A Bad Day

Saturday was a craptastic day.

It's amazing how quickly things change.

Over the years, especially since I started blogging, people have made a point of telling me how much they admire my marriage. Which kind of always makes me simultaneously say, "Awwww," and wonder exactly what people are smoking.

Yeah, I love him. Yeah, we've got the fidelity thing down. But there are times when he drives me bat shit crazy.

Saturday was one of those days.

The thing I like least about my husband, as he well knows, is his demeanor. His default setting is...well...mean. He pretty much always looks and sounds really pissed off, even when he's not.

In fact, I'd say that 85% of the time, he's perfectly happy, but about 85% of the time, he looks like he could tear you limb from limb. The furrow in his brow has become permanent.

So when he actually is in a bad mood, it's pretty fucking miserable for me. And sometimes the kids too.

He was in a bad mood on Saturday. Possibly because Sunday was his 36th birthday. Possibly because my crying daughter embarrassed him. Possibly because his hormones got the best of him. Who knows.

But by Saturday night I was ready to trade him in for a new model.

Smartly, I think, he decided to go out to the garage and work on his Chevelle for a while. While he was out there, my mom called.

My mother is one of the only people in the world I can really share shit with. So I mentioned my husband's horrid mood. And she said that my father has been miserable too.

But it's different. First of all, when my husband is driving me nuts, he knows it. When I think he has been too harsh with the kids or relative strangers, he hears it from me. In those rare times that my husband gives me shit, I give it right back.

My mother is afraid to do that.

In fact, she is just afraid period. Not so much of being physically hurt, I don't think. Or at lest I certainly hope not. She's afraid of the big blow up.

I lived in that house long enough to completely understand. There is no talking with my father. No reasoning with him. No matter what you do, it's wrong. No matter what you say, everything is your fault.

He hasn't spoken to my mother in three days.

She doesn't tell him when the kids call anymore. She's afraid. She works in her shop and makes meals and basically just waits for him to wake up. He sleeps all day and is up all night.

And he's going back to the doctor. He's going to lose his eye. The other one isn't much better.

Obviously the man is severely depressed and needs help, but my mother is too afraid to suggest it. His depression comes with rage issues too.

I'm helpless in how to help my mom. You see, I'm afraid of him too. Everyone says that I'm the only person he'll listen to, the only person he'll pull himself together for, but that's bullshit. I've been in the line of that fire before and I am too weak to do it again.

I know my brother is scared too. His way of helping is by doing the things my father can no longer manage.

While I was still on the phone with my mom, my husband came back in and started tickling our son. His mood was much improved. I don't know if he thinks while he's working on the car, or if he just relaxes and cools down, but he was back to normal by the time he came in again.

Sunday was a good day. We celebrated my husband's birthday with dinner out and cake at home. The kids made him cards. And he did a bunch of work around the house. The kids played Happy Birthday to him on their violins and he grinned like a maniac through the whole thing.

From my mom, I learned how not to make a marriage. I learned from her mistakes. She even always told me, "Don't do what I did."

I know my parent's relationship and my relationship with my father affect my personality profoundly. There are so many times I project my father onto my husband. I hate when I do that.

I know I have a great marriage. You can see the worst of it right on this very blog, especially if you read between the lines. But I love him and we make it work.

And I won't ever be afraid of him.

The thing I'm most afraid of is turning into my father.

I don't know what I'm going to do about my father right now. Maybe my husband can make a difference.

A Good Day

Yesterday was so great!


First off, I got mail!




Here's a little sumptin' sumptin' from his highness the Cheap Blue Guitar.




How fun! My daughter is completely convinced that it was all meant for her. But I'm the hottie in this family.


There's nothing better than getting real mail.


Then, right before I left the house to pick up the kids, these were delivered from my husband.




Awww. Aren't they nice? Happy Anniversary to me. (I got him chocolates. And I haven't even eaten any of them.)


And finally, late, late, late Wednesday night (Thursday morning really) I got an e-mail from the music academy people asking me if the kids could each play a solo violin piece for their new parent and student orientation.


So I took them over there last night and they totally rocked it! Seriously. They were both flawless. And they did an impromptu question and answer session with the parents.


A parent asked them what was their favorite thing about violin. My daughter answered, "My favorite thing is to play in front of people." And my son answered, "I like to practice!" which made everyone chuckle.


The same parent asked what was their least favorite thing. My son immediately answered that he didn't like the very first part of practice (which would be scales). My daughter added, "I don't like getting up at 6 every morning to practice." My son popped in with a heartfelt, "Me too!" and everyone chuckled again.


My son is such the little comedian. He's just naturally funny and hasn't gotten obnoxious with it yet. (Note to self: watch for that.)


One of the teachers there gushed to my husband about what great kids they are. And their new school teachers have been very positive. My son's teacher told me he is the most polite little boy she has ever met.


All in all, I couldn't be more proud.


It was a good day.

Things that made me smile this week

Last weekend I bought my husband a lawn mower while going commando.

And he didn't even find it hot.

Of course, it would may have been hotter if he wasn't aware that I was going commando because I had no clean underwear.

But still.

*****

Completely unrelated...but made me laugh.

On the phone with Patrick the wayward blogger last night...

Me: So, how was P-Town? I hear the cops are really cracking down on public sex at the dick docks this year.

Patrick: Not that I noticed.

And he wants us to think he's all innocent.

What's Up with Tuna Man

Today is our anniversary. Thirteen years ago (I thought it was fourteen years but had to count on my fingers) I married that kid with the mullet I met in high school. Thousands of hair cuts later, we're still in love.

I'm going to drive up to his office today for a daytime date. It's easier than getting a babysitter.

So I thought today would be a good day to share a little bit of what has been going on in the life of my man.

Tuna Man recently (finally) graduated from his master's program. Whoa. That sounds kinky. Let me rephrase. Tuna Man recently completed his master's degree in aeronautical science. And even though I...ahem...consulted on quite a few of his papers, I had no idea what his degree was actually in until I asked him yesterday. And he wasn't even sure.

But it doesn't matter because this means that in seven years when he's ready to ditch this military life (Can you believe he is eligible for retirement in seven years? Bitch is old.) he has a degree that will help him get started in a second career.

And then we'll be rich. (Let me live with my illusions, please.)

In other Tuna Man related news, he recently answered the call to coach Little Tuna Boy's soccer team. He's been so nervous about it, which is really cute. (I wonder if he thought I was cute when I was sick to my stomach about coaching softball? Hmmm?)

Last night was their first practice. Some of those kids were damn good (better than our kid, for sure) and they kept Tuna Man on his toes. It was so cute to see my man interact with these boys. And it made me wonder just what he's like at work (or at least at his old work where he spent most of his time teaching).

Oh, speaking of teaching, Tuna Man is also considering teaching in the school he just graduated from. Isn't that funny? Get a degree and turn around and teach? But supposedly, they need people.

And then we'll be rich. (What? Illusions, people. Illusions.)

In other get rich quick news, Tuna Man also was recently certified as a hockey referee. Now that I can totally see. Without experience he can only ref for little kids and adults, but he'll look so cute in his striped shirt. Like he worked a Footlocker.

And then we'll be rich.

Huh? I hadn't realized just how busy Tuna Man has been. (No wonder the lawn needs to be mowed.) (No that is not a euphemism.) (Or maybe it is.)

Frankly, Nothing Will Ever Measure Up

First day at the fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school and my kid gets her binder stolen. By a kid named Toby. Even though her teacher said she knew it was my kid's binder. It was "his word against hers".

Momma Bear ain't happy.

I'm already preparing applications for the other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school for next year.

Oh, and apparently, I can sneak in just one peanut and wipe out half of the student body.

Huh. Maybe there's my plan for ensuring a place at that other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school.

In fact, armed with peanuts I may be able to take over the world.

Woo Hoo! Back to School!

First and Fourth Grade

Kindergarten and Third Grade

Preschool 4 and Second Grade

Preschool 3 and First Grade

Skipping a couple of years (got to get those pictures off the other computer) to the girl's very first day of Preschool 3.

My, how they have grown.

Let's Be Honest

Okay, let's be honest. First of all, if I hadn't written that post last night, I never would have written on my blog again. It was do or die.

I have been suffering from intense writer's block, but only because I've been so fucked up lately.

I'm trying really hard to give myself credit here. Whenever I feel down for more than a couple of days, I worry that something more is wrong with me. I've seen too many people suffer with depression, and I just don't want to go down that path.

But I have to cut myself some slack. Moving was hard. I miss my friends and my comfortable life. I miss being the person in the know. I miss being the person everyone counted on. I really liked being that person.

Creating a new reputation for yourself sucks. Nobody gives you the benefit of the doubt when you're just that new mom at school. Or that new neighbor who doesn't know how to garden.

I've lived within the uber safety of a military base for too long.

I find that I am inexplicably nervous about going out at night. I don't want to get gas or pick up groceries once it is dark out. I have never been fearful before. I walk all around New York City but I'm afraid to venture out in Virginia Beach! That's stupid!

My natural shyness and fear of judgement is in hyper drive. I've forced myself to go to the new parent orientation and a beach party at school, but I don't talk to anyone.

I put off RSVPing to a blogger's party because I was too nervous to go by myself and I was waiting to see if my husband would be home from his TDY in time to go with me. And then I completely forgot about it. I feel so bad, first for being rude and second for missing the opportunity to make friends. (And third for writing about it here before I sent said blogger a note of apology.)

Ack. I could very easily fall into a pool of the I-hate-myselves right now. I'm trying very hard to give myself time and slack.

On the positive side, I love where I'm living and I see lots of potentially happy days ahead. I'm, as always, very happy with my family. We laugh all the time.

The biggest news around here right now is that the kids and I have practiced violin for 65 days in a row. We took a 100 Days of Practice challenge and we're really kicking it up a notch. In fact, just the other night when my daughter got in trouble for throwing a fit, she started crying that she didn't want to miss violin practice. You've got to love that. If we hit 365 days of practice in a row, we're going to Hawaii.

On the extremely positive side, tomorrow is the first day of school! Woo hoo! Actually, they had a special day for new students last Wednesday and my son had a half day on Friday. But tomorrow is the first official full day of school.

I'll be peeling rubber out of that parking lot tomorrow morning.

I have to admit, I love having two elementary school-aged kids. I don't miss the days of diapers and preschool at all. I've loved every stage of their growing up and I have no regrets. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.

With 1000 posts under my belt on this here blog, I really thought about hanging it all up. I always swore that I wouldn't let it just fade away, so I either had to throw myself into it wholeheartedly, or let it go.

I've decided to throw myself into it wholeheartedly. Let's be honest. The truth is that I need my blog now more than ever.

With the kids back in school, look for daily writing from me once again. It won't all be brilliant, but it will be something. Something I need.

How The Olympics Ruined My Life

I've noticed that I'm not the only person out there looking haggard and worn this week. I've been staying up late, just like everyone else, watching the Olympics.

I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.

But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in.

I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of underage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.

But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.

Walking!

I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.

What the hell?

Little Tuna Girl = Death of Me?

For a few days, I've had an idea for a post peculating in my brain. I was going to write about how much the Little Tuna Girl has grown and changed in the last few years. You know, kind of a "Little Tuna Girl Not So Little Anymore" kind of thing.

But right now she is crying her eyes out and making herself sick because she got ten wrong on her math homework. (Yes they have summer homework.)

So I am not feeling so charitable toward her at the moment. I'm afraid the tone of such a piece would not be one that I would want to stand the test of time.

Meanwhile I have noticed that this is my 999th post (such as it is).

I must consider if my 1000th post has significant meaning to me or not. Hmmmmm. Something to think about.

A Moment

It's hard to believe that just last weekend I was feeling lonely.

I just did a little dance to celebrate the husband and kids leaving the house.

It's been a hard week. Not because anything big happened but because we've all been a little out of sorts. This summer is stretching on and on and I am so ready for fall. I guess it is probably harder for all of us to make friends and feel at home without our normal routine of school.

The kids start school in less than two weeks.

Right now I'm going to savor a few moments of alone time. And eat cookies. And count the hours until I drop the kids off for the first day of school.

And then eat more cookies.

I'd like mornings better if they started later.

The world is an entirely different place at 6 in the morning.

I rarely see this hour.

Over my three days of alone time I totally screwed up my sleep. Without anything or anyone to wake up for I slept until I wasn't tired anymore. Which meant that I slept until almost 3 in the afternoon last Friday. (I must have been really tired!) Which meant that I couldn't fall asleep at all that night. And the damage was done.

But when I felt unexpectedly tired at 9 last night, I followed my husband to bed* and hoped that my problem was solved.

But I was wide awake by 1 a.m. and couldn't stand to stay in bed another moment.

I so fervently wish that I could be a morning person. This morning I got to hang out and chat with my husband while he got ready for work. I got to spend some quality time with my son who is sickeningly happy in the morning. He was even dancing! And I got to sip coffee while the men in my life had bacon and eggs. It was nice.

I feel like if I could just wake up at 6 a.m. every morning my life would be so much better. All of my problems would be fixed. I'd be the kind of person who exercises and folds laundry right out of the drier. I'd be the kind of person who saves money and has a hobby. I'd be the kind of person who has a clean house and...does stuff.

My teeth would be white. My hair would blow in a constant wind. And I'd wear...outfits!

I could star in my own herpes commercial!

But, alas, even typing this entry has taxed me too much. A morning of penance for a long weekend full of sloth could never turn me into what I most certainly am not; a white-teethed, blowing-haired, non-slothed exerciser who folds laundry whilst scrapbooking and balancing my checkbook.

I pretty much am the stereotypical housewife who sits on her fat ass eating bon bons all day and it is time I embrace it! After I go have a nap.

This morning sun is killing me.

* Get your minds out of the gutter. We don't do that sort of thing. We're old married people, one of whom is covered in poison ivy.

Home Sick

My daughter just called me crying.

She has a headache and she is homesick and she misses me.

Awwww. Poor kid.

Funny though, I can leave her with my parents for a week or more and she loves it. But with her dad and brother she's upset?

I wonder if something happened.

Poor baby girl. I miss them too.

Who would have thought.

Alone Party 08!

I am all alone until Sunday night.

Woo hoo!

My husband was going to take a little road trip to return the car trailer we used when we moved. He was also going to visit his mom.

But the kids asked to go with him and now suddenly I have a whole long weekend to myself.

How am I celebrating?

Today I slept in. And I haven't gotten dressed yet.

I think I'll go to McDonald's later. Woo hoo! Because I could never do that with the kids.

Truly, I'll spend all of my time unpacking and masturbating. But probably not in that order.

It's Alone Party 08! Woo hoo!

Wild Hair

In the middle of the night last night I spent about two hours online researching how I can become a school teacher in Virginia.

Why? Why the fuck would I do that!?

I'm worried about money. Like, a lot.

But after taking ten years off to raise kids (never mind the two years before that when I changed jobs three times because of moves) I'm not really qualified to do anything in my degree but an entry level job. (if that...who wants a 35-year-old "marketing girl"?)

Which I would hate. I at least have enough experience to know that.

I still want to be a stay-at-home mom. Desperately. I don't want to leave my kids during those all important before and after school hours.

Freelance writing works for me, (I've done it successfully before) but building a client base takes work and I don't have the energy or patience anymore.

Teaching seems like a good fit, because it would still leave me free for the summers. I've always enjoyed coaching (actually, I've always loved it...high stress though it may be).

I'm good with kids.

I'm just freaking afraid of them.

I could get a Masters in Teaching with initial liscensure and be a teacher in about two and a half years.

Which does nothing to contribute to our bottom line now.

I don't know. Is this something to think about?

Or have I gone off the deep end.

Me? A teacher? That's fucking insane.

Update on House

I'm still only about 40% unpacked in the new house. I'm still living out of a suitcase. Pathetic, I know. I guess I forgot that I still had to live life while I was unpacking.

So last night I spent an house really scrubbing and organizing the kitchen, breakfast area, and family room just so I could take a picture of that space and stick them in a blog post entitled Light at the End of the Tunnel.

But when I came downstairs this morning, the family room looked like this:




Must remind myself:

a) Train tracks are a great toy for kids

b) My son is developing his mind as he plays

c) I'm lucky my kids will play so quietly and happily together

(The tracks are his doing, the animals and people are her doing.)
Check out those wood floors though.

Clean and nice homes are only worth so much. Even if I am going to kill the dog for peeing on our brand new (expensive) area rug AGAIN!

While I'm at it, here is the front of our house. I never have been able to get a good shot of it.

I'll Be There For You

I know my husband goes to work everyday. I know he works in a cubicle farm.

I couldn't tell you what he was doing if my life depended on it. And neither could he.

I'm married to Chandler Bing!

Oh, he could spew a bunch of meaningless Air Force jargon and acronyms at you, but even he doesn't know what that shit means.

And he's already planning on doing this shit for the rest of his life. Or, as he corrected me, "Not the rest of my life Just until the kids are out of college." Which is (twelve plus four, carry the one...)16 more years!

He says he likes it here so much that he's willing to do whatever it takes to stay here until his military retirement in seven years. Even if it means taking a year tour of Iraq or whatever country we tear up next.

I find it hard to believe that my warrior can truly be happy working in a cubicle. I'm worried about him.

His work used to be all consuming. He was about family and the mission, in that order. Now I'm worried that he needs more.

For the first time in years and years, I'm worried that I need more. It's funny because he'll do anything to make me happy. And I'll do anything to make him happy.

I hope we're not cancelling each other out!

Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth

We lost three friends in Sunday's B-52 crash.

An old friend we went through aviation training with
An old friend who was a squadron-mate for four years
And a young student of my husband's

My heart is breaking for their families, especially their young children. And the other three crew member's families as well. It is a sad time in our corner of the world.

It all hits very close to home. May they live on in the hearts of their fellow aviators.


High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941

Born on the Bayou

I have found myself in the unimaginable position of defending the bayou more than once lately.

I never thought I would feel defensive of my old bayou community. If you've been paying attention at all, you know that I used to live in Northwestern Louisiana. And I hated it there but after...what?...nine years there, I developed certain roots.

Now whenever people in our new community ask where we moved from and I say "Louisiana" they look at me with pity.

It wasn't that bad.

One of the teachers at our new Suzuki violin school asked me, "Oh! So they even had a Suzuki program there?"

And I wanted to yell, "A hell of a lot better one than you have, snooty!" Which is unfortunately true. (Though we've ended up with a new teacher (and doctor's wife) who moved down here form Connecticut and I am THRILLED with her!)

So people are surprised that we did anything other than tractor pulls, chew and crawfish boiling down on the ole' bayou. And I have to laugh at myself for not agreeing with their characterization.

Hell, I do agree with their characterization. To a point. But it is my bayou to make fun of. Not theirs.

Besides, my kids were born and raised on the bayou. So now I will defend its merits until the day I die.

The Flaw of Perfection

We all have flaws. Some of us have more than others. It takes a certain amount of maturity to recognize our own flaws. My flaw?

An all-too-often, overwhelming urge to say, "I told you so."

I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I weren't so often right.

*ahem*

This "I told you so" will cost us a decent chunk of change.

Dammit. Not much is going right lately. The last two months have caught up with me.

Do they still have a poor house?

Waiting for Word

I had some complaining-type, whiny crap floating around in my head to post about today. But then I got word of an aircraft crash.

Six friends from our old base crashed in the Pacific. Two have been recovered but we don't know what condition they are in. We're not even positive which crew it was.

Spouses are conditioned, particularly in our little corner of the aviation world, to think of our aircraft as crash-proof. There has only been one mishap since Vietnam. These little four month deployments to Guam are supposed to be the safe ones.

Today I am guiltily happy that we are here. My husband is only one little bridge away working in a cubicle.

My stomach is cramping with feeling for some of my fellow spouses today.

Update--10:45 PM: My husband confirms two are dead. Latest AP story says three. Still waiting on names. Is it horrible to hope that the names do not belong to our oldest friends?

Throw Rocks at Boys

Oh, holy hotness. I am standing in a puddle.

Are there any ugly servicemen out there? I never seem to have them visit my house.

First there was the hot plumber, and now...

The hottest man I have ever seen repaired my husband's windshield.

I thought he was a cutie when he had his sunglasses on. But then he took them off and I nearly expired.

Fit, handsome, beautiful smile and amazing eyes.

I'm going to go throw rocks at my car.

Vertical Drop (just like giving birth)

It's hard to believe that I am the mother of a nine-year-old. That's only one year away from being the mother of a ten-year-old. And that sounds freaking old.

Since my poor baby girl hasn't had the chance to make friends yet, we decided to take her on a day trip instead of having a party for her birthday. But first we let her open presents and pick a place to have dinner the night before.

She was so cute because she wanted to tell the waitstaff that it was her birthday but she was a tiny bit too shy. My husband did it for her so she got her special dessert complete with singing waiters (cute ones too).

Then I helped her make her own cake. She chose to make a French Vanilla cake (from a mix, because I'm not a masochist) with chocolate fudge frosting.

She's quite the decorator.

Making and sharing the cake might have been her favorite part of her birthday especially since it was delicious. But the roller coasters may have topped it.

We went to Busch Gardens Europe and my little scaredy-cat rode every single roller coaster there. Including the Griffon. Which has a straight vertical drop. That they suspend you over for about five seconds. And we were in the front row.

My throat hurts from screaming.

It was nice to see my daughter so happy. Both kids claimed it was the best birthday of their lives (even though it isn't my son's birthday).

Next year...she'll have friends and a party. Hopefully, I will too.

Free at Last

I got about 48 hours into my parents' visit before they started driving me crazy.

By this morning, I couldn't take it anymore. Just get out of my house. Get out!

I haven't had a moment to myself in a week to blog, answer my phone, even to clean my house.

And my husband and I didn't finish the work we wanted done last week by our own timeline so now we have to hunker down for another week and just work.

But in the meantime, I am taking a day off. Who knew that taking care of a six-year-old and a newly-nine-year-old could be so much easier than taking care of a fifty-nine-year-old and a sixty-one-year-old?

Something Wicked This Way Comes

They're on the Jersey turnpike now.

Da dum.

Da dum.

Da dum. Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.

Timeline

My parents are driving down to visit. It should take them about 12 hours. My father can't really fly anymore so they are ecstatic to have us living within a day's drive.

Last week they told me they were leaving on the 10th. So I figured I had until Thursday night to set up the guest room.

Yesterday they told me they were leaving on the 9th or the 10th.

Tonight they told me they are leaving at midnight. Tonight. They'll be here by about ten tomorrow.

And the guest room? It's completely full of boxes and crap. Boxes and crap I have nowhere to put yet.

My husband is a saint. He just busted his ass to move it all around. And he bought a mattress and box spring. And he moved them up the stairs. And he snuck out to buy a pink Schwinn for my daughter's birthday this weekend.

The parents will be here until at least next Monday.

I'm going to owe my husband big time.

Tongue Tied

A few years ago this blog was All Jaw Surgery, All the Time. But before the surgery came years of braces. Braces I had put on when my son was a little baby.

I didn't want to.

I feared that my son, who spent all of his time with me because Daddy was deployed for much of his first three years, wouldn't develop proper language skills. I was afraid he wouldn't learn how to speak correctly because of all my lisping and mumbling through braces, appliances, retainers, and wired shut jaws.

My husband thought I was nuts.

Today I was vindicated, in the worst way possible.

My son scored in the 1st percentile for articulation. Anything below the 16th percentile is cause for concern. The 1st percentile, people. The first!

My brilliant son who is always in the 99th percentile for every other freaking thing in his life has way more speech problems (relative to his age) than we thought.

And those speech problems are what kept him out of the fancy school we wanted.

But their rejection is what drove me to the speech pathologist office, so I guess it was some sort of blessing. At least now he'll get the help he needs.

My husband thinks it is the difference between the bayou and the real world. No one thought his speech was any where near bad enough to need help back on the bayou. But here they are planning therapy three days a week.

I learned a lot in the therapists' office today. (More on some of that later). But the most important thing I learned is that I am freaking lucky to have such normal kids. Even my daughter who we've always thought of as a freak. There were kids there with serious developmental, social and psychological issues and I listened to their parents in the waiting room.

God, I have it good. Even if my son is literally tongue tied.

Pity Party in the Trash Pile

In my quest to be the absolute last person to jump on any bandwagon, I've recently fallen in love with Ace of Cakes on the Food Network. I'm fascinated not only by the characters who work in Duff Goldman's bakery, but by the stories behind the cakes too.

If anyone ever cared so much that they had a beautiful and unique cake designed especially for me, I would be beside myself. But the Ace of Cakes' cakes start at a grand. So I think I'll be waiting for some time. (Maybe someone will order one to be served at my wake.)

My birthday this year was kind of horrible. It started out really amazing. My friends threw me a farewell lunch. When my husband happened to mention to my friend SW that the lunch was scheduled for the Friday before my birthday, she went ahead and arranged for everyone to surprise me with gifts.

It was all so sweet and overwhelming. It's the first birthday party I've had since I was a kid.

But my actual birthday truly sucked. Other than a phone call from my mother and Patrick (who is alive, by the way) it was completely ignored.

My husband didn't even get me a card. My own husband.

When I got down about it my husband ran out to Lowes and got me a gift card. Which he planned to use to pay for new flooring for our new family room. So not only was it a last minute gift, it was truly thoughtless too.

I don't know. The whole world could forget my birthday and it would be fine as long as my husband remembered. But for it to be just another day to him after he had been hinting at doing something really special for once...well. He hurt my feelings.

He ended up not buying the flooring from Lowes. That just occurred to me today while I was fantasizing about some of the things I'd love to buy for the house. I couldn't remember what I had done with it. But then it suddenly hit me.

It was in an envelope. And I think I threw it away yesterday.

Now I have to go diving through the bags of trash piled up in our garage awaiting a trip to the dump to find a valuable birthday gift I wish I had never received.

Maybe by my 40th birthday someone will pull something together. I guess that gives me five years to make some friends.

The Prank

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

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

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

Okay. That's usually best to ignore.

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

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

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

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

And then my daughter ran by giggling like a maniac.

"What are you guys up to?"

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

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

My son just shook his head more.

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







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

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

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

Makes a Mother Proud

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

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

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

It was very cute.

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

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

Frumpy Square Peg, Bitchy Round A-Holes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother of Inventiveness

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

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

Mix me a drink.

I sorely need it.

The Waterworks

My daughter bugs me.

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

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

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

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

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

The kid needs some stones.

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

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

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

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

It was to be short lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could have left campus for all they knew.

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

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

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

Ready for the CIA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a MoBlog! With Pictures

Sort of.

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

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

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

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

Thank god for soccer camp next week.

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

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

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

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



Update: How about some pictures?

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

From the side toward the front.

One side

The Cherry trees across the back

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

The house from the backyard

Across the back toward the other side.

Back toward the deck.

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

From the front to the back.

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

Square Pegs, Roundish Holes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mouthes of Babes

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

Fuck, yeah, kid! Why is that?

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

Ignore it! Ignore it!

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

And kids always tell the truth, right?

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

On Swan River

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

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

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

I was leaning toward Swan Pond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then we were headed broadside out into the Atlantic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next time, we head toward the pond.

Limitations

Well, so much for blogging regularly.

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

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

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

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

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

Go Celts!

See you soon.

Safe and Sound

And she posts, at last!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So far I have only unpacked one room.

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

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

Homeowners

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Closing and Happy

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

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

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

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

I kind of suck.

But I'm happy.

Where's Moses when you need him?

My kids are damn lucky I love them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friends in High Places

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

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

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

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

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

And off we go.

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

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

Farewell Ye Other Blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotional Tease--Hurt and Anger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now I have valid reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have a cold so...

I have a cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I have a cold.

A Village of Idiots

I am so over this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Headmistress for a Day

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

Today, I got to find out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How sweet is that?

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

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

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

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

My New Nemesis

When I am angry, I cry.

When I am embarrassed, I cry.

After I have a confrontation, I cry.

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

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

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

So now I have a new nemesis.

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

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

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

He walked away from me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a new nemesis.

Anyone want her home number?

See What I Mean?

The Little Tuna Girl speaks...

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

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

One More Costume Before We're Done

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

That would be my baby girl.

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

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

Signage

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

And half of them were gray.

When the fuck did that happen?

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

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

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

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

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

Things Decided

I feel like a completely different person now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cannot even explain how relieved and happy I am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hung Up and Headed Out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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