Tuesday, August 31, 2004

And we're back to sappy.

Thirty-two years ago today, my life was irrevocably changed for the better. Now, I know I was just a little mass of dividing cells at the time, but that doesn't matter.

Thirty-two years ago today, my husband was born.

What could I possibly say to the man who shares my life on his birthday?

How could I possibly express my pride and love for the man he is?

A man who is first and foremost a husband and father. A man who can calm our children's fears in just a few words in a way that I never can. A man who supports everything I do, even when I embarrass him on a daily basis.

A man who sacrifices every day to serve his country. A man who would willingly give his life for the country he loves. A man who endeavors, in the most challenging ways, to become a better protector of freedom.

A man who takes his role as son seriously. A man who is so committed to his family, that he holds it together single-handedly.

A man who makes me laugh. And makes me cry. And makes me believe that I can do anything.

Quite simply, I can't express it. Not in words. Not here.

But I can say this:

I love you, Honey. Happy Birthday.

Monday, August 30, 2004

I'm Going to Regret This

WARNING! Rated M for Mature.

Please do not read this if you are under 18. Please do not read this if you are related to me. Please do not read this if you are married to me. (Seriously, Honey. Stop right now. Go look at some porn or something.) Please do not read this if you want to hang on to your illusions of me being a sweet little housewife. In fact, no one should read this.

That being said: (and in honor of Patrick who informed me that I'm shocking his friends.)

Tuna Man: Am I in?
Me: Yeah. (thinking duh!)
Him: I'm in your ***?
Me: Oh. No. Honey, that would be my *****.
Him: Oh. No wonder you took it like a champ.

Gay guys don't have this problem.

I'm going to go hide now. I'll be a sweet little housewife again tomorrow.

Sunday, August 29, 2004

Tuna Cowboys

Last night, after I put the kids to bed and had a heated debate with my husband on the phone, I had one of those nights. One of those nights when I am so bored, I just feel like screaming.

I have plenty I could do. My house is a mess. The laundry is starting to pile up like Mt. Washington. I still haven't put our Disney photos in an album. But I don't want to do any of that.

I want someone to entertain me, damn it!

But one can only hang out at her own blog waiting for someone to update for so long before she feels like an utter and complete loser. (Not that I did that, of course.)

So I flipped, flipped, flipped around on the TV. All of my favorite Olympic sports are over. Hockey hasn't started yet. There's nothing on.

And then I saw the words Tuna Cowboys on the satellite directory and I just had to check it out.

I watched an hour-long program on tuna fishing.

I expected the guys to look like the Gorton's man, but they were really hot. Did you know that they actually dive to wrangle and heard the tuna from net to net? Did you know that they wrestle sharks out of the nets? Did you know that most of them are millionaires? And heck, they're at sea for a couple of months at a time, leaving any potential wife plenty of time to spend all their money.

Tuna Cowboys sound like a pretty good catch to me.

If I was a single gal, I'd be high-tailing it to Australia right now. Hot swimmers. Plenty of softball. And Tuna Cowboys. What more could a Tuna Girl ask for?

Saturday, August 28, 2004

Things that Make Me Happy

These are the things that I find joy in today.

1) This and the man behind it.
1a) And him too!

2) Bloggers who promise to take me dancing.

3) Telephone calls from the man I love. Especially when he says, "You know what I mean. You always know what I mean."

4) The things my daughter brings home from school.

Posted by Hello

5) Cards that my mother sends me for no reason whatsoever.

Posted by Hello

6) Our babysitter who is always eager and has her own car.

7) My camera-loving son, who as soon as I get the camera out, starts yelling, "Cheese! Cheese!" and jumping up and down.

Posted by Hello

8) Chocolate Cream Pie.

9) Did I mention roses? Even if they are making me sneeze.

10) And this little story about my husband.

We got married just a few months after we graduated from college and my husband was commissioned. He unexpectedly ended up being TDY to Texas when we were supposed to get married. I didn't know if he was going to be able to come to our wedding until just a couple of days before.

So he wasn't home for a bachelor party, but his military friends took him to a strip club to celebrate.

Anyway, we hadn't seen each other for a few months. We snuck off to his hotel room before the rehearsal to get reacquainted.

Reunion sex is always nice. But there was something weird going on. He was sort of trying to stay under the covers and was holding me really close. Finally I pulled away and noticed some marks on his body.

Then I really looked close and realized that there was writing all over his body. Things like, Good luck Honey!, and RIP, and hearts and stuff.

He had gotten so drunk at his bachelor party that the strippers brought him up on stage, stripped him, and wrote all over him with magic markers.

I thought this was hilarious. I hope he was wearing good underwear.

Of course I couldn't keep my mouth shut about it. On the way in to the rehearsal I told my friends and word spread. There was lots of snickering going on in church.

He'll never live it down. Graffiti boy.

Friday, August 27, 2004

Roses are red. I have been blue.

There's nothing a couple dozen roses can't cure. Posted by Hello

Well, I mean, I'm sure there are some things roses can't cure, but I'm feeling a lot better anyway.

By the way, anyone want to send me a new table runner? I'm looking at that picture and thinking, "Step out of the nineties, now, Honey." Yes. I call myself Honey. What of it?

So last night, I talked to my mom on the phone for quite a while. It was one of those conversations that covers a multitude of things, from my nephew kicking my other nephew in the balls, to how frail my grandmother has become. But I learned about something that has been going on in my family for months. I can't talk about it, but it taps into every insecurity and fear I have.

So okay. Wah, wah. My life's not perfect. I can deal with that. But as always I turned to my husband to help me deal with these feelings, and he just happened to be in the middle of a nervous breakdown. He was actually so upset (none of it has to do with me) that he had to leave the house. And he didn't do it gracefully.

Hence last night's pity post. Alone, alone, alone. What a pity party.

It had sort of slipped my mind that his steroid dosage was increased. That's got to be a huge part of it. It's like he's having violent PMS.

But let me tell you one thing about my husband. He is better at apologizing than anybody I have ever met. We had a big talk, and delved into his feelings and my family stuff. And I do feel better, but the family stuff is still there. My pity parties are usually pretty short lived, though. Roses help.

And so do you guys. I love you. I'm really far behind on answering my e-mails and responding to some comments, but don't think that every word you guys have written hasn't touched my heart or made me laugh. Thank you.

Coming soon, in honor of our anniversary, an embarrassing story about a bachelor party.

Thursday, August 26, 2004


Tonight, for the first time since I started blogging, I've had the urge to blog about something but held back. In fact, I had two conversations tonight that I would love to share with all of you and get feedback on, but I can't. One was in confidence and the other would just be a betrayal.

But, god, I am weary. I stood in the middle of my bedroom tonight, staring into space and cried. I am so weary that my body aches. My muscles feel like overstretched rubber bands.

It all goes back to having the people I love most being in pain. And maybe I'm contributing to that pain.

Tomorrow is my ninth wedding anniversary. My husband is flying out early tomorrow morning to attend a wedding thousands of miles away. It's been at least five years since we've been together to celebrate our anniversary.

I feel so lonely right now.

Guilty Pleasures

I seriously considered taking a nap today instead of blogging. Or maybe finally taking that shower I so desperately need. Maybe after reading this post, you'll agree that I should have too. But I couldn't let the Michele/Michelle brouhaha linger at the top of my blog any longer. So today I'm being a blog dork.

You've probably seen this relationship quiz all over the place by now. I just couldn't help but take it. And not too toot my own horn or anything, but it seems pretty accurate, especially considering my recent marital humor.

eXpressive: 7/10
Practical: 7/10
Physical: 4/10
Giver: 4/10

You are a XPIT--Expressive Practical Intellectual Taker. This makes you a Manager.

You are cool, thoughtful and intelligent. Your approach and your sense of humor are under-the-radar, your charm is undeniable. You keep everything under control. You have distinctive vocal mannerisms. You may not have much interest in approaching strangers, but when you do, you are successful.

You will probably end up with someone beautiful, fascinating and off-balance. While your partner may steal the limelight, it's you that keeps things running smoothly and provides stability in your relationship. If you are with someone as contemplative and hard-headed as you, you can have a tough time.

Your greatest asset is that you tackle conflict as it rises -- you don't ignore it and let it brew. If you have a partner that *does* let it brew, it will make you crazy! You can find yourself fighting for two -- trying to anticipate your partner's needs and draw their feelings out -- which is exhausting and, well, not your job.

You would never cheat. You would make an excellent spouse. When your spouse's friends met you, they would think, "Crap, why couldn't I get that one?"

Of the 4503 people who have taken this quiz, 5.7 % are this type.

Now that's what I'm talkin about!

And secondly, you've probably seen this around too. Come on. You know you want to do it. What celebrity do you most resemble?

Here's who I look like:

Rachel McAdams
Jennifer Love Hewitt
Tori Spelling

Now, I didn't even know who Rachel McAdams was. I had to look her up. But, hell. If someone wants to compare me to some beautiful teen movie star, I'm not going to complain. But Jennifer Love Hewitt? Ugh. I always thought she was ugly. I have a much better nose than that. And Tori Spelling! Ack! I look like the ugliest pretty girl on 90210!

Maybe I should go take that shower now.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Update on My Husband's Mistress

Okay. Clearly, one should not joke about infidelity.

This post is an update from yesterday's. You should read that one first or you won't have any clue what I'm talking about.

So, my husband is working 18 hour days lately. He came home for lunch/dinner yesterday carrying a large award in the shape of an aircraft tail. It is a farewell gift from his old squadron.

Me: Did someone named Michele facilitate your receiving that thing?
Him: Huh?
Me: Isn't the 2nd Lt in your old orderly room named Michele?
Him: No. *weird look* Why?
Me: *laughing* It's a long story. Do you have time for a long story?
Him: I'll make time.

I lay out the story to him, the same way I did in my last blog post. I can't help but laugh.

Me: And she says, *sounding all chipper* "Hey *my husband's middle name, which is what the family and I call him*! It's Michele. Just returning your call. I guess I'll see you later. Bye!" So who's Michele?
Him: I don't know any Michele.
Me: *laughing* Me either. But she seems to know you.
Him: Not only do I not know any Michele, I don't know any woman who would use my middle name like that.
Me: *still laughing* So that's your story and you're sticking to it, huh?
Him: Yup. Well, I guess you believe me since you're still here.

So we drop it for a while. We talk to the kids and about other stuff.

Then the phone rings.

Him: If that's Michele, tell her she should know better than to call me at home. Tell her to call me at the office in a half hour.

A little while later, he yawns.

Him: No wonder I'm tired. Between you guys and work and running off to be with Michele and my other family, I barely get any rest.

I can see that Michele will be with us for a while. I can also tell that he's thinking about the whole thing, and it is starting to bug him.

Him: Why would somebody I don't know call and act like they know me.
Me: I don't know, Hon. Maybe it is someone you know. I saved the message for you.
Him: Yeah. I can really see how concerned you were about me cheating on you. You saved the message?
Me: Well, of course. You should listen to it.

So he dials up his voicemail and listens.

Him: I have no idea who that is. She sounds Southern though.
Me: Is the number on the call list?
Him: Oh yeah. Let's see.

It turns out that the number is only one digit off from my old cell phone number, which is a weird coincidence.

So he decides to give the number a call.

Me: You're calling Michele!?
Him: Yeah.
Me: What are you going to say?
Him: I don't know...Oh it's voicemail. *listens* It's some freight company.
Me: OH! That's who I got when I used your cell phone to try and call our number this morning. I probably dialed it four or five times just to make sure. She must have seen the number on her caller ID and decided to call.
Him: But why would she call me by my name like that?
Me: Is that how you say your name on your outgoing message?
Him: I don't know. *calls his own phone to check* Yup.
Me: Too funny. It's a good thing I trust you. Can you imagine how some other wife may have acted?
Him: I know, really. *He starts to get mad* Why would she call me like that, and act like she knows me? That's messed up.

And he dialed her again!

Me: What are you doing?
Him: Leaving her a message. *pause* *in his don't mess with me officer voice* Hello. This is *his name*. It seems that our phone lines got crossed or something. Please give us a call back so we can straighten this out. You obviously already have my cell phone number and our home number is _____. Thank you.
Me: Ack! What the hell did you do that for? Now I'll have to try and explain why my husband sounds like such a dick on the phone. What am I supposed to say to her?
Him: Well...she shouldn't leave messages like that.

I can't help but laugh at him. He's such a dork.

And as he leaves to go back to work until the wee hours of the morning...

Him: I'm off to meet Michele.
Me: Okay, Honey. Give her my love.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Should I be concerned about this?

There comes a time in every married women's life when she must ask herself, "Should I be concerned about this?"

So let's start at the beginning, shall we?

My husband says that I have a mutant magnetic field surrounding me that messes up every electronic device I come in contact with. The wireless router is a great example. Sometimes, I think he is right.

This morning the phone kept ringing just one and a half times, almost like it was on call forwarding. So I tried 73#, just to make sure, and then I dialed my own home phone from my husband's cell, since mine was charging. I connected to the voicemail of a pleasant-sounding woman at a freight company. Weird.

So I called the phone company and they're working on it. Should be all fixed by next Monday. Monday!? They asked for a number to call in the meantime, and I gave them my husband's cell number.

So my son and I spent the morning avoiding the cleaning ladies. I realized that I had left the phone downstairs and I went to retrieve it. There was one voicemail. I assumed I had missed the phone company's call, so I checked his voicemail and heard this message.

"Hey *my husband's middle name, which is what the family and I call him*! It's Michele. Just returning your call. I guess I'll see you later. Bye!"

Now, I don't know anyone named Michele, and certainly no Michele that would call him by his middle name. Everyone calls him by his call sign.

Oooh! Sounds dramatic. I laughed about it, though. I laughed and then I had one brief, fleeting thought. "Should I be concerned about this?"

It was a brief and fleeting thought because I have absolutely no fears about my husband's fidelity. It just isn't in his character to cheat on me. But he does seem to have this subconscious ability to attract women.

It's funny because he doesn't exactly look like a GQ model or anything. In fact, he is clothing-challenged. There's something about his personality, maybe something non-threatening and honorable that makes his casual female acquaintances want to be his friends.

I understand that it must be extremely difficult to be a single woman in the military, especially in an operational field. But why does every women he's ever worked with glom on to him?

One time when he was in flight training he told me a couple of Marines were coming over to study. So I went out to give them time alone. When I came back in, my husband was sitting at our dining room table with the most beautiful woman I've ever seem in real life. This was the Marine? Come on!

I've had friends who have worried about their husband's cheating on them while they are deployed. Sometimes, they have no need to worry. But sometimes, as my husband can attest, they are right on the money.

I can't even imagine living with the fear that the man I love would cheat on me. What kind of relationship can that possibly be? Jeez! My guy once told me that although going to strip clubs is a military tradition, he avoids lap dances because they just feel too much like cheating. (Do you guys think he was feeding me a line on that one?)

But, be that as it may, you know I'll be ever so casually asking him about this Michele. And he better have a good answer.

Monday, August 23, 2004

The Important Stuff

Yay for technology! I'm back online, thanks to the mercy of the cable man. I kept asking my husband, "Are you sure the cable is out?"

He kept telling me, "The modem isn't getting a signal."

Except that it was. This is the second time in less than seven days that I have been embarrassed around repair men.

Last week we called housing maintenance because the smoke detector wouldn't stop beeping. You know, like it was out of batteries, except that it is hardwired. So the guys are standing in our house, trying to fix it, and one guy says to the other, "This isn't the one that's beeping."

And I suddenly had a terrible thought. I ran into the kitchen, looked behind a picture frame and saw (and heard) that it was actually the Carbon Monoxide detector that needed a new battery. They promised they wouldn't tell everyone back at the shop, but I doubt it.

So I told the cable man that story to try and earn some sympathy, and (I admit it) I flirted a little. He helped me fix the router. I could have figured out all on my own to unplug everything and plug it back in. Why to I let my husband handle these things? I'm always the one who ends up embarrassed.

Wow. I sort of got away with myself there. So anyway...

USA Softball won their third straight Olympic Gold Medal today. Woo hoo! What kills me about that team is that there are players who are older than me. Lisa Fernandez (shame on you if you don't know who she is) was a junior when I was a freshman in college. I studied her game tapes. She should be off having babies or something, not winning her third gold medal. Damn. A little jealousy here. I can't even find a fast pitch team to play on. Or a slow pitch one right now, for that matter. Patrick! I hate you!

And since I'm on a rambly roll.

The number one single most requested post topic here on my blog has been my wives' group. I intended to write about that today. But I just can't think of one amusing story. I'm going to have to think about it. I'm going to have to take a step back and try to find an interesting aspect. To me, it is just day-to-day shit, you know?

But I will say this. I have never once seen any actual coffee consumed at a Wives' Coffee. Wine, yes. Coffee, no.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

The Remedy

I was brought low by the blogger gods this weekend.

First, our cable is out. How, oh how did we ever live in a world without highspeed internet access? I'm dialing in at a whopping 12K. My own page takes at least five minutes to load. I'm having blogger withdrawals (which I'm treating with lots of ice cream).

Second, my poor husband. The poison ivy has spread to his eyes.

But I have far, far worse news. Guess who has poison ivy now. That's right. Your's truly.

It started with a little spot on my knee, and has spread to most of the side of my left leg. This is my first time being afflicted with such a horrible skin abnormality (which I'm treating with lots of ice cream). Calomine! Take me away!

Third and last, damn the earth's rotation. While USA Softball is playing at a lovely time of day in Athens, I am forced to stay up all night to watch the semifinals here at home. Staying up all night, ringing my hands over every pitch does not make for a happy Tuna Girl. The gold medal game will start at 8 a.m. local tomorrow. Which is fine because I'll be awake and at home. But I will miss out on going to the gym (which I'm treating with lots of ice cream). Damn.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Close to My Heart

CB sent me an e-mail with these links.

Please tell ten friends to tell ten today! The Breast Cancer site is
having trouble getting enough people to click on it daily to meet
their quota of donating at least one free mammogram a day to
underprivileged women. It takes less than a minute to go to their
site and click on "donating a mammogram" for free (pink window
in the middle). This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate
sponsors/advertisers use the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for advertising! Here's the web site! Pass it along to people you know.

3M Corporation is building the "World's Largest Pink Ribbon" on a billboard in Times Square this October. For every person who clicks on this link and signs up, Post-It will donate $1 to breast cancer research and place a Post-It in their name on the billboard.

You don't have to give your e-mail address or anything.

Friday, August 20, 2004

The Perfect Wife

Last night I went to a Wives' Coffee. I really wasn't in the mood to go, what with the rain storms and missing the women's all-around. But CB asked me to go, and I won't refuse her anything right now.

I enjoyed myself. I think the term Wives' Coffee probably brings about images of Stepford Wives wearing white gloves, sitting around sipping coffee, and discussing the multitude of charities we support.

It's not quite like that of course. I'm new to this squadron but I kind of like it so far. Half the wives there last night were good friends from my old squadron. The new commander's wife is military herself, so she is talented at keeping the meeting on track. I've also noticed in the last few years, that more and more wives are wearing jeans to these things. I'm all for that. If I could get away with wearing jeans, T-shirt, Adidas slides, and my cheerleader ponytail I would.

But, it is still an official-type wives' event. We sign up for committees and schmooze.

Speaking of Stepford Wives, while I was on the treadmill today, I was trapped in front of the TV playing The View. I can't help but read the closed captioning as it scrolls by. This episode was all about Stepford Wives. They talked about fashion and all-girls schools.

All of these proper examples of womanhood are getting to me. My iPod was pumping out the tunes and I had the worst urge to throw my hands in the air and start dancing. I was fantasizing about whipping off my shirt like a gold medal winner and swinging it over my head. I wanted to shake my hips and whoop and holler.

Do you think anyone would notice? They might notice when I fall off the treadmill and bust my ass. I think the headline "Insane woman hospitalized in just her bra" might hurt my husband's career.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Love You

God, I hate it when people I care about are hurting.

My life is so good. I've talked about this before. I'm starting to wonder if I'm sucking up all the good Karma from the people I love. I'm so damn lucky.

First there's my husband. Poor baby. He's on steroids for his poison ivy (which isn't getting any better at all) and it is seriously fucking up other things in his life. Things that are far more important than a skin condition. He's down and there's nothing I can do. Except love him.

My best friend CB's husband is still deployed. He returns in three weeks, but in the meantime, she's not doing so well. She hurt her back. Which wouldn't be that big of a deal except that she's caring for a baby and a toddler all on her own.

She lost it at the doctor's office and just cried and cried. Which caused him to start that line of questioning. The line of questioning every deployed spouse avoids. "Have you been feeling like this a lot lately?" "Do I need to call Family Support?" Nobody wants to be the spouse who couldn't handle a deployment. It's like the kiss of death for her husband's career.

She told the doctor, "Just fix my back so I can care for my kids."

"He didn't get it," she told me. "He wanted to know why my friends weren't helping me. How can you really explain it to a man? How can he ever really know what it is like?" She's down and there's nothing I can do. Except understand.

And there are lots of other people too. Blog friends. Family members. I just want to cry for everybody. I don't really feel guilty for being so happy, but I feel guilty for complaining about the small stuff. I feel guilty that I can't do more, can't be a better wife or friend.

To emulate one of my favorite bloggers:

Take care.
Be happy.
Love you.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

In which I speak of asses...

Getting up at 6:30 a.m. every morning is kicking my ass. So is spending at least an hour and a half either driving to, waiting in, or driving from the car pool line at school. And so is getting my kicked ass to the gym every day.

Speaking of the gym.

I really like, and really hate my gym. I can't go to the base gym during the day because I have nobody to watch my son. So we go to an off-base gym that has a children's fitness program. My son loves it. He's really pumped to go everyday.

But, at 9:30 in the morning, the gym is filled with other housewives and old men. There just isn't a whole lot of visual stimulation.

And those housewives can talk! One of the great things about being a girl is that I can use the machines to lift and never feel like a wimp. But they don't have a lot of machines and if one more group of Southern mothers just sits on the machines to trade stories about spanking their kids, I'm going to kick their bony asses.

There was one cute boy today though.

Speaking of cute boys.

I can barely keep my eyes open all day, but I managed to stay up past midnight last night to watch the Olympics. Everybody has been talking about how hot the guys are. I agree that they're hot, but in my own Tuna Girl way, their hotness just makes me think.

If you asked me what my ultimate dream man would look like, I'd say he should be tall (at least 5'11' but no more than 6'3"), dark (I'm not big on the blonds. Except Paul Walker.), and, well, handsome (give me some big 'ole eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a strong jaw and I'll be your slave). I like my men strong and lean but not bulky. And I've recently come to appreciate a fine ass.

But that's not what I married. My guy's only 5'8" and more stocky than lean. And he has no ass of which to speak.

And if he didn't exist, the guys I could imagine myself dating are anywhere from 5'3" to 5'8" tall. Maybe I really prefer to look my man in the eyes, as opposed to his Adam's Apple or sternum.

And they're mostly more cute than handsome. And tend more toward thin or stocky. I'm not sure about their asses though. I either haven't ever seen them from behind or I forgot to check them out.

Isn't that funny? When we date we talk so much about types. But the truth of the matter is that real attraction is based so much more on personality and chemistry. At least it is for women. Or at least it is for me.

But a fine ass never hurt anything.

And speaking of ass (or lack of it).

My poor husband still has poison ivy. *BIG HUGE SIGH* It's still all over. Really, really all over. Poor baby. Poor me.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Bible Thumping

So, all this talk of school has me thinking about my own scholastic endeavors.

I went to public school until the fifth grade, and then asked my parents to send me to private school. I specifically chose the Catholic one because I thought it was all-girls. It turns out that it had been, but starting that year, boys would be admitted to the junior high.

There were three dozen girls, and one dozen boys in my class. I immediately developed a crush on the one who was sprouting some facial hair. Since the girls outnumbered the boys 3 to 1 and the teachers were used to an all-girl environment, it was still a very feminist place to be educated.

I have fond memories of my seventh grade teacher, Sr. Julie Vincent. Sr. Julie taught history, religion, and art. She was one of those teachers who made her points rather dramatically. I specifically remember her throwing a tissue box across the room to illustrate how the gospel writers could have all seen the same event differently.

Now, you should know that I never got in trouble in school. I was this little, hardworking angel.

But there was this one boy, D. Craig. We actually called him D. Craig because he was one of those annoying people who goes by his middle name.

I don't know if D. Craig had a crush on me or what. But he was always torturing me, trying to get me to blow up at him. If I'd have had pig tails, he would have pulled them.

So one day, we were waiting for our teacher to come to class when D. Craig decided that it would be fun to push my books off my desk over and over again. We went through the whole experience: me ignoring him, me asking him to stop, me yelling at him to stop. But he persisted.

Finally, he broke my last nerve. I got so angry that I picked the top book off my pile and heaved it at him. I may even have made an "argh" sound while doing so.

And it was at that exact moment that Sr. Julie popped her head in the room to check on us.

She invoked my full name. She just stared at me for a moment and then said, in her worst nun voice, "We'll talk about this later, young lady. *pause* And it was your BIBLE too!"

I just about shit a brick. I could have expired on the spot with no regrets, And what's worse is that she was making me wait for my comeuppance.

So a few classes pass. My best friend at the time was on crutches. Between classes she rode the elevator with Sr. Julie and pleaded my case.

By the time I had religion class with Sr. Julie that afternoon I was so terrified of what she would say that I was shaking.

When everyone was seated, Sr. Julie began. "Class, something awful happened this morning. Some of you may have seen it, some of you may have heard about it. But we are going to address it right now.

"Stand up please," she told me. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

"And Craig, you stand up too." Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

"Somebody here owes somebody else an apology."

I started to open my mouth, but Sr. Julie said, "Not so fast!"

"There comes a time in every girl's life when she must stand up for herself. She must look the boy who is teasing her in the eye and say, 'No more.' And if that boy does not listen, she must make him listen. And if to make him listen she must throw a Bible at his head, then so be it. God himself would understand."

Everyone started applauding!

Sr. Julie continued, "I say good for you. I say it is about time. And Craig, I think you owe an apology, not just to one, but to all the girls."

Hot damn. Those nuns know their girl power! Rock on Sr. Julie. I wonder where she is now.

Yet Another Stupid Little Post on a Late Sunday Night

Tomorrow is the first day of school.

God! Do you remember that feeling? Like the whole world is bright and new and everything is possible.

I used to enjoy the summers for about two weeks. And then I would begin to have pangs for the first day of school.

What I never realized is that I would feel this way as an adult. I feel the same excitement my daughter does. I'm so excited!

We have new clothes and new hair cuts and a new lunch box and a new book bag.

And now my days will start at 6:30 a.m. with getting kids dressed and making lunches and driving to school. And my son and I will have the whole day together. We'll go to the gym and music class and play dates. We'll run errands and potty train.

Everything feels new. Can you feel it?

Saturday, August 14, 2004

I'm Moody

The thing about moody is that it isn't all bad. In fact, right this very minute, I'm feeling pretty darn happy.

The sun is shining. The temperature hasn't hit 90 yet. The kids are napping. I could nap too if I wanted to. But since yesterday, my moods have been swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

Yesterday, we took the kids to my daughter's school for her open house. I'm so excited for her to start school. All of the teachers there are great, but I especially like the one she was assigned. And the kids (and their parents) who drove me crazy last year are in the other class. Yay! She has a really good group of kids.

Mood swing up!

But, my friend AH finally decided to send her daughter to my daughter's school. Which, you know, is fine. Her little girl and mine are best friends. So, AH demanded that they be in the same class. Whatever. That's fine. My daughter will go through a period of only wanting to play with her, but she has a few other good friends in her class, and they'll all blend and get over it.

But AH volunteered to be a room mother. And she is already driving me crazy. She said she's been having migraines and heart palpitations because she is so nervous about her daughter going to a new school. So she's micro-managing every detail. She insisted that there be other Asian kids in the room. And the little boy who was already in there wasn't enough, she has to have an Asian girl too, so her daughter will be comfortable.

Now I know nothing about being a minority in America, but I do know that these kids don't ever think twice about race. Isn't that the way it should be? Why force these sorts of issues?

My daughter and hers were walking around and my daughter was introducing her to all of her friends. Isn't that perfect? But, oh no, AH had to step in and make sure her kid was properly introduced to each and every kid in class. And you could just see how embarrassed her daughter was.

And there were a thousand other things she did to drive me crazy.

Mood swing down!

Then we took them out to the playground. My mother-in-law (bless her) donated the funds to have the playground improved. All of the parents were very impressed with the new equipment, real playhouse, and actual lawn. It was cool because the donation was anonymous and no one knew that they were really complimenting my mother-in-law.

Mood swing up!

My poor husband has poison ivy. All over. And I do mean all over. Poor baby. He is so sensitive to it. So he's cranky and, well, you know...

I'm on a sex break again.

Mood swing down!

Comments that adults from my daughter's school made yesterday keep coming back to me today. She was hugged so many times. The specialty teachers and the director all mentioned how sweet, happy, and eager to learn she is. There is no parent is the world who can stay in a bad mood when people are complimenting her kid.

And so we end on...

Mood swing up!



I try not to blog too much about blogging, but I have a couple of things to say. Might as well do it now since no one reads blogs on Saturdays. Right?

1) I lost two posts in the last couple of days. They were both my own stupid fault. I published things too hastily and then went back to edit them (i.e. jazz them up) when I copied and pasted one too many times. Bye bye posts. So if you were wondering, that's what happened. I figure the blog gods were trying to tell me something.

2) I can barely keep up with responding to your comments anymore. Which is awesome. It's so great to have so much feedback. And you've all been playing nice and getting along. It's enough to warm this mom's heart.

Thanks for reading, y'all.

Friday, August 13, 2004

Just Because I'm a Woman

The two most sexy words in the English language are, "Come here."

They can make you feel powerfully desirable and submissively entranced both at the same time.

It helps if the words are spoken in a husky whisper by a hunky man.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

Just Because I'm a Mom

On Monday, my daughter starts kindergarten. It is extremely hard to believe that she is old enough for kindergarten already. It seems like just yesterday that she was screaming in her crib.

Since she turned five, she has been doing and saying some different things. She has an inexhaustible supply of questions. Everyone says that it is great that she is inquisitive, but they don't have to explain why oysters make pearls and clams don't.

Now she has an imaginary friend. I really expected her to have one a long time ago. She always pretends to be playing with friends, but this is the first imaginary friend who has made multiple appearances.

Apparently, his name is Orto. He switches her shoes to the wrong feet. He's afraid of thunder, which is why she just had to stay up and reassure him last night. And he knocks over lamps.

And so it begins. *huge sigh*

She's cute and all, but man is she trying my patience.

She likes to look at our wedding pictures and she's always planning her own future.

Her: Why can't I be a flower girl in a wedding?
Me: Because we don't have anyone close to us who is getting married.
Her: Maybe when my cousins are grown up I can be their flower girl.
Me: Well, but you're older than them. You'll be a grown-up by then.
Her: Well, than maybe I'll marry my cousin.
Me: You can't marry someone in your family. You know we've talked about that.
Her: Than I'll find my own man to marry.
Me: That's right.
Her: But if I marry a boy, I'll have to kiss him! Yuck!
Me: When you're a grown-up you'll want to kiss a boy.
Her: No I won't. Boys are icky.
Me: You kiss your brother.
Her: But he's a baby.
Me: You kiss Daddy.
Her: But he's my Daddy.
Me: I kiss Daddy.
Her: Ooooh! Mommmmmmy!

And here's a little something to brighten my day.

Just because it makes me happy. Posted by Hello

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Jock Itch

I guess you could call me a jock. In school I was one of those dreaded well-rounded kids who could pretty much move in any circle. I was smart. I could sing, play an instrument, and act. I enjoyed art electives. But it was on the softball field where I felt most at home, by far.

The last softball game I played in was when I was pregnant with my son. I think I was four-months pregnant, and I really didn't think I should be playing any more. But my team was very serious and they practically begged me to play in one last tournament. I hit two home runs that day. They teased me relentlessly about hitting so hard so that I wouldn't have to run my pregnant body around the bases. They were probably right.

Since then, well, first it was 9/11, then deployments, and then demands of the program my husband was in that kept me off a team. Now I can feel this overwhelming desire to play again. I can feel it in my chest. It's like an addiction.

Softball (and baseball I guess) are almost zen to me. There is nothing in life that can't be mirrored and learned from on the field.

I have twenty years of softball stories stored up for when my kids are old enough to play. I thought about telling them here, but even I was getting bored writing them out. I'll save them to bore my kids with later. (Isn't that why people have kids?)

But I will tell a little story about my parents.

My college was about two hours away from my hometown, so my parents only came to a few games every year. But at the end of my senior year, they drove out for our sports banquet.

Every year, they would show a slide show during the banquet. A friend had told me that there was a great picture of me in this year's show. I figured she meant that my hair looked good, or I had a great smile. Or knowing her, she could have meant that it was embarrassing in the extreme.

So I'm sitting with my parents and my teammates, watching the show. Whenever a new person was shown, they would get a smattering of applause from friends and family. All of a sudden, up pops my picture. I was in the middle of the release of a pitch and my forearm...well...I'm not sure how to describe it. It was the most well-muscled, sinewy forearm ever caught on film. I was shocked. I had no idea my arm looked like that when I pitched.

There was a shocked intake of breath in the room. And then the next picture was of me completing the pitch. And the place erupted in applause. I was really shocked then. And undeniably pleased. I had no idea that people actually liked me.

But my parents...you would have thought that they had just been given the best gift ever. I have never seen them so proud. My father must have told that story to every member of my family and every one of his acquaintances a dozen times over.

I wish I had a copy of that picture. To me it kind of represents parental pride from a father who wasn't programmed to show pride. It also represents a time in my life when I was known as MT (for mentally tough), I was a leader, and I had absolute knowledge of where I stood in life.

Now I need to recapture that feeling again. And the best place for me to do that is the softball field.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Glad to Be Here

Today was almost the last day of Tuna Girl. And no, I don't mean the blog.

My son and I came this close to getting hit by a Suburban today. We don't have driveways, so I have to parallel park my van on the street in front of my house. Today, there was an ambulance at the house next door, and a landscaper's truck parked on the road. I had to squeeze into a spot. As I was getting out of the car, with my son in my arms, I stepped back right in front of a passing car.

Our lawn guy yelled at me and probably saved my life. There's never any traffic on our street and I couldn't hear car noise because of the mowers.

As much as my heart was in my throat, I was mostly embarrassed. And I felt the need to share.

Holy crap. I almost got us killed.

That kind of ruined a perfectly good day.

I went to the gym today. Woo hoo. It's only been a year. I can't believe it's been a year.

My husband has been searching for some motivation to start running and working out seriously again. He knows that he'll feel better, but he just can't seem to get off his butt and do it. (Damn X-box. I knew that was a bad idea.)

I told him, "You just need the kind of motivation I have right now. I'm going on a cruise with three people I don't know. We're going home to see our family at Christmas. And I'm going to my tenth college reunion in April! I've never felt this motivated."

So, I came home from the gym this afternoon and after my near-death experience I found a note from him on the table. "Gone running. Be back soon. *heart* Me"

I'm so psyched because he is such a happier person when he runs. And hornier too. Oh thank goodness!

He says I'm his inspiration. How sweet is that?

Okay. I'm still feeling shaky and stupid. Today is going to be one of those days when I spend the kids' naptime surfing around and reading a hundred blogs to try and drown myself in someone else's life. See you on the web.

Monday, August 09, 2004

Random Monday

I'm being such a bad mother today. The kids are watching Dora the Explorer and eating Dragon Tails fruit snacks, and I'm blogging. Sometimes I just need a second to breathe.


We took the kids to the circus this weekend. It was pretty fun. It was actually my first trip to a circus too. What a deprived childhood I had.

We ate cotton candy and funnel cakes. We spent $30 on whirling flashlights. My kids are so spoiled.

It was the Barnum and Baily Hometown Edition tour. Which basically means that they brought their B team. The animals were very well trained. The people, not so much. We saw at least three guys slip and fall during the death-defying stunts.

But, man, were those guys hot. Those circus folks breed some fine stock. I think my favorite was the Brazilian contortionist. What he did with his body was absolutely amazing. I said to my husband later, "Every woman and gay man in that arena was thinking the same thing. What would he be like in bed!" The fact that I could clearly see his package from my seat half way up the stands was all the fodder my imagination needed.


I think Six Feet Under is the only show I make a point to watch anymore. My favorite part of last night's episode was when Vanessa put the smack down on Rico's hoochy mama.

I've always wanted to do that. Seriously. I've done my fair share of pushing and throwing elbows, but mostly during athletic competition. One time I had to elbow a guy off me and push him to the floor. (hmmm...I don't think my husband knows about that.) But I've lived a pretty violence-free life.

Just once, I want to punch someone as hard as I possibly can. Just to see if I could actually hurt him. Just to see what it would feel like. Maybe I want to know that I could defend myself if I had to.

Any volunteers?


I got a notice for my ten year college reunion. How the hell did that happen?

So please excuse me while I go and begin the process of taking ten years off my age. I'll keep the husband and kids, but the cellulite, stretch marks, about 40 pounds, that one wrinkle under my eye, that one renegade gray hair that is starting to bring reinforcements, and all the extra hair in my eyebrows has got to go!

And, oh shit! The braces better be gone by then!

This process might keep me busy for a while. Entertain yourselves while I'm gone, hmmm?

Sunday, August 08, 2004

I think I'm in love.

This is the loveliest thing I've seen in a long time.

I love you Jeff. Will you marry me? Oh wait. You're gay. And I'm married. Oh well.

Keep dancing baby!

Saturday, August 07, 2004

Thanks for the Hot Loving

Follow me on this.

I live in base housing. One of the best things about living on base is that we don't pay utilities. Our electricity, gas, and water are provided by the government. Or I suppose, the taxpayers, really. Since we aren't paying for it, our AC is always cranked up, and our house is nice and cool, even though it's always sweltering hot here on the bayou.

I like to sleep in a chilly room. That way I can cozy down under my covers and get all comfy. But we've had a bit of a cold front come through (Yay! It's down to 90 degrees.) and our house was really cold last night.

Which caused my husband to steal my covers. I tossed and turned for quite a while, trying to get warm, while he slumbered away. Finally, I decided this is bullshit. We're married for goodness sake. I should be able to cuddle up to him for warmth.

So I spooned right up. It was nice for a minute. I could feel his heart beating and his breathing was nice and relaxing. Then he kind of rolled over, and, well...

He attacked me again. It was hot. Really hot. We were completely silent and he basically directed the action by tossing me where he wanted me. I love being man handled like that. What a stud.

I slept in this morning. When we were alone for a few minutes early this afternoon he asked me, "Did you want to have sex last night, or were you just cold?"

"Well, I was just cold." I answered. "But the sex was nice too. Why? Did you want to have sex?"

"I didn't mind," he told me. "But I was sound asleep. When you woke me up by cuddling I thought you wanted sex. I can't sleep when you're touching me."

"So, you had sex with me to get rid of me."

"I didn't sat that."

Uh huh. So, if I hadn't been cold, I wouldn't have gotten thoroughly laid. If we had to pay for our own AC, I wouldn't have been so cold. The taxpayers pay for my AC. Therefore, you my American Taxpayer blogger friends are responsible for my hot sex.

Thank you so very much. Can I return the favor?

I promise I won't blog about sex for at least a few days.

Friday, August 06, 2004

Tuna Girl, Party of One

Does anyone remember when I complained about birthday parties with way too many kids? Yeah, well, I've found something worse. I took my daughter to a birthday party last night where she was the only guest. Creepy.

This little girl was in 3-year-old preschool with my daughter and she lives on base. Unfortunately, her family is freaky. Freaky with a capitol F. But I felt bad for her, and her daddy works with my husband. So I left the boys at home and my daughter and I walked over.

It was so awkward.

Anyway, since the party started after my son's bed time, my husband was supposed to put him to bed while we were gone. When we walked in the door after the party, my son came running up to us still fully dressed. "Daddy's sleeping," he said.

Yup. My husband was conked out in bed, with Barney playing on the TV.

So I got the kids in PJs and off to bed. He roused enough to kiss them goodnight, apologize to me, and thank me for putting them to bed. Then he was out like a light again.

And all I can think is oh great. We'll be hitting a week of celibacy now.

I tip-toed around the house last night. You have to walk through our bedroom to get to our office and every time I opened the bedroom door, he'd sort of moan at me and keep on sleeping.

When I crawled into bed next to my sleeping husband at 12:30 a.m., I figured I'd read for a while, and drift off to dreamland.

Then I was attacked. In a good way. Apparently, he'd had enough sleep. It was worth the wait.

After, he rolled over and said, "It was my intention to cuddle. Just so you know." Ummm. Okay. I can cuddle with the best of them. And he was right back to sleep.

And as I was lying there all I could think was, "Now I have something to blog about."

Thursday, August 05, 2004

The Meaning of Life

First of all, just to get it out of the way, we're on day 6 and still counting. The poor boy got called back to work last night and didn't get home until 11 p.m. Then he had to be at work at 5 a.m.

He's been deployed for months and months at a time before, so I'm used to doing without. But this feels different. This feels like rejection. Do you know what I mean? It isn't really, and he said some sweet things last night, but it still doesn't feel good.

I've found that my brain, without the distraction of hot monkey love has turned to loftier thoughts.

First of all, is there something weird going on with the stars, or what? Doesn't it feel like there is a lot of angst going around? I've been feeling it myself, in my own internal way. The gate guard flirts with me, and I'm embarrassed. I pick my best friend up from the airport (Yay! CB's home.) and I feel like a dork. I'm just not comfortable in my own skin right now. Or maybe it's that I'm not comfortable in my own soul right now.

Two days ago I read this post by Patrick. It really got me thinking. And then my husband was telling me about a conversation he had with a friend. His friend has just gotten serious with a woman, and my guy was telling him about our past. And that made me think even more.

Over and over again I hear mothers wishing that their kids could stay babies forever. I also know women who are in mourning for the early days of their relationships.

Conversely, I hear mothers wishing that their kids were older, out of the house, and out of their hair. I also know women who are just laying in wait for the day when their relationship will be easy.

If there is something I'm very good at, it is appreciating the present. I live in the moment. Every moment. Breath by breath. My husband is going to war for who-knows-how-long? Fine. I'll live through each breath and take every moment for what it is worth.

But at the same time, I have a real appreciation for my past. I regret nothing. I can see how every part of my past contributes to my present. I fondly remember the days of my courtship, but I don't idealize them. I can look back and rejoice in the kids' babyhood. But I don't want that time back. I can even look back on the dark times and see them as stepping stones to now and the future.

And the future? I look forward to it. I look forward to each stage of the kids development. I look forward to being a grandparent. I really look forward to spending my days on the beaches of Cape Cod with my bald, wrinkly husband. I have goals. I have timelines. I take real joy in my shared future.

But I'm not wishing away my present. I'm still breathing in and breathing out, and loving every breath for the life it provides.

Does this mean that I've found the meaning of life, as Patrick suggested? I've never even thought about that before. Does life even have a greater meaning? Is it the same for everyone? Is there a great cosmic meaning of life that some are enlightened enough to see and others can only imagine?

Or is "the meaning of life" really just the meaning of my life? Or yours? Or his? Or theirs?

So I've been thinking and thinking. Have I found the meaning of life?

Yes. I have.

Can I explain it to you? Probably not. But here's the rub. I think, maybe, we all know the meaning of life. Maybe we just don't want to know that we know it. You know?

Wow. How existential of me. See what happens when I don't get enough sex.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Day 5 and Counting

In bed last night...

Me: Are we ever going to have sex again?
Him: Huh?
Me: Well, you know once you reject me, I get all shy. So you'll have to be the one to initiate.
Him: Huh what?
Me: You know. Sex. That thing we're not doing. I asked and you turned me down, so now it's your turn to ask.
Him: I vaguely remember that.
Me: You vaguely remember turning me down for sex?
Him: Sort of. *pause* Does this mean you want to have sex? *dubious look*
Me: Not unless you're going to be enthusiastic about it.

So, we're on day five. But at least we talked about it, right?

I am in a very weird mood today. I get like this sometimes. I just feel embarrassed. I basically feel embarrassed to be alive. I feel like everything I say and do is dorky and embarrassing. Did I mention that I feel embarrassed?


So a couple of nights ago, I was messing around on the computer when my husband came and said, "Come here. You've got to hear this."

I had put my kids to bed at the regular time, but my daughter had gotten in big trouble. She keeps getting out of bed and getting toys to play with. So I said, "No more toys in bed!" That included stuffed animals and the like.

It was about 8 o'clock when my husband got me. She had been in her room for at least an hour, and she was mad. We sat on the top of the stairs and listened to her ranting. It cracked us up.

"This is no fun. No fun at all.
I miss my animals, and my animals miss me.
I need them. And they need me. All of them.
I'm too little not to sleep with a stuffed animal.
Maybe six year-olds sleep without animals, but NOT ME!
They always say, 'Don't do this and don't do that and don't do this and don't do that.'
This is no fun! This reminds me of when I was a baby!
I need my animals 'cause I'm a scaredy cat.
They don't think I'm sweet anymore. I used to be special.
I'm going to go tell them the truth. I'm a scaredy cat.
My animals need me.
This is no fun. No fun at all."

She opened her door and saw us sitting there.

"Daddy! I need to go potty!"

Yeah right. We're the worst parents ever.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Hello? Anyone home?

This morning I was awakened by strangers in my house.

Okay, so they weren't really strangers so much as the cleaning crew who comes in once a week. But they scared the crap out of me.

I had set my alarm for 7:30 a.m. I needed to get up and pick up the house before they arrived. I could have done it the night before, but I didn't feel like it. So, I stayed up all night, knowing that I should be cleaning (as opposed to reading blogs as this man can attest) but too nervous about oversleeping to go to sleep.

At about 9:15 I heard a woman's voice calling my name. Loudly. I had that adrenaline pumping reaction that you get when you're rudely awakened.

I jumped out of bed and ran to the stop of the stairs. Clearly, I was disoriented, because I don't remember what I said, but the very nice older woman asked me if I was okay. She also suggested that they just skip this week.

Oh, thank god. I would have been really embarrassed for them to see the messy state of my household. But I'm still embarrassed that it happened at all. Should I send them a check, even though they didn't clean?

So, I had plenty to talk about today, but oversleeping kind of overshadowed everything. I thought about skipping my son's music class, but I never do that. I could be as ill as ill can be and I'd still drag myself to the kids' stuff.

When I was parking the car, the woman in the van next to me was sitting in her backseat, breastfeeding a baby. Which is fine, of course. But her older kid was playing with the shifter and steering wheel! My father the cop has told me so many stories of kids being injured this way. Kids have managed to roll their cars into shopfronts and lakes.

Then, in the waiting room for music class a woman was talking on the phone while her son was, well, being spastic. And to whom was she talking? A therapist or something for a developmental screening and private therapy sessions. Hello! While your kid is wailing on mine, you're talking on the phone? At least she realizes he needs help, I guess.

I may have mentioned before that my daughter was bullied at school. It took months to handle the problem, but she's still more likely to run away from a situation and cry than stand up for herself. But if someone's picking on her brother...watch out! She put her body between the kid and her brother, yelled at the kid, and gave him a firm shove back.

I just looked on. You go girl. Push that mean boy. Now, if we could just get her to protect herself that way.

I don't know. Today may be a two-post day. I have lots of lofty thoughts floating round. And I have a funny story to tell about my daughter, but I'm not sure if it's one of those stories that you have to be a parent to appreciate. We'll see.

Oh! So, let's count the days since I last got some nooky. Honey, if you're reading this, I love you! I love having sex with you! I'm just having fun counting the days on the 'ole blog. *wink wink*

It's been 4 days! I may not survive until he gets home from work!

Monday, August 02, 2004

Can't Get No Satisfaction

"Get your sandals on and get your little ass over there and find out."

Yup. My husband took his life in his hands today. He was smart enough to say that to me while we were standing in the hallway between the napping kids' bedrooms.

First of all, little ass. I scoff. My ass has been called many things, but never little.

Second of all, he could have at least said, "Could you please get your sandals on and get your little ass over there and find out for me, please?"

Well, I learned something this weekend. I learned that combining Sudafed and Excedrin Tension Headache makes my pain go away. Unfortunately, it makes everything else in my life go away too. Kids, husband, food, blog, life. I could care a less while floating on my little drug-induced cloud. Luckily, my husband's referee clinic was canceled and he was home to care for the kids.

I also learned that after coming down off my little cloud, my family would be cranky. Very cranky.

The husband was so cranky in fact, that I couldn't even entice him to have sex.

Have any of you ever heard of this before? A man? Too tired and cranky to have sex? It's unheard of.

Little ass or not, it's not like I'm a cold fish. I can't think of anything that sucks more than to be horny and have your man not be interested. Well, except maybe being horny and not having a man at all. (Or a woman I suppose.)

I feel better today. No more drugs for me. I feel like I need a day just to recuperate. So I'll see you all tomorrow, hopefully a much happier (and much more satisfied) Tuna Girl.