Safe and Sound

And she posts, at last!

I can't believe it has been about two weeks. That means it's been two weeks since they started packing up my house. It has been two weeks and my life feels completely different. I feel...in flux.

I had hoped to blog from TLF (Temporary Living Facilities) on their free wi-fi, but apparently, they block Blogger. My life that last week on the bayou was absolutely crazy. I turned thirty-five, my friends through me a lunch, we had a million social obligations, my girls finished out their softball season in second place, and my kids bid farewell to the only home they have ever known.

It was pure emotional upheaval. But through it all I was mostly happy. And excited. I really feel like we're headed to bigger and better things.

It took us two days to drive up to our new home. My husband pulled the U-haul with his truck and I schlepped the kids and the dog. I have never been so happy to arrive at a destination.

My parents had planned to meet us here and entertain the kids while we received our household goods, but our plans got all mucked up. First the movers took a few days longer than expected and then my parents had some doctors appointments they had to keep.

So I continued schlepping the kids another ten hours north to my parents' house. They are ecstatic to be keeping them for a few days while we get started setting up the house. My father hadn't seen the kids in almost a year.

Our stuff finally arrived yesterday. I wouldn't say it was a smooth move, but at least everything we own is in our new house. Everything we have tried to do, from fixing a leaky faucet to installing new hardwood floor has been a challenge. Nothing is going right.

But everything is great. I am so happy to be in this town. I miss my kids terribly but I dread driving even more to go up and spend some time on the Cape with them. If I never drive long distance again, I'll be happy. My husband is dying to get a little vacation time, but I just want to hunker down and make my new house a home.

So far I have only unpacked one room.

I have a bunch of non-moving stories to tell. I'm going to try and take some time in the next few days to blog a bit. In the meantime, I'll be attending a cul-de-sac party for our departing neighbors James and Rob. The invite was printed on rainbow paper.

I'm in a whole new land. Farewell bayou! Hello beach!

Homeowners

I just got the following message from our lawyer about our house closing:

"Everything went great. I'll put your keys and your copy of the documents our front for your Realtor."

So, it's official. We're homeowners again! Yay!

We also had our initial base housing inspection this morning. In the past, before base housing was privatized, you basically had to remove any evidence that humans ever lived in your home before they would let you sign out. We always paid professionals to do the cleaning for us.

But the new private company swore to us that it wasn't necessary to clean like that. I just had trouble believing them. I've done this too many times before.

And so I was up at 3 a.m. this morning to clean our two and a half baths.

Incidentally, it took me an hour and twenty-three minutes to clean them all. It is official. My family is disgusting. And my fingertips are red and raw today.

I took the dog and went to pump gas while the housing people were here. I just couldn't bear to watch them walk through and judge my house.

Their conclusion? "It looks much better than most."

It is official. I am a domestic goddess. Just one who makes big messes before I clean them up.

I finally feel like this move is really happening. I guess I better start packing, huh?

Closing and Happy

We're closing on our new house today. And I am 100% stress-free about it. In fact, since we paid a lawyer $600 to take care of the whole thing for us, it's kind of like our house will just magically become ours by the end of the day.

Except for the huge, gaping hole in our bank account.

I'm feeling a little self-righteous (or maybe just mean) today. We just found out that the people who owned our soon-to-be-new home, whom we hate on principle (What? I think it is a law.) are getting divorced. In fact, their divorce just went through.

I should feel pity for them, but there is a part of me that wants to do a little dance and say, "Ha ha! We're as happy as can be! Every bad thing that happened in that house is going to be erased by our happy little family. I won the life jack pot and youooooooo didn't." And then I'd stick my tongue out.

I kind of suck.

But I'm happy.

Where's Moses when you need him?

My kids are damn lucky I love them.

This morning just as we were getting ready to leave for school, my husband got a call that the base was closed due to flooding. Of course this happens on a day when my son has a field trip he's been looking forward to for a month and my daughter has her dress rehearsal for her play. (Did I mention she's the lead?)

So I loaded us all up into the car anyway and headed to the base gate. I had to plead my way off base by basically promising not to come back. But besides having a big meeting at school this morning, I figured I could meet up with my son at the science museum and make a day of it.

Well, it turns out the field trip was canceled. The meeting was short. My daughter damn well better have had that dress rehearsal or we could have just stayed home!

I spent a couple of hours driving around flooded streets just waiting for them to open the base gates so I could get home. And just as I drive through them I hear on the radio that they are closing all the public schools. I figured our school wouldn't be far behind. Especially since they had three feet of water in the fine arts wing (which also houses the school's historical archives, which sucks!)

My husband came home right then too, as his building has no power and he is locked out of his office. Since his truck keys were in the office, he got a ride home from a friend.

Ten seconds after he walked in the door, every phone we have rang at the same time with an emergency message from our school. They are closed now too.

So I drove my husband back to his truck with spare keys and he is off to pick up the kids. They say the base is closed until noon now. I had a hard time just getting back though the flooded streets of our neighborhood.

I really hope he can make it home with the kids. It would suck for them to be out in these horrible conditions. The waters are rising fast.

Man, if only I didn't love my kids so much, we all could have slept in and avoided all this crap this morning!

I hate to be a typical mom, but I'm really kind of worried about my family out there. My stress level is thought the roof.

Oh! Have I mentioned that the house will be inspected for cleanliness on Friday and the packers start packing on Monday and I am not even close to ready? I've barely done anything! Stress!

Friends in High Places

We found out this weekend that a friend of ours is running for Congress.

This is the strangest thing. We think of him as this big, goofy guy. Even though he is a lawyer, we never considered him as anything more than a...well...big, goofy guy.

His wife is currently the president on the Junior League here, which always struck me as strange because she just isn't the type. I guess now I know why she took the position.

Suddenly their family's faces are all over the place. The wife and I have been joking about the stress of being celebrities. We've been calling her Oprah because she was on the cover of a magazine.

It's funny. My friend SW and her doctor husband are opening a very big new business here (a fat clinic, more or less). Our truly celebrity friends have been gaining more and more celebrity. It seems like things here are on the brink of blowing up big.

And off we go.

Eh. We wouldn't have fit in with our new swankified friends anyway. But still...we've got to think about it. Maybe that new congressman will need a military friend on Capital Hill.

Or maybe we should remember just how middle class we really are.

Farewell Ye Other Blog

I just spent a couple of hours wrapping up my Other Blog.

I've been jokingly telling my friends that I was fired for not writing enough. But really, they consider their site a local online community for local people so they are not interested in having me write for them once I move. They politely asked me when I would like my last day to be.

Since the site was officially launched last Mother's Day, I thought tomorrow would be a nice day to end my blog.

I thought I might be a little sad, but I'm not. I won't really miss the pay. It never really seemed to make an impact on our finances. I also won't really miss the responsibility of writing. I always felt like I was walking on eggshells over there.

Truthfully, I will miss the attention. Aren't all bloggers attention whores, at least a little bit? It was sort of nice to have my real life friends and family keep up with my blog.

It makes me consider sharing this address with them. And then I think of all things I've written here in the last four years and I just can't do it.

So I decided to keep up a little blog to update my friends and family about our lives. I foresee short blurbs and pictures, nothing like what I used to do here back in the heyday of Tuna Girl.

I don't know how Tuna Girl will fit into my new life, but I'm hoping that I can get back to some of the writing I used to do. All I know right now is that I am feeling quite a bit of relief to have finished being the voice of military moms for a whole metropolitan area.

Now I can go back to being me, an emotional, friendless, wordy, dirty girl with a penchant for overshare. Isn't that why you loved me in the first place?

Emotional Tease--Hurt and Anger

From an emotional point of view, today has truly sucked. Hard.

This has been worse than the day I put the dog to sleep.

News at 11. (We're headed to a crawfish boil.)

***** (5:36 a.m. Saturday morning)

So I'm glad we went to the crawfish boil, even if I spent the entire evening swatting bugs, answering questions about our move and not eating crawfish. It gave me some time away from real life to cool down a bit.

I was having a perfectly normal day of cleaning and escapism when things started to go sour.

When she got home from school, my eight-year-old daughter managed to hurt my feelings worse than they've ever been hurt. It's hard to believe that a child could hurt someone she loves so much. She is normally sensitive to a fault.

But I'm not angry at her or anything. She is a child after all. I am furious and disappointed with myself for being the kind of person she would ever even think to say those things about.

Imagine if someone made a list of everything you hate about yourself; a list confirming the validity of all of your insecurities and then presented it to you in a birthday card.

That's how my Mother's Day weekend started out.

Yeah. Yay for mom. Woo fucking hoo. I suck.

Then while my son and I were off practicing the violin, my husband's relationship with his father changed forever.

I wish I could talk more about it. I can't say the things my heart is screaming for me to say to my husband or anyone else because my husband will always be...well...loyal. "He is still my father," he tells me and I want to shake my husband and wail, "He never was! Can't you see he never was?"

I am so angry I could burst apart at the seems.

I've always stayed out of their so-called relationship. I've been cool, but cordial. I have over and over again through the years wanted to declare that my children would never be exposed to that man and his wife.

Now I have valid reason.

My kids don't even know who Grandpa B is. It will stay that way. That man has been dead to me since my husband was a teenager. Now he will be dead to all of us for good.

Except my husband is still open to a reconciliation if his father should ever realize what an idiot he has been.

There is a fine line a woman must walk when she wants to protect her own. Deep down inside, I want to call my own father and have him (in his very impressive way) put my dead-to-me-father-in-law in his place.

But I love my husband too much to overstep my bounds. Should I ever meet that man again, I will tell him...well...I can't tell you that. But I already have the words memorized should I ever lay eyes on him.

I have always wondered how my husband could have been raised by such a horrible little man and turned out to be the wonderful husband and father he is?

No matter his flaws, my husband is a wonderful man. I think it is proof that people can be born with everything good already inside of them. With enough strength, they can overcome anything.

This man is walking away from a happy, successful son who has committed his life to his country, his loving wife and his two amazing children. That is the definition of loser.

I have a cold so...

I have a cold.

So my ultra sweet husband got up and took the kids to school yesterday and I slept in until 11:30.

So when he went to bed at 11:30 tonight (last night really) I wasn't tired enough to sleep yet.

So I stayed up and hunted for houses on the Internet, which is a really stupid thing to do since we close on our house next Thursday. Luckily, I didn't find anything even remotely interesting.

So I turned on the TV and started watching the USA Softball team slaughter De Paul on ESPN2, which reminded me of how much I love softball, even though the stress of coaching my daughter's team has sucked the joy right out of the game and made me declare that we won't coach or play next year.

So now I've changed my mind and I am somehow going to miraculously turn my daughter into a stellar player in the next ten months, so that she'll love the game and won't ever cry when she strikes out.

So I've spent the last hour online researching softball leagues and camps in Virginia.

So now it's 3:16 a.m. and I'm wide awake.

And I have a cold.

A Village of Idiots

I am so over this place.

I worried about telling people we were moving because I knew people would start to disassociate themselves right away. But I knew I would start to disassociate too. And I have.

The biggest thing I've noticed is that I've lost all tolerance for idiots. I mean, I know my tolerance wasn't high to start with. But I could always make nice and laugh them off. (Or write about them on my blog and let it go)

Now that I know I'll probably never see these people again after May 23 I have absolutely no reason to be nice.

One thing we've always hated about living here on the bayou is that it seems like there is a disproportionate number of idiots around. Now I'm worried that the entire world has exploded with idiots in the last ten years and because we were stuck down here we just thought it was the bayou effect.

I'll miss my friends a lot, I think. But I am not going to miss most of my life here. It will be so easy to say, "So long!" to most of the people we have to deal with here.

Virginia is starting to look like Nirvana to me. I have to keep reminding myself that there must be idiots there too.

Headmistress for a Day

Can you imagine, for a moment, what a kid would do if she could run her school for a day?

Today, I got to find out.

At our school's auction in March, my husband placed the winning bid on Headmaster for a Day for our daughter. I may have guilted him into it just a little by saying, "Aw, come on. Wouldn't that be a great way for her to end her time here?" But he's the one who raised his paddle.

Today was the day she got to be Headmistress for a Day.

She got to lead the school in the Pledge of Allegiance at flag ceremony this morning. She also got to make proclamations (with guidance for the administration of course). She proclaimed that there would be no homework for the third grade. And she proclaimed that the whole school could have extra recess.

I'm sure she's quite popular among her classmates now.

She also asked if her little brother could be included somehow. So he got to be the Associate Headmaster for the day. I let him wear his little tie and he was pretty cute. He was so eager to get to the microphone and sing God Bless America. I was very proud that my daughter would want to include her brother and share the limelight that way.

Toward the end of the flag ceremony, our wonderful art teacher stepped forward to announce the winners from the local art fair. My son crossed his fingers and chanted his sister's name in a quiet whisper. "I hope she wins," he said. "I hope she wins."

How sweet is that?

As it turned out, it was his name that was announced. He won a little Showcase Award. I was so proud of him. We think of him as our little math wizard but he really loves fine arts too.

I can't wait to go pick them up today and see how the rest of their day went. I'm also really looking forward to a homework free evening. But I didn't push her to make that proclamation at all.

I swear. (I'm just getting my 600 bucks worth.)

We are going to miss our school so much. I don't know how I kept from sobbing this morning.

My New Nemesis

When I am angry, I cry.

When I am embarrassed, I cry.

After I have a confrontation, I cry.

Tonight I cried for a good hour because I was angry and embarrassed about a confrontation. Now I have a headache.

A while ago, I declared a nemesis. Because life is just more fun when you have a nemesis. Actually, as I look back at some older posts I realize that I have declared a few nemesis on here. But I really only had one that has stuck with me.

In the last two months, I have thwarted that nemesis a couple of times. And it was sweet. Sweet, I tell you! She even yelled at me for buying something she wanted at our auction, and I was able to laugh at her. Ha. It was sweet, sweet, sweet. And worth every penny.

So now I have a new nemesis.

Does anyone remember how much I hated my daughter's softball coach last year. She was a bitch. I mean, a pure and utter stupid bitch. I hated her. She is the reason I'm coaching my own team this year.

As much as I hated her last year, I now hate her a hundred times more. I hate her with the intensity of a thousand white, hot suns. And now I hate her coaching staff too.

We played against their team tonight and basically, they were mean to my girls. Rude and mean. And nobody gets to be mean to my girls. When the one redneck (oops, sorry. Is that insensitive?) called out my parents for saying something about it, I called him right back for breaking the rules and purposely running up the score AFTER their team had already won.

He walked away from me.

Pussy boy. (oh, oops, sorry again. Is that misogynistic? But I'm more of a man than he is.)

Sure I still had a little meeting with my parents and asked them to please not say anything negative at the games. I promised them that I would take care of it and I will. I thanked them for always being so supportive of their daughters and me.

I tried to highlight all of the positive things my girls had done and assured them we'd have fun at practice on Monday working on our defense.

I talked to a few parents on the way out and two or three told me how much they appreciate me. I climbed in the car with my family. And the tears started to fall.

By the time we were on the road I had to turn the radio up to hide my sobbing from the kids. I pulled myself together to get them home and when my husband and I were finally alone, I cried so long and so hard.

I hate that I react to things this way. I hate it so much.

I only have one game left against that team. My husband thinks a sick out is a good idea. I'd love to just tell the league that I won't play against that team again. But I know what I'll do.

I'll show up with my happy, little team and look them in the eye and do my best with my girls like I always do. As much as I fantasize, that's how I always handle things in the end.

Maybe it's the crying that gets me there. I don't know. All I know right now is that I have a headache.

And a new nemesis.

Anyone want her home number?

See What I Mean?

The Little Tuna Girl speaks...

Last night at my son's t-ball game, it started to rain just a bit. My daughter kept asking if she could go to the car and look for an umbrella. In exasperation I finally told her, "You're not going to melt. You're not made of sugar!"

To which she responded, "If I were any sweeter I would be."

One More Costume Before We're Done

And who will be starring in the title role in the third grade production of Pinocchio?

That would be my baby girl.

She might not be able to do her multiplication tables to save her life, but the girl can act. She's all drama.

There might be a secret little mama part way deep inside me that is gloating like hell.

Signage

I got my sunglasses caught in my hair today and pulled out a little chunk of about 8 or 9 hairs.

And half of them were gray.

When the fuck did that happen?

I could probably label each of those hairs with the name of the person who caused them. And I know I have twelve more hiding in my mane somewhere that can be attributed to each girl on my softball team.

I'm not going to see it as a sign of getting old but as a sign that I need to de-stress. It's not the only sign I've received lately.

Yesterday I reached into the bathroom cabinet and an avalanche of unused products fell out. But it was the Eye Stress Gel that hit me right between the eyes.

Message received. I look like a tired, old shit.

I'm going to bed early tonight. Packing be damned.

Things Decided

I feel like a completely different person now.

I hadn't even realized it, but for years the questions of what school we'd send the kids to next and what kind of house we'd be able to afford when we move have been on my mind. I guess it's just part of being a military wife. You always know you'll move eventually. And you always wonder what your new life will be like.

But for the next chunk of my life, those questions have been answered. Even if the answers aren't perfect, it feels so good to know.

I have a little game I play with the kids whenever they need a distraction. (Distraction techniques are probably 85% of good parenting.) I ask them what their most favorite things were about that day, event or trip.

On our way home from our house hunting/school finding trip my son's favorite thing was spending the day at his new school. My daughter's favorite thing was finding the "perfect" house.

That's a pretty good summary of our trip to Virginia.

First of all, we visited two schools. The kids took tests and had tours of each school and they spent the day at one. It's funny because the school I had an ehh feeling about the last time we visited ended up being the school I had the best feeling about this time around. Considering that it has a 25% acceptance rate, I just felt like it was kind of weird that they seemed so eager to have us.

They are lacking in a couple of programs that we're used to, like violin lessons, class musicals, and computer lab time for first graders. But when it comes right down to it, I think the kids' personalities fit better there. In fact, it just feels like we're a perfect fit. Maybe the reason they are so eager to have us is because they can sense it too.

All three of the schools we visited in the last few months have been great. But we decided to choose the second school we visited. In the end, it turned out that it was the only school that had room for both kids, so maybe it was just meant to be.

I cannot even explain how relieved and happy I am.

Now we just need to come up with the down payment. The tuition numbers make me feel a little queasy. But it's worth it.

Speaking of money, our mortgage numbers are making me a little queasy too.

We looked at almost thirty houses in two days. Thirty! That's insane. Unfortunately, at least five of them got sold right out from under us. We've been looking at these same houses sitting on the market for months, and once we get out there to start looking, they start selling like crack. It was a bit frustrating.

It was also frustrating to see really beautiful, brand new houses built into tiny lots in crappy old neighborhoods. We saw at least a dozen of those.

In the end, of the thirty houses we saw (that weren't sold) only one really fit our needs. It was a house that I've had my eye on for months, based mostly on its location and the huge backyard. If all goes well with the VA appraisal, it will be ours on May 15.

It's a little sad to see how much less house we can get for our money out there. We will definitely be taking a step down. But besides the small kids' bedrooms, it's really pretty perfect. (Or it will be perfect once we put in a pool.)

It's funny because whenever I talked to locals about where we should live or go to school, they kept explaining to me the different cultures of Norfolk versus Virginia Beach. It seemed strange to me that two towns so close to each other could be so different. But they were right. The problem was, I wasn't really sure if we were Norfolk-type people, or Virginia Beach-type people.

Now I know. We're beach people. Through and through.

Like the kids, I have a favorite moment from our trip too. On our last day there, we went to the school to buy the kids' summer workbooks. While we were in the bookstore, two little girls came rushing in with their arms open to hug my daughter.

"I'm going here!" she told them. And they hugged harder. The smile I saw on my daughter's face as she spotted her new friends...it's going to stay with me for a long time.

Hung Up and Headed Out

When I was a kid, my parents made me go to school every single day. Unless I was throwing up (which I never did) I had to go to school. For years, I had perfect attendance.

I think responsibility is a very important concept to teach. And I thank my parents for helping to mold me into the extremely responsible person I am today. But my strict upbringing did have one drawback.

I developed a weird hang-up about missing things. I hate to miss things. I never skipped a class in college or called in sick a day to work. I just can't stand the thought of my world going on without me.

This next week or so, the kids and I will be missing a lot. A lot! Our world will be rolling right along without us. I have to admit, it has me all tied up in knots.

My husband finally has his official orders. He has to be ready to work in Virginia in June, which means that we need to go house hunting soon. Now, actually. Plus, the kids are going to go spend a day at each of the schools we are still considering.

It is an important reason to miss school and it just can't be helped. But I can't help thinking about the three softball games, t-ball game, play auditions, soccer games, birthday parties, class work and homework we'll be missing! Ack!

We're flying out bright and early tomorrow morning for a week of checking out what will soon be our new home. I'm unbelievably excited. But until I'm on that plane, my hang-up about missing things is going to have me tied in knots.

Sometimes, it's a wonder my husband can put up with me at all.

And George Clooney isn't There Either

Yesterday, for the first time in...well...ever, I considered going to the ER. Shhhh. Don't tell my husband I was that close to going. On the inside, I was scared. On the outside I was all, "Oh, it's no big deal. If it doesn't go away in a couple of days, I'll call my doctor. Blah, blah, blah."

You see, I was...um...bleeding from a place...well...I'm not exactly sure where I was bleeding from but it was a lot of blood...and...um, yeah. I'm going to stop there.

But as I bled in the bathtub, I was thinking. ERs are not fun.

I've been to the ER only twice--no--three times in my life. The first time I was three-years-old and just suddenly refused to walk. My only clear memory of that day was sitting in my mom's lap in the doctor's office while she refused to admit me without talking to my father first.

The next time, I was about six-years-old. I was in the hospital cafeteria getting a Hoodsie cup as a treat before my appointment for X-rays when a nurse spilled hot coffee down my back. (I've written about this somewhere on this here site.) From that time, I mostly remember being in a curtained off area all alone and being really scared of the adults who were moaning and screaming in pain around me.

The last time I was in an ER was when my water broke only eight months into my first pregnancy. (That story is on here somewhere too.) That was sort of surreal because I was all alone in a new town. I knew my water had broken. I just wasn't sure what I should do about it. I drove myself there that night and parked in the lot and everything. That time I learned that the ER nurses are really quick to pass off a patient to Labor and Delivery when she is so obviously pregnant. I also learned that the ER waiting room is filled with a lot of scary people at midnight.

So, the very last thing I would ever want to do for any reason, is take a trip to the ER. In fact, I know that I am more scared of the ER than I am of being burnt, losing my amniotic fluid, or bleeding from an undisclosed location.

Huh. I hadn't thought about it enough to realize it before. But (besides buttons and the obvious) ERs are my greatest fear.

I need a hunky doctor who makes house calls.

(By the way, no lectures please. I'm fine and would have been embarrassed to have shown up at the ER with such a minor ailment anyway, the Drama Queen in me be damned.)

In other news, I just thought of a great new tag line for my blog.

Tuna Girl: Making everyone uncomfortable since 2004.

Money Matters

Yesterday we got a letter in the mail from our mortgage company. It contained our credit score.

I haven't felt so much anxiety opening an envelope since I was waiting for college acceptances! I had to take a few deep breaths and with my heart pounding, I ripped that baby open.

Woo hoo! Our hard work has paid off. Our credit score is up 100 points from two years ago. And it is pretty damn good.

It's funny how much our self worth can be wrapped up in scores like that. I suppose it starts in grade school and never really stops.

I'm putting that letter form our mortgage company on the fridge. We deserve a big gold star.

Black and Blue All Over

Presently, I look like an S&M enthusiast. (Not that I know what one would look like, um...just saying. AHEM.)

On Monday I fell about six feet into a puddle of mud. I was climbing into my husband's truck, which is parked in the driveway the base has never bothered to fix and thus is always filled with water and mud, when my muddy foot slipped on the running board.

It all happened in slow motion. Since I was holding things in my hands, I actually attempted to get them settled before I hit the ground. Because, you know, I handful of catalogs and my daughter's softball gear are worth taking a plunge for. Half of it ended up in the passenger seat and I threw half of it beyond the mud onto the grass.

While I was distributing the books and softball gear I was carrying, I also managed to have one very clear though.

God, I hope no one is watching me.

During my slow motion fall, some instinct told me to land hip first. Might as well take the impact where I have the most padding. So while my ass took most of the fall, I still landed hard on the whole left side of my body.

And then I said to no one in particular, "You've got to be kidding me," as I jumped right up into a standing position.

I stood there for a moment to see if anyone was going to come running to my rescue. I listened to see if anyone was laughing. And then I ran to the house to change my clothes.

I had mud in my shoes. I had mud in my underwear. I had mud everywhere!

I hurt quite a bit that day, but I managed to get through softball practice by ignoring the pain. But since then, I have been aching like an old woman. Or a youngish women who landed on her ass in the mud. Even my bones hurt.

Today my bruises have turned a spectacular shade of purple. And my husband thinks it's fun to keep pretending to smack my butt. He's going to have some spectacular purple bruises of his own if he doesn't stop.

The moral of the story? Girls shouldn't drive pick-up trucks. Or something like that.

Home Again, Home Again

Well, my husband gave away the Disney World surprise when we were in the security line at the airport. As he was getting situated, he handed my daughter the boarding passes to hold.

Um, Honey? She can read, you know.

As soon as she saw the word Orlando, she knew where we were headed. "We're going to Disney World!" My son somehow managed not to hear her. But when she kept repeating that she knew where we were going, we finally told him.

"Oh, yay," he said. I somehow hoped for a bigger, "Yay!" after the money we spent.

But our trip could not have gone better. The weather was perfect. We only had a couple of glitches in our planning. And we were able to rest a little everyday between riding attractions and seeing big firework shows.

For the first time in a long time, I was actually sad to see a vacation end. Of course, I had to come home to mortgage applications, packing and dealing with leaving our bayou lives behind. That may have something to do with it.

Now I'm feeling the time crunch. We'll depart from here as soon as school is over for the year. There is a big part of me that would love to escape back to Never Never Land. Being a grown up is hard work.

Blowin' It

We're surprising the kids tomorrow with a trip to Disney World. It will be a miracle if I don't blow the surprise before then.

I've had to bite my tongue at least a dozen times in the last few days. If it were up to me, I would have told them weeks ago. But my husband really wants to surprise them.

So I'll be off for a week. I hope everyone has a lovely Easter.

Home Dreaming

Today the asking price on the house that I've had my eye on in that-state-that-I'm-going-to-stop-naming-so-I-can-maintain-an-illusion-of-anonymity-and-mystery was reduced by $15,000 putting it into our price range.

Woo hoo!

My husband is so excited to go house hunting. I am mostly nervous. The truth is that I have expensive tastes and I know that although there are many really wonderful homes in our price range, none of them are in the parts of town in which we need to live.

I keep thinking, a forty-five minute commute to the kids' school wouldn't be so bad and the husband would be even closer to work! And my husband keeps telling me, "No!" Or actually, "Hell no!"

He thinks I won't be happy driving so far back and forth to school. He says, "You know you're going to get all involved and have to be up there all the time."

But I swear I plan on kicking back for a couple of years. And he swears I'll regret not living closer almost at once and make his life hell until we can afford to move again.

Cynic.

Anyway, I write all this just to pass on a cool link that a military wife friend of mine introduced to me. It is MilitaryByOwner and you can look up homes both for sale and rent by military bases. Many of them are For Sale By Owner by military families but some are represented by Realtors. That the listings are grouped by distance to base is perfect.

I can't seem to stay away from the home listings online right now. It's making me a little nuts. I've been watching too much House Hunter on HGTV. Too many listings can make a girl house crazy.

Dang it!

Ack! I tried to edit this post and managed to lose half of it.

Oh well. Must be a sign. I'll have more to talk about tomorrow.

Four Years

Four years ago today, I started this here little old blog. It's hard to believe I'm still at it.

And all three of the first bloggers I read, who turned out to be my first (and most supportive readers) are still blogging too. Thanks, as always, Mark, Nicky and Matt. I love you guys.

Happy 4th Birthday, Tuna Girl! I'm glad you're still here for me.

There Are Some Dumb Questions

Today I made a tragic error.

One of my best friends is chairing the big auction fund raiser for our school. I had volunteered to coordinate a certain committee. Today I went down to check on the auction items I'm in charge of.

I stuck my head in the office where my friend and the Development Director were working and asked, "Do you guys need any help?"

Dumb, dumb, dumb move.

The auction is on Saturday. We're setting everything up tomorrow. Today I spent a couple of hours driving around picking things up for them. And tonight I'll be up until about 2 a.m designing and constructing thirty display boards.

I can't help but wonder what they would have done if I hadn't stopped by and offered to help. Somebody would have been pulling a couple of all-nighters.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to peel this layer of adhesive off my hands and get back to work. Hee Haw themed display boards wait for no one.

Update: Yay! I'm done. Thirty boards complete by 2 in the morning.

I'm oddly proud of the damned things. It reminds me of my days working in marketing. And my husband helped me until about 11 when he went to bed. That was nice to work together like that.

Not that I want to go back to work ever again. Heck, no. I'll just keep sticking my head in doors and asking dumb questions.

"We're here about my bladder."

My son really is amazing sometimes.

Yesterday my husband and I took him straight to the urologist after his violin lesson. My husband and I were both a little nervous but my son was as happy as can be. He was just so happy to be alone in our presence that he skipped and chattered like going to see a doctor about his penis was just no big deal.

He waited patiently while I came close to losing it with the receptionist. The American healthcare system is just so fucked up. There was some question about a referral, but I was not going to leave without seeing the doctor even if I had to throw a fit. It's been a bad few days for me.

But we got in when I had our pediatrician's office clear up our problem via my cell phone. After weighing him they had him pee in a cup.

Then they "took a picture" of his bladder. Once the nurse said that his bladder was actually empty I was hugely relieved. I was worried about a narrow urethra or some other medical problem but now that we know he is emptying his bladder, our path is much more clear and pain free.

My son is so friendly and easy-going that he actually seemed to enjoy his office visit. We saw two different doctors who both had excellent bedside manners. And we walked away with prescriptions for medication and directions to buy a urine alarm that should help him.

Now we just have to teach him to swallow a pill. But so far, he is taking that in stride too.

On April 11th, we're going to spend a day at what will probably be our new school. This is the school that liked my son so much when they met him, that they offered us a spot for next year. My little boy who was happy to go to a urologist may just belong at this school after all.

Onward to the Penis Doc

Yesterday's post was therapeutic for me. I am much calmer now. It was good to get it all out like that. I'm glad I still have my blog for the occasional personal rant.

I got the rejection letters at noon yesterday and spent the whole day stewing before I could tell someone. None of my friends answered their phones when I called, including my husband. By the time he got home last night and we had a minute alone to talk, I was a wreck. It wasn't pretty.

But, whatever. It's over. On to bigger and better things. I just regret looking at Great Schools last night and seeing that the school we're actually accepted at has some negative reviews. You know I'm going to obsess about them for months now. That's just the way I roll.

I think I will apply to one more school per Misty's advice. I had only held off on that school because they have rolling admissions and I didn't even know if we would be moving there when I went through this whole process.

Are you as sick of hearing about my kids' school options as I am with writing about them? Ugh. I promise to lay off for a while and get back to some real writing. I think it will be very good for me.

Thanks for rolling through it all with me, guys. After almost four years and gaining and losing hundreds of readers, I still love you all.

This afternoon my husband and I will be taking my son to an urologist for some testing. I hadn't been thinking about it much, but now that the appointment is here, I am dreading it. I just hope we can get him some real answers and real help.

Weren't things suppose to be worse when my husband was in Iraq?

Well, This Sucks

My children were not accepted into the school we were hoping for. I had told myself I would be cool with it, that the kids would end up where they best belong no matter what. But I am crushed.

I have to admit it though I want to pretend I'm fine. I am vacillating between crushing disappointment and indignant anger. But both of those feelings are completely overshadowed by guilt.

What didn't I do right for my kids? Where did I go wrong?

You see, I have never not gotten something I wanted in my life. Things have always come very easily for me. I have never received a rejection letter in the mail. Now my husband is another story. He almost never gets what he wants. He gets screwed by life at every turn. I guess his luck was in play here.

I know that not getting accepted into the hoity toity private school of our dreams is a luxurious kind of problem to have. But it still plays to every doubt I've ever had about my own parenting.

Oh, sure. The admissions director wrote a nice little note on each kids' rejection letter. And the letter itself said that they were wonderful candidates but the school just doesn't have room for them at this time. And what a disappointment for the school, and they are on the waiting list and blah, blah, blah. But I don't really buy it. I can see where they just might not have room for my daughter since her class is already full, but they accept 40 new boys into the first grade. Obviously, my son just didn't make the cut.

Or we didn't make the cut as a family. Maybe I made a bad impression.

I have decided to consider their decision their loss. Unlike the other schools we applied to, they didn't really take the time to get to know us. Other schools asked us to write whatever we'd like so that they could get to know our child and our family. Other school wanted us to visit, just so that they could talk with us. The school that rejected us only wanted us to come for testing and their application procedures were based on forms, records and test results.

At first I was put off by the school we will be going to because they accepted us so quickly. Now I am fully embracing everything they are about. Where before I thought that they were just trying to fill in numbers, now I have decided that they were brilliant to recognize what wonderful additions our kids would make to their school so quickly.

It's a great school. It has many more military families than the other school. The kids there seemed much happier than the other school. But it just doesn't have some of what that other school had, like a violin program, great facilities, excellent technology, and outstanding college placements.

I am going to throw myself into our new school with as much dedication as I have at our current school. They are the school that welcomed us with open arms.

A small part of me broke today. I was walking through life with the delusion that my kids were really amazing. Everyone has just always seemed so overwhelmingly impressed by them. But now I must face it. When it comes to purely objective measures of who they are, they are mediocre. Which means I am mediocre.

I need to adjust to the idea, but its okay. Now more than ever I will embrace the subjective things that make them so very special because those are the things that will make them truly happy in life.

But today, I am a failure at the thing that most matters to me in the world. I need to wallow for a bit.

Internet, Violins, Auctions and Me

I've been sans Internet for almost a week. And I was starting to really lose my shit!

My Internet access didn't just up and go out. Oh, no. Like a sadistic lover, it kept me guessing. Sometimes it would work, but only for a moment. Just as I was about to hit "Complete Order" it would seize up yet again.

But my patience ran out today when I was desperately trying to order a new shoulder rest for my daughter's new violin.

We now own four violins, each more expensive (and a little bigger) than the last. Who the hell told my kids they could grow enough to need new violins? And why the hell do they feel so attached to their old ones that they have begged me not to sell them? Anyway...

My husband, my savior, figured out that it was the splitter that was broken. I didn't even know we had a splitter. I don't even know what a splitter looks like.

Now I have a hundred e-mails waiting for me, at least fifty of them regarding the big, fancy, schmancy, fundraising auction that the school is having on Saturday that I foolishly volunteered to help with because one of my best friends is chairing the event.

But at least I can e-mail all the softball parents if our Monday practice is canceled due to rain. I used to hope that softball practice would get rained out so we could have a break. Now that I'm the coach and know how much work we need to do before games start, I'm obsessively checking the weather and praying for sun.

I can also obsessively check real estate listings in VA and hope that something amazing pops up on the market in our price range. What's bad for the economy and most Americans is going to be sweet for me. Buyer's market, here we come!

Internet, violins, attitudes about softball, real estate prices...it's funny how things change?

Now if only my husband can fix my printer, Treo, bluetooth, water purifier and mind, I'll be all set.

Good News

I feel like my life has changed since the last time I posted here.

I know where we're moving!

It's where I was hoping to go. I'm so excited! I hadn't even realized just how much I wanted to move there until my husband gave me the news and I felt like jumping for joy.

The kids are going to be going to a good school (or maybe even a great school if they get accepted--cross your fingers for March 15). Much of my excitement stems from the fact that I won't have to do any more school applications, interviews, or have the kids do any more testing. Woo hoo!

We'll be able to afford a decent house. We'll be able to see the ocean occasionally! And we're so much closer to our friends and loved ones. (But not too close.)

But nothing is official yet, so I can't get too excited. Orders are not in hand.

Oh, and we have no idea what kind of job my husband might have. He could be mopping floors for all we know. That kind of sucks.

But he'll be mopping floors by the ocean!

I feel like I'm on the precipice of great change and I am so very happy.

Terrified

Since dropping the kids off at school this morning, I've had a completely free day. I have no appointments or commitments until 6 p.m. tonight because my friend is ushering my kids through their after-school activities.

That sounds awesome! But what have I done today? Absolutely nothing! I have completely wasted an entire free day. Why?

Because I am seriously terrified about what I have to do tonight. I've done nothing but worry about it.

At 6 p.m. I am attending a Little League softball coaches meeting. Yes, I am coaching my daughter's softball team this year. And I am absolutely sick about it. Why, oh why did I volunteer to do this?

I am so nervous. Tonight I'll get my roster and schedule and then I'll have to call all of the parents and tell them that our first practice will be on Monday. I'd rather eat sawdust. I'd rather drink lighter fluid. I'd rather wear a bathing suit in public!

I'm afraid I'll suck at this. I'm afraid the parents will all hate me the way we hated my daughter's coach last year. I'm afraid everyone will think I'm a bitch for having practice so soon. I'm afraid they'll think we practice too much. I'm afraid they'll think we don't practice enough. I'm afraid they'll think I'm too harsh. I'm afraid they'll think I'm too easy. I'm afraid they won't like the uniform shorts and visors I'll pick out.

And although I have a soccer field scheduled for practice after school on Mondays, I have yet to find a softball diamond to practice on. Our school doesn't have one.

My husband says that in the eighteen years he's known me, he's never seen me like this.

It's ridiculous! Move me across the country? Sure, bring it on. Husband goes to combat in Iraq and gets shot at by rockets and mortars? Eh, whatever. I'm sure he's fine. Coach a team of seven and eight-year old girls? I'll be curled up here in the fetal position, thanks.

Of course, it's not the kids I'm scared of, even though I think they're all aliens. It's the parents.

Why, of why did I volunteer to do this?

Traveling Up

It's Patrick's birthday today.

Do go wish him a happy one.

Don't mention the numbers 3 or 8.

Happy birthday, Patrick!

Le Troisième Petit Cochon

Today my daughter played the third little pig in a play presented all in French. Her version of the brick house-building pig was also a rockin' country singer.

Sometimes the things my kids do amaze me.

Oh, and shiny pink ballet tights and black flats as hooves? Sometimes I amaze myself with these last minute costumes.

Anal Sex and the Power of Dude

My husband doesn't listen to me, I swear.

Today we were engaging in our new favorite lunchtime hobby, looking at real estate listings online, when I made a comment to him.

"Exit Realty. That's a stupid name for a real estate company. It makes me think of anal sex."

He completely ignored me.

So I went on, "You know, most husbands at least look up when their wives mention anal sex."

"Eh. It's old hat," he responded without even lifting his eyes.

Moments later he was lamenting that he had to go back to work. Work is wearing on him right now. All either one of us can think about is moving. So I played devil's advocate.

"Aw, so don't go back. What do you have to do that's so pressing? Stay and play with me. We can look up some more Realtors."

"I have work to do," he replied. "Besides, we don't even know where we're moving yet."

"So, go find out!" My voice rose. "Pick up your phone. Call your commander and just ask him!"

"I can't do that," he said.

"Sure you can," I answer. "Just use the power of dude. As long as you say 'dude' first, you can say anything! Say, 'Dude, I need to know where I'm going.' and he'll say, 'Dude, alright. I'll find out.' Guys can say anything as long as they use the power of dude!"

And he laughed at me. He laughed!

I'm glad he thinks I'm funny, but, DUDE, go find out where we're moving, will ya?

I'll give you anal sex.

Running with Bacon

Have you ever wanted to trip a runner?

I have. I do every time I see one. They think they're so awesome in their tight little pants.

Sometimes I go to races just to fantasize about tripping them all on their way to their post-race brunches.

On Saturdays, we go to the downtown YMCA for my daughter's basketball games. This week a whole group of runners was chatting by the door after their run.

They all had tight little pants.

I was quietly working hard at suppressing my urge to trip them all when one announced, "Come on, you guys. Bacon's waiting."

Where are my machete arms?

After we entered the Y, I turned to my husband and said, "Did you hear that? He said bacon! I hate them!"

"You don't really hate them," he replied. "You just want to be them."

I think he's wrong. I think he just underestimates my love of bacon.

Biggish Tuna, Tiny Pond

The last couple of months have been a very strange time for me. I'm not even sure if I can put it all into words. It has just been strange...yet tremendously flattering.

A couple of months ago I wrote an article for my paying gig that got floated out there just about everywhere. It ended up in the newspaper, online, in a local magazine, and in a publication that the kids' school puts out. (As an aside, I got paid approximately ten bucks for this article. That is why we'll never be rich.)

The article was basically about how I cried during a ceremony at the kids' school honoring our military families.

It doesn't sound all that exciting, I know. But coming right on the heels of my husband's Iraqi deployment, it created a lot of buzz. The folks at school fell in love with it.

And suddenly I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without people gushing at me. They love me. They love my writing. I'm wonderful. My kids are wonderful. My husband is a hero.

It's a huge ego boost, I'll admit it. It is unbelievably flattering and I am grateful for the outpouring of support. But I am very much humbled. It has all been just really weird.

This whole year I have felt like I've been living under a spotlight. It's a flattering light and somehow manages to hide all my flaws, but it is always on. I have, like, fans. But they aren't fans of my work. They are fans of me!

There is a part of me very, very deep down which thinks, "Hey! I rock. I deserve some attention. Get down with your bad self." (My inner voice is a dork.) But mostly I think I am a dork and, well, everything they are praising me for is complete bunk.

All of these civilians think I am so awesome for just living through a deployment. But I know that countless other military wives are doing it better and with a hell of a lot more grace than I did. They didn't yell at their kids. Still, the kids and I never missed a day of school, an after-school activity or a single appointment. That's not bad.

I got all these amazing kudos for planning and hosting our school's Grandparents' Day. I was able to throw a luncheon for 900 people and only spend $217 of the parents' association money. I was told that the whole day had my "magical touch". Yet, all I know is that the catered food sucked. I mean SUCKED! People paid ten bucks a head for a plate of cold noodles. SUCKED! Still, I need to give myself credit. Most people wouldn't even volunteer for such an undertaking while they were dealing with a deployment.

And then there is the article. You see, the school's communications director had asked me to write something for the school magazine and I happily agreed. But that article wasn't it.

This article was something I sat down and just spewed out because I was missing a deadline for the publishing company. It's not my best writing, by far (much like my blog posts of the last, oh, say, year!) but the school still asked for permission to publish it themselves. Seriously, a day doesn't go by when someone doesn't tell me how much they love it. Strangers stop me in the streets!

In the midst of the craze I turned to my husband and said, "You know, I feel bad. I was going to sit and write something much better. This isn't even very good."

"I know," he replied. "It's kind of boring."

And that's why I love him. He tells it like it is and keeps me grounded. I guess we keep each other grounded. You've just got to love him.

It has felt like the "Year of Me" and it has been amazing, but weird. The only compliments I really take to heart are the ones about my kids. They are constant too, but I least I know they are true. They are special kids.

Now I've had to tell all of my (sarcastic air quotes) fans (sarcastic air quotes) that we are moving and it has sent the attention into a frenzy. People are mad. People are upset. People are sad.

Every day I get people asking me to find a way to stay here. But there is definitely a part of me that is looking forward to moving away from all this attention. My blog friends give me enough of an ego boost as it is. (My husband is laughing at that one.)

I have learned one thing though. I very seriously and very secretly always wanted to be a famous writer. Now I've only had a tiny touch of fame in a very small pond, but I'm not sure I would ever really want to be famous. Sure it must be gratifying to earn a living doing something you love, but responding to fans can become a full-time, uncomfortable job.

I have learned to say, "Oh, thank you! I have fun writing," in the most sincere way to people I don't even know. I'm not good at faking it.

When I did our taxes last night, I actually had to fill out a Schedule C for my self employment as a freelance writer. I used to take pride in that Homemaker in the occupation line near my name. Being self employed is totally not worth the 1200 bucks I earned.

I don't think I'm going to bother searching out another writing job when we move. As flattering as the attention of the last few months has been, I'm looking forward to being just another shy, anonymous mom.

My alter ego can do all the hard work.

Allegro on Stage

I have been trying to use the Blogger video feature for a while, just out of curiosity, but I never have been able to get it to work.

So, I finally gave up and tried out the evil YouTube.

Here's a little video of my kids playing Allegro at their violin workshop earlier this month. I love when they get to stand next to each other on stage. It makes taking video and pictures so much easier, even though I suck at doing both those things.

Oh, and just to make note...Little Tuna Boy is the youngest kid on stage during this song.

One Track Mind

Even my TiVo knows that I am a giant dork. Early, early this morning it taped three hours of Classic VH1. And I'm watching it!

Remember when videos mostly consisted of the singer bopping around in different costumes? It was a kinder, gentler, Stacy Q sort of time.

So, I have been missing out on quite a bit of life lately. I feel like I fit right in with Samantha Fox and her ripped jeans right now and not just because I Wanna Have Some Fun. By today's standards, Ms. Fox would be considered quite chunky.

I spent the majority of the last three days in bed. I can't seem to stay awake no matter what I do. For someone who barely ever sleeps, it's actually a little scary. But I feel bad enough to take medicine (and that's saying a lot) and in my old age medicine puts me to sleep.

I pretty much only have one thing on my mind these days and that is moving. We still don't know where we're going, though it now at least seems clear that we definitely are going somewhere.

I've noticed that I am already starting to distance myself from our life here. I always do that when we move. Not on purpose, but it happens. But I still have months and months to go here. I need to get my shit together.

And sitting on the couch watching classic Wham! isn't going to get it done. Although...maybe the cosmic message in meaningful. Wake me up before you go-go, will ya?

Happy Valentine's Day to Me

My husband did it! He actually managed to surprise me.

When I got in the car to drive the kids to school this morning, I found my Valentine's Day present.



Sweet, huh! Especially since yesterday my trusty old 3rd Generation iPod turned into a very expensive paperweight.

Go, Tuna Man. He had it hidden in my car all week.

Oh, and in case you happened to notice, that Valentine's Day gift is sitting inside my Christmas gift, a new Mazda CX9.



Spoiled much? Hell, yeah!

Great Moments in Motherhood

After two whole days of flying and interviews and tests, my son was really looking forward to a "Mexican grilled cheese" (known to the rest of the world as a cheese quesadilla) during our layover at George Bush International.

So when he was only half finished and tipped his plate onto the floor and started crying in grief I had absolutely no qualms about picking his tortilla up off the floor, wiping it off and handing it back to him.

"It didn't hit the floor. I caught it," I lied for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.

What would you have done?

Our Virgina Adventure

We're back from our whirlwind tour of Virginia Beach. My son and I actually had a pretty good time together, despite the stress of testing, interviews and sleeping together in one room.

We arrived on Tuesday evening, grabbed a quick dinner, learned that the indoor pool was under renovation and both were in bed and asleep by 8 o'clock.

But at 2 a.m. my son woke me up. "Is it time to visit the schools yet?"

"No," I grumbled. "It's the middle of the night. Go back to sleep."

This happened every half hour for the rest of the morning until I finally turned the television on at 6:30 and told him to leave me alone. He was excited.

And then we showed up to the first school an hour early. We were there before the admissions people. I could have sworn she said, "I have your son scheduled for 8 a.m. to noon on Friday." Apparently she had said 9 a.m. to 11. Whatever. Being that early makes almost as bad an impression as being late.

But they let us sit in the office and wait for the 9 a.m. testing to begin. They had some blocks with numbers and math signs on them in a basket. My son sat on the floor and starting writing equations with the blocks. 6+5=11 and so forth.

You know what I was thinking! Is anyone watching this?

When my son and the other five kids who were going to be evaluated in a group that day gathered in the lobby, the admissions director sort of led introductions. Most of these were the kids who were applying from out of town.

She introduced a Canadian boy and asked him if he had taken a plane to Virginia. The kid buried in head in his dad's leg and sort of mumbled something. She introduced another boy and asked where he was from. He sort of mumbled, "Florida," but then refused to say another word.

Then she said, "And here we have Little Tuna Boy..."

He took two steps forward and declared, "I'm from Louisiana and I had to take two airplanes to get here!" He even made accompanying hand gestures.

Well, I had told him to just be himself and he was certainly doing just that.

I have no idea how his testing went, because parents were not invited to watch. But I was very proud of him. He handled himself very well. We had a little interview and individual testing the next morning. He loved it all.

And this school was amazing! It had everything we love about our own school plus an unbelievable facility. And they even have a school orchestra and violin program.

In the meantime on Friday, we grabbed lunch and headed out to another school. At the first school I got the tour while he tested, but since this second school is going to use the testing scores from the first, he was able to tour with me.

He was very impressed with how big the school was. He asked pertinent questions and introduced himself to everyone he saw. Before we left, the admissions director actually offered us two spots at the school.

It's hard because I was constantly comparing that school to the one we had seen that morning. And that first school wasn't only one of the best in the area, it was one of the best in the country and it fit in with our family philosophy and style. I was as little put off that this second school was so eager to have us.

I mean, sure. I know I have pretty great kids, but they haven't even met my daughter yet. The recommendations our teachers and headmaster sent to this school must have been stellar.

Since we've been home, I can't stop thinking about the choice we need to make. The first school accepts 80 first graders so I think my son has a decent chance, plus he won't be the "new kid" there. But they currently have no room in the fourth grade, so unless someone moves, there is very little chance my daughter will get in there.

And the more I've thought about it, the more I think I like the second school. It can't quite compare to the first, but it is still a very good school. They have more military people than the first school and it definitely had a less "moneyed" atmosphere. It felt more homey but less academically outstanding.

Do I want send my kids to different schools?

I guess I should wait until we find out where we're accepted before I get myself all wound up about it. But I really do hope that by some stroke of luck, they both get into the first school. Still, it is comforting to know that we have a good school to go to there no matter what.

Of course, we STILL don't know if we're even moving to that area!

The stress around my house right now is absolutely palpable. This "not knowing" is the worst.

Off to the Beach, sort of

Ack!

I have so, so much to say but I just realized that this will be my last post until next week. I'd like to leave you all with something meaningful or well-written, but it ain't gonna happen.

Oh, and did I mention that my mother-in-law has been here for the last few days?

My son and I leave early tomorrow for Norfolk, VA where we will be visiting and interviewing at two private schools. We'll be home Saturday night but my husband and I are spending Sunday acting as tour guides at our school and then going on a date.

An honest to goodness date.

Woo hoo.

I'm not really feeling a lot of pressure about the school visits. Funny. I probably should be. But I have utmost confidence that my son will be very much himself and everyone will fall in love with him.

(Please cross your fingers and hope that is true for our sakes.)

Also, I'm still not sure that we'll even be living near these schools. Maybe that helps to relieve the pressure.

(I'm thinking about sending cookies to our friend at the assignments office. Do you think that would help?)

I'm looking forward to having time alone with my son. I don't think we've really been alone together since my husband left on his deployment.

I have some posts in the queue. Maybe they'll come out to play. Be good while I'm gone.

E-Postile Dysfunction

An hour and a half ago I put a bagel in the toaster.

It is still sitting in there. I didn't notice it pop. I guess by now it is cold and hard.

I plopped my whole wheat breakfast bagel into the toaster, set out the fake butter and a butter knife and sat down at the computer to check my e-mail. But then I got distracted with e-mails I had to answer, mass e-mails I had to send, things I had to write, and now more than an hour is gone.

And with all that writing, I still haven't managed to manage something for here.

I have news. I have stuff to write about. I have pictures to post. I just can't...get it up.

At least my toaster was able to pop. With as fuzzy as I've been, the kitchen could have burned down around me.

Then maybe I'd have something to...get excited about.

Applying to Harvard will be a Cinch!

I am losing my mind, people. I'm losing my fucking mind.

When I applied to college,I applied to one school. Yup. I knew what I wanted.

I visited Saint Joseph's, VT which was a complete party school. I visited Saint Joseph's, ME which was fine but seemed sort of cold. And I visited my college, which was Catholic and all-women and felt like home.

So I applied early and got in and never had to worry about another application. I even got into Saint Joseph's, VT even though I never applied. They were a bit desperate.

In many, many ways, I regret my decision now. Don't get me wrong. I loved my college while I was there. But in hindsight, I could have really spread my wings during that time in my life. I had the brains. I have no idea why I limited myself. I should have applied to all of the Seven Sisters. I guess I was worried about what my parents could afford.

And I was scared.

But now, I am stuck in the middle of this process for my own kids. They may be years away from college, but it feels just the same.

We're an Independent School* kind of family. Honestly, I won't accept anything but an independent school education for my kids, as long as one is available wherever we move. (Don't ask me what I'm going to do if one isn't available.)

But right now we're not sure where we're going to move. It's all up in the air again. We won't know where we're going until the middle of February if we're lucky. Or the middle of March if we're not.

And when is the application deadline for most independent schools? This Friday.

So like a maniac, I'm sending applications to every school that looks decent in every city we might move to.

That's a lot of applications.

And most of these schools have their own recommendation forms and testing requirements, so unlike the tuitions ($25,000 for one of my top choices!!!) the application process isn't like college. Nothing is standardized.

And my kids' poor teachers are stuck writing out a bunch of different recommendation forms. (They have been AMAZING though. Seriously. A-MAZING!)

And of course each of these schools wants the kids to come spend a day. Have they never had out-of-town applicants before? Even when we know what city we're going to, we're going to have to visit at least three different schools. I can't take my kids out of their own school for a whole week to accomplish this.

Right now I am seriously leaning towards the school with the most understanding admissions director.

This whole process is wreaking havoc on my life. It's all I think about. (That and money.) I cannot wait until the end of March when all of these questions will be answered.

And I'm going to repeat our own admission director's words over and over again until they sink in. "Wherever they end up will be right for them. They are wonderful kids. It will all work out, even if it's not the way you originally thought. You'll use those great-mother instincts, that I know you have, to find the right place for them."

Too bad I'm not as confident as she is.

This not-knowing is killing me!

*An Independent School is a private school who is a member of the National Association of Independent Schools.

It's All in Your Hands

Here is more evidence that I should have been a man.

I found this article at USA Today to be quite interesting. But, well, it is USA Today, so maybe I should say that I find the article kind of fun.

"Recently, scientists in North America and Europe have looked to the
relative lengths of index and ring fingers for clues about a variety of
characteristics, including musical ability, athletic prowess and, in a study
just released, osteoarthritis risk.

The researchers believe that the difference between the two fingers'
lengths signifies the level of testosterone exposure in the womb. The longer the
ring finger compared to the index finger, the thinking goes, the higher the
exposure."

Interesting. It goes on to say then that in most men, the ring finger is longer than the index finger and in most women the two fingers are about equal. It even said that gay men have ring and index fingers closer in length than straight men. (More proof that mothers do turn their sons gay...in the womb.)

Me? My ring finger is quite a bit longer than my index finger. Not to worry, the study tells me. This most likely suggests strong athletic tendencies. (It makes no mention of lesbian tendencies.)

"But, Manning says, one country hopes the tool will help identify future
athletes. He is working with Qatar's Aspire Sports Academy, whose vision,
according to its website, 'is to discover the best young sporting talent … and
transform them into world-renowned champions.'"

I'm going to go measure my kids' fingers right now. I was hoping my son could support me in my old age on his professional baseball salary. Momma wants a beach house!

Adam and Eve lived with dinosaurs.

I thought there might be a day when our son would tell us he was gay. But I never figured he would come out as a creationist!

The horror!

I don't know where he even came up with the idea, but my son is insisting that God created everything. There is no arguing with him.

He also refuses to believe that there are people and religions in the world who don't believe in Jesus even though he has Muslim and Jewish friends. We argued about it for a good fifteen minutes.

Man, we sent this kid to a non-religious school for just this reason. We might have to invest in deprogramming. Or move.

Late Night with Socks and Undies

While sitting here late at night waiting for the clothes drier to buzz, I just had a massive realization. I have realized the main difference between my husband and I. My husband has an ability that I covet.

Every evening at about eight or nine o'clock, my husband turns off. He has his little ritual. He goes upstairs to take a bath and shave. Yes, he actually has to pre-shave in the evening in order to get a clean shave in the morning. He's a manly man like that.

(After a week of leave I practically begged him to shave tonight. He was starting to look like one of the local rednecks. I was getting scared.)

But I digress.

Once he's had his manly shave and manly bath, he is out of service for the rest of the night. Unless it involves sex or sleep, he just isn't interested in anything anymore. All of the things that were on his mind all day are gone. All of the tasks he had to complete are either done or not, but they are far from his mind. To him, night is time to sleep. All of his problems will be there to be worried about in the morning.

But me? My mind is just coming alive at night. I've spent my day dealing with chaos and a thousand little daily emergencies. It isn't until things are dark and quiet that I can even begin to worry about the big things.

All of my unfinished tasks sit there mocking me. All of his unfinished tasks sit there mocking me too. Nighttime is time for me to worry about what kind of mother I am, what kind of school we can afford, what kind of example I set, what kind of friend I am, and what kind of wife sits brooding over every mess her husband has made.

I hate nighttime me.

I'd give anything to be like my husband. God knows, I've tried.

But then again, if I wasn't up past midnight waiting for the laundry, the kids would be wearing dirty clothes to school. Maybe there is some value to having one of us be constantly on call.

Or I could just do the laundry earlier in the day. Yeah. That would work too.

The Rule of 2

This post by Steven over at Human Nature reminded me of something.

Over these last three or four years of observing gay male animals in their natural habitat (i.e. bars, clubs, gyms, cute eateries, bathroom stalls and the streets of Provincetown) I have come up with what I think is a fail safe way to judge the appropriateness of a mate.

Using the scale of attractiveness from 1 to 10 on which a 1 is...I don't know...Gilbert Godfrey and a 10 is absolute male perfection, what number would you assign to yourself?

Now add 2. Why? Because everyone underestimates their own appeal. (Unless you think you're a 10. Then subtract 2 for being an ass.)

Now using that number, you can ALWAYS date/mate/fuck with anyone plus or minus 2 from your number on the scale.

So, let's say you think you're a 6. Add 2, you're really an 8. You can successfully bag anyone from a 6 to a 10 given the right attitude and level of confidence.

Genius, right?

I briefly wondered if the rule of 2 applied to straight people too. But experience tells me that given the right amount of alcohol, a straight guy will sleep with anyone with a vagina. And the right amount of alcohol hovers right around 2 beers.

Huh? There you have it. That's the straight version of the Rule of 2.

*Blogger does not guarantee results. Results may vary. Large amounts of money or penis may affect results. (As does large amounts of wonderful personality, but that doesn't make for fun math or poorly-informed, sweeping generalizations.)

Like picking a lock with a wet herring.

Lately, I have been doing a lot of writing for publications, websites and personal business. Unfortunately, that has kind of taken away from what I have to offer here on my blog. I only have so many words.

Words, words, words. I feel like I'm drowning in words. But my blog, as my first real vehicle for personal expression is special to me. I hate to ignore it.

Still, today I wrote an article for a website about our school and I cried all while I wrote it. It was draining. By the time I hit "publish" I felt like I had given birth, albeit to a teeny, tiny baby.

And just now I was interviewed for an article for a newspaper. If I thought writing was hard, being interviewed is even harder. Ack! I had no idea what to say! Although I think the reporter could have phrased her questions better.

As much as words feel like the enemy write now, I am thankful for them. Words...writing...is my only means of expression. I don't paint or draw. I don't sing. And I don't dance unless I've had a drink or two. Words are all I really know.

I need to stop giving them away for a pittance and horde them for myself. The thing about words is you never know when they'll dry up.

Who Would Have Thought

For a military wife...well...I couldn't be more blue.


82% Bill Richardson
79% Barack Obama
78% Hillary Clinton
78% Chris Dodd
74% John Edwards
63% Joe Biden
59% Dennis Kucinich
58% Mike Gravel
50% Rudy Giuliani
48% John McCain
42% Mitt Romney
41% Mike Huckabee
34% Tom Tancredo
26% Fred Thompson
21% Ron Paul

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Yellow Snow Day

Today was a day out of time. Like the snow days of my childhood, but not really.

At about mid-morning yesterday, I got a call that the kids' school was closing and I needed to come pick them up. Something about a water main break. So my husband (who was home very early from work) and I headed out.

It wasn't until we were in the car on the way to school that we found out the whole city was on a boil order. We picked the kids up and went out to lunch (not at all concerned about boiled water) and ran a few errands.

By the time we were driving back home, they announced that all of the public schools in the county were dismissing early.

The good news is that we don't live in the same city or county as the kids' school. We had water and flushing toilets aplenty.

By 1:45 in the afternoon the news stations were reporting that the problem was almost fixed.

By 4:00 the county had canceled school for today. All of the private schools and day cares followed suit.

By 3:30 the water problem was fixed.

Hmmmm. Seems there is something a little off in that timeline. I am always amazed at how the county here is so quick to cancel school. Maybe they're jealous of the snow days they get "up north"?

So my husband was on his first day of leave today. The kids were out of school, but the neighborhood kids weren't because of the county line. You've got to love being a private school kid sometimes.

It felt a little weird to have an unexpected day free. Like we were playing hookie or something.

We had our drama today though. We've all been struggling to adjust to having my husband home. The kids are also going through this horrible phase where they can't seem to stop arguing.

My kids have always gotten along so well. This is breaking my heart. I had been blaming it on being together so much over Christmas break, but now my mother's guilt is rearing its ugly head.

When my husband came home from a trip to the playground with them, he announced to me, "The kids are awful!"

He didn't say that the kids were awful or that the kids behaved awfully. He said that they are awful.

I had nothing to say to that but, "Well, thanks."

Of course he quickly backtracked but the words are already stamped on my heart.

Reunions are hard. No doubt about it. I am so happy to have him home. But I should have remembered better that the stress of reintegrating your family is actually worse than the stress of being apart.

Even on a day out of time.

Here's to boring days of routine. Like flushing toilets at closed schools, may they make a quick return.

What Not to Send

Alternately entitled: I'm Bitchy Times 3

When December 25th came and went without any of those horrific Christmas letters in my mailbox, I thought the practice had finally been put out of its misery.

But, nope. I have received three of them in the days since Christmas, each pathetic and disturbing in its own way.

First arrived a novel from AH. Does anyone remember AH? She's the one who I yelled at for complaining constantly that she wanted her unborn son to be a girl. She's the one whose husband got a vasectomy against her wishes.

The text of her Christmas letter was justified both left and right. It went from about a quarter inch from the top of the paper to within a quarter inch of the bottom of the paper. Without a single paragraph break. It was just a red and green bordered paper completely full of 9 point type words. Single spaced.

I didn't even bother trying to read it. Since her daughter was my daughter's friend, I handed the thing to my kid and said, "Here, you can read this if you want." She didn't read it either.

The next was from a military wife friend I've never blogged about because she moved before I started this waste of cyber space. My friends and I called her family The Dog and Pony Show because she was always showing off her kids' tricks. She would brag and brag about how people always told her that her baby girl should be a model. She even "looked into it."

I always sort of shook my head at that one. I didn't think her kid was especially cute. But what do I know? I tend to look at people sort of differently anyway.

Well, she included a picture in her letter and OH MY GOD! Her kid looks like an alien. Seriously, that's a face only a mother could love. I wonder how her dog and pony show is doing now-a-days.

The last is from my good friend CB. Except I haven't talked to her since she moved away. Their family lives in Hawaii now. (The bitches) So she wrote Mele Kalikimaka (everybody sing it now!) down the side of the paper and started each sentence with the coordinating letter.

Gag.

But okay, I'll forgive her that. She's a former elementary teacher after all. But all the references to how god helped them do this and Jesus allowed them to do that and how we should all be praying for this and that got really old after just a few lines.

Still, okay. She's really religious. I knew that about her before. Then she wrote something I can't forgive.

"RB ran three marathons this year and CB finished three triathlons and two half marathons..."

What? She's a runner now? What the hell! Doesn't she know that makes me hate her on principle?

Where the hell do I get these friends?

And for all of you blog visitors who find this post every November and December by Googling "How to start a Christmas letter" I have one piece of advice for you.

Don't! Your friends will only making fun of you behind your back. Trust me.

Occupied

Oh, yeah. My husband got home at 4:30 on Sunday. I've been a bit busy since then.

Is it nice having him home?

Yes. He lifts heavy things.

Last Fucking Day

It seems to me to be quite fucked that the worst day of this 6+ month deployment is the last day.

It started with a phone call from my husband early this morning telling me the plane was broken and he wasn't sure when he'd be getting home.

It progressed with the children sneaking around doing things they know they shouldn't do and torturing each other.

It deteriorated into me shouting, "You father is coming home from Iraq today. Do you even care?!?!"

Not one of my best days. I haven't slept all week. 4:35 can't come soon enough. This plane better not break or I'm fucking getting in the car and driving to pick him up.

And you thought I was done?

Mark asks an interesting question over at his blog.

What was the best and worst part of 2007 for you?

Obviously, the worst part of 2007 for me was having my husband spend half the year in Iraq.

And then I'm stuck. Nothing sticks out in my mind as being especially great about this past year. I can't even claim that his homecoming is the best part of 2007 because he won't be here for a couple more days.

Luckily I have a handy naval-gazing list of how I spent at least the last few months right here on my blog.

I guess the best thing about this past year was finally getting some friends up to stay at our house on Cape Cod. Patrick, Jase, Jase's beau, and our friend C all joined me for a daily drive to Provincetown back in July. The guys seemed to all have fun, but my husband's absence was palpable to me. And whenever I'm in that house I go crazy wishing it were "finished" and didn't still look like a grandma was in residence. Still. It was fun. I hope to have more friends up in the future.

And I must add, that although we were apart for most of it, 2007 was a very good year for my marriage. We love and understand each other more than ever.

All this naval-gazing has given me a crick in the neck and I'm quite sick of myself, thank you very much. So how about you?

What was the best and worst part of 2007 for you?

On His Way to 2008

It's funny, really. I had no idea how relieved I would be for my husband to be out of Iraq until he called to tell me that he was.

He flew out (or drove out...I honestly don't know) on New Year's Eve. I can't think of a better way to start the new year.

Except maybe with him actually by my side. But he's on his way and that's what's important. I know how lucky I am that this deployment only stretched through summer and fall and into a bit of winter. It could have been much longer.

He is currently sitting in some "safe" Middle Eastern country being forced manipulated coerced trained reintroduced into polite society. He feels like he's wasting time. But I suppose it must be nice to sleep and eat without mortar and rocket attacks. Even if he is bored.

For my part, well...I hate to admit it, but I should. I am actually more stressed now than I have been this entire deployment. I know that those wives still waiting for their husbands to come home are ready to drop kick me for saying that, but it is the truth.

Every time he goes away, I try to look at it as an opportunity to focus on some of my own goals. But more than six months has passed and I haven't done jack shit.

I didn't lose weight. I gained it.

I didn't run a race. I'm farther away from being a runner than ever before.

I didn't write a book. My writing is crap. Writer's block was worse than ever.

I suck.

I have to give myself credit. I got all three of us through these months relatively unscathed. Both kids are excelling at school, and they never missed a day. We're all happy and healthy, if not a little more insulated.

And I really did accomplish a lot, even if I have little to show for it.

I drove the kids and the dog to Cape Cod for a summer vacation.
I spent another Pride in NYC and volunteered at another Pier Dance.
I had the boys up to Cape Cod and Provincetown for some fun.
I threw my daughter a birthday party.
I watched the kids run the Race for Central Park.
I stumbled into local celebrity and a meager pay check writing my "Other Blog"
I developed a massive crush on David Bromstad.
I survived the kids playing violin solos for our program orientation.
I bought a new camera and fulfilled my promise to take lots more pictures.
I served on the Board of Trustees for the kids' school.
I "came out" to my local friends as a fag hag. Not here, but not long after.
I had Patrick down for his second visit to the bayou. I outed him, worked a fund raiser, and went to a gay bar.
I survived Parent/Teacher conferences. Quite well, in fact.
I successfully chaired a luncheon at school.
I sent my daughter to a Hannah Montana concert.
I took the kids to New York City for Thanksgiving with Uncle Patrick and MAK and K.
I watched the kids run the Race to Deliver and raise money for God's Love We Deliver.
I fixed my husband's truck all by myself!
I attended a School Board retreat and nailed down the most donations in our annual fund phone-a-thon.
I got to see my kids each graduate to the next level in violin and perform Christmas concerts.
I got the kids back in swimming class and saw Mr. Nathan again.
I threw my son a birthday party.
I took the kids on the Polar Express.
And I managed Christmas for just the three of us.

Add in a season of soccer for both kids, countless violin lessons, mounds of homework and daily discipline and it is quite a lot.

I guess the lesson to be learned here is that I need to adjust my expectations.

I'm also worried about my husband adjusting to home life. And I'm worried about the kids and I adjusting to having him around again. The kids have grown up so much since he left.

And I'm obsessing about our possible move and getting the kids into a new school. School admissions is just about the only thing I have on my mind right now and it is keeping me up all night.

So, I started to write this post just to say, "Yay! My husband's coming home. Bring on 2008!" but it morphed away from that.

But that's okay. Because at its heart, and in my heart, the most important thing is...

My husband's on his way home. Yay! 2008 is going to be a great year.