Great News!

My husband got a call at 4 o'clock this afternoon.

They canceled his trip. The whole thing is called off!

We are ecstatic! It's funny because this is the best news we've gotten in a long time and we want to shout it to the rooftops. But nobody knows that he was supposed to be leaving. Except you guys and the kids' violin teacher.

As far as everyone is concerned things are pretty status quo for us, but we feel like celebrating!

I keep thinking of all the things he'll be able to do with us these next six months.

We are so lucky. I am so happy!

Good News, Bad News

The good news:

They're pushing back my husband's TDY report date until after our cruise. Yay! He can go with us.

The bad news:

They're extending the TDY from four months to six months. So he'll be away until February.

The good news:

He's not going overseas! He's going back to our old base. (But it's a TDY not a PCS so they won't pay for us to go with him.)

The bad news:

So this six-month-long TDY doesn't count toward his AEF (too hard to explain) so he's still due to leave for Afghanistan in May for four to six months.

This is killing me. Six months ago I would have killed for him to be sent back to our old base. If we were still at that school I hated I would have gone with him whether they paid for it or not. But we can't duck out for six months right now.

He's mostly upset because he was all set to coach my son's soccer team and assistant coach my daughter's team. It's funny the things he worries about the most. He's also worried about telling his mother. Funny. (It would have been nice to have him coach again though. It helps my scheduling conflicts.)

Oh, I know that it could be a lot worse. He could be going to Afghanistan for a year. But honestly, I think we'd both prefer that. As he put it, "I'd rather be doing something that really needs to be done. I'd rather be making a difference!"

What will he be doing? Well, as he put it, "...sharpening pencils."

Yes, it could be a lot worse, but this sucks too.

At least I'll be getting back to our old base and visiting my old friends. That will be fun. Hell, we'll be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with them.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

I have absolutely nothing good to say about our branch of the military today. So I'm trying really hard not to say anything at all.

We got crappy news this weekend. Looks like I'll be starting another school year at another new school without my husband around. I can't say more until it all actually happens (which is supposed to be by Monday).

Damn it.

This is complicated and it sucks.

I've always said that I really love being a military wife. And once upon a time, I did. But lately, I'm starting to wonder just how much damage this is doing to my kids. Is it worth it?

My husband is wondering the same thing. But when he started muttering the "s" word (i.e. "separating") at work, the guys all jumped up and told him to cool off and not make any hasty decisions.

It's not like my husband hasn't done his duty. He's done his fair share for fourteen years. Like, I said, it's complicated.

Just when I was starting to feel settled and happy. Damn it.

Better than my Colin Quin Autograph

Today my daughter got a letter from Michelle Obama. It's pretty cool.

Back when the first family was trying to pick a dog, my daughter wrote a letter to Sasha and Malia telling them why she thought they should choose a daschund.

It's nice that she got a reply back. Although it was a form letter that was probably sent to every kid in America who wrote the family about dogs, it is still signed by Michelle Obama.

My daughter thinks it is totally awesome.

Speaking of Magic Wands

My daughter currently has about $1200 worth of violin bows sitting in her room.

I once heard a bow described as the magic wand of the violin. I didn't realize how true that was. Most instrument companies will send you a few bows to try and choose from. There are so many variables in a player, a violin and a bow that getting the perfect fit between the three is a lot like magic.

So my daughter's bedroom currently looks like a scene out of Ollivander's Wand Shop.

The artist does not pick the bow. The bow picks the artist.

It's time this young artist picked her bow so I can send the others back. I keep threatening her, "You take care of those bows or you'll be getting a job to pay for them!"

A little bit of magic is damned expensive.

Read the Book

We have a rule in my house. You can't see a movie until you read the book first.

I mean, let's face it, there has never been a movie that was better than the book it was based on. Never.

This rule, however, generally only applies to my daughter and me as my son is just starting to read chapter book and my husband doesn't read at all.

Seriously. He has never read a book for pleasure. Ever. (How I married a man who doesn't read, I'll never know. Maybe it was fate's way of making sure our family didn't go poor from buying books.)

However, after seeing the Harry Potter movie last weekend, and listening to my daughter and I go on and on about how the book was different, and listening to me go on and on about how books are better than movies he asked me if I still had the first Harry Potter book in the house.

Of course I do!

But I had been planning to start rereading the series over again from the beginning (maybe with my son). Still, there was no way I was going to tell him that and keep that book out of his hands.

So he got it out and put it on his nightstand. And there it has sat for four days. I've actually reread it while he was asleep and have started on The Chamber of Secrets.

God, I hope he reads it. I can't even tell you how much. As the only one on our family who doesn't love to read, he has always been a bit of an outsider. I want to bring him into the book-loving fold.

Good Fences

Before I write anything else, I should first say that I have spent the last six months of my life, changing my life outlook. I am all about being positive. I've been slowly but surely eliminating the negative people in my life and slowly but surely tuning into the happier side of myself.

That being said...

*sigh*

*ahem*

Good fences really do make good neighbors.

Some people moved into the house next door. The one that used to be occupied by, and is still owned by a lovely German family. My kids were devastated when the German family went back to Germany as their kids were great to play with.

They never came over uninvited or unannounced. They were polite. Their parents were on top of everything they did.

Now, well, there are three boys "staying" in the house next door. The puzzle of ex-wives, girlfriends, and parentage is impossible to figure out.

The "dad" seems nice enough but he was really over eager to get our kids to come play with his assortment of future criminals. (Do I judge a book by its cover, or a kid by his mohawk? Apparently I do.) Now I know why. He needs distractions.

I stupidly allowed my kids to play with the juvenile delinquents. They've been waiting for kids to move in since Christmas. How could I deny them? But it has turned into a total cluster. ("Cluster" being fly boy short speak for "cluster fuck" which is slightly worse than "goat fuck"!)

They come over all the time. They bang and bang and bang on my door if I do not answer it right away. They are constantly pushing over the threshold. They fight and wrestle and hit each other with sticks (All of which may be cool with lots of families, but not with me!) They fucking argue with me. A kid! A fucking eight-year-old kid. A fucking kid who isn't mine!

Today I had to use my mean voice. I am so over it.

I find myself hiding from them. I won't let the kids swim in the pool if I know the boys are home, because they'll be over faster than flies on shit. I take the kids out to eat, just so our meals won't get interrupted.

I'm home alone on a fucking Tuesday morning and I can't even fucking masturbate because a fucking eight-year-old kid is literally kicking my door.

I'm done. They are on a two day probation from knocking on our door which will turn into a permanent probation.

*ahem*

Like I was saying, I'm really looking for the positive in people lately. Sometimes I just have to look really fucking hard.

Oh, and I'm positive I can talk my husband into installing a new privacy fence.

RICE, RICE, Baby!

You know what's not very smart? Wearing sandals when you have a badly sprained ankle.

Last weekend I met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena...

Okay, wait. Major side note here. When I was moving here, Misty gave me tons of help. We e-mailed and talked on the phone. It was always my intention to meet up with her within a few weeks of arriving, but it just never happened. I don't know why I get so nervous meeting bloggers. It always turns out fine and every blogger I've met has been really great. Misty and Dena were no exceptions!

Anyway...

Last weekend the kids and I finally met up with local bloggers Misty and Dena and their kids at the beach. We had a very nice time, but as we were walking back to our car, I missed a step on the little walkway and wrenched my ankle pretty bad. Again.

I hurt my ankle last Fall and again in New York in November. This time I really messed it up. It's all RICE for me for a while.

Except, like I said, I stupidly wore sandals to run errands this morning (dropping the kids off at soccer camp and running to the doctor's office). And I even more stupidly went to a water park on Saturday!

Every year we give the kids the choice of having a party or going on a day trip for their birthdays. We always secretly hope they'll choose the day trip. This year my daughter asked to go to Water Country USA and bring a friend. So we did.

But man! All that walking killed my ankle. I'm so glad we rented the cabana. It was totally worth it.

Another side note. Taking care of three kids is exponentially harder than taking care of two. I don't know how other people do it. Although, taking care of someone else's kid is much more nerve wracking. If something happens to your own kid, you can say, "Eh, oh well. You should have been more careful." But I don't want to bring a broken child back to her parents. "Oops, sorry!" just wouldn't cut it.

In conclusion: I sprained my ankle. Then I made it worse. Then I wrote side notes.

Lucky 13

Today is my daughter's birthday. She is ten-years-old.

I won't say that I can't believe she is hitting double digits, because it just wouldn't be true. Actually, I feel like it has taken forever for her to be this old. She's finally ten. Finally.

Unlike most parents, I am perfectly happy to trade my little girl for a big one. She may be hitting the angst of puberty, but she is finally finding some independence. She is finally finding herself and her self confidence. It is so very good.

I've had to push this one screaming from the nest. But they've got to fly sometime. And in two years she'll be able to babysit.

She's a great kid. She's as sweet and empathetic as a child could possibly be, and creative, imaginative, and talented to boot.

Happy birthday, sweet girl! I know this next year is going to be a great one.

Man, I've been a parent for ten years. That's the longest I've ever done anything.

Sarcophagus

Last week, the kids dragged a big moving box out of the garage to make a sarcophagus for my son.

Um, yes. They were making him an Egyptian coffin. Okay.

So they've been playing with it all week.

Last night when my husband came home from work he asked me, "Where's the boy?"

"Playing in the family room," I answered.

But we couldn't find him. Just as I was really starting to worry we heard snoring.

From the sarcophagus.

He had climbed in, closed the top and fallen asleep.

What's the scariest noise for any parent to hear?

Silence.

Even in Ancient Egypt.

What Ten Years of Motherhood has Taught Me.

Being a mom has taught me a few useful things. Just a few, really, but sill.

My favorite SuperMom skill is the ability to find a public restroom in the most impossible circumstances. Times Square? Bourbon Street? I can find a decent bathroom anywhere.

In fact the only time in the past ten years that I haven't been able to find a bathroom was at a gay beach that was a freaking ten mile hike from civilization. Through sand! Uphill! (Every time I tell that story I add a mile on principle.)

This Fourth of July I was SuperMom again when I decided that the kids might enjoy the fireworks better if they had designated seating, pre-fireworks entertainment, plenty of food options, and...of course...bathrooms aplenty.

We bought tickets for the local Triple-A baseball team and enjoyed the postgame fireworks (which were awesome), stadium food (which was expensive), a run around the bases (which the kids loved), and bathrooms aplenty (which were surprisingly clean).

By the way, SuperMom scores big by smuggling in glowing necklaces and bracelets bought for a buck a dozen months ago. (Next year Supermom could smuggle in more and make a nice little profit.)

Rage Against the Smallest Damn Thing

I am amazed and appalled by the amount of anger I am carrying around these days. It's starting to leak out all over the damn place.

I think, in an effort not to be a bitch, to keep the peace, and mostly not to be accused of being a hypocrite, I have buried an enormous amount of anger. I just haven't buried it very well.

That hasn't always been my style. In fact, that has been the complete opposite of my style for the majority of my last thirty-six years. But when you're trying to be all things to your family all the time, you start to change.

I'm not used to having unresolved issues in my life. I'm not used to carrying around hurt and anger. I'm not used to all this residual rage. I'm not handling it well.