didn't have to negate MY accomplishments. I work hard, too. I keep this family together in his absence. I, for all practical purposes single-handedly raise our amazing daughter. And, this is fine with me because I love it. I only wish I had more time away from other responsibilities to do more fun things with my little lady--but I feel bad for her missing out on a "normal" family life (whatever that is) and I feel bad for him missing out on fatherhood on a more regular basis. I pay the bills--no, it's not MY income that pays the majority of the bills, but I am the one who make sure things get paid. I clean the house, I mow the grass (sometimes, like today), I cook every meal that we eat at home. I handle the house, the cars, the EVERYTHING that keeps us above water. Does that not deserve some credit?</div><div style="text-align: left;">-I'm a teacher--a college instructor. This is not an easy job, either. It's very important but it involves a lot of work, time, and effort--and irritation at times. It took a lot of hard work, education, and sacrifice to make it this far. MY merits got me here. But people don't seem to understand. "Oh, you JUST teach online" they say. Yes--but this is also A LOT of work. Maybe more work than being IN the classroom--which I have also done and will be doing again come August. Not to mention, I'm trying to work WHILE taking care of all of my at home duties--they don't shut off during "work" hours. Or, "Oh, it's JUST community college" others might add. What's up with "JUST" coming before all of the things that challenge and reward me as an individual? Community college is no walk in the park. Imagine a group of 30 people, all from very diverse backgrounds with a variety of goals, family situations, ages, etc. and try to come up with a course that can reach all of them. Not the easiest thing on earth.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-I am a graduate student. "Oh, you're in school?" people say with a strange tone as if to look down upon me. Yes. I am a 30 year old and I am STILL in school. I am STILL in school because my h<span style="background-color: white;">usband (who I fully and wholeheartedly support) has a career that has taken me places and pu</span>t me in situations that made it impossible to get this far without breaks in my education. And when I say "this far" I mean I am working on my PhD. A very, very small fraction of the population has such credentials. I don't think I am better than anyone else and question this decision on a daily basis. It's not for everyone, that's for sure! But do I not deserve SOME recognition for these accomplishments? Maybe people just don't understand. I write--I publish--I work very, very hard to be the best that I can be and make a name for myself--a career for myself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm also a daughter, granddaughter, niece, friend, and pet owner among other things. I take everything in stride, though I do get down and complain sometimes (okay, a lot). But don't we all deserve to just let it out sometimes? To remind people that we are ALL unique in our own ways...and it is all relative. We only know what we have had the opportunity to experience. I just feel so misunderstood so often...by so many people in my life. My colleagues do not get the military experience, my military acquaintances don't get the grad school experience, my civilian acquaintances who haven't been to grad school don't get either. I get moved around to places that make getting the job I want, that I have worked so hard for in pursuing this PhD, nearly impossible. But I go. I follow. I remain in the shadow hoping for the chance to be seen in a brighter light for MY accomplishments in all areas of my life. Thankfully, I have an amazing group of friends and family who, while they may not understand me fully, are my rocks. I'm so blessed to be surrounded by amazing people--especially on days like today.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I said a long time ago that I was going to stop being irritated and start being proud. So, in my bloggity journal, this is that time when I got it out and turn over that new leaf. So, go me! I am so super proud that in a single day I spend time with the most amazing little girl on the planet (in my eyes), make our house (that we are blessed to have) clean and beautiful--including the yard, make sure our bills are paid, run a half mile farther than I have been running, work on a publication, prepare for an exam that will put me one step closer to PhD status, work on my dissertation project, and feed my family. Our family lives a life with many battles and challenges, but that just makes us stronger. We might not be "normal" by any standard, but the opporunities and experiences we are privy to on this journey are priceless. As are the amazing people we meet along the way. When I put it that way, I guess it doesn't matter who does or does not understand me from the inside out, as long as I can stay strong, keep pushing forward doing the right thing, and have my rocks to stablize me on this crazy journey.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Okay. Griping done. Stay tuned...when time permits, I'm still working on putting on my "happy blog face."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And, I'll leave you again with one of my favorite quotes that I break out when I feel like I'm pushing against a brick wall. It reminds me that I must keep plugging along, even when the going gets tough. Obstacles before me, beware! :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <em>“…the evident genius of the human spirit lies in the hard fact of life that we, like our dogs…[are] limited in all the important ways… We cannot do all that our powerful minds trick us into thinking we can. In a word, this is the mystery of being human. Our finest nature is not our ability to think and do. It is that we do and think as we do in spite of the obstacles…On average, the better ones among us continue to think and do what they can with no assurance that solutions will be found.” </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>--Charles Lemert </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-75990559354244164732011-05-29T11:18:00.001-04:002011-05-29T11:25:07.340-04:00All I need to know, I learned through the Marine Corps?<div style="text-align: center;">*In honor of Memorial Day, I would like to thank all of those who have sacrificed for our country--and also like to think their families.*</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes, I look at myself 9-10 years ago (before I married into the Marine Corps) and I have a hard time remembering life as that person. I have been aware of the plight of military members and their families for a long time, including an awareness on a personal level since the age of 16 when I was dating a young recruit at Parris Island. But it was not until I stepped into the role of Marine Wife that I had a taste of what this life means--all that it offers, all that it gives, and all that it takes away. The phrase, "If the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued one to you," rings loud and clear. However, without those of us holding down the fort at home, I bet the military would not have as strong of a foundation as it does. Military families are heroes, too...allowing the brave Marines, Sailors, Soldiers, and Airmen to perform their duties to our country with the comfort of knowing things on the homefront are taken care of by the ones who love us most.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Military wife life is not easy. It's hard. It's lonely. It's stressful. It's, at times, quite scary. It has made me a stronger person. I truly believe it has made my daughter a stronger person. I also believe it has made my marriage stronger. As I read Facebook posts of civilian friends who must spend a night or two without their loved ones or hear of someone upset that their husband is working a few late nights this week, I am reminded of the separations and the hardships military families face. Who among our group would stress about a night apart? Who among us hasn't prayed that time move by faster--that the months and years could be behind us so that we can be a family together again? I sometimes have to ground myself--it IS all relative. Just because WE live this life doesn't mean that EVERYONE is privy to the understanding of our experiences. Just as I beg for others to understand OUR lives, I must be respectful of others. I must be thankful that I have the experience and the understanding of deployments and of having a husband whose job comes first in our family. Without these experiences which I often consider hardships, I would not have the ability to reflect and enjoy the little daily moments of so deeply.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't ALWAYS focus on the part of my life that is wrapped up in the Marine Corps, as I try so hard to define myself as an individual. But, the truth of the matter is that the Marine Corps is present in every second of every day of my life--and it has played a huge role in makeing me the woman I am today. So, I would like to take a moment to share some of my greatest lessons learned in the past 8 1/2 years of being a Marine Wife.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- You can do many things you didn't think possible. And, you CAN do it on your own.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Belongings mean little. Carrying the memories in your head is the safest place to keep them. (This is particularly helpful with moves...the less clutter, the fewer boxes, the better in my book.)</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- It is possible to overcome differences. Marines (and other service members) can stand side-by-side as brothers no matter how they differ on any level. We should take their example.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Related to the previous lesson, you can find friends in places you least expect them.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Military friendships are different than any other friendship on the planet. You can have people come and go in your life. You can support other military wives through a certain period of time. You will likely be separated before you are ready--and may sometimes lose contact--but this never lessens the strength of your friendship, your bond, or the importance of your duty to each other.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Contrary to what some believe, serving your country is not about politics or religion or anything else...it's about something deep inside a person who has a call to do something most of us cannot comprehend.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- You don't know the true FEELING of excitement, anxiety, nervousness, fear, joy and about 100 different emotions rolled into one until you are waiting on the bus to pull up after a deployment.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- A hug after a deployment is the best feeling. Ever.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- That hug after a deployment does not make up for all the months spent apart, living separate lives and growing separately. Reunion is great--reintegration is difficult.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Military kids view the world differently. </div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Sitting in the back seat to your husband's career doesn't mean he doesn't love you.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- It's not always easy to live in the shadow of your husband--especially when you work so hard to achieve and be your own person. But, it's necessary...and probably worth it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-- Homes do not have walls. Home is where the Marine Corps takes you...and this changes quite often...and that's okay. (It has to be.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My list could go on and on...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But, the point is, I have become a different person--accomplishing things I didn't know possible through my Marine Wife life thus far. Many people will complain (myself included) that marrying into the military took away opportunities and chances. Though I do my fair share of complaining, I know without this lifestyle I would not have had the opportunity to live up to my potential...I never would have been challenged the ways I have been challenged...I never would have known the strength I had because I would never have been forced to find it. Without the Marine Corps, I certainly would not be able to pursue a PhD while being a full-time mom and living the comfortable life that we do. Without the Marine Corps, I wouldn't know all that I can do on my own. I would not have met so many of the amazing men and women I have had the privilege to meet along this journey. As I type this, I fear the coming years. There will be moves, separations, deployments--and all of the stress that comes along with them. But I know that I will have more of the friendships, more of the challenges, and more of the victories to build upon. In my mind I fear what will be thrown our way, but in my heart I feel that it will only serve to strengthen us as individuals and as a family. Semper fi!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3ffyQ8dSxSa8ICc2F2hvx6T29OEI_hNgqtRYrmYGH48mjty7EHyQ0GMCwIcOH5st9_YDeibWhPm06XZjL6OHEkUS8MmzDq3yz91s9xgDkG52ZRWDeWzCbXIslFVwoJZPfZMl7fALywQ/s1600/mc+ball+2010+157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3ffyQ8dSxSa8ICc2F2hvx6T29OEI_hNgqtRYrmYGH48mjty7EHyQ0GMCwIcOH5st9_YDeibWhPm06XZjL6OHEkUS8MmzDq3yz91s9xgDkG52ZRWDeWzCbXIslFVwoJZPfZMl7fALywQ/s320/mc+ball+2010+157.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="right" style="text-align: left;"></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-50327394593485664172011-05-23T14:30:00.002-04:002011-05-23T14:36:00.342-04:00The Rambling Calm AFTER the StormOh yeah...I remember this feeling... <br />
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I keep thinking "once X is over, things will be okay"--with "X" being a fill-in-the-blank of life happenings such as comp exams, deployments, bad days... <br />
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I've recently <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/05/is-grass-really-ever-greener.html">blogged about</a> my efforts to come to terms with the fact that things just don't settle down. Period. And I need to stop looking at that supposedly greener grass on the other side. And now, I'm in what was supposed to be the calm AFTER the storm. And, on that point, I will digress just a bit...<br />
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That big <a href="http://mommypaws.blogspot.com/2011/04/cant-no-body-take-my-pride-no-hail.html">storm</a> that hit us a few weeks ago--utter craziness--is a great metaphor for this attempt I am making to be okay with the stress that encompasses my life right now. <br />
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I'm sure most people have heard the phrase "the calm before the storm," to illustrate when you know something big is coming even if life is relatively quiet at that given moment. Well, my life has been filled with calms AFTER storms. I am usually immersed in fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants adventures between mommyhood, work, school, and military wife life. And then, sometimes unexpectedly, things seem to slow down--and that's hard on me. I apparently thrive on having things to do--right now. It's when I slow down that the stress intensifies. During the crazy times, I'm just trying to get through the minute--get done what is due here and now. But when things slow down, my mind takes over. Unfortunately, though, in this lifestyle, it never really stops. So, the big exam is over (for now), but now I realize all of the things I put off preparing for that one day--like keeping the house organized, preparing other manuscripts, being the mom and wife I want to be. <br />
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So, this calm AFTER the storm has hit me pretty hard--not to mention I am back in my hometown awaiting my mom's homecoming--which keeps getting pushed back--AND (I can't even believe I am writing this because my fear runs so deep I don't even want to dance around discussing the topic) there are people on my mom's hall who are getting the (gulp) stomach bug...and it's spreading. I'm a wreck. I know I need to be there (like physically, on the sick-hall) for my mom, but that fear is elevating my stress to dangerous levels! Anyway, this "calm" is taking a toll on my sanity...just like that storm. <br />
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Back to the actual storm: There was no calm before that thing hit our house--it had been windy, raining, thundering, etc. all day. Schools asked parents to pick kids up early, after taking shelter for tornado warnings earlier in the day. It was a crazy day to start off with. And then THE part of the storm that rocked our world hit--and it was scary--the scariest weather I have ever witnessed. So, we took shelter in our little downstairs bathroom (without windows)--all of us, including the dogs. And, from our hideout, we could hear the storm--the wind, the hail. It sounded like someone was shooting our house (and it looked the same once we caught a glimpse). But, possibly the creepiest part was how it stopped. <br />
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It just stopped. <br />
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We sounded like we were in a war zone (which was verified by my husband who has been in such zones)...and then, nothing. <br />
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Silence.<br />
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I was scared we were in the eye of the storm (which I'm not even sure that storm had an "eye" but after living through many hurricanes in Florida, that was my terminology). I wouldn't release us out of the bathroom for a while--the quiet was the creepiest part of it all.<br />
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When we finally went out of the bathroom, we looked out the windows, and eventually made it out to our yard--where all of our neighbors were doing the same thing, crunching through the hail. We could see each other through the steam rising from our damaged yards. We all made sure everyone was okay. (Greatest part of life in the 'burbs: your neighbors make sure you are accounted for after a natural disaster.) There was this smell in the air--I can't describe it--I'd never smelled it before. My neighbor and I decided THAT was what creepy smells like.<br />
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But other than our crunching through the hail and our voices, there was nothing...no cars, no animals, no sounds of life. And, as I mentioned in my previous post, WE are the LUCKY ones. In our calm, the storm left our houses standing (though severely damaged) and our loved ones, though shook up, were safe.<br />
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So now, in my life's latest "calm" after the storm, I am living in a perpetual anxiety attack. The exam, the semester, and so much of the craziness from the past year is over. No transition, no outlet, and I won't know if I passed that exam for another month (or more). There was no closure. It's sort of like the time when Buzz comes back from a deployment. It's exciting--I'm glad he's home, just like I'm glad this chapter is over (unless I didn't pass that exam and have to do that part all over again). It's a great milestone. It's good. But it's different. Just like when he comes home, we hug, and we go home--but there's no transition, no closure or outlet for all of the stress I bottled up for the entire deployment. I guess all of this points to the fact that I don't handle stress well in the moment OR after, huh? :P<br />
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I'm on edge; I'm shaky; I'm nervous. There is nothing that has to be done RIGHT NOW but so much on the to-do list. The exam is over, but the work doesn't end. My mom's surgery is over, but the recovery is in full swing. And, of course, Buzz is not here. Nope. The Marine Corps always takes him when I feel like I need him most (which, in fairness, is always, so it's not like there's ever a good time for him to be absent from our lives--but it happens so often and it always seems like a really bad time). <br />
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Am I crazy? Probably...but I'm also human. And I need to work on finding internal calm in this stressful calm after the storms of the past few months. I don't know how to do it. But the first step is to stop dwelling on it here in my online outlet. So, Step 1: stop rambling; Step 2: deep breath...here we go...Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-89385711165076797042011-05-17T21:55:00.004-04:002011-05-18T11:32:47.685-04:00When they're talking to someone else...<div style="text-align: center;">It's time again to...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thingsicantsay-shell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://i904.photobucket.com/albums/ac246/shellthings/pouryourheartout.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center">And nothing warms my heart like my daughter.<br />
I'll have to keep this short and sweet, as I am studing for a big comp exam (tomorrow--EEK!). But I think my little lady's words say it all.</div><div align="center">Sometimes we can find out the most about our loved ones when they are talking to someone else...</div><div align="center">We do not go to church but K has recently been very interested in learning more about God...so we talk and share. She asks questions and I answer them--or tell her I can't--or find an answer if I can. This has been a challenge for me as I am not the best at discussing things like religion. My faith has always been something that is more personal than public discussion. But I am glad to share these things with my daughter. K tells me she believes in God and she wants everyone else to, also. And now, every night before she goes to bed, she says a prayer. Here are some excerpts from her prayer last night:</div><br />
Dear God,<br />
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Thank you most for Mommy. Please help her pass her exam so she can play more, have fun, and we can go to the pool.<br />
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Please help Grandma get better and walk better.<br />
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Thank you for Mommy, Daddy, Sampson, Daisy, Grandma, Grandaddy, and MeeMaw.<br />
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Thank you for keeping us safe during the storm.<br />
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Amen<br />
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*I'm so blessed*<br />
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I'm also trying to let go of the guilt I feel for my 5-year-old knowing that I need to pass an exam in order to have more free time. I'm still hoping I am serving as a good role model and setting an example of what strong, educated women can do and of how to take advantage of the opportunities you are blessed to be given. I also hope I will make it through this program and get a good job, so she can truly see that a good job makes for a happy mommy--who has summers and vacations to spend with the one she loves most. :)<br />
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And I'm also happy to know how much she cherishes our family...and how compassionately she thinks of others. I'm glad she is able to be thankful for all of our blessings. Mommy-hood is the best. And sometimes, we realize it most when we hear our little ones talking to someone else.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449559254131493855.post-91499904870339513192011-05-16T21:08:00.000-04:002011-05-16T21:08:26.845-04:00Is the grass really ever greener?<div align="center">The grass is always greener on the other side.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure how I feel about that old saying. It's too real and it disturbs me. I try to be a big believer in mind over matter, but sometimes my mind is working against me so that sort of defeats the purpose. But I always think, if I can just get through this next paper, this next class, the next exam, the upcoming trip, the latest deployment, until the next raise...THEN things will be better. But, once I pass the milestone of the minute, life is still happening. There are still more hurdles to overcome. There are still barriers standing in the way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But does any of that matter? I've written before about my quests and attempts to live in the moment. And these things go for the good AND the not-so-good. For example, while I keep wishing time away during the tough times, I worry about the good times being over too soon. Vacations don't last long enough. Days off go by too quickly--or it rains. But does any of THAT matter?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I looked back at some pictures from not that long ago. I've aged. It's grad school, I'm sure of it. I've kept my youthful glow through Marine Corps issues, moving way too often, and being a mom. Grad school has brought on the grey and the crow's feet...and a few extra pounds. But does any of THAT matter? Plus, I do feel lucky that I still get carded for adult beverages and I still fit in my old clothes, even if they are a little more snug.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, who cares if the grass is greener on the other side? Green grass grows fast and I don't like to mow anyway. I should embrace the grass on MY side, even if it's a little dry and brown. And right now, while I'm uncontrollably stressing out over my upcoming comp exam, I am truly working on being thankful for the opportunity and the experience--even in the stressful moment. I'm working to enjoy the rainy days--you can still play Princess Yahtzee and other fun stuff inside. And those vacations have to be over eventually--otherwise they wouldn't be so amazing when you DO get them. And I started this blog as a way to chronicle this whole grad school experience in the midst of motherhood and Marine-wife-life...so, I am using this as my outlet to say it to help make it true. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And, on another note, we recently had family portraits done at our house. It was so much fun! Here's a pic of me and my old man--who doesn't let the grey or the extra pounds (well, he's lost the extra pounds on his new diet) get him down. And he enjoys every walk and every meal equally--loving them all. I've said it before and I'll say it again, we can learn a lot from a dog!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fp1AMip8ewA9bthBuggnuQcvbDiR7KXjFan6JIAlwR9bO0KswaDnekPqqwDIjiH8owgyrfz6-AHQTNaPvIDgAKi99RQ5iBHN_hUhVp4ncB34L46BXP-b2q57M5ijTAPfogKFruxrz44/s1600/_MG_6094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fp1AMip8ewA9bthBuggnuQcvbDiR7KXjFan6JIAlwR9bO0KswaDnekPqqwDIjiH8owgyrfz6-AHQTNaPvIDgAKi99RQ5iBHN_hUhVp4ncB34L46BXP-b2q57M5ijTAPfogKFruxrz44/s320/_MG_6094.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14128556171644724360noreply@blogger.com1