And George Clooney isn't There Either

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need a hunky doctor who makes house calls.

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

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

Tuna Girl: Making everyone uncomfortable since 2004.

Money Matters

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

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

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

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

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

Black and Blue All Over

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

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

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

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

God, I hope no one is watching me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home Again, Home Again

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

Um, Honey? She can read, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

Blowin' It

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

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

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

Home Dreaming

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

Woo hoo!

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

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

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

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

Cynic.

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

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

Dang it!

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

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

Four Years

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

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

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

There Are Some Dumb Questions

Today I made a tragic error.

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

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

Dumb, dumb, dumb move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're here about my bladder."

My son really is amazing sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onward to the Penis Doc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, This Sucks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Internet, Violins, Auctions and Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good News

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

I know where we're moving!

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

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

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

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

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

But he'll be mopping floors by the ocean!

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

Terrified

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, of why did I volunteer to do this?

Traveling Up

It's Patrick's birthday today.

Do go wish him a happy one.

Don't mention the numbers 3 or 8.

Happy birthday, Patrick!

Le Troisième Petit Cochon

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

Sometimes the things my kids do amaze me.

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

Anal Sex and the Power of Dude

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

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

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

He completely ignored me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he laughed at me. He laughed!

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

I'll give you anal sex.

Running with Bacon

Have you ever wanted to trip a runner?

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

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

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

They all had tight little pants.

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

Where are my machete arms?

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

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

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

Biggish Tuna, Tiny Pond

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My alter ego can do all the hard work.

Allegro on Stage

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

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

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

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

One Track Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Valentine's Day to Me

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

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



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

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

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



Spoiled much? Hell, yeah!

Great Moments in Motherhood

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

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

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

What would you have done?

Our Virgina Adventure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I want send my kids to different schools?

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

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

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

Off to the Beach, sort of

Ack!

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

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

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

An honest to goodness date.

Woo hoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

E-Postile Dysfunction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Applying to Harvard will be a Cinch!

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

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

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

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

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

And I was scared.

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

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

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

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

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

That's a lot of applications.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This not-knowing is killing me!

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

It's All in Your Hands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam and Eve lived with dinosaurs.

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

The horror!

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

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

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

Late Night with Socks and Undies

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

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

I hate nighttime me.

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

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

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

The Rule of 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genius, right?

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

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

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

Like picking a lock with a wet herring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who Would Have Thought

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


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

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Yellow Snow Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By 3:30 the water problem was fixed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even on a day out of time.

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

What Not to Send

Alternately entitled: I'm Bitchy Times 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gag.

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

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

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

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

Where the hell do I get these friends?

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

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

Occupied

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

Is it nice having him home?

Yes. He lifts heavy things.

Last Fucking Day

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

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

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

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

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

And you thought I was done?

Mark asks an interesting question over at his blog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On His Way to 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't lose weight. I gained it.

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

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

I suck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Girls Make Passes at Men in Glasses

I was a little worried that my libido wouldn't make a return before my husband did. I turned it off six months ago and I was afraid I had lost the power switch.

But Mr. Nathan walked in to the pool area at family swim today and he was wearing glasses.

Be still my heart.

Hey, Tuna Man, dearest, maybe you should rethink that laser eye surgery. 8-)

Christmas for 3 and a Future for 4

"This was, perhaps, the best Christmas ever."

So says my daughter. Yes, she really talks like that. Imagine her saying that with accompanying facial expressions and hand movements.

Everyone kept telling me that I should just postpone Christmas until my husband got home, but that's just not realistic. Imagine telling two little kids that Santa wasn't going to come for two more weeks. That's not how life works. I thought this holiday was a good opportunity to teach them that life goes on and you must roll with the punches. Adaptation is the key to survival.

But Christmas doesn't just happen. A parent has to make it happen. And making it happen on my own wasn't all that fun. I wouldn't say that I felt stressed about it. More like, resigned. And tired.

I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. on Christmas Even wrapping gifts and eating Santa's cookies. Who knew it would take so long when you're all alone?

But both kids proclaimed it the best day ever, and I'm just glad it's all over. Now I have ten days until my husband comes home. Yes, I have an actual date and time for his return now. It's nice to have that nailed down. Yay!

What's not nailed down is what is going to happen with the rest of our lives.

There is a good chance we will finally be moving on from this bayou after nine long years. There has been a good chance all year, but now it looks almost definite. I hesitate to even write that for fear that once again things will change.

But I am torn. I am sort of heartbroken to be leaving this school that we love and the roots I've sunk deep. I have friends here. But I'm happy to be moving on from this place that my husband hates. And after seven years in this house, some new digs would be very welcome.

Mostly I am scared, no terrified, that we won't be able to get the kids into a comparable school. The school I already have my heart set on is highly competitive. With 80 open slots for first grade, my son has a good chance of making it in. But the fourth grade may only have one or two openings, or none at all.

If I have to leave this school that has become part of our family and I can't get the kids into something similar in our new state, I will be heartbroken.

Everything is still up in the air, but it is keeping me up at night.

If nothing else, 2008 looks like it will be a year to shake things up. And that has to be good.

Polar Express

Last night I surprised the kids with a trip on the Polar Express.

We had to drive for two and a half hours through rural Texas to get to the train depot, but it was worth it. I have never seen my son so excited.

They did an excellent job with it. Each car had chefs to serve hot cocoa and Rice Krispy Treats. They read The Polar Express. Santa met us at the North Pole and boarded the train for the trip back. He sat and talked with each child and gave them a bell. Then we sang Christmas carols all the way back.

You've never seen so many excited children in one place. But the parents were even more excited. You'd have thought the paparazzi had boarded the train with all the cameras at work.

It was pretty magical. Of course, this morning when Uncle Patrick asked my son, "What did you do last night?" he replied, "Oh, I forgot. Um...I built a track for my trains."

Kids. You can't live with them, you can't throw them under Santa's sleigh.

Characters

Last night at about this time I started reading Michael Tolliver Lives. And I stayed up all night to finish it.

I loved finally gaining closure for a set of characters I had come to care for. Michael spends some time in his 55th year contemplating all of the people who have touched his life. It was a sweet book and it made me happy.

Tonight, I stayed up late to finish sending my Christmas cards. As I poured though the list, updating addresses, adding partners and removing the deceased, I couldn't help but see the parallel to the book I had just finished.

Our Christmas card list is filled with such a diverse host of characters. For many of them, we will only share this one yearly exchange of a holiday card.

There is my flaky college roommate with the three daughters who look just like her. There are my two lesbian bridesmaids whose cards always get returned because they move so much.

There are my husband's ROTC friends, many of whom have had their lives touched by the war in Iraq even more than we have. There is the priest who married us. There are relatives who probably can't even remember what I look like, much less realize that I am old enough to have two children.

There are the host of military friends who have surely moved on to another base in the last year. I send less and less cards to them every year.

There are our parents, grandparents, my brother, my husband's step-sisters. There are the local friends who have supported me so much these last few months. And there are friends and family I've come to know through this very blog.

All of these people have touched our lives in different ways. Some in passing, some so deeply that we are different people for knowing them. They all have their own stories and their own lists.

Too many people have come and gone over the years to even count.

But the 55-year-old Michael Tolliver would consider me young. He would know that I have many more connections to make. And many more connections to break.

He would know that what I now consider to be the worst time in my life (which, frankly, is this present moment) could be eclipsed without a moment's notice. And he would know that what I now consider to be the most wonderful time in my life (which, frankly, is also this present moment) could be outshone before my eyes.

I wonder where I'll be in twenty years. Barring catastrophe, I know I will still be loving my husband and caring for my (now adult) children. I could be a grandma by then!

But what I wonder most about my life in twenty years is how many of the people who are so important to my life now could be mere footnotes in my story then.

People come and go so quickly. The trick, I think, is knowing who to hold on to and who to let go.

And I think Michael Tolliver go it quite right.

Happy Birthday, Tuna Boy

Today is my son's 6th birthday.

It's hard to believe that only six years ago today I was screaming, "Get him out! Just get HIM OUT!"

He was being stubborn and had to be dragged into the world with forceps. Figures.

It can't be easy to be a late December baby, but he has never complained. Today at school was all about their Christmas program and class Christmas party. But he doesn't seem to mind. Heck, considering that he was due December 7 and we forced him out on December 20, it seems like he actually likes being a Santa Baby.

He's a great kid with an adventurous spirit and kind heart. He's smart and strong and I love him to pieces. Even when he's pooping on the floor.

Happy 6th birthday, Baby Boy. We love you!

I'm Concussed

The only good thing I can say about yesterday is that it is over.

Well, that and I got to see Mr. Nathan again, but with my libido simmering on low since this summer, Mr, Nathan doesn't even really bring a smile to my face anymore.

I decided to try and finish all of my holiday errands yesterday and spent a good two hours at Target, mostly walking around trying to remember what I had forgotten. But I bought some tacky, animated outdoor holiday decorations on clearance, just to assuage my guilt over not stringing lights and setting up inflatables this year.

In the midst of attaching penguin wings (or are they flippers?), screwing on sea lion tails, and assembling an igloo I smacked my head on a door handle.

I have a huge door handle indentation on my forehead. And I keep bumping it every time I push back my bangs. Which I do a hundred time a day.

I think I may be concussed!

My afternoon ended up being hectic and stressful with swim lessons, homework arguments and phone calls. My son was so into reading his homework to my parents on the phone that he put off going to the bathroom until the last minute and had to make a run for it.

After a few seconds I heard, "I didn't make it!" I sighed and headed after him expecting to clean up wet pants.

What I found was poop. Poop on the floor! He pooped on the floor!

While I was trying to clean that all up, I turned around and stepped in more poop. On the carpet. The dog had pooped on the carpet!

I'm not sure how much more shit I can take. No more fiber for anyone until Daddy comes home.

I Should Be Sleeping

I'm feeling exceptionally sad right now. I feel so alone yet I don't want to talk to anyone. Nobody says anything right.

I know this feeling will pass, probably by morning. I'm too freaking well-adjusted for it to linger too long.

At the barber shop yesterday a man was loudly telling everyone a story about a high school girl who was missing an arm yet was still one of the best athletes in the state.

"Ain't no one in here who can complain about nothing," he proclaimed. "You know what I'm saying?"

I do. I know what he's saying. There is always someone worse off than you. When you're at your lowest there is always someone your friends can point to and say, "At least you're not in that place." And they're right. At least you have friends, right?

But is it really so wrong to really feel your feelings? What is so wrong about saying, "I'm sad. I'm mad. This sucks!"

I think we all need to give ourselves a fucking break and stop comparing our woes. Strong feelings don't always need to be medicated away. Or talked away. Or written away.

Maybe they need to be truly felt, so we can truly deal with them.

I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm tired.

This sucks.

A Very Special Freakin' Christmas

Have you seen that Christmas episode of Family Guy where Lois totally loses her shit and has to be shot off the town Christmas tree with a tranquilizer dart?

Yeah. I feel you, Lois. I feel you, sister.

Do the Math

My husband called from Iraq this morning. I haven't heard from him in a while and it was great to hear his voice. It would have been greater if it wasn't five o'clock in the morning.

"Mello? I mumbled.

"Hey, Hon. It's me. What time is it there?"

He's been deployed for six months with his boots on the ground in Iraq for the last five and he still hasn't figured out the time difference!

We talked for a little bit, but I'm not really at my best in the morning. And that's the biggest understatement you'll hear all year. At one point I sort of remember saying, "You say stuff now."

He laughed at me and offered to call back after I had dropped the kids off at school. "I'll talk to you between 8 and 9," he said in farewell.

He called at 12:30.

"Do you have any idea what time it is here?" I asked him.

"Nope, I haven't a clue," he replied.

"Well, let's see. It's 12:30 here so...one, two, three..."

But he interrupted me. "Honey! Don't even bother. If I haven't figured it out by now, I'm not going to."

It's a good thing he sent flowers today.

Yes, he really did send me flowers. Orchids, in fact. Just because he loves me. I can't tell you how happy his simple words and sweet gesture made me feel. His timing was perfect. I needed a lift.

We talked and gossiped and it was great. He also said what may be my all time favorite Tuna Man quote. "Just remember," he said. "I love you more than he loves his wife." I love it!

What can I say? He gets me. He just can't count backwards.

I do have some constructive criticism for the flower delivery person, though. If you're going to leave flowers without ringing the bell (In fairness, he may have rung the bell but I didn't hear it because I was sleeping. What? I was up at 5 a.m.!) don't prop the box up on the screen door.

I was trapped inside my house! At least until I remembered that I had a back door.

Better Them Than Me

The kids each had a holiday violin concert this afternoon. The brand new beginners played before my son and I learned something interesting.

Starting this year, each beginning student must have a parent learn to play along with them. So each kid had a violin-playing parent on stage with them.

If that policy was in effect when my kids started, they wouldn't be playing the violin. There's no way they'd get my perfectionist ass up on that stage!

Ah, life without the stresses of violin. That could have been sweet.

Show and Tell

In the newsletter that my son's Kindergarten teacher sends home every Friday, she has asked for parents to come to the class and share some of their families' holiday traditions.

Is it sad or just pathetic that I can't think of a single thing to share?

Oh sure, we celebrate the holidays just like everyone else. We celebrate Christmas by exchanging presents, decorating a tree and hanging stockings. The problem is that we celebrate Christmas just like everyone else. I can't think of one unique thing that we do.

Hmmm, maybe I could take the kids on a little field trip to the post office. I spend 75% of my Christmas preparation time there anyway. Or maybe I could bring in my laptop and show the kids how the bank has made it extra easy for me to obsess about our seasonal finances online. That's how I spend the other 25% of my time.

Maybe I could bring in a fire extinguisher and talk about fire safety. Between burning candles under a shelf, using the oven for the first time in months, and letting the Christmas Tree dry out until it is a pile of brittle pine needles, almost burning down the house has become a sort of family tradition.

Oooh, maybe I could put on a little skit for the kids entitled Stupid Fights We Have around the Holidays. Or maybe I could call it How Mommy and Daddy Test Their Marriage Every Year. What? It has a happy ending, I swear!

Oh! I could bring in a scale and let the kids chart how much weight I'll gain in December. That would be a good math lesson.

In an attempt to avoid inflicting all of the things that will send my kids into therapy twenty years from now on everyone else's children, I think I'll ask my kids what holiday tradition they would like to share.

Seeing what they come up with could be the most entertaining thing I've done all year.

And We Hit a Wall

That's it. My daughter is done. Absolutely and completely done. She actually stood in our house today with her face straining to the roof and bellowed, "I just can't take it anymore!"

I sort of saw it coming. Sort of. You just never know with my daughter. A couple of days ago she told me that she only wanted one thing for Christmas. "All I want is for Daddy to come home."

There isn't much you can say to your child when all she wants is her Daddy back and there is no way he'll be out of Iraq and home in time for Christmas. I find that the straight answer works best. Not even Santa can bring Daddy home for Christmas. Daddy has to stay in Iraq.

Tonight's desperate episode all began when I sent her back to her room to redo her homework.

She stood on the stairs and took dramatic I-can't-believe-my-mom-is-so-mean breaths until I raised my voice. "Enough with the drama. Go!"

She was only gone a few minutes when I heard her desperate wail. Apparently, she just can't take it anymore. At first I didn't even realize what she was talking about. In bewilderment, I asked, "What can't you take anymore?"

"I can't take Daddy being away for one more day!" Then she burst into tears.

It's funny how she misses Daddy the most when Mommy is being mean. But she ran into my arms and sobbed and cried. What could I possibly say?

"I know, honey. I miss Daddy too, but he won't be back for a few more weeks and we have to just keep living our lives day to day."

"I know," she sobbed. "But you don't know what it was like at school today! I missed him so much so I put his picture on my desk. I didn't get in trouble but it didn't help!"

I let her cry it out for a while but my son struggles with that. He hurts to see her hurt and he tries in his own five-year-old way to help.

"Maybe Daddy will be back next week," he says. But I can't let that false hope fester.

"No, he won't, but maybe you could e-mail him."

"No, no," my son insisted. "I saw a big sign that said that a big group was coming home January 2. Maybe Daddy will be home then."

Never mind that he can't read yet.

None of the normal things we military moms do to help our kids with separations are working with her. She doesn't want to write him or send him anything. I'm not sure why. She has been so amazingly mature these last few months that I sometimes have to remind myself that she is only eight-years-old. She wants her Daddy. Nothing else will do.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I sent her to finish her homework.

My son summed up his own feelings then. "I miss Daddy too, but I don't get sad about it."

"Why is that, Buddy," I asked him.

"Because I have so many other people who love me too." He and I are a lot alike.

My daughter has struggled to fall asleep tonight. Her brain and her heart are in overdrive. And that's how she and I are alike.

Hey Look! Green Grass!

I've been worried lately.

Isn't that what good mothers do? No matter how wonderful our kids are, we worry that we're screwing them up enough to land them in therapy or get them married to the local mullet-headed shrew.

I've been worried that my kids are getting spoiled. Like, really spoiled.

Okay, well...not so much my kids, but my son.

His expectations and demands have been grating on me. And since I am the only parent here, any negative change in his behavior has to be directly traced to my parenting.

I suck.

But there are people who suck more. I know it. I try to remind myself of that fact. Sometimes, those people even manage to remind me.

My daughter is friends with a set of sisters in her class. These girls are the offspring of the most wealthy people I know in real life. The dad is kind of famous and the family's charitable foundation is absolutely renowned.

One of the girls is kind of sweet. The other one is a terror. Let's call her Maddy.

One day last week I picked my daughter up from school and she immediately told me, "Maddy asked me to get her a Nintendo DS for her birthday."

I sort of laughed that off. I'm not about to buy my own child a Nintendo DS, birthday or not. I'm certainly not going to indulge someone else's kid. But my daughter had more to report.

"She told me I had to go to Target and buy it tonight before they're all sold out and drop it off at her house."

"She did, huh?" I responded. "How very demanding of her. What did you tell her?"

"I told her sure, as long as my mom said it was okay."

Well, her mom certainly did not say it was okay. I gave my daughter a little speech about being taken advantage of and about reasonable expectations. Not only is this girl's birthday quite a while away, I know that her parents almost always request that guests do not bring gifts to their parties.

But when we got home, my daughter dug something out of her backpack to show me. It was a letter of instruction from Maddy.

Not only did she write out every detail of her "request" she also added that my daughter had better hurry up and get it to her. "You have to drop it off tonight," she wrote.

I was a more than a little put out. You guys know how I am. My daughter is an exceedingly empathetic, sweet and polite child. There will always be people who will want to take advantage of her.

When I threw the paper away, my daughter started crying. "But Maddy will be upset! I feel like this is all my fault."

"Honey, you can't be responsible for other kids being rude and spoiled." And we moved on with our afternoon.

Later, when we came home from running errands, there was a message on our machine.

It was from Maddy.

"Did you get my Nintendo DS yet? You better hurry up."

Okay, that was enough. I probably should have picked up the phone, but I decided to compose my thoughts in an e-mail instead. I'm a better writer than a speaker.

I played it all off like it was funny. I told her mom, "I know what Maddy wants for Christmas." And I told her that I hesitated to write at all but I knew that if it was my daughter, I'd want to know.

Lie. I didn't hesitate a second to write. And my daughter would never dare do such a thing.

At 9 p.m. Maddy's mother called me. She wanted to know if my daughter was awake because Maddy wanted to apologize to her. Ha! My kid had been asleep for two hours.

So her mother told me how Maddy was embarrassed and how she was at that moment crying in her father's lap. She explained that when her "mean" mom said no to the DS, she just turned to the sweetest person she knew. She said that now she felt horrible because she didn't want to hurt my daughter's feelings.

Oh, and she explained that Maddy had written down our home number and used her grandmother's phone to call us, because she knew that her parents wouldn't let her make that call.

Yeah, sure. She was embarrassed, all right. Embarrassed to be caught.

I think there is a lesson to be learned here. Either I need to adopt Maddy's mother's kids-will-be-kids attitude, or I need to put the smack down on my son's spoiled ways right now.

Ah huh. The smack down is on.

You know, money doesn't make good people, charitable contributions aside. Someone remind me of that when I'm rich and famous. Okay?