The Prank

Yesterday I took on the biggest job in the house. I unpacked the kids' bathroom.

It was the room with the boxes marked "Upstairs Closet". In our old house, the upstairs closet was the place we stashed all those things that had no other home. And so I found pillowcases from college (gross) and prenatal vitamins (aww).

Occasionally I would knock on my son's bedroom door and deliver things to his room. The kids were in there playing and every time I entered they gave me little smirks and looked at me all squinty and weird.

Okay. That's usually best to ignore.

When I got to my very last box (woo hoo) my son came in and offered to help me. That's not so unusual. I was trying to figure out the size of a fitted sheet and he helped me locate the label. Then he helped me fold it.

As he backed up to have enough room, he casually shut the door. I looked up and caught him with a huge grin on his face, which he immediately wiped away when we made eye contact.

"What?" I asked him, suspicion in my voice.

"Nothing," he replied. "I just like helping you."

And then my daughter ran by giggling like a maniac.

"What are you guys up to?"

My son shook his head. "Oh, man. She ruined it by coming back all silly."

At the same time my daughter called out, "Don't go in your bathroom!"

My son just shook his head more.

Well, I had to go to my bathroom then. I knew what they had done.







Peeing with a fake lizard staring at you is creepier than you would think.

My son cracked me up by being so serious about his deception. He's such a little actor. I think it takes a certain amount of intelligence to pull off a prank when you're six. He had to make a plan and use teamwork. Plus, the fact that he volunteered to be the distractor is too funny.

Tonight I'm going to wait until they fall asleep and put the lizards on their pillows. They'll get a kick out of it.

Makes a Mother Proud

Yesterday my daughter exclaimed to me with great enthusiasm. "I don't ever want to be a cheerleader! It's too girly!"

Oh, my heart is filled with such pride. (Just ignore for the moment that I was once a head cheerleader myself.)

And then, after her rather inauspicious start at soccer camp, yesterday she won the day's Coach's Award for her perseverance, attitude and for scoring her first goal. She was so proud of herself. And her brother made a spectacle of himself cheering for her.

It was very cute.

Since Tuesday afternoon, a bunch of school parents have been very friendly to me at camp pick-up. And the head coach made a point to talk to me too. What a difference a day makes.

Don't let any of this make you assume that I'm in a better mood. I am cranky and reveling in it right now.

Frumpy Square Peg, Bitchy Round A-Holes

The people who love and care about me have one job for the next year.

They have to remind me over and over again that I didn't like the people at our old school at first either.

Man, there are some snooty parents at the new school. Some have been outright rude! (Misty is thinking well, yeah! right about now.)

I think there is always a danger when you choose a private school that the level of snot will outweigh all the other benefits. The majority of parents I've met in the last couple of days have made me start composing applications for the other schools for the 2009-2010 school year.

But I keep reminding myself, the kids loved it there. This school was one of our top choices because the students there just seemed so happy. The staff and teachers weren't snooty. They were great!

Just because I don't fit in with the private school moms doesn't mean my kids won't be happy there.

And hell! I didn't fit in at the old school either. It took me three or four years to make some really good friends there. And some of the moms I had pegged as the most snooty early on turned out to be not just good friends, but some of the best people I have ever met.

My husband says, "Just be yourself and smile and do the things you always do and you'll eventually find the worthwhile people here too." I know he's right. It takes people a while to see past my exterior. And it takes me a while to overcome my shyness. I know that there are rich people who are good people. I just have to find them.

But it's going to be damn lonely for a while.

Mother of Inventiveness

I have Baileys, JD, Stoli O, and Kahlua.

I also have Diet Coke with Splenda, Light Lemonade, water, peach flavored Propel, Sprite 0, skim milk and pickle juice.

Mix me a drink.

I sorely need it.

The Waterworks

My daughter bugs me.

Have I mentioned this before? Oh, what. Just about a thousand times? That sounds about right.

I mean, I love the kid. I really do. She has some wonderful qualities, not one of which is the ability to stop bugging the hell out of her mother.

Lately, I have been making a very concerted effort to be extremely positive with her. I thought coaching her softball team might ruin our relationship forever, but it actually seemed to help quite a bit.

She just gets into situations that...well...no other mothers seem to have to deal with this crap. These situations always end in tears.

I probably seem like a heartless bitch to every other mother out there, but I know my kid. Coddling her through her tears is the last thing she needs. The slightest showing of sympathy only degenerates the situation further.

The kid needs some stones.

Yesterday was the first day of soccer camp. Even though I think she belongs with the nine-year-olds (she'll be nine in a couple of weeks and has been playing soccer for five years, plus I wanted her to make friends who will be in her level at the start of soccer season) they put her in the "beginner" group with the 7-8 year-olds. Which is cool.

I had to pick my son up from camp at noon so I spied on her while I was waiting. She was doing pretty well.

I came back a little early for pick-up so I could watch her play. As I parked the car I just happened to catch her tie-dye socks out of the corner of my eye. It's a good thing I did because she was playing on the far other side of the complex as I had expected. It looked like she was playing with 9-10 year-olds.

You know I had a moment of ooooh, maybe they moved her up because she did so well pride.

It was to be short lived.

Of course she didn't leave the field and head toward the parents like every other kid when they were dismissed. I had to walk up and retrieve her. Which is when she told me that she had gotten lost after lunch.

She spent the majority of the afternoon wandering around because she couldn't remember her coach's name. Or apparently, what side of the fields she had been playing on all morning or what any of her new friends and teammates looked like or how freaking old she was.

Apparently, she finally asked a coach who just told her to go join in with some team.

And that's how she wasted her afternoon at soccer camp.

You know, that's fine. Whatever. She made a mistake. A totally ditsy mistake that took the joy out of the whole experience, but whatever. But I knew that they made a big deal out of checking each kid out at the end of the day with the right coach.

Her original group was gathered on the bleachers and I told her to run and join them. That's when the tears started.

I was so put out. By her. By the camp. What coach loses a kid halfway through the day and doesn't bother to tell anyone or look for her?

She could have left campus for all they knew.

I was so disappointed. I had been so excited to pick her up and hear about her day. She loves soccer. She desperately needs new friends. And it all degenerated into another tear fest.

I swear. Nothing is ever easy with her. Nothing.

It's funny, because my husband feels the same way about my son.

Ready for the CIA

My husband wasn't gone for more than fifteen minutes on Friday when all hell broke loose.

With the DirecTV guys still in the house, my husband headed off for his very last week in his old job on the bayou. And my son locked himself out of his bedroom.

Who the fuck puts locks on every bedroom door in a house?

Now I can't stop thinking about what kind of kinky lifestyle the former owners led. I mean, what other reason is there to put a lock on a bedroom door than a sexual one? Having met the bleach blond former owner at our cul-de-sac party, the images aren't pretty.

Anyway, I tried to pick the lock without success, so I dismantled the knob. I still couldn't pop the lock and the DirecTV guy felt bad for me so he gave it a try with no luck.

Thirty seconds later, I put some muscle into it and popped that bad boy open.

The DirecTV guy was quite impressed. I think he may have been a little turned on. You know how some men like strong, lock-picking women.

It's a MoBlog! With Pictures

Sort of.

I'm blogging from my back deck while I watch the kids swim in the pool. (One of those cheap above ground numbers you can buy at Target.)

I'd be blogging on my husband's laptop and our spiffy new wireless connection but he took it with him on his week-long trip back to the bayou.

He left me here with two bored kids who only want to swim. I can't leave them in the pool unsupervised so I'm stuck out here on the deck.

Meanwhile, I got two boxes unpacked in the last two days. That's right. Count 'em. Two.

Thank god for soccer camp next week.

I guess the forced rest is kind of nice. It is beautiful here. Too bad gazing at the beautiful landscape only makes me stress about maintaining it.

And there are a lot of bugs. Bugs ruin everything. I'm such an indoor girl.

In other news, I've realized that my skin is more pale than a Band Aid.

Maybe some time communing with the bugs and plants wouldn't kill me.



Update: How about some pictures?

The back deck featuring the umbrella my daughter's class made for the school auction (lovingly referred to as the thousand dollar umbrella).

From the side toward the front.

One side

The Cherry trees across the back

The back corner and the cheap pool. I hope we'll have the inground put in by next summer.

The house from the backyard

Across the back toward the other side.

Back toward the deck.

The other side yard and a half-put-together trampoline. The trampoline might move to the other side and a playset might go here.

From the front to the back.

What do all of these pictures have in common. They all have plants in them that I have no idea how to take care of!

Square Pegs, Roundish Holes

It is taking us a ridiculous amount of time to unpack here at the new House of Tuna.

It took me the entire three days between dropping my kids off at my parents and heading back to pick them up just to unpack the kids' bedrooms. Of course unpacking my daughter's room also meant throwing away mounds of stuff I couldn't get rid of when she was around.

The poor packers must have been horrified to have to pack her room. There was a whole box of stuff that they found behind her beds when they moved them. They also packed up a big green garbage bag very neatly in a box.

I guess it's better then them packing up the sex toys I had forgotten about when we moved from Florida.

There's nothing like unrolling a huge lump of paper and finding a big, purple dildo wrapped lovingly inside.

Unpacking the rest of the house has been an exercise in frustration, like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. The house is so different from our last one. There are tons more kitchen cabinets, but no medicine cabinets. We lost a playroom and an office, but gained a bedroom and open living room/dining room combo.

I swear it is going to take me a month just to get the essentials unpacked. I'm still living out of a suitcase and after three days of unpacking the kitchen, I still haven't found the plates and glasses.

Complain, complain, complain. I know. I'm in a horrible mood and I wish I could have just stayed in bed all day. (Considering I just got up, I practically did.)

Mouthes of Babes

Yesterday as I was heading out the door to pick up some lunch, my son called out, "Why does Mommy always have to do all the work?"

Fuck, yeah, kid! Why is that?

Let's all just ignore for a moment that my husband does more before 9 a.m. than I do all day. Let's ignore his trips to the dump, manual labor, lawn mowing and multiple frustrating fix-its around the house.

Ignore it! Ignore it!

In the eyes of my kid, I do all the work.

And kids always tell the truth, right?

(There's a cookie in the cupboard just for you, Buddy.)

On Swan River

While much has happened in the last couple of weeks, nothing was more noteworthy than my husband's attempt to collect my life insurance policy.

I mean, I know things have been tight lately, but I'm not sure the $300,000 I'm worth dead would be quite enough incentive for him to try and kill me.

You see, while we were on Cape Cod, we had the brilliant idea to take the kids kayaking on a small waterway called Swan River. For only fifty bucks, we could rent two tandem kayaks for an hour and a half. In that amount of time we could either head upriver to Swan Pond or downriver to the ocean side beach.

I was leaning toward Swan Pond.

I was a little nervous about kayaking, as I have never done it before. But when I saw the retired couple gearing up in front of us, I felt a little better. The women overheard my husband ask, "Which way do you want to go?" and piped right up to tell us that the tide was going out so we should head upriver toward the pond.

"You don't want to have to fight the current back up when you're tired," she said. "If you head to the pond, you can practically float back here on the tide."

Sounded good to me. "Did you hear that?" I asked my husband.

"Well, yeah, but I really want to go to the beach." he replied.

"Are you sure? I'm not in very good shape, you know." I felt the need to point out.

"You'll be fine," he assured me as he always does. And we set off.

The first forty-five minutes or so of our trip were quite fun. I was even thinking about buying our own kayak to use on our own much larger river. Then we passed under a bridge. And we saw the ocean.

"I want to turn around!" my son yelled over his shoulder to me.

I have to admit, I was of the same mind. That ocean looked awfully big from that little kayak. But suddenly, we had no choice.

I knew if I stayed broadside against the current for too long that we would get swept away. So I used my paddle as a rudder to make the sharpest turn possible.

And then we were headed broadside out into the Atlantic.

My son, clearly the smartest of the whole family, decided he wanted to bail out before we hit the big surf. I agreed. As I screamed for my husband (who had steered himself and my daughter onto a sandbar) to help us my son gracefully climbed out.

My husband was able to grab onto our kayak as we passed, and I took a full on header into the water.

We rested for a while on the sandbar, but we knew we'd have to get back upriver somehow. And the tide was going out fast.

After walking the kayaks upriver twenty feet at a time for well over a half hour, my husband decided I was ready to paddle. I lasted for all of about two minutes before I had a total breakdown.

If I stopped paddling at all, we'd start drifting backward toward the ocean again. In my panicked mind at the time, I was fighting for my son's life. Though I kept paddling, even though my arms were on fire I was also sobbing and alternating between crying "I can't do this" and yelling "I'm so mad at your father!"

My husband and daughter ended up towing us back to the rental place.

And I haven't been able to life my hands above my waist since then.

I don't know. $300,000 is a lot of money, but my husband should have considered that he'd have to pay for the lost kayak. And that retired woman could have been a witness should my husband have been brought up on murder charges. I'm just not sure if the risk was worth it.

Next time, we head toward the pond.

Limitations

Well, so much for blogging regularly.

I have been almost desperate to get back to some kind of routine. Things have been so crazy for so long that I feel like I have lost a part of myself somewhere in the shuffle.

But how can I complain? Right now I'm curled up and relaxing at our house on Cape Cod.

It's been really nice having this time with my little family. But, alas, we have no computer here.

My hands are shot...carpel tunnel, I think, from too much...typing. I can only write so much from my Treo.

But I will fight through the pain in order to type this:

Go Celts!

See you soon.

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.